Ferruccio
AH senior member
Hunting cape buffalo in Zimbabwe’s Omay Valley is more rugged compared to other areas where this dangerous game thrives.
It is a community area, where many local villages are present.
As a result the animals are generally more alert and skittish, seeing people walking through the bush every day.
The terrain also plays a significant role.
The ground is not flat but filled with hills, some of them quite high.
This makes the hunt physically demanding, especially when you must walk for many kilometers under oppressive heat.
Because of these challenges, the already thrilling and compelling pursuit of the Black Death becomes even more demanding here.
Our safari takes place at the beginning of October, the hottest month of the year.
It is an excellent time to hunt because the extreme dryness limits water sources to only a few areas, concentrating the animals around them.
On the other hand, the ground is covered in dead leaves, making each step so loudly.
For this reason, while tracking, we must move with extreme care, doing everything possible to soften the sound of our footsteps.
Wind direction must be checked constantly as always.
During the first few days, we follow the tracks of a solitary dagga boy who eventually joins a large herd of about sixty buffalo.
We reach the top of a hill and spot the herd below us.
Dalton, my professional hunter and owner of Dalton & York Safaris, manages to spot the old bull, but he always remains hidden behind the herd and thick bush.
He is the only shootable bull, the others are too young.
Then the wind shifts in their direction and the entire herd run away.
It's late afternoon, so we decide to try again the next day.
We find the herd again, but this time the old dagga boy never appears.
It seems he left the herd during the night.
We move to a new area.
It's almost 11:30 AM, and the heat becomes unbearable.
At a waterhole, the trackers spot fresh buffalo tracks.
Three dagga boys that drank there early in the morning.
These are exactly the kind of tracks we had hoped for.
Dalton and the two trackers follow them for a while to determine their direction.
After discussing it, Dalton decides we should stop for lunch and rest.
During this scorching period, buffalo normally sleep from around 9 AM to 4:30–5 PM (sunset is shortlyafter 6 PM).
Their dark furs absorb solar radiations more intensely, so they suffer the heat more.
The advantage is that we have several hours to track and reach them before they move again.
At 2:40 PM the chase begins.
The dagga boys have climbed steep hills covered in pebbles and dry leaves.
In this way the dagga boys are more hardly reachable.
Sound travels more easily at higher elevations and the wind as well.
Climbing these rocky hills requires intense concentration, considering every step risks making loud noise.
Plus the tracks are very difficult to follow because the ground consists of more rock than sand.
Despite this, Dalton and the trackers do an excellent job and we remain on the trail the entire time.
The bush becomes so thick that visibility is reduced to just tens of meters.
The perfect terrain to search cunning old buffalo bulls.
An unusual event for this season occurs.
The sky becomes cloudy and thunder rumbles nearby.
A storm is approaching, reducing our available time even further.
At around 4:20 PM, we reach the area where the buffalo had been sleeping.
Because the cloudy weather brought unexpected coolness, they woke earlier of what was expected and moved toward the nearest water source.
Their droppings are so fresh that are still warm to the touch and the leaves are wet from urine expelled only few minutes earlier.
Dalton warns me that the buffalo must not be so far.
I have to pay attention like never before.
A little after 5 PM, tracker Tongai crouches suddenly.
He has spotted the hooves of the three dagga boys through the thick bush.
We all crouch and Dalton studies them through binoculars.
All three are old bulls, all shootable.
They are facing us, alert.
Fortunately the wind is good, blowing steadily from right to left due to the approaching storm.
They sense something but cannot identify us through the dense vegetation.
We have been extremely careful, avoiding moving pebbles and stepping on leaves whenever possible.
The other tracker Guy rises slowly and whispers me that we must retreat several meters, one at a time, from the way we came from.
He moves first, then the gamekeeper and the apprentice.
When they stop, it becomes my turn.
I stand carefully and walk back, placing each step with precision.
Tongai follows and Dalton comes last.
The wind remains stable, but if we approached the buffalo directly, they would immediately spot us.
The new strategy is to go down left, cross a small depression and keep ourselves completely hidden while keeping the buffalo on the right in order to have completely the wind in our favor.
Dalton leads, followed by Guy and then me.
We stay low, almost crawling, through the ditch.
During the chase, there is a large rock which absorbs our footsteps.
Another stroke of luck.
Once aligned with the buffalo, we sit.
Dalton rises slightly, sets up the shooting stick and signals me to get up.
As I stand, he suddenly motions for me to crouch again.
I hear one of the buffalo stepping and fear they are about to flee.
But then they stay still.
Dalton moves forward a few meters and sets the stick again.
He signals me to come.
I crawl beside him and stand.
In front of me there is a tangled mass of thick bush.
There is a big black mass.
Immediately I recognize its the Widowmaker.
Dalton points me that.
Before placing the 375, I ask where the head is located.
“He’s looking to the right,” Dalton whispers.
So now I know exactly where to aim.
The bush is so thick that I can see only the shoulder and part of the stomach.
The rest of the body is completely hidden.
The other two bulls are even fully invisible.
The range is about 50 meters.
I studied the cape buffalo’s anatomy well and the heart lies only a few inches above the front leg joint.
As soon as the optic's cross is on that point, I squeeze the trigger.
After the shot, the three dagga boys run into a small clearing on the left.
I see immediately the buffalo I shot is groping with his head down and trudging in the race compared to the other two healty ones.
He doesn't even put well the right frontal leg, moving on the side as like as he is without breath.
I reload instantly and run with Dalton.
The two healthy bulls run straight, while mine turns left toward a light decline.
He is gasping more and more.
I fire offhand and Dalton shoots as well.
The buffalo runs a few more meters and collapses.
As he falls, he begins to bellow.
The sound we want to hear, meaning he is going to die.
“His last gospel words!” Dalton says.
The bellow sends chills through me, it's impressive to hear it in person.
Even though it's sure he will not rise again, I shoot twice more to fasten his death.
At last I have taken my long-awaited and coveted dagga boy!
His boss is hard and smooth.
He has many scars including a very recent pus-filled infection above his right eye.
His age is estimated at 11–12 years.
Very old, considering maximum this big game reaches 15 years in the wild.
Despite his age, both horn tips are perfectly intact and curve backward, keeping the perfect trophy shape.
We have few time for the photos as it's sunset and the storm comes dropping down pouring rain.
Dalton remarks he has never seen such heavy rain in Omay at the beginning of October.
This odd occurance was my blessing that allowed the tough hunt to succeed, ensuring the wind never changed.
The next day we return to skin the buffalo and we notice my first shot went straight through the heart.
If he had only the lungs hit, he could have run much farther with the caliber 375.
Instead after only 70–80 meters, the mighty bovid fell.
This was likely the most thrilling hunt I have ever experienced.
Every moment was incredibly intense and adrenaline-filled.
On the second-to-last evening in camp, we look for hyena.
During the day a blind is built in a clearing and at night a call is played.
Spotted hyenas are fiercely territorial and quickly chase any intruder away.
For this hunt we use a 7mm rifle equipped with a thermal scope.
After fifteen minutes of calling, a hyena answers from a distance and start to approach.
Instead of entering the clearing in front of us, it arrives behind us.
Dalton whispers for me to stay completely motionless like a stone.
I hear the hyena clearly behind me, making creepy calls in response to the artificial call.
It moves to my right.
When I sense it only 15–20 meters away from me, I slowly turn my head.
The moon is full and its glow is so bright that allows me to see its silhouette in the darkness.
My body is frozen, just my heart is beating wildly.
Once the hyena got over me entering in the clear, I finally can move being covered by the blind.
The hyena paces back and forth and I follow it with the thermal viewer.
As the hyena stops perfectly broadside, I shoot.
Through the thermal scope, I watch it run with its head low, make a semicircle and then fall down.
Another unforgettable and thrilling hunt.
It's a mature male with a beautiful spotted coat, perfectly honoring its species’name.
The entire adventure was deeply compelling, made possible by Dalton and his team, whose knowledge of the land and wildlife is extraordinary.
They all showed extremely professionalism and skill leading through a harsh hunt.
A safari in such a rough area brings a higher level of satisfaction combined with the enchantment for these lands.
It is thanks to the big efforts and determination of people like Dalton that these lands keep their untamed and wild beauty.
It is a community area, where many local villages are present.
As a result the animals are generally more alert and skittish, seeing people walking through the bush every day.
The terrain also plays a significant role.
The ground is not flat but filled with hills, some of them quite high.
This makes the hunt physically demanding, especially when you must walk for many kilometers under oppressive heat.
Because of these challenges, the already thrilling and compelling pursuit of the Black Death becomes even more demanding here.
Our safari takes place at the beginning of October, the hottest month of the year.
It is an excellent time to hunt because the extreme dryness limits water sources to only a few areas, concentrating the animals around them.
On the other hand, the ground is covered in dead leaves, making each step so loudly.
For this reason, while tracking, we must move with extreme care, doing everything possible to soften the sound of our footsteps.
Wind direction must be checked constantly as always.
During the first few days, we follow the tracks of a solitary dagga boy who eventually joins a large herd of about sixty buffalo.
We reach the top of a hill and spot the herd below us.
Dalton, my professional hunter and owner of Dalton & York Safaris, manages to spot the old bull, but he always remains hidden behind the herd and thick bush.
He is the only shootable bull, the others are too young.
Then the wind shifts in their direction and the entire herd run away.
It's late afternoon, so we decide to try again the next day.
We find the herd again, but this time the old dagga boy never appears.
It seems he left the herd during the night.
We move to a new area.
It's almost 11:30 AM, and the heat becomes unbearable.
At a waterhole, the trackers spot fresh buffalo tracks.
Three dagga boys that drank there early in the morning.
These are exactly the kind of tracks we had hoped for.
Dalton and the two trackers follow them for a while to determine their direction.
After discussing it, Dalton decides we should stop for lunch and rest.
During this scorching period, buffalo normally sleep from around 9 AM to 4:30–5 PM (sunset is shortlyafter 6 PM).
Their dark furs absorb solar radiations more intensely, so they suffer the heat more.
The advantage is that we have several hours to track and reach them before they move again.
At 2:40 PM the chase begins.
The dagga boys have climbed steep hills covered in pebbles and dry leaves.
In this way the dagga boys are more hardly reachable.
Sound travels more easily at higher elevations and the wind as well.
Climbing these rocky hills requires intense concentration, considering every step risks making loud noise.
Plus the tracks are very difficult to follow because the ground consists of more rock than sand.
Despite this, Dalton and the trackers do an excellent job and we remain on the trail the entire time.
The bush becomes so thick that visibility is reduced to just tens of meters.
The perfect terrain to search cunning old buffalo bulls.
An unusual event for this season occurs.
The sky becomes cloudy and thunder rumbles nearby.
A storm is approaching, reducing our available time even further.
At around 4:20 PM, we reach the area where the buffalo had been sleeping.
Because the cloudy weather brought unexpected coolness, they woke earlier of what was expected and moved toward the nearest water source.
Their droppings are so fresh that are still warm to the touch and the leaves are wet from urine expelled only few minutes earlier.
Dalton warns me that the buffalo must not be so far.
I have to pay attention like never before.
A little after 5 PM, tracker Tongai crouches suddenly.
He has spotted the hooves of the three dagga boys through the thick bush.
We all crouch and Dalton studies them through binoculars.
All three are old bulls, all shootable.
They are facing us, alert.
Fortunately the wind is good, blowing steadily from right to left due to the approaching storm.
They sense something but cannot identify us through the dense vegetation.
We have been extremely careful, avoiding moving pebbles and stepping on leaves whenever possible.
The other tracker Guy rises slowly and whispers me that we must retreat several meters, one at a time, from the way we came from.
He moves first, then the gamekeeper and the apprentice.
When they stop, it becomes my turn.
I stand carefully and walk back, placing each step with precision.
Tongai follows and Dalton comes last.
The wind remains stable, but if we approached the buffalo directly, they would immediately spot us.
The new strategy is to go down left, cross a small depression and keep ourselves completely hidden while keeping the buffalo on the right in order to have completely the wind in our favor.
Dalton leads, followed by Guy and then me.
We stay low, almost crawling, through the ditch.
During the chase, there is a large rock which absorbs our footsteps.
Another stroke of luck.
Once aligned with the buffalo, we sit.
Dalton rises slightly, sets up the shooting stick and signals me to get up.
As I stand, he suddenly motions for me to crouch again.
I hear one of the buffalo stepping and fear they are about to flee.
But then they stay still.
Dalton moves forward a few meters and sets the stick again.
He signals me to come.
I crawl beside him and stand.
In front of me there is a tangled mass of thick bush.
There is a big black mass.
Immediately I recognize its the Widowmaker.
Dalton points me that.
Before placing the 375, I ask where the head is located.
“He’s looking to the right,” Dalton whispers.
So now I know exactly where to aim.
The bush is so thick that I can see only the shoulder and part of the stomach.
The rest of the body is completely hidden.
The other two bulls are even fully invisible.
The range is about 50 meters.
I studied the cape buffalo’s anatomy well and the heart lies only a few inches above the front leg joint.
As soon as the optic's cross is on that point, I squeeze the trigger.
After the shot, the three dagga boys run into a small clearing on the left.
I see immediately the buffalo I shot is groping with his head down and trudging in the race compared to the other two healty ones.
He doesn't even put well the right frontal leg, moving on the side as like as he is without breath.
I reload instantly and run with Dalton.
The two healthy bulls run straight, while mine turns left toward a light decline.
He is gasping more and more.
I fire offhand and Dalton shoots as well.
The buffalo runs a few more meters and collapses.
As he falls, he begins to bellow.
The sound we want to hear, meaning he is going to die.
“His last gospel words!” Dalton says.
The bellow sends chills through me, it's impressive to hear it in person.
Even though it's sure he will not rise again, I shoot twice more to fasten his death.
At last I have taken my long-awaited and coveted dagga boy!
His boss is hard and smooth.
He has many scars including a very recent pus-filled infection above his right eye.
His age is estimated at 11–12 years.
Very old, considering maximum this big game reaches 15 years in the wild.
Despite his age, both horn tips are perfectly intact and curve backward, keeping the perfect trophy shape.
We have few time for the photos as it's sunset and the storm comes dropping down pouring rain.
Dalton remarks he has never seen such heavy rain in Omay at the beginning of October.
This odd occurance was my blessing that allowed the tough hunt to succeed, ensuring the wind never changed.
The next day we return to skin the buffalo and we notice my first shot went straight through the heart.
If he had only the lungs hit, he could have run much farther with the caliber 375.
Instead after only 70–80 meters, the mighty bovid fell.
This was likely the most thrilling hunt I have ever experienced.
Every moment was incredibly intense and adrenaline-filled.
On the second-to-last evening in camp, we look for hyena.
During the day a blind is built in a clearing and at night a call is played.
Spotted hyenas are fiercely territorial and quickly chase any intruder away.
For this hunt we use a 7mm rifle equipped with a thermal scope.
After fifteen minutes of calling, a hyena answers from a distance and start to approach.
Instead of entering the clearing in front of us, it arrives behind us.
Dalton whispers for me to stay completely motionless like a stone.
I hear the hyena clearly behind me, making creepy calls in response to the artificial call.
It moves to my right.
When I sense it only 15–20 meters away from me, I slowly turn my head.
The moon is full and its glow is so bright that allows me to see its silhouette in the darkness.
My body is frozen, just my heart is beating wildly.
Once the hyena got over me entering in the clear, I finally can move being covered by the blind.
The hyena paces back and forth and I follow it with the thermal viewer.
As the hyena stops perfectly broadside, I shoot.
Through the thermal scope, I watch it run with its head low, make a semicircle and then fall down.
Another unforgettable and thrilling hunt.
It's a mature male with a beautiful spotted coat, perfectly honoring its species’name.
The entire adventure was deeply compelling, made possible by Dalton and his team, whose knowledge of the land and wildlife is extraordinary.
They all showed extremely professionalism and skill leading through a harsh hunt.
A safari in such a rough area brings a higher level of satisfaction combined with the enchantment for these lands.
It is thanks to the big efforts and determination of people like Dalton that these lands keep their untamed and wild beauty.
