Yeah, you how tales go... One tale that I remember very well was on our 2nd trip Zimbabwe with my father doing the shooting. A little back story on him, he was not a hunter, he knew firearms, shot a lot skeet and maybe a few doves but nothing with four legs. The first thing he hunted with four legs was a buf, the second was a lion and was hooked real deep going forward. But most of the time he stood behind me on stalks with his camera, maybe a rifle and a castle beer in the pack or several cool ones waiting for him in the rover. He loved Africa and being there with a hell of a group guys. I digress...
On our second trip, Paul Huggins (who knew from our first trip) told my dad he shoot an elephant, since he had already shot two of the big five. Paul and my dad spent a couple of nights around the campfire going over "body shot" placements. So maybe on the third or fourth day we start looking for signs of elephants the same time we were looking for buf tracks and the usual plains game available in the Matetsi. By about two-thirds through a 30 day trip, we had walked miles and miles after elephant, (which is the best part of hunting to me) passed up some smaller bulls and figured if get one we get one.
We had stopped on a little clearing to glass and to wait for another vehicle from (coming from VF) to meet up with us he had seen in the distance. Its was a new group of hunters after lion. Zach, the tracker, had seem some zebra to our east, so Paul figured they would need some bait. I offered up my services, so Zach and I left the rover with just my rifle and sticks. We got a nice stallion and weren't far the truck, so the skinner met up with us and Zach and I head back to the rover. About the time we got back, same maybe 30-45 minutes later, both rovers were an the road and we are just bullshitting about the days hunt the recent stalk we had just made. The new group was ecstatic that they has just watched us stalk and shoot a zebra before that had even made to the camp.
Low and behold a group of Bulls came out to the clearing to our west, maybe 250-300 yards way. To this day I can't remember if was 3 or 4 bulls. Paul was glassing but could not get a look at the left tusk, the right was around 60 lbs. Paul said George (my father) grab your gun, so Zach and I followed along with ours. As we approach, the Bulls were facing the other direction, so we got real close and then got another 10 yards closer (quoting a famous elephant hunter). I was lagging back about five paces behind the three of them. At about 50 yards or less (memory fads me here) the the old bull, swung around, reveling a broken left tusk. I could her Paul say, lets head back. About that time, the bull charges and this was not a mock charge, he meant business and we weren't paying customers. Then a lot yelling was going on, but it was dead quite at the same time as time stood still. I clearly hear my father tell Paul in a raised voice "isn't about time you tell me where to shoot this mother f---- in the head." Paul's response, calm and crystal clear, "George shoot, shoot, Shoot the mother F____ in the head. My dad shot, the Bull turned, Paul and Zach followed up with a volley of shots and I placed in a few in myself. When the dust cleared, the bull was down on his side, less than eight paces away and his mates were long gone. We had all emptied our bolt actions. Somehow my father, I non-hunter, had even load two rounds from his belt in the mag and had emptied those as well. It's amazing what what kind of muscle memory your brain has, even under dire situations.
The two rovers drove up to our position, the new group of hunters were really ecstatic now, my father reached for a castle and the rest is history.
On a side note, my father never left the vehicle that day without his rifle, even if he just following behind on a stalk of a duiker.
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