PhotoCollector73
AH veteran
Excerpt from 'The Hunting Blackbeards of Botswana,' by Brian Marsh:
I was once camped on the Botletle riverbank at Makalamabedi with two South African clients from the Orange Free State. One chap was called Dup, his surname being 'du Plessis,' and the other's name was Gustav. Anyway, Dup was a huge man, about six foot six and as broad as an elephant, while Gustav was short and slim. Gustav was a really likable chap and he went along with whatever I said but Dup knew everything and wouldn't listen to a thing. Dup was a good shot but he certainly didn't know much about lions because when I asked him if he had ever shot a lion, he airily replied, "No, but it is, after all, only a big cat." I nodded in agreement because that indeed is what it actually is, but I remarked, "Yes, you are right, but one that claws, bites, and kills." The day came when we went after Dup's lion, following it after it had eaten from a bait that we had put out for it. We had purposefully gone there latish in the afternoon to give the lion time to eat his fill and then to lie up to digest it. Shorty was in front, tracking along its spoor when he suddenly drew our attention to some hairs on a thorn branch. "Morena, this is a very big lion," he said. "Look how high up in the branches of this thorn bush are the hairs which were pulled out of its mane."
On hearing this Dup insisted on walking in front of Shorty because he said that this was his lion and he was going to shoot it himself without any help from anybody. "Look Dup," I told him, "that's OK but, if you wound it and it charges, I'm going to shoot whether you like it or not. So right now make sure your rifle is loaded and keep your thumb on the safety catch because your lion will likely get up at your feet." "I'm not likely to wound it," he snorted derisively. After we had gone a little further and the bush had begun to thicken he seemed to be having a change of mind because he stopped and quietly said, "Look, Dennis, the bush is getting very thick here so, if I don't get a chance to shoot this lion, then you and Gustav must take the shots offered because I really want it." I turned to his friend and said rather haughtily because I was getting a bit tired of Dup, "Okay Gustav, you heard what Dup said. I don't want him to turn around afterward and say that I shot the lion and that he's going to have a shot at another one." To this Gustav agreed. "Don't worry," he said, "I heard him say that's what he wants." It was not long after this exchange that the lion did exactly what I had warned Dup it would do - it jumped up right in front of Dup. It stood there for a long moment glaring at him, offering the most perfect of all perfect close-range shots. I saw Dup bring up his rifle while at the same time working his bolt to load a cartridge into the breech, which shocked me as I had firmly told him to make sure his rifle was loaded and ready. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
By the time he had loaded his rifle, which of course made the usual clatter, the lion had started to move off. I saw Dup bring his rifle up again as though about to shoot while reloading for a second time. By now the lion was loping away and just about to disappear into the thickets beyond when I fired and broke its back. Then I said in an extremely disgusted tone of voice I'm afraid, "OK, Dup, go in and finish it off. But don't worry, its back is broken and it won't get you." Dup went very cautiously round to the side where he could get a clear shot. He was in such a panic that he still took three shots to finally hit it and finish the job. I told him, "Hey, Dup, what happened? Why didn't you shoot when the lion was standing right in front of you?" "I tried to shoot it twice," he snapped, "but each time my rifle misfired." With that, Shorty, who was watching, went over to where Dup had been standing and picked up the two cartridges that had supposedly misfired, and showed me the undented primers. "Morena, his rifle didn't misfire," he said in Setswana. "He didn't shoot. He was frightened." When we pointed this out to Dup, he still tried to insist that he had two misfires. So I told him to put both cartridges back in his rifle and see for sure if they were dud cartridges, after which he had to admit in a weak voice, looking rather shame-faced. "You know Dennis, I just panicked. I thought I'd loaded and I thought I'd fired but that my rifle didn't go off. I just lost control." All I could think was that Dup was lucky the lion hadn't charged him when it jumped up almost at his feet because, with him being in front, I certainly could not have shot the lion without shooting him as well. So much for the big white hunter and his little pussy-cat lion!
On our way back to camp Dup asked us to please not tell Lola, his blonde girlfriend, that I had had to shoot his lion. Gustav and I agreed to do so, although perhaps a little reluctantly. So imagine our astonishment when we heard Dup telling Lola, without a single blush, a long, exaggerated, and grossly untrue story about his lion hunt. How he had faced a close charge and shot the lion almost at his feet. Not content with that, later that evening while having a night-cap around the campfire. Dup repeated the whole long rigamarole to Lola. Gustav and I were sure he was actually making a joke of it and would end by telling the truth but not a bit of it. I wonder how much Dup's lion hunt was embellished by the time he got back to his home town in the Vrystaat? Something I was to notice throughout my safari career was that the brash and boastful hunters were the worst hunter - and often the most cowardly. They know it all till it happens and then you find that they know nothing at all and their bragging was just a lot of wind. Dup, I'm afraid, was one of those and then suffered the loss of his lion skull because of it.
Dup had brought his own camp-hand along on the safari, an African from his farm who knew nothing about the bush and, instead of allowing Shorty to boil his lion skull to soften the meat and then to scrape it clean as I had instructed, Dup roughly told Shorty he didn't know what he was doing. He took the skull away from him, gave it to his own man, and told him to bury it in the red-hot coals of the fire to burn the meat off it as this would do a better job. Having seen this done, he went to bed. It did the job alright! Just about all that was left of his lion skull in the morning were a few charred teeth. Upon seeing this he flew into a violent rage and wanted to get stuck into his man with his fists, which was when I lost it too and yelled at him to wind his neck back in as it was all his own damned fault for not taking my advice. Well, like all bullies, he crumbled like a melting jelly and didn't say another word. Was I pleased to see the back of him!
I was once camped on the Botletle riverbank at Makalamabedi with two South African clients from the Orange Free State. One chap was called Dup, his surname being 'du Plessis,' and the other's name was Gustav. Anyway, Dup was a huge man, about six foot six and as broad as an elephant, while Gustav was short and slim. Gustav was a really likable chap and he went along with whatever I said but Dup knew everything and wouldn't listen to a thing. Dup was a good shot but he certainly didn't know much about lions because when I asked him if he had ever shot a lion, he airily replied, "No, but it is, after all, only a big cat." I nodded in agreement because that indeed is what it actually is, but I remarked, "Yes, you are right, but one that claws, bites, and kills." The day came when we went after Dup's lion, following it after it had eaten from a bait that we had put out for it. We had purposefully gone there latish in the afternoon to give the lion time to eat his fill and then to lie up to digest it. Shorty was in front, tracking along its spoor when he suddenly drew our attention to some hairs on a thorn branch. "Morena, this is a very big lion," he said. "Look how high up in the branches of this thorn bush are the hairs which were pulled out of its mane."
On hearing this Dup insisted on walking in front of Shorty because he said that this was his lion and he was going to shoot it himself without any help from anybody. "Look Dup," I told him, "that's OK but, if you wound it and it charges, I'm going to shoot whether you like it or not. So right now make sure your rifle is loaded and keep your thumb on the safety catch because your lion will likely get up at your feet." "I'm not likely to wound it," he snorted derisively. After we had gone a little further and the bush had begun to thicken he seemed to be having a change of mind because he stopped and quietly said, "Look, Dennis, the bush is getting very thick here so, if I don't get a chance to shoot this lion, then you and Gustav must take the shots offered because I really want it." I turned to his friend and said rather haughtily because I was getting a bit tired of Dup, "Okay Gustav, you heard what Dup said. I don't want him to turn around afterward and say that I shot the lion and that he's going to have a shot at another one." To this Gustav agreed. "Don't worry," he said, "I heard him say that's what he wants." It was not long after this exchange that the lion did exactly what I had warned Dup it would do - it jumped up right in front of Dup. It stood there for a long moment glaring at him, offering the most perfect of all perfect close-range shots. I saw Dup bring up his rifle while at the same time working his bolt to load a cartridge into the breech, which shocked me as I had firmly told him to make sure his rifle was loaded and ready. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
By the time he had loaded his rifle, which of course made the usual clatter, the lion had started to move off. I saw Dup bring his rifle up again as though about to shoot while reloading for a second time. By now the lion was loping away and just about to disappear into the thickets beyond when I fired and broke its back. Then I said in an extremely disgusted tone of voice I'm afraid, "OK, Dup, go in and finish it off. But don't worry, its back is broken and it won't get you." Dup went very cautiously round to the side where he could get a clear shot. He was in such a panic that he still took three shots to finally hit it and finish the job. I told him, "Hey, Dup, what happened? Why didn't you shoot when the lion was standing right in front of you?" "I tried to shoot it twice," he snapped, "but each time my rifle misfired." With that, Shorty, who was watching, went over to where Dup had been standing and picked up the two cartridges that had supposedly misfired, and showed me the undented primers. "Morena, his rifle didn't misfire," he said in Setswana. "He didn't shoot. He was frightened." When we pointed this out to Dup, he still tried to insist that he had two misfires. So I told him to put both cartridges back in his rifle and see for sure if they were dud cartridges, after which he had to admit in a weak voice, looking rather shame-faced. "You know Dennis, I just panicked. I thought I'd loaded and I thought I'd fired but that my rifle didn't go off. I just lost control." All I could think was that Dup was lucky the lion hadn't charged him when it jumped up almost at his feet because, with him being in front, I certainly could not have shot the lion without shooting him as well. So much for the big white hunter and his little pussy-cat lion!
On our way back to camp Dup asked us to please not tell Lola, his blonde girlfriend, that I had had to shoot his lion. Gustav and I agreed to do so, although perhaps a little reluctantly. So imagine our astonishment when we heard Dup telling Lola, without a single blush, a long, exaggerated, and grossly untrue story about his lion hunt. How he had faced a close charge and shot the lion almost at his feet. Not content with that, later that evening while having a night-cap around the campfire. Dup repeated the whole long rigamarole to Lola. Gustav and I were sure he was actually making a joke of it and would end by telling the truth but not a bit of it. I wonder how much Dup's lion hunt was embellished by the time he got back to his home town in the Vrystaat? Something I was to notice throughout my safari career was that the brash and boastful hunters were the worst hunter - and often the most cowardly. They know it all till it happens and then you find that they know nothing at all and their bragging was just a lot of wind. Dup, I'm afraid, was one of those and then suffered the loss of his lion skull because of it.
Dup had brought his own camp-hand along on the safari, an African from his farm who knew nothing about the bush and, instead of allowing Shorty to boil his lion skull to soften the meat and then to scrape it clean as I had instructed, Dup roughly told Shorty he didn't know what he was doing. He took the skull away from him, gave it to his own man, and told him to bury it in the red-hot coals of the fire to burn the meat off it as this would do a better job. Having seen this done, he went to bed. It did the job alright! Just about all that was left of his lion skull in the morning were a few charred teeth. Upon seeing this he flew into a violent rage and wanted to get stuck into his man with his fists, which was when I lost it too and yelled at him to wind his neck back in as it was all his own damned fault for not taking my advice. Well, like all bullies, he crumbled like a melting jelly and didn't say another word. Was I pleased to see the back of him!
