thegreyghost52
New member
I wrote this up soon after our return and have debated posting it for a while now. However, it was my late grandfather's wish that more people could read the story, so I thought to share it with those who would probably enjoy it the most.
I also never posted an intro post, so I guess this will have to serve in its place, I hope y'all enjoy.
Namibia 2025
Species seen: Kudu, Sable, Eland, Blue and Black Wildebeest, Red Hartebeest, Impala, Duiker, Warthog, Waterbuck, Gemsbok, Zebra, Giraffe, Caracal, Jackal, Aardwolf, Springbok
Outfitter/PH: Elandpro Safaris
Calibers Used: Myself and my dad - 375 Whelen, my friend - 30-06
Reaching Africa is a battle, and honestly, it would be wrong if it were easy. Instead of simple A to B itinerary, the adventurous bwana is faced by a series of inopportunely placed hurdles. This trip required roughly 25 hours trapped in a metal tube, and that was after the point when we gathered in DC. Despite meticulous care in preparing our stacks of documents, dotting every “i” and crossing every “t”, the wide-eyed looks at the Ethiopian Airlines check-in counter did little to inspire confidence in our intrepid crew. Between my father’s less-than-stellar past experiences and a safari hunting virgin, we prepared for the worst. Patience paid off, and the guns and ammo made it through security. With fingers crossed, we headed through ourselves and joined the queue for the plane (after grabbing a 10 AM burger to see us off). This line served as my friend’s first taste of a truth as universal as gravity, TIA. These flights tend to be full of interesting people and interesting smells, and this one was no different. Sitting in the bulkhead, the first nail was placed in my coffin: a mother sitting two seats away with her 3-month-old child, already crying. The second nail? The 6ft 6in giant who was supposed to sit in the window but “wouldn’t fit” and had to have the aisle – my seat. Out of a little kind-heartedness and a lot of fervent desire to return to the dark continent without delay, I bit the bullet and shifted to the middle. Queue 13 hours of only having half of my seat, a child alternating crying and defecating, a mother falling asleep leaning over behind my back, bare toes touching my arm from behind, a man who would not take his arm less than 4in out of my seat, a bassinet in my lap, and without a doubt some of the worst airplane fare I’ve ever had the misfortune of ingesting.
Upon landing in Addis, we knew we had to turn and burn the layover, which included a police checkpoint in the basement, in only about 90 minutes between landing and takeoff. Blessedly, they have changed one part of the process since my dad’s last adventure: they met us at the bottom of the stairs and took us directly to the checkpoint. After we and a couple of hunters heading to TZ made it through, we raced back to the tarmac on a bus and were taken directly to the stairs to our next flight. One more bouncy hop and we returned to Windhoek.
After customs, we were greeted by Dion, the transporter arranged for this journey, a local to Grootfontein. For the ride, we procured 6 bottles of Namibia’s finest (at a price of $6) and washed away our worries with sights of the lush Namibian bush, benefits of a season of heavy rains. Arrival at Mooilaagte saw warm greetings and soft beds – our adventure had begun!
Once enough lead had perforated the paper to satisfy the pair of PHs, we set out with clear goals blazoned in the forefronts of our minds: zebra, gemsbok, and eland. Hopes were high, and nerves were setting in. Jani (our PH), Indra (our bushman accomplice), my friend, and I planned to spend the remainder of the morning stalking into some water holes while the older crew (my dad and his PH, Gerrit – Jani’s father) began to lay groundwork in hopes of a large eland bull. Before we even got off the truck, we saw a few young gemsbok bulls and a few giraffes in the bush, and our first stalk had sightings of eland, kudu, and more young gemsboks. My friend practiced lining up for a shot on a pair of the young oryx a few times to get a feel for the sticks, and with that done, we hopped back onto the truck and set off for another stalk. As my eyes adjusted to old habits of picking up movement through the thick bush, it became readily apparent that we were in for a new kind of rodeo. Already, we were reminded of another universal truth: everything has thorns. This was but one of many lessons the African bush would dispense this safari, but it is one pounded into memory from sheer weight of repetition.
Glassing through the bush revealed a mature oryx – my friend’s first target - in the clearing, so we snuck in closer, and Jani threw up the sticks for my friend from about 80yds. The fumbling spooked the animals, causing the target bull to dart to the edge of the clearing and pause, allowing him to take a shot at around 110yds.
The bullet sailed clear over the bull’s back – a clean miss.
After lunch and siestas, we climbed back aboard the cruisers and set sail for the bush. Compared to our last trip in ’23, the grass was significantly higher, much greener, and nearly every tree was full of leaves. While this made it easier to be unseen, turnabout is fair play, and simply finding animals in the dense vegetation was difficult enough to have us hunting hard day in and day out. The evening proved rather uneventful, but culminated in sighting a stallion standing in the road. We made a hurried (sprinting) stalk, but just as we crawled into 60yds from him, he stepped calmly into the thick bush, never to be seen again. The day, however, was not a total loss as we retired back to a succulent feast of marrow bones and cold Tafel, the African equivalent of mana from Heaven after a hard day.
Day Two, and already we were feeding the salt. However, this day was only just heating up. Additionally, Marie Laveau had claimed her first notch and definitely not her last. The Wicked Women were riding this trip, and their horses were pale.
At midday, we sat as a unit at a waterhole, only observing a uniquely horned waterbuck bull and a few gemsbok cows (notably, this is the most active waterhole sit of the trip for most of us, a distinct departure from previous trips’ trends). The highlight of this sit was each of us holding our breath as a pair of gemsbok cows strolled barely 10yds in front of the blind on their merry way to the salt lick. After a short break back in the Lapa, the evening followed much the same as the morning – cut tracks, attempt to follow, little success. The overwhelming thickness of the bush made even sighting any animal difficult. Just before sunset on the way back to the house, we glassed a roadside field and struck gold: zebras. The issue? They were several hundred yards from the bush line, far beyond my comfortable range. Quickly, we raced off through the bush, working to cut perpendicular to the herd, dodging thorns and keeping as quiet as we could. Leaving my friend behind at the edge of the trees, Jani flipped the sticks upside down, and we made like an oryx to a large bush standing like a proud, lone soldier in the middle of the field. Somehow, we made it without raising the attention of wary herds of wildebeest, springbok, blesbok, zebra, gemsbok, and even eland that were littering the surrounding area. Targeting a stallion and catching my breath, I took my first shot around 160-170yds. He had started walking, and assuming we were busted, I led too far. The round took him through the neck and shoulder, dropping him on the spot as he began rolling and kicking. Racking another round quickly into the chamber, we waited to see the outcome of the first shot.
After a minute, the stallion jumped up and began to run across the field, edging further away with each step. I could see the blood coating the side of his neck and knew two things: one, I hadn’t hit where I needed to, and two, he would probably bleed out soon, but it was my mess to clean up. Leveling my crosshairs along the top of his back and following Jani’s instructions to take a 2m lead, I let the world slow down to a snail’s pace and gently squeezed off another A-Frame. Through the scope, I saw the characteristic hunch of a heart shot in his stride, and he piled up not 40yds further.
Come to find out, this second shot was somewhere between 350 and 400yds, but Marie had my back and sent my primary target for the safari headed for the salt. Day Two’s fire was full of celebration, the first animals were down, and we still had 8 wonderful days ahead.
After a well-earned rest, we set out once again in search of my friend’s first target, looping our way through several bush walks and glassing sessions to a field near which they were known to loiter. On one of these bush walks, we bumped into a large herd of wildebeest browsing in and amongst the thick camelthorns. The whole herd, well into the double digits strong, was arrayed in an arc from our 12 to 4 o’clock at around 50yds distant, partially obscured by a screen of leafy thorns. Unfortunately, Jani had already called Indra with the car, and we will never know if they spooked from Jani yelling on the radio or the car he was trying in vain to stop. Spectating their departure made me very glad they chose the opposite direction from us.
After arriving at the field, we saw a fair few other species flitting in and out of the tree line, but we did not lay eyes on an oryx until our drive out, when we passed one on his way in for dinner. Rapidly, we clambered down and set off in dogged pursuit, cutting a quick clip through the bush but never managing to glimpse a further hair. Just as we were preparing to call the car and the sun was fading, a sizeable warthog popped out around 100yd down the bush line from us, just past a grazing duiker, on its merry way to dinner. Jani threw up the sticks for my friend, who, after attempting to settle, sent 200gr of Swift metal above the pig.
With another target species down, cold shots of Jaeger were abundant for the bwanas in camp this night.
After another midday spent at a waterhole reading a book and not watching African game, we hit the bush again with the same goals in mind. This time, once we saw the waterbuck’s tracks, Jani deposited Indra and me with to search for the bull. This stately animal had entranced me on my first trip to Africa, so we set off in earnest. Indra, I think, took the concerns of stealth a little too seriously and insisted on traipsing through the thickest, longest, and sharpest thorn thicket I have ever had the misfortune of soldiering through. Obviously, this had the opposite effect. With the racket we made, it was pure luck that we even heard him at all, but that was several hundred yards away and after we had crossed back to the road to wait for the others (and for Indra to chain-smoke a few home-rolled darts). Though they encountered a springbok ram in the bush, they could not manage a shot, so our team went back to the open grass fields in search of the ever elusive oryx.
With sunset fast approaching, we snuck down one of the short sides of the bush, glassing into the field every few steps, hoping to spy the long straight horns of an oryx above the grass. As luck would have it, two sets of scimitars were flashing above the tall green curtain. For the second night in a row, the lesson was “Running Through the Bush with Jani” and class was in session. Hurrying a few hundred meters through the grass and thorns, the last fifty on our knees, Jani began to leopard crawl. Briefly hesitating, my friend followed suit. Purely in the interest of noise levels and not at all the plethora of broken thorn sprigs in front of me, I judiciously decided to wait behind, allowing the other two to maneuver through the grass with one less hindrance. Another 50m beyond me, Jani set up the sticks, allowing plenty of time to settle and sight the bull approximately 120yds into the grass. Again, a miss.
Putting our heads together, Jani, my father, and I decided to enact Plan B. Switch to the back up rifle we had ferried along for any unforeseen circumstances, go to the range early the next morning to practice from sticks, employ the front and rear supporting sticks for extra stability, limit range to around 150yds maximum, and finally take the first good, mature animal we could achieve with these criteria, regardless of species. Above all else, we all wanted success for our nascent hunter badly, and all joined in the effort to support the cause.
After this excitement, and a few more cups of coffee to warm our bones, we headed once more into the veld, eager to see what the bush would provide. With the other crew once again searching for sable spoor, we undertook a series of bushwalks, culminating in a close brush with a younger kudu bull and cows, whom we played cat and mouse with for nearly half an hour, and a warthog investigating the disturbance of its domain from a near 10yds. No shots provided themselves, so we returned to the high seats and headed for the open fields lining the road. A quick glass revealed a small herd of combined wildebeest and zebra. My friend was up, and we trooped through the cover of the thorns towards our quarry. After a short stalk, Jani set the sticks up and instructed him to take his time, as the animals were as yet unaware of our presence. From my knees, I looked through my binoculars to observe the shot. The rifle spat fire, and a zebra stallion dropped. Success! Seeing my best friend progress so far in such a short time was a proud moment for me.
It was only after the fact that we remembered his one instruction from his fiancée: don’t come home with a zebra. Apparently, the bush doesn’t place much stock in her desires, and as it turns out, the bush and I have that in common.
Post zebra, we retired to the Lapa to celebrate with a couple of servings of Tafel and a fresh brunch spread. Positive news was apparently in the air this morning as the other group had laid (some of) their eyes on the deep, satiny black coat of a mature sable bull.
Siestas accomplished, we headed back out to check the tracks of the wayward Waterbuck. He was still pacing a fence line. Cutting around to gain the advantage of the wind, we slipped over the fence’s wires and followed the tracks. Considering the paths of travel, this put the bull and our group on a collision course, so it was vital that we were the first to identify the other. This time, we stayed out of the green hell and headed through the thorns and sand closer to the fence line with Jani in front, followed by me, and my friend bringing up the rear. Though we would stop to glass every few hundred yards, we saw neither horn nor hair for roughly the first 5km.
After calling the car, Jani climbed the fence, gaining elevation to see just a bit further, and struck paydirt. Stopping the car, we set out to quietly close the nearly a kilometer between us and the bull. Sweating, sandy, and thoroughly poked, we steadily ate up the distance in a crouch. Every 100yds, one of us would pop up ever so slowly to check his position, and with all good, we would creep on. It is rather hard to make like a ninja in the night when every third step, some sharp, pointy adversary decides to announce its presence. Somewhere between 400 and 500yds out, we left my friend behind to minimize noise and began closing the final distance. It was now my turn to leopard crawl, but my course was through a set of thorns only 8in off the ground. Somehow, Jani and I made it through without spooking the bull, and attempted to get on the sticks about 100yds out. Leaning against the fence with just one foot on terra firma, I could not locate the bull through the scope as he was hidden fully in the bush and shade, so we closed further in, taking pains to be utterly silent. At 75yds behind a bush, we tried again. This time, I was able to locate the bull, but the only visible part was the white flash above his nose. Jani instructed me to place the round 4in below this flash and send it, so taking as short of a moment as I could, I fired as quickly as I had a reasonably stable base. Immediately, Jani grabbed the sticks and turned to me to say “f***ing run,” and we took off on a literal sprint, thorns be d***ed. The bull had dropped on the spot, but we could not see that from where we stood, and if he had run into the thick bush, finding him would have been an endeavor to say the least. It is a testament to my education, practice, and enforced discipline that I can clearly remember having reloaded immediately and only a couple of steps into the sprint, clicked the safety back on. Seconds later, but fully out of breath, we stopped where the bull had been standing and were greeted by the sweetest sight: a bull who had traveled no further from the shot and who did not disappear into the dense bush or worse, leave nothing behind but a faint trail of blood. To quote Jani on our arrival at his majesty, “this is why you use enough gun” – marginal shots through brush into shadows with a small target.
Apparently, my friend had a much easier time not sprinting and crawling through the bush, but I think the celebratory shots that night tasted all the better for the effort, sweat, and literal blood spent this afternoon. That night, as we retired to the witchery of the fire, gazing on herds of eland, springbok, and waterbuck, we toasted these beautiful creatures and thanked God himself for delivering us to this slice of his kingdom on Earth.
Deploying from the high seats, we set off through the sandy bush towards our quarry. Quietly, coldly, and patiently slipping from thorn to bush and back again, we snuck to the edge of the cover. Leaning out from behind the last tree between us and the gemsbok, we found a surprise: she had a young calf following steadily in her wake. Leaving them to enjoy the peaceful morning light, we cut back through the bush and returned to the high seats. The morning passed into a series of attempted and failed bushwalks, though we nearly stepped right into blesbok, a sizeable kudu bull, and attempted to gain ground on an oryx bull.
In route back to the house, Jani deposited us at a new waterhole, eager for new sights and new opportunities. Unfortunately, the two-hour sit trickled by slower than sand falling through an hourglass, with the only entertainment coming from a warthog sow and piglet amusing themselves at the water’s edge.
After lunch and a lengthy siesta, we headed out once more in search of the same targets, hoping to cut tracks or get another glance at the pair of hefty kudu bulls from a few evenings earlier. Once again, the thick African bush severely limited any hopes of sighting an already subtle animal. With the sun setting, we checked once more at the fields near the main road, knowing that the herds had been gathering there to enjoy the last of the sun’s rays. As the light dropped away in the Western sky, we struck through the bush in search of anything from my friend’s list, and at last, we laid eyes on the distinctive horns of a gemsbok. However, he was clear out of range and across the road – scrambling, we made for the truck with a plan: gun it across to the other side and send the truck on in a ruse that it had continued. Hanging on tight, we flew across the opening and hurried through the bush. With light and time and keen senses against us, we rode the fine line of speed and stealth. Reaching the edge of the bush, Jani dropped the sticks into position, and my friend settled in for a shot. His first shot, a frontal chest shot, was true, and the bull ran a scant few yards into the cover, collapsing within sight of the field.
At long last, redemption was achieved and goals were accomplished. Everyone on the trip had hardware to bring back home.
This morning we shivered for naught, and after returning to thaw ourselves with fire and coffee, we headed out for a few bush walks and a brief sit at a waterhole. Each of these endeavors proved uneventful, but still time spent gladly in paradise, on the other side, however, excitement abounded. My father had successfully taken his second target, a sable was in the salt, and with a 200m frontal shot at that.
Now, we just need to wait out the glacially passing months to see it again and for my mother’s reaction to a hefty African shoulder mount on the wall. Some gifts from the bush demand to be honored, consequences be d***ed. We returned to a lunchtime celebration, as a hard-earned trophy had been taken at long last.
Still with my friend taking the lead, we set off in pursuit of cull wildebeest and to build some more confidence before taking on any ghosts. Despite the morning’s chill, the days were heating up to a dry, sweaty temperature as we crept through different thickets of bush. Though not on the menu, we chanced upon a lone tank of a bull blue wildebeest, sashaying his way towards our own target, a herd of cows buried in some of the thickest bush to date. Deciding to roll the dice, we cut across in front of the bull and started dodging sticks, attempting to close the 300m to the cows. Though we closed in quite close and my friend got on the sticks, he was never presented with a quality shot opportunity. Undismayed, we headed back to the cruiser, intent on switching up the batting order the next morning. As the sun faded, we checked the large fields for any kudu bulls. Just at the edge of the bush, we found one nosing after the cows, but in a nearly impossible position to reach. Jani and my friend grabbed their gear and hung on to the bumper, planning to airdrop into the edge of the field (I chose to sit this one out and observe the free entertainment through binoculars). Sneaking across the wide open field, they made a valiant effort in vain, and I watched through the glass as the graceful animals slipped away from them into the trees. Regardless, the hunters returned to the car in high spirits.
A minute later, the crack of a rifle reached my ears, and I waited hopefully, expecting another animal to fall and the customary celebration to ensue. I would be disappointed in these hopes. Unfortunately, he had gut shot his wildebeest, and now the herd was crossing the road and rapidly gaining nearly a distance from our position. Worse, we could see his cow working to return to the crowd. Knowing that if she managed to mingle with the other cows, we would be in for a very long day, we piled into the cruiser with instructions to load and make ready.
Jani gunned it across the open field, through the ditch, over the road, back across a ditch, and pulled up 200m or so from the steadily moving line. Understanding this was a mess we could not fool around with cleaning, we set up to try again. My friend fired again to no visible effect twice, as I placed a second shot into her hip socket, effectively breaking her down and ending the chase. My friend put one coup de grace through her vitals from close range, and the noise pollution ceased.
Happily, we snoozed away the heat of the day, content with the morning’s excitement. On the docket for the evening, we planned to investigate the side property, a known haven for kudu. This long, narrow, and thickly vegetated plot did not disappoint; we laid eyes on well into the double digits of the majestic creatures, including a few worth a longer look. Unfortunately, all of this action took place in the last two minutes of reasonable shooting light – not an adventure any of us was eager to pursue. On the way back to the house, I was introduced to another new African species, an aardwolf, which scampered along the road and through the fence, evidently about a night’s mischief.
Just as we prepared to return to the warmth of the Lapa, we laid eyes on our target. Naturally, they were a clear kilometer and a half away and loitering in a wide open field. Racing, we maneuvered around to make the stalk, but by the time we made the loop, the workers had begun emerging into the field. Taking offense to this intrusion, the kudu departed. Taking notes, we decided to return late in the day to this same field after amusing ourselves with another midday waterhole reading session.
Climbing back off the cruiser around 4:30 PM, we rolled out super light - packing just rifles and glass to the edge of the field. This would prove to be a fun one as the field was 500yds wide by well over 1000yds long. We posted up at the fence line, straining through our binoculars to make out which of the several bulls across the open grass were mature. For the first time, I was envious of anyone wielding more than 8-power glass. Eventually, a string of cows broke from the cover at the edge of the field, followed by a bull. The setting sun caught the curvature of his horns, and sure enough, they were coming back forwards. I got Jani’s attention, and we agreed this was the one to chase. Glancing at each other, we schemed up a dream and made our play.
The light was firmly in the other corner of the ring, so we set off briskly, needing to cross the short axis and then cut distance on the bull. Once again, Professor Jani was teaching a refresher lesson on running through the bush. My friend was hung up by multiple limbs no less than 3 separate times, much to my amusement. Once, he was so thoroughly entangled that he lost Jani ahead of him and struck out tangentially to our course, requiring redirection from the train’s caboose.
Once we finished the short axis and returned to the bush, we emphasized silence in the remainder of our stalk, carefully extracting thorns instead of ripping through them, placing each foot with care. Every few hundred meters we would check that the animals had not moved off and continue creeping closer.
Finally, with the sky painted peach and purple, we reached a point of no return. We could get no closer with the time remaining, so Jani put up the sticks and coached him through the shot. I knelt nearby, watching the bull through glass to provide feedback on any misses. As it turns out, this service was unnecessary as our young hunter shot true and cleanly killed his bull. If I thought I was proud before, I was wrong, this was a new high.
Following the load of yet another 1000+ lb animal, my friend and I headed once more to amuse ourselves at a waterhole, while my dad set off in pursuit of his own cull wildebeest. Again, we struck out at the waterhole, a trend that held for our whole time in Namibia due to a combination of a long rainy season, still green bush, ample water amongst the thorns, and a waning moon. However, doing things the hard and proper way gave them significant meaning. There was not a singular trophy on this safari that fell into our laps. Each animal was purposefully pursued, (mostly) cleanly taken, and thanked for its sacrifice.
That evening, we up to cull warthogs for committing an unforgivable sin: raiding the crops. As far as last evenings of trips go, we could do far worse than watching the sun sink with African beer in hand, waiting on the pigs to make an error. By the time Jani retrieved me in the truck, only one had come in range, and she would be making the ride back to the house (atop Jani’s stack of three). Just as we were loading the back, it sounded like someone was kicking off yet another Bush War across the field, so we hurried around to my friend. Though he had waited until the last possible moment, he added two further intruders to the tally. Quite the bwana indeed.
Upon returning to the house, we were greeted by a happy surprise – Andre, our driver for many adventures on our last safari, had returned to see us to the airport in the morning. We caught up with many smiles and share the good news of my sister’s wedding, my singleness, and his “much newer model” of girlfriend. It was heartwarming to see him again and listen to stories of a life spent in Africa. Additionally, we met a newcomer to Africa, a British man named James, who had set a goal to cycle from Swakopmund on the West coast of the continent to Dar es Salaam on the Eastern shore, a journey of several months and many perils. For an old chap, he had incredible stories: skiing across Antarctica and hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, to say the least. He had chanced upon Mooilaagte on a local’s recommendation, and after asking for somewhere to pitch his tent, was greeted instead by fresh eland steaks, cold beer, and good conversation. Hopefully, this was the first of many times Africa will teach him the lesson to take what the bush provides.
The early morning saw sad goodbyes and heartfelt thanks. Another wonderful safari in the books with many lessons learned, the least important of which were about game, rifles, and silence, and the most important about friends, laughter, and life.
I also never posted an intro post, so I guess this will have to serve in its place, I hope y'all enjoy.
Namibia 2025
Species seen: Kudu, Sable, Eland, Blue and Black Wildebeest, Red Hartebeest, Impala, Duiker, Warthog, Waterbuck, Gemsbok, Zebra, Giraffe, Caracal, Jackal, Aardwolf, Springbok
Outfitter/PH: Elandpro Safaris
Calibers Used: Myself and my dad - 375 Whelen, my friend - 30-06
Prologue: The Most Miserable 13 Hours of My Life
Every good story has a moral, and this day’s tale is no different: there is no damage a cold Namibian lager cannot heal.Reaching Africa is a battle, and honestly, it would be wrong if it were easy. Instead of simple A to B itinerary, the adventurous bwana is faced by a series of inopportunely placed hurdles. This trip required roughly 25 hours trapped in a metal tube, and that was after the point when we gathered in DC. Despite meticulous care in preparing our stacks of documents, dotting every “i” and crossing every “t”, the wide-eyed looks at the Ethiopian Airlines check-in counter did little to inspire confidence in our intrepid crew. Between my father’s less-than-stellar past experiences and a safari hunting virgin, we prepared for the worst. Patience paid off, and the guns and ammo made it through security. With fingers crossed, we headed through ourselves and joined the queue for the plane (after grabbing a 10 AM burger to see us off). This line served as my friend’s first taste of a truth as universal as gravity, TIA. These flights tend to be full of interesting people and interesting smells, and this one was no different. Sitting in the bulkhead, the first nail was placed in my coffin: a mother sitting two seats away with her 3-month-old child, already crying. The second nail? The 6ft 6in giant who was supposed to sit in the window but “wouldn’t fit” and had to have the aisle – my seat. Out of a little kind-heartedness and a lot of fervent desire to return to the dark continent without delay, I bit the bullet and shifted to the middle. Queue 13 hours of only having half of my seat, a child alternating crying and defecating, a mother falling asleep leaning over behind my back, bare toes touching my arm from behind, a man who would not take his arm less than 4in out of my seat, a bassinet in my lap, and without a doubt some of the worst airplane fare I’ve ever had the misfortune of ingesting.
Upon landing in Addis, we knew we had to turn and burn the layover, which included a police checkpoint in the basement, in only about 90 minutes between landing and takeoff. Blessedly, they have changed one part of the process since my dad’s last adventure: they met us at the bottom of the stairs and took us directly to the checkpoint. After we and a couple of hunters heading to TZ made it through, we raced back to the tarmac on a bus and were taken directly to the stairs to our next flight. One more bouncy hop and we returned to Windhoek.
After customs, we were greeted by Dion, the transporter arranged for this journey, a local to Grootfontein. For the ride, we procured 6 bottles of Namibia’s finest (at a price of $6) and washed away our worries with sights of the lush Namibian bush, benefits of a season of heavy rains. Arrival at Mooilaagte saw warm greetings and soft beds – our adventure had begun!
Day 1: A Swing and a Miss
Our first day began with the usual: checking rifles and making adjustments post-travel (and laughing at the snake proof gaiters my friend thought were necessary). Without fail, it took a few shots for each of us and more for some.Once enough lead had perforated the paper to satisfy the pair of PHs, we set out with clear goals blazoned in the forefronts of our minds: zebra, gemsbok, and eland. Hopes were high, and nerves were setting in. Jani (our PH), Indra (our bushman accomplice), my friend, and I planned to spend the remainder of the morning stalking into some water holes while the older crew (my dad and his PH, Gerrit – Jani’s father) began to lay groundwork in hopes of a large eland bull. Before we even got off the truck, we saw a few young gemsbok bulls and a few giraffes in the bush, and our first stalk had sightings of eland, kudu, and more young gemsboks. My friend practiced lining up for a shot on a pair of the young oryx a few times to get a feel for the sticks, and with that done, we hopped back onto the truck and set off for another stalk. As my eyes adjusted to old habits of picking up movement through the thick bush, it became readily apparent that we were in for a new kind of rodeo. Already, we were reminded of another universal truth: everything has thorns. This was but one of many lessons the African bush would dispense this safari, but it is one pounded into memory from sheer weight of repetition.
Glassing through the bush revealed a mature oryx – my friend’s first target - in the clearing, so we snuck in closer, and Jani threw up the sticks for my friend from about 80yds. The fumbling spooked the animals, causing the target bull to dart to the edge of the clearing and pause, allowing him to take a shot at around 110yds.
The bullet sailed clear over the bull’s back – a clean miss.
After lunch and siestas, we climbed back aboard the cruisers and set sail for the bush. Compared to our last trip in ’23, the grass was significantly higher, much greener, and nearly every tree was full of leaves. While this made it easier to be unseen, turnabout is fair play, and simply finding animals in the dense vegetation was difficult enough to have us hunting hard day in and day out. The evening proved rather uneventful, but culminated in sighting a stallion standing in the road. We made a hurried (sprinting) stalk, but just as we crawled into 60yds from him, he stepped calmly into the thick bush, never to be seen again. The day, however, was not a total loss as we retired back to a succulent feast of marrow bones and cold Tafel, the African equivalent of mana from Heaven after a hard day.
Day 2: Don’t Ask Me To Do That One Again
There’s a phrase common amongst safari hunters: take what the bush provides. The morning of Day Two was an eloquent reminder of this fact. After several bush walks and following a few large eland bull tracks, we elected to cut one more before lunch. Here, the bush was so thick and thorny that Jani set my friend up with Indra at the corner of the block, instructing them to watch and see what skirted out following our passage. Together, Jani and I punched into the obstacle course following what little we could see of the dinner plate sized tracks in the sand while attempting to maintain as much stealth as possible. We were just settling in for a long hoof when, after only minutes, we interrupted a large male caracal slipping through the thorns like a wraith, a rare sight in daylight hours – in fact, the first my PH had ever seen on a stalk in this area. The sun lit on his ear tufts and the clear back lines running down his face as he crouched and inspected these invaders to his territory. It was a quick shot with little time to steady on the sticks, but the shot was true. To put it mildly, he didn’t much like a 300gr A-Frame at give or take 30yds. Africa has blessed me with two of these beautiful cats, both taken by happenstance in the daylight, each special in his own right.Day Two, and already we were feeding the salt. However, this day was only just heating up. Additionally, Marie Laveau had claimed her first notch and definitely not her last. The Wicked Women were riding this trip, and their horses were pale.
At midday, we sat as a unit at a waterhole, only observing a uniquely horned waterbuck bull and a few gemsbok cows (notably, this is the most active waterhole sit of the trip for most of us, a distinct departure from previous trips’ trends). The highlight of this sit was each of us holding our breath as a pair of gemsbok cows strolled barely 10yds in front of the blind on their merry way to the salt lick. After a short break back in the Lapa, the evening followed much the same as the morning – cut tracks, attempt to follow, little success. The overwhelming thickness of the bush made even sighting any animal difficult. Just before sunset on the way back to the house, we glassed a roadside field and struck gold: zebras. The issue? They were several hundred yards from the bush line, far beyond my comfortable range. Quickly, we raced off through the bush, working to cut perpendicular to the herd, dodging thorns and keeping as quiet as we could. Leaving my friend behind at the edge of the trees, Jani flipped the sticks upside down, and we made like an oryx to a large bush standing like a proud, lone soldier in the middle of the field. Somehow, we made it without raising the attention of wary herds of wildebeest, springbok, blesbok, zebra, gemsbok, and even eland that were littering the surrounding area. Targeting a stallion and catching my breath, I took my first shot around 160-170yds. He had started walking, and assuming we were busted, I led too far. The round took him through the neck and shoulder, dropping him on the spot as he began rolling and kicking. Racking another round quickly into the chamber, we waited to see the outcome of the first shot.
After a minute, the stallion jumped up and began to run across the field, edging further away with each step. I could see the blood coating the side of his neck and knew two things: one, I hadn’t hit where I needed to, and two, he would probably bleed out soon, but it was my mess to clean up. Leveling my crosshairs along the top of his back and following Jani’s instructions to take a 2m lead, I let the world slow down to a snail’s pace and gently squeezed off another A-Frame. Through the scope, I saw the characteristic hunch of a heart shot in his stride, and he piled up not 40yds further.
Come to find out, this second shot was somewhere between 350 and 400yds, but Marie had my back and sent my primary target for the safari headed for the salt. Day Two’s fire was full of celebration, the first animals were down, and we still had 8 wonderful days ahead.
Day 3: Eland Are Really, Really Big
Following Day Two’s excitement, my side of the group decided to dedicate the next couple of days to some hard oryx hunting to notch my compadre’s first African animal. Like the other mornings of the trip, we hit the cruiser early and started searching for spoor. Day Three was our first cold day of the trip, with early morning temperatures hovering in the high 30s. Riding in the raised seats at the back of a cruiser was bone-chilling to say the least, and this was far from the last frigid weather we would encounter in the desert. This morning’s stalks and bushwalks were rather quiet, serving as a peaceful time of appreciation and reflection. Around this time, while heading back towards hot coffee at the house, Jani’s radio buzzed with chatter from the other half of our crew. With haste, we cut across to the other side of the farm to aid in our new mission: tracking a mortally wounded eland bull. As both teams converged where the bull headed into the thick stuff, my friend and I posted up on one side of the block, covering the perimeter in case the bull chose to evacuate the area. Not 5 minutes later, we happily heard the report of a 375W. After we eventually found them in the thick bush, we set about the hard labor of loading the huge creature, an affair fueled by the thought of it hitting our tables later in the trip.After a well-earned rest, we set out once again in search of my friend’s first target, looping our way through several bush walks and glassing sessions to a field near which they were known to loiter. On one of these bush walks, we bumped into a large herd of wildebeest browsing in and amongst the thick camelthorns. The whole herd, well into the double digits strong, was arrayed in an arc from our 12 to 4 o’clock at around 50yds distant, partially obscured by a screen of leafy thorns. Unfortunately, Jani had already called Indra with the car, and we will never know if they spooked from Jani yelling on the radio or the car he was trying in vain to stop. Spectating their departure made me very glad they chose the opposite direction from us.
After arriving at the field, we saw a fair few other species flitting in and out of the tree line, but we did not lay eyes on an oryx until our drive out, when we passed one on his way in for dinner. Rapidly, we clambered down and set off in dogged pursuit, cutting a quick clip through the bush but never managing to glimpse a further hair. Just as we were preparing to call the car and the sun was fading, a sizeable warthog popped out around 100yd down the bush line from us, just past a grazing duiker, on its merry way to dinner. Jani threw up the sticks for my friend, who, after attempting to settle, sent 200gr of Swift metal above the pig.
With another target species down, cold shots of Jaeger were abundant for the bwanas in camp this night.
Day 4: Almost a Good Story
Still with the goal of my friends’s first African animal at the forefront of our minds, Day Four began as the others: a cup of coffee, a cup of Rooibos, and off to brave the bitter winds on the cruiser. Per usual, the fields alongside the roads were populated with large herds of a variety of species, but nothing from this day’s wants. The morning passed with a fair inconsequence - the other group was putting in the hours and miles and headaches necessary to achieve one of the pinnacles of African plains game: the sable bull, while we spent the hours slipping from thorn to thorn through the dense bushveld. Ultimately, neither group was successful this morning, but we received reports that a waterbuck bull of some caliber was sighted after disappearing days before.After another midday spent at a waterhole reading a book and not watching African game, we hit the bush again with the same goals in mind. This time, once we saw the waterbuck’s tracks, Jani deposited Indra and me with to search for the bull. This stately animal had entranced me on my first trip to Africa, so we set off in earnest. Indra, I think, took the concerns of stealth a little too seriously and insisted on traipsing through the thickest, longest, and sharpest thorn thicket I have ever had the misfortune of soldiering through. Obviously, this had the opposite effect. With the racket we made, it was pure luck that we even heard him at all, but that was several hundred yards away and after we had crossed back to the road to wait for the others (and for Indra to chain-smoke a few home-rolled darts). Though they encountered a springbok ram in the bush, they could not manage a shot, so our team went back to the open grass fields in search of the ever elusive oryx.
With sunset fast approaching, we snuck down one of the short sides of the bush, glassing into the field every few steps, hoping to spy the long straight horns of an oryx above the grass. As luck would have it, two sets of scimitars were flashing above the tall green curtain. For the second night in a row, the lesson was “Running Through the Bush with Jani” and class was in session. Hurrying a few hundred meters through the grass and thorns, the last fifty on our knees, Jani began to leopard crawl. Briefly hesitating, my friend followed suit. Purely in the interest of noise levels and not at all the plethora of broken thorn sprigs in front of me, I judiciously decided to wait behind, allowing the other two to maneuver through the grass with one less hindrance. Another 50m beyond me, Jani set up the sticks, allowing plenty of time to settle and sight the bull approximately 120yds into the grass. Again, a miss.
Putting our heads together, Jani, my father, and I decided to enact Plan B. Switch to the back up rifle we had ferried along for any unforeseen circumstances, go to the range early the next morning to practice from sticks, employ the front and rear supporting sticks for extra stability, limit range to around 150yds maximum, and finally take the first good, mature animal we could achieve with these criteria, regardless of species. Above all else, we all wanted success for our nascent hunter badly, and all joined in the effort to support the cause.
Day 5: The Things You Earn Are Far Sweeter
Up early and braving the chill, team young bucks took the quick soiree on the cruiser to the range. Eschewing paper, we selected a roughly basketball-sized rock as a target. Instructing my friend to take his time, settle down, and aim squarely for the center of the rock, we waited for the rifle’s report. Smoked it. Reload and smoke the remaining half. Confidence sufficiently buoyed, we headed back to the Lapa for more of Maakie’s delicious food and to gameplan the morning’s stalks.After this excitement, and a few more cups of coffee to warm our bones, we headed once more into the veld, eager to see what the bush would provide. With the other crew once again searching for sable spoor, we undertook a series of bushwalks, culminating in a close brush with a younger kudu bull and cows, whom we played cat and mouse with for nearly half an hour, and a warthog investigating the disturbance of its domain from a near 10yds. No shots provided themselves, so we returned to the high seats and headed for the open fields lining the road. A quick glass revealed a small herd of combined wildebeest and zebra. My friend was up, and we trooped through the cover of the thorns towards our quarry. After a short stalk, Jani set the sticks up and instructed him to take his time, as the animals were as yet unaware of our presence. From my knees, I looked through my binoculars to observe the shot. The rifle spat fire, and a zebra stallion dropped. Success! Seeing my best friend progress so far in such a short time was a proud moment for me.
Post zebra, we retired to the Lapa to celebrate with a couple of servings of Tafel and a fresh brunch spread. Positive news was apparently in the air this morning as the other group had laid (some of) their eyes on the deep, satiny black coat of a mature sable bull.
Siestas accomplished, we headed back out to check the tracks of the wayward Waterbuck. He was still pacing a fence line. Cutting around to gain the advantage of the wind, we slipped over the fence’s wires and followed the tracks. Considering the paths of travel, this put the bull and our group on a collision course, so it was vital that we were the first to identify the other. This time, we stayed out of the green hell and headed through the thorns and sand closer to the fence line with Jani in front, followed by me, and my friend bringing up the rear. Though we would stop to glass every few hundred yards, we saw neither horn nor hair for roughly the first 5km.
After calling the car, Jani climbed the fence, gaining elevation to see just a bit further, and struck paydirt. Stopping the car, we set out to quietly close the nearly a kilometer between us and the bull. Sweating, sandy, and thoroughly poked, we steadily ate up the distance in a crouch. Every 100yds, one of us would pop up ever so slowly to check his position, and with all good, we would creep on. It is rather hard to make like a ninja in the night when every third step, some sharp, pointy adversary decides to announce its presence. Somewhere between 400 and 500yds out, we left my friend behind to minimize noise and began closing the final distance. It was now my turn to leopard crawl, but my course was through a set of thorns only 8in off the ground. Somehow, Jani and I made it through without spooking the bull, and attempted to get on the sticks about 100yds out. Leaning against the fence with just one foot on terra firma, I could not locate the bull through the scope as he was hidden fully in the bush and shade, so we closed further in, taking pains to be utterly silent. At 75yds behind a bush, we tried again. This time, I was able to locate the bull, but the only visible part was the white flash above his nose. Jani instructed me to place the round 4in below this flash and send it, so taking as short of a moment as I could, I fired as quickly as I had a reasonably stable base. Immediately, Jani grabbed the sticks and turned to me to say “f***ing run,” and we took off on a literal sprint, thorns be d***ed. The bull had dropped on the spot, but we could not see that from where we stood, and if he had run into the thick bush, finding him would have been an endeavor to say the least. It is a testament to my education, practice, and enforced discipline that I can clearly remember having reloaded immediately and only a couple of steps into the sprint, clicked the safety back on. Seconds later, but fully out of breath, we stopped where the bull had been standing and were greeted by the sweetest sight: a bull who had traveled no further from the shot and who did not disappear into the dense bush or worse, leave nothing behind but a faint trail of blood. To quote Jani on our arrival at his majesty, “this is why you use enough gun” – marginal shots through brush into shadows with a small target.
Apparently, my friend had a much easier time not sprinting and crawling through the bush, but I think the celebratory shots that night tasted all the better for the effort, sweat, and literal blood spent this afternoon. That night, as we retired to the witchery of the fire, gazing on herds of eland, springbok, and waterbuck, we toasted these beautiful creatures and thanked God himself for delivering us to this slice of his kingdom on Earth.
Day 6: Lessons Slowly Learned
Now that every bwana had something spread on the floor of the salt room, we took a slower start to the next morning, hoping not to need every scrap of clean clothing to survive the first ride. I never expected to be so grateful for the fireplace by the coffee, but huddling around it was fast becoming a morning tradition. With my safari’s goals well satisfied, I tagged along behind my friend as we continued enjoying the wilds of Africa. Still in search of hardware, we decided to spend the early mornings and late evenings on oryx and the midday heat on kudu. Standing on the roof of the cruiser, we just made out a pair of long, straight horns pushing through the tall grass of the open field near the house. Piling into the vehicle, we raced in a loop around all of the wary eyes, but passing a pleasant sight: a small herd of red hartebeest, including two calves, which were the first sighting to confirm they had survived the past years’ droughts.Deploying from the high seats, we set off through the sandy bush towards our quarry. Quietly, coldly, and patiently slipping from thorn to bush and back again, we snuck to the edge of the cover. Leaning out from behind the last tree between us and the gemsbok, we found a surprise: she had a young calf following steadily in her wake. Leaving them to enjoy the peaceful morning light, we cut back through the bush and returned to the high seats. The morning passed into a series of attempted and failed bushwalks, though we nearly stepped right into blesbok, a sizeable kudu bull, and attempted to gain ground on an oryx bull.
In route back to the house, Jani deposited us at a new waterhole, eager for new sights and new opportunities. Unfortunately, the two-hour sit trickled by slower than sand falling through an hourglass, with the only entertainment coming from a warthog sow and piglet amusing themselves at the water’s edge.
After lunch and a lengthy siesta, we headed out once more in search of the same targets, hoping to cut tracks or get another glance at the pair of hefty kudu bulls from a few evenings earlier. Once again, the thick African bush severely limited any hopes of sighting an already subtle animal. With the sun setting, we checked once more at the fields near the main road, knowing that the herds had been gathering there to enjoy the last of the sun’s rays. As the light dropped away in the Western sky, we struck through the bush in search of anything from my friend’s list, and at last, we laid eyes on the distinctive horns of a gemsbok. However, he was clear out of range and across the road – scrambling, we made for the truck with a plan: gun it across to the other side and send the truck on in a ruse that it had continued. Hanging on tight, we flew across the opening and hurried through the bush. With light and time and keen senses against us, we rode the fine line of speed and stealth. Reaching the edge of the bush, Jani dropped the sticks into position, and my friend settled in for a shot. His first shot, a frontal chest shot, was true, and the bull ran a scant few yards into the cover, collapsing within sight of the field.
At long last, redemption was achieved and goals were accomplished. Everyone on the trip had hardware to bring back home.
Day 7: What My Mom Doesn’t Know
With everyone’s first goals accomplished, we were afforded an opportunity to help Mooilaagte cull a few blue wildebeest cows from the herd, and with no further plans for myself, I jumped at the chance. With one half of our party still pursuing sable (at this point they were on at least plan D, but had gotten onto the sticks at least once) and my friend’s next target being the elusive kudu bull, we decided to search the earliest morning hours for the spiral horned ghost of the Namibian bush and then turn to this newest challenge.This morning we shivered for naught, and after returning to thaw ourselves with fire and coffee, we headed out for a few bush walks and a brief sit at a waterhole. Each of these endeavors proved uneventful, but still time spent gladly in paradise, on the other side, however, excitement abounded. My father had successfully taken his second target, a sable was in the salt, and with a 200m frontal shot at that.
Now, we just need to wait out the glacially passing months to see it again and for my mother’s reaction to a hefty African shoulder mount on the wall. Some gifts from the bush demand to be honored, consequences be d***ed. We returned to a lunchtime celebration, as a hard-earned trophy had been taken at long last.
Still with my friend taking the lead, we set off in pursuit of cull wildebeest and to build some more confidence before taking on any ghosts. Despite the morning’s chill, the days were heating up to a dry, sweaty temperature as we crept through different thickets of bush. Though not on the menu, we chanced upon a lone tank of a bull blue wildebeest, sashaying his way towards our own target, a herd of cows buried in some of the thickest bush to date. Deciding to roll the dice, we cut across in front of the bull and started dodging sticks, attempting to close the 300m to the cows. Though we closed in quite close and my friend got on the sticks, he was never presented with a quality shot opportunity. Undismayed, we headed back to the cruiser, intent on switching up the batting order the next morning. As the sun faded, we checked the large fields for any kudu bulls. Just at the edge of the bush, we found one nosing after the cows, but in a nearly impossible position to reach. Jani and my friend grabbed their gear and hung on to the bumper, planning to airdrop into the edge of the field (I chose to sit this one out and observe the free entertainment through binoculars). Sneaking across the wide open field, they made a valiant effort in vain, and I watched through the glass as the graceful animals slipped away from them into the trees. Regardless, the hunters returned to the car in high spirits.
Day 8: Starting Another Bush War
Stumbling from bed early the next morning, we dropped my dad off at a waterhole in search of a cow eland for the larder, and headed to our bread and butter area for this safari: the fields lining the road where the herds soaked up the morning’s warm rising sun. The big hand on my watch had not even touched “8” yet, and we were off the truck, creeping through the familiar and ever-so-memorable thorn thickets, closing in on a herd of wildebeest Jani had spotted. They were hugging the tree line, so once again we started to crawl the final yards to the edge. Reaching the last tree, I conferred with Jani on which wildebeest to target, and acknowledged that we would have to step out and immediately fire. With the rising fiery ball painting the sky to our right with a watercolor of pink and purple, we rapidly stepped from behind the last cover available, and I took aim, released my breath, and sent the round through her lungs and heart. The cow fell after running a few yards, cleanly taken, so Jani ran off with my friend to attempt the double while I stood guard.A minute later, the crack of a rifle reached my ears, and I waited hopefully, expecting another animal to fall and the customary celebration to ensue. I would be disappointed in these hopes. Unfortunately, he had gut shot his wildebeest, and now the herd was crossing the road and rapidly gaining nearly a distance from our position. Worse, we could see his cow working to return to the crowd. Knowing that if she managed to mingle with the other cows, we would be in for a very long day, we piled into the cruiser with instructions to load and make ready.
Jani gunned it across the open field, through the ditch, over the road, back across a ditch, and pulled up 200m or so from the steadily moving line. Understanding this was a mess we could not fool around with cleaning, we set up to try again. My friend fired again to no visible effect twice, as I placed a second shot into her hip socket, effectively breaking her down and ending the chase. My friend put one coup de grace through her vitals from close range, and the noise pollution ceased.
Happily, we snoozed away the heat of the day, content with the morning’s excitement. On the docket for the evening, we planned to investigate the side property, a known haven for kudu. This long, narrow, and thickly vegetated plot did not disappoint; we laid eyes on well into the double digits of the majestic creatures, including a few worth a longer look. Unfortunately, all of this action took place in the last two minutes of reasonable shooting light – not an adventure any of us was eager to pursue. On the way back to the house, I was introduced to another new African species, an aardwolf, which scampered along the road and through the fence, evidently about a night’s mischief.
Day 9: The Horn Sounds at Last
Day Nine saw us rising for the earliest morning yet – we had patterned the kudu of the area and learned that almost any success would be at either first or last light. Blaming the recent full moon, we rose before the sun, armed ourselves with coffee, wrapped ourselves in blankets, and set off for a ghost hunt. We rode slowly through the side property, painstakingly glassing every lane and opening, searching for the glint of sun on ivory tips or the blaze of a white chevron in the shade.Just as we prepared to return to the warmth of the Lapa, we laid eyes on our target. Naturally, they were a clear kilometer and a half away and loitering in a wide open field. Racing, we maneuvered around to make the stalk, but by the time we made the loop, the workers had begun emerging into the field. Taking offense to this intrusion, the kudu departed. Taking notes, we decided to return late in the day to this same field after amusing ourselves with another midday waterhole reading session.
Climbing back off the cruiser around 4:30 PM, we rolled out super light - packing just rifles and glass to the edge of the field. This would prove to be a fun one as the field was 500yds wide by well over 1000yds long. We posted up at the fence line, straining through our binoculars to make out which of the several bulls across the open grass were mature. For the first time, I was envious of anyone wielding more than 8-power glass. Eventually, a string of cows broke from the cover at the edge of the field, followed by a bull. The setting sun caught the curvature of his horns, and sure enough, they were coming back forwards. I got Jani’s attention, and we agreed this was the one to chase. Glancing at each other, we schemed up a dream and made our play.
The light was firmly in the other corner of the ring, so we set off briskly, needing to cross the short axis and then cut distance on the bull. Once again, Professor Jani was teaching a refresher lesson on running through the bush. My friend was hung up by multiple limbs no less than 3 separate times, much to my amusement. Once, he was so thoroughly entangled that he lost Jani ahead of him and struck out tangentially to our course, requiring redirection from the train’s caboose.
Once we finished the short axis and returned to the bush, we emphasized silence in the remainder of our stalk, carefully extracting thorns instead of ripping through them, placing each foot with care. Every few hundred meters we would check that the animals had not moved off and continue creeping closer.
Finally, with the sky painted peach and purple, we reached a point of no return. We could get no closer with the time remaining, so Jani put up the sticks and coached him through the shot. I knelt nearby, watching the bull through glass to provide feedback on any misses. As it turns out, this service was unnecessary as our young hunter shot true and cleanly killed his bull. If I thought I was proud before, I was wrong, this was a new high.
Day 10: Friends Old and New
It had been a long-running goal for me to tag along and observe over my dad’s shoulder, a role reversal from what was so common in my childhood. With him still searching for a cow eland for the pantry and little else to do, we combined forces once more and set off into the morning dew. Several likely locations later, we chanced upon a small herd browsing a roadside through the thick stuff. In short order, we started traversing the edge of the bush, Gerrit in the lead, then my father, with me bringing up the rear. Carefully, we covered the 600+m distance towards the herd. After surviving a death glare for a mild cough, I watched through my binoculars while Gerrit placed the sticks into the piled sand that marked the edge of the road. Taking an unstable shot between 180 and 200yds, my father hit the eland, and the herd moved a few yards further. Now, the three of us had a challenge: pick out the wounded cow from the milling crowd. Gerrit took a shot at the one we thought was hit. Impact and chaos ensued in short order. Watching the cow stagger her final steps, I was able to make out two entries inches apart in her torso. Both would have been fatal shots, given enough time, but there was no reason to let it linger. Of the many favorite moments on this safari, this one stood out, as I could not have picked a better person to cheer on.Following the load of yet another 1000+ lb animal, my friend and I headed once more to amuse ourselves at a waterhole, while my dad set off in pursuit of his own cull wildebeest. Again, we struck out at the waterhole, a trend that held for our whole time in Namibia due to a combination of a long rainy season, still green bush, ample water amongst the thorns, and a waning moon. However, doing things the hard and proper way gave them significant meaning. There was not a singular trophy on this safari that fell into our laps. Each animal was purposefully pursued, (mostly) cleanly taken, and thanked for its sacrifice.
That evening, we up to cull warthogs for committing an unforgivable sin: raiding the crops. As far as last evenings of trips go, we could do far worse than watching the sun sink with African beer in hand, waiting on the pigs to make an error. By the time Jani retrieved me in the truck, only one had come in range, and she would be making the ride back to the house (atop Jani’s stack of three). Just as we were loading the back, it sounded like someone was kicking off yet another Bush War across the field, so we hurried around to my friend. Though he had waited until the last possible moment, he added two further intruders to the tally. Quite the bwana indeed.
Upon returning to the house, we were greeted by a happy surprise – Andre, our driver for many adventures on our last safari, had returned to see us to the airport in the morning. We caught up with many smiles and share the good news of my sister’s wedding, my singleness, and his “much newer model” of girlfriend. It was heartwarming to see him again and listen to stories of a life spent in Africa. Additionally, we met a newcomer to Africa, a British man named James, who had set a goal to cycle from Swakopmund on the West coast of the continent to Dar es Salaam on the Eastern shore, a journey of several months and many perils. For an old chap, he had incredible stories: skiing across Antarctica and hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, to say the least. He had chanced upon Mooilaagte on a local’s recommendation, and after asking for somewhere to pitch his tent, was greeted instead by fresh eland steaks, cold beer, and good conversation. Hopefully, this was the first of many times Africa will teach him the lesson to take what the bush provides.
The early morning saw sad goodbyes and heartfelt thanks. Another wonderful safari in the books with many lessons learned, the least important of which were about game, rifles, and silence, and the most important about friends, laughter, and life.
