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We are pleased to share the seventh instalment of our Rigby Community in the Field series.
Created to honour the character, spirit and experiences of those who carry a Rigby afield, this series gives voice to the men and women who form our global community. Each story is presented in the hunter’s own words wherever possible, preserving the authenticity, perspective and personality behind the pursuit.
In this edition of Rigby Community in the Field, Dale Evans reflects on a journey that began years before he set foot in Africa. What started with the commissioning of a bespoke Rigby .470 Nitro Express double rifle became a pursuit in its own right, one that would eventually lead him to the swamps and floodplains of Namibia’s Caprivi Strip in search of elephant.
Part rifle story, part hunting adventure, Dale’s account follows the making of a dangerous game rifle from the gunsmith’s bench to the moment it was called upon to perform exactly as intended. Along the way, he shares the challenges of hunting elephant in one of Africa’s most demanding environments, the importance of preparation and patience, and the deep respect that underpins both the hunt and the traditions surrounding it.
A rifle worthy of the dream
There are moments in life when intention becomes inevitability. For me, that moment began not in Africa, but in a convention hall, standing in front of a display of rifles from John Rigby & Company.
At the time, Rigby was a storied name with nearly three centuries of craftsmanship behind it. Their rifles are more than tools, they’re heirlooms that rather than own, you commit to. When I was measured and fitted for a custom double .470 Nitro Express rifle, it felt more like being tailored for a piece of history than purchasing equipment. But a rifle like that creates its own gravity, and it needs a purpose. And in Africa, there is one particular purpose worthy of it.
The making of a dangerous game rifle
The first time I shouldered it, still unfinished “in the white,” I knew it was something different. A properly fitted double rifle doesn’t require adjustment; instead, it becomes an extension of your body. The sights aligned instinctively and the balance was immediate. There was a familiarity, as if I had been shooting it my entire life.
The process of regulating the rifle was as much art as science. Heat, solder, minute adjustments, and repeated firing and refining until both barrels spoke as one. The recoil of the .470 was unmistakable and powerful but manageable. Respect was required and discipline was mandatory. This was a rifle built for one purpose: to stop something very large, very quickly, and very close.
Africa: where theory meets reality
Years later, in Namibia’s Caprivi Strip, that purpose finally arrived. The environment itself was unforgiving: heat pushing past 100 degrees, miles of swamp, papyrus reeds towering overhead, and water crossings where hippos and crocodiles were not theoretical concerns but immediate ones. Elephant hunting is endurance and patience, not a drive-and-shoot exercise. It is miles on foot, following tracks that may or may not lead to an opportunity.
On the fourth day of the hunt, we found him. A mature bull with heavy tusks, estimated in the 60-pound range. Not the mythical 100-pounder we had hoped for, but a good bull for the region. And after days of effort, a realistic one.
We stalked through chest-deep water, moving slowly and silently. The bull sensed something.
He turned repeatedly, ears spread, testing the wind, searching for what he could not yet see. At 40 yards, the classic brain shot was too risky. The conditions dictated something else: A heart shot.
The moment
The guns went up. The Rigby settled into the hand-crafted sticks. I took the safety off and placed my finger lightly on the back trigger. The scope was set low, the bull filling the field of view. I had imagined this moment countless times, but imagination does not prepare you for reality, the moment of clarity that comes when everything is reduced to a single decision.
The bull stepped forward. The shoulder opened. I pressed the trigger. The rifle spoke.
There is something unique about a properly regulated double rifle. The recoil, the sound, the motion, it all disappears into the moment. You are aware only of the result.
The bull reacted immediately, moving fast. The second shot came instinctively, from the front trigger. A free-handed follow-up shot into the lungs as he turned.
Then he was gone.
The follow-up
We moved as quickly as the chest high croc-infested water allowed, breaking open the rifle, ejecting the spent cases, reloading by instinct. The sound came before the sight – a heavy collapse ahead.
When we reached him, the bull lay down thirty yards ahead. Stillness. Even so, one final insurance shot was placed through the heart. Experience teaches caution and many hunters have lost animals by assuming too soon.
Up close, the scale of the animal was humbling. A 15,000-pound bull, likely near the end of his natural life. His teeth worn down, his time nearing its conclusion regardless.
The rifle had done exactly what it was built to do. Clean. Decisive. Final.
After the shot
What followed was a demonstration that this hunt was not just about the trophy. The meat from the elephant would feed multiple villages, with hundreds of loads carried out across swamps and savanna. In Africa, nothing is wasted.
During the butchering, they recovered my bullets, along with several from AK-47 rounds embedded in the animal from earlier encounters in its life. A reminder that these animals live complex, often difficult lives in landscapes shared with people.
That reality underscores something important: hunting, in this context, is not separate from conservation but a critical part of it.
Reflection
In the end, the hunt was everything I had hoped for and more difficult than I had imagined. The physical challenge, the uncertainty, the decisions, all culminating in a moment measured in seconds. What remains is not just the memory of the shot, but the entire journey: the making of the rifle, the preparation, the pursuit, and the respect for the animal.
And perhaps most of all, the understanding that a rifle like a Rigby is never just about pulling a trigger. It is about being ready when the moment comes and trusting that everything leading up to it has prepared you to act.
Created to honour the character, spirit and experiences of those who carry a Rigby afield, this series gives voice to the men and women who form our global community. Each story is presented in the hunter’s own words wherever possible, preserving the authenticity, perspective and personality behind the pursuit.
In this edition of Rigby Community in the Field, Dale Evans reflects on a journey that began years before he set foot in Africa. What started with the commissioning of a bespoke Rigby .470 Nitro Express double rifle became a pursuit in its own right, one that would eventually lead him to the swamps and floodplains of Namibia’s Caprivi Strip in search of elephant.
Part rifle story, part hunting adventure, Dale’s account follows the making of a dangerous game rifle from the gunsmith’s bench to the moment it was called upon to perform exactly as intended. Along the way, he shares the challenges of hunting elephant in one of Africa’s most demanding environments, the importance of preparation and patience, and the deep respect that underpins both the hunt and the traditions surrounding it.
A rifle worthy of the dream
There are moments in life when intention becomes inevitability. For me, that moment began not in Africa, but in a convention hall, standing in front of a display of rifles from John Rigby & Company.
At the time, Rigby was a storied name with nearly three centuries of craftsmanship behind it. Their rifles are more than tools, they’re heirlooms that rather than own, you commit to. When I was measured and fitted for a custom double .470 Nitro Express rifle, it felt more like being tailored for a piece of history than purchasing equipment. But a rifle like that creates its own gravity, and it needs a purpose. And in Africa, there is one particular purpose worthy of it.
The making of a dangerous game rifle
The first time I shouldered it, still unfinished “in the white,” I knew it was something different. A properly fitted double rifle doesn’t require adjustment; instead, it becomes an extension of your body. The sights aligned instinctively and the balance was immediate. There was a familiarity, as if I had been shooting it my entire life.
The process of regulating the rifle was as much art as science. Heat, solder, minute adjustments, and repeated firing and refining until both barrels spoke as one. The recoil of the .470 was unmistakable and powerful but manageable. Respect was required and discipline was mandatory. This was a rifle built for one purpose: to stop something very large, very quickly, and very close.
Africa: where theory meets reality
Years later, in Namibia’s Caprivi Strip, that purpose finally arrived. The environment itself was unforgiving: heat pushing past 100 degrees, miles of swamp, papyrus reeds towering overhead, and water crossings where hippos and crocodiles were not theoretical concerns but immediate ones. Elephant hunting is endurance and patience, not a drive-and-shoot exercise. It is miles on foot, following tracks that may or may not lead to an opportunity.
On the fourth day of the hunt, we found him. A mature bull with heavy tusks, estimated in the 60-pound range. Not the mythical 100-pounder we had hoped for, but a good bull for the region. And after days of effort, a realistic one.
We stalked through chest-deep water, moving slowly and silently. The bull sensed something.
He turned repeatedly, ears spread, testing the wind, searching for what he could not yet see. At 40 yards, the classic brain shot was too risky. The conditions dictated something else: A heart shot.
The moment
The guns went up. The Rigby settled into the hand-crafted sticks. I took the safety off and placed my finger lightly on the back trigger. The scope was set low, the bull filling the field of view. I had imagined this moment countless times, but imagination does not prepare you for reality, the moment of clarity that comes when everything is reduced to a single decision.
The bull stepped forward. The shoulder opened. I pressed the trigger. The rifle spoke.
There is something unique about a properly regulated double rifle. The recoil, the sound, the motion, it all disappears into the moment. You are aware only of the result.
The bull reacted immediately, moving fast. The second shot came instinctively, from the front trigger. A free-handed follow-up shot into the lungs as he turned.
Then he was gone.
The follow-up
We moved as quickly as the chest high croc-infested water allowed, breaking open the rifle, ejecting the spent cases, reloading by instinct. The sound came before the sight – a heavy collapse ahead.
When we reached him, the bull lay down thirty yards ahead. Stillness. Even so, one final insurance shot was placed through the heart. Experience teaches caution and many hunters have lost animals by assuming too soon.
Up close, the scale of the animal was humbling. A 15,000-pound bull, likely near the end of his natural life. His teeth worn down, his time nearing its conclusion regardless.
The rifle had done exactly what it was built to do. Clean. Decisive. Final.
After the shot
What followed was a demonstration that this hunt was not just about the trophy. The meat from the elephant would feed multiple villages, with hundreds of loads carried out across swamps and savanna. In Africa, nothing is wasted.
During the butchering, they recovered my bullets, along with several from AK-47 rounds embedded in the animal from earlier encounters in its life. A reminder that these animals live complex, often difficult lives in landscapes shared with people.
That reality underscores something important: hunting, in this context, is not separate from conservation but a critical part of it.
Reflection
In the end, the hunt was everything I had hoped for and more difficult than I had imagined. The physical challenge, the uncertainty, the decisions, all culminating in a moment measured in seconds. What remains is not just the memory of the shot, but the entire journey: the making of the rifle, the preparation, the pursuit, and the respect for the animal.
And perhaps most of all, the understanding that a rifle like a Rigby is never just about pulling a trigger. It is about being ready when the moment comes and trusting that everything leading up to it has prepared you to act.
