Growing up in the southern US, one is often raised in hunting culture. This is especially the case for those with the benefit of access to private land.
I have had the benefit of growing up with a family ranch in the ancient cypress swamplands of north central Florida. For me, the pursuit of game goes hand in hand with good times and family. Some of my fondest memories involve stalking whitetail deer or Osceola turkeys with my father and brothers.
It’s partly because of this background that I have loved my experiences with Noorsveld Safaris out of Jansenville, SA. I grew up reading the works of Ruark, Capstick, and Hunter. The prospect of big game in Africa enticed and captivated my imagination.
Such a dream finally became reality in 2018. My parents planned an 25th anniversary trip and found a unique family of PH’s to host us.
Saki and Gert Taljaard are excellent hunters and hosts. They grew up on a beautiful stretch of the Noorsveldt, with their dad Deon teaching them how to hunt kudu across the veldt and up into the mountains that formed the back of the property.
That first trip, I hunted a black springbok but got to accompany my dad as he shot his first kudu, a fine bull.
This June however, my dad flipped the script and accompanied my younger brother and I as we hunted. We spent the first day scouting and glassing for Kudu. Despite spotting a large bull as we left the lodge, we couldn’t close on a bull the rest of the day. Eventually, we decided to head back down the mountain. My dad spotted a mature bull. It moved off, and we immediately began pursuit. After a couple hundred meters or so, we reached a vantage point from which we could see it and a smaller bull about to cross over the next ridge 200-300 meters away. Saki quickly set up the shooting sticks and I worked to control both my breathing and excitement as I set the rifle.
So far, everything was going well.
My shooting skill, or lack thereof, changed that quickly.
Out of breath, I pulled the first shot low. Though hit, the bull quickly descended to the next ridge. Saki and I followed, and I took several more shots at 400-500 yards.
I finally brought it down after about 9 shots-a statistic I found exceptionally embarrassing.
After some well-deserved ribbing, there was nothing else to do but pack it out and move on.
Over the next day or two we kept hunting kudu, this time with my younger brother.
We glassed for kudu in the morning from on top of the mountains, and spotted a beautiful bull sunning on the side of a steep slope covered in trees and spekboom.
It was far too great a distance to make a shot, so Gert and Stiles hiked for an hour or two until they reached a vantage point on the opposite slope of the narrow valley.
Stiles made an excellent shot, and we spent the rest of the afternoon packing out it out.
That was all the hunting we had originally planned for. But by the time we had succeeded, there were still two full days with the Taljaards. My dad generously offered to pay for my brother and I to hunt either another kudu or a gemsbok.
We both chose gemsbok. The closest herd was on a neighboring ranch. The Taljaards knew the owners well, so after checking in with them, we began scouting the two mountains/plateaus that the gemsbok tended to frequent. We drove to the neighboring mountain to the slope that we wanted to scout, and glassed thoroughly. The first attempt only revealed a young bull and a calf. Then we drove back over to the target area and Saki and my dad and I hiked around. We bumped a pair of large bulls, but they winded us. It was almost mesmerizing to watch them trot a couple kilometers down the ridge and off to the next mountain in the distance, never slowing in their measured gait.
We broke for lunch, then returned to our spotting mountain. Saki (or maybe Gert) picked out a mature gemsbok.
Gert stayed behind with a radio and spotting scope while the rest of us piled into a Land Cruiser and drove back to the gemsbok mountain.
Saki and my dad and I began our stalk toward where we thought the gemsbok was resting beneath a tree. Between Saki’s memories of landmarks, and Gert’s radio directions, we were able to get close.
Saki and dad were trying to pinpoint the animal’s exact location when I spotted it’s horns moving only about 50 yds away. We all froze, and started to quietly set the shooting sticks.
Then, disaster struck. In freezing I had stepped on a small rock, which suddenly shifted under my weight with a loud clink.
The gemsbok bolted uphill, obscured by trees. I saw where it was headed and moved to get a shot, but didn’t feel confident shooting freehand.
Saki then set the sticks just as the gemsbok paused at crest of the hill. I set the sights on, but couldn’t get my breathing under control. As badly as I wanted to shoot, I was intent on not repeating my mistake with the kudu. After about 2 seconds, that felt longer, I was about the pull the trigger when it continued running out of sight. I watched it run down into the ravine that we’d left the Land Cruiser in, and up the next peak.
I’ll spare some details, but suffice it to say I was frustrated. My chance to hunt was almost over, with Stiles taking point the next day. My dad offered me the choice of either continuing to pursue the gemsbok, or returning to the Taljaard’s property for kudu, round 2.
It probably would have made more sense to pivot to kudu, but my blood was up.
After waiting a bit, Saki and I left my family at the Land Cruiser and hiked up the next mountain, roughly following the gemsbok. We reached the top and, seeing nothing, moved on to the shooting crest. Notably, we didn’t see the gemsbok running out into the far distance like the others had. This gave me hope that it might be trying to double back on us. We glassed, clambered down a rocky slope, and glassed again. Nothing. We continued moving peripherally around the mountain, starting on the east side and moving toward the north. We bumped a young kudu cow, but saw nothing else of note. It had been probably 30 minutes to an hour, with no sign of the gemsbok. Saki and I paused to decide our next course of action.
While we discussed, 3 shots rang out in quick succession from the direction of the Land Cruiser on the south side of the mountain. I heard the distinct crack of a couple of the bullets hitting stone.
Saki and I quickly began to trot along to a point where we’d be able to see down the west side of the mountain, the most likely course for an animal to take if it came our way.
Facing west, I suddenly saw a pair of large, straight horns rise over the ridge I was looking down upon. It was a gemsbok, and running from my left to my right. Just as quickly as it appeared, the gemsbok dipped back below the ridge.
The ground to my right continued out like a plateau before rapidly dropping away, but I knew that if I could reach the crest in time I might get a chance at a shot. Normally, I would always wait for a guide’s direction before doing anything dramatic, but my adrenaline had spiked. As such, I took off in a dead sprint, rifle in both hands and my hat flying off into the grass. I managed to avoid twisting an ankle as I bolted over about 80 yards or so of rocky terrain. Reaching the ledge, I looked down and northwest, listening for hooves against stone. A moment later, the gemsbok came running around the western side of the mountain at about 200 yards, angling toward a gully in front of me that would have allowed it to get down the mountain and out of sight for good. I paused for an instant. Saki was close behind, and trying to reach me in time with the shooting sticks.
The gemsbok kept running, partly towards me and mostly to the edge of the ridge. A subconscious timer began to count down to the moment it would leap down the embankment. Five, four, three…
I shouldered the rifle, lead the heart, and fired.
The shot felt good, but the gemsbok hardly stumbled before leaping down the ledge and out of sight. A brief flash of red around the lower rear leg was the only indication of a hit.
I listened for a fall, but couldn’t tell if it was down or merely out of hearing range.
Saki and I waited for a bit before checking the ridge where it had crossed for blood. I didn’t find much.
Nevertheless, we followed its the path where it had run. I was starting to nervous. Maybe I had only nicked the hind leg, or worse, gut shot it?
Then Saki pointed it out, lying beneath some trees just beyond the gully. It seemed larger than life, and beautiful.
We hiked back uphill to meet my dad and brother. Stiles had spotted the gemsbok and fired three times at its left side, but we weren’t sure who hit it. Later examination while packing it up showed only my bullet, entering on its right, slightly behind the heart but definitely in the vitals.
I was elated, and it was a lovely evening. Stiles got himself a nice gemsbok bull the next day, and we enjoyed the rest of our trip greatly.
Altogether, my hunt and experience with Noorsveldt Safaris is one I’ll never forget.
P.s. I found the hat
I have had the benefit of growing up with a family ranch in the ancient cypress swamplands of north central Florida. For me, the pursuit of game goes hand in hand with good times and family. Some of my fondest memories involve stalking whitetail deer or Osceola turkeys with my father and brothers.
It’s partly because of this background that I have loved my experiences with Noorsveld Safaris out of Jansenville, SA. I grew up reading the works of Ruark, Capstick, and Hunter. The prospect of big game in Africa enticed and captivated my imagination.
Such a dream finally became reality in 2018. My parents planned an 25th anniversary trip and found a unique family of PH’s to host us.
Saki and Gert Taljaard are excellent hunters and hosts. They grew up on a beautiful stretch of the Noorsveldt, with their dad Deon teaching them how to hunt kudu across the veldt and up into the mountains that formed the back of the property.
That first trip, I hunted a black springbok but got to accompany my dad as he shot his first kudu, a fine bull.
This June however, my dad flipped the script and accompanied my younger brother and I as we hunted. We spent the first day scouting and glassing for Kudu. Despite spotting a large bull as we left the lodge, we couldn’t close on a bull the rest of the day. Eventually, we decided to head back down the mountain. My dad spotted a mature bull. It moved off, and we immediately began pursuit. After a couple hundred meters or so, we reached a vantage point from which we could see it and a smaller bull about to cross over the next ridge 200-300 meters away. Saki quickly set up the shooting sticks and I worked to control both my breathing and excitement as I set the rifle.
So far, everything was going well.
My shooting skill, or lack thereof, changed that quickly.
Out of breath, I pulled the first shot low. Though hit, the bull quickly descended to the next ridge. Saki and I followed, and I took several more shots at 400-500 yards.
I finally brought it down after about 9 shots-a statistic I found exceptionally embarrassing.
After some well-deserved ribbing, there was nothing else to do but pack it out and move on.
Over the next day or two we kept hunting kudu, this time with my younger brother.
We glassed for kudu in the morning from on top of the mountains, and spotted a beautiful bull sunning on the side of a steep slope covered in trees and spekboom.
It was far too great a distance to make a shot, so Gert and Stiles hiked for an hour or two until they reached a vantage point on the opposite slope of the narrow valley.
Stiles made an excellent shot, and we spent the rest of the afternoon packing out it out.
That was all the hunting we had originally planned for. But by the time we had succeeded, there were still two full days with the Taljaards. My dad generously offered to pay for my brother and I to hunt either another kudu or a gemsbok.
We both chose gemsbok. The closest herd was on a neighboring ranch. The Taljaards knew the owners well, so after checking in with them, we began scouting the two mountains/plateaus that the gemsbok tended to frequent. We drove to the neighboring mountain to the slope that we wanted to scout, and glassed thoroughly. The first attempt only revealed a young bull and a calf. Then we drove back over to the target area and Saki and my dad and I hiked around. We bumped a pair of large bulls, but they winded us. It was almost mesmerizing to watch them trot a couple kilometers down the ridge and off to the next mountain in the distance, never slowing in their measured gait.
We broke for lunch, then returned to our spotting mountain. Saki (or maybe Gert) picked out a mature gemsbok.
Gert stayed behind with a radio and spotting scope while the rest of us piled into a Land Cruiser and drove back to the gemsbok mountain.
Saki and my dad and I began our stalk toward where we thought the gemsbok was resting beneath a tree. Between Saki’s memories of landmarks, and Gert’s radio directions, we were able to get close.
Saki and dad were trying to pinpoint the animal’s exact location when I spotted it’s horns moving only about 50 yds away. We all froze, and started to quietly set the shooting sticks.
Then, disaster struck. In freezing I had stepped on a small rock, which suddenly shifted under my weight with a loud clink.
The gemsbok bolted uphill, obscured by trees. I saw where it was headed and moved to get a shot, but didn’t feel confident shooting freehand.
Saki then set the sticks just as the gemsbok paused at crest of the hill. I set the sights on, but couldn’t get my breathing under control. As badly as I wanted to shoot, I was intent on not repeating my mistake with the kudu. After about 2 seconds, that felt longer, I was about the pull the trigger when it continued running out of sight. I watched it run down into the ravine that we’d left the Land Cruiser in, and up the next peak.
I’ll spare some details, but suffice it to say I was frustrated. My chance to hunt was almost over, with Stiles taking point the next day. My dad offered me the choice of either continuing to pursue the gemsbok, or returning to the Taljaard’s property for kudu, round 2.
It probably would have made more sense to pivot to kudu, but my blood was up.
After waiting a bit, Saki and I left my family at the Land Cruiser and hiked up the next mountain, roughly following the gemsbok. We reached the top and, seeing nothing, moved on to the shooting crest. Notably, we didn’t see the gemsbok running out into the far distance like the others had. This gave me hope that it might be trying to double back on us. We glassed, clambered down a rocky slope, and glassed again. Nothing. We continued moving peripherally around the mountain, starting on the east side and moving toward the north. We bumped a young kudu cow, but saw nothing else of note. It had been probably 30 minutes to an hour, with no sign of the gemsbok. Saki and I paused to decide our next course of action.
While we discussed, 3 shots rang out in quick succession from the direction of the Land Cruiser on the south side of the mountain. I heard the distinct crack of a couple of the bullets hitting stone.
Saki and I quickly began to trot along to a point where we’d be able to see down the west side of the mountain, the most likely course for an animal to take if it came our way.
Facing west, I suddenly saw a pair of large, straight horns rise over the ridge I was looking down upon. It was a gemsbok, and running from my left to my right. Just as quickly as it appeared, the gemsbok dipped back below the ridge.
The ground to my right continued out like a plateau before rapidly dropping away, but I knew that if I could reach the crest in time I might get a chance at a shot. Normally, I would always wait for a guide’s direction before doing anything dramatic, but my adrenaline had spiked. As such, I took off in a dead sprint, rifle in both hands and my hat flying off into the grass. I managed to avoid twisting an ankle as I bolted over about 80 yards or so of rocky terrain. Reaching the ledge, I looked down and northwest, listening for hooves against stone. A moment later, the gemsbok came running around the western side of the mountain at about 200 yards, angling toward a gully in front of me that would have allowed it to get down the mountain and out of sight for good. I paused for an instant. Saki was close behind, and trying to reach me in time with the shooting sticks.
The gemsbok kept running, partly towards me and mostly to the edge of the ridge. A subconscious timer began to count down to the moment it would leap down the embankment. Five, four, three…
I shouldered the rifle, lead the heart, and fired.
The shot felt good, but the gemsbok hardly stumbled before leaping down the ledge and out of sight. A brief flash of red around the lower rear leg was the only indication of a hit.
I listened for a fall, but couldn’t tell if it was down or merely out of hearing range.
Saki and I waited for a bit before checking the ridge where it had crossed for blood. I didn’t find much.
Nevertheless, we followed its the path where it had run. I was starting to nervous. Maybe I had only nicked the hind leg, or worse, gut shot it?
Then Saki pointed it out, lying beneath some trees just beyond the gully. It seemed larger than life, and beautiful.
We hiked back uphill to meet my dad and brother. Stiles had spotted the gemsbok and fired three times at its left side, but we weren’t sure who hit it. Later examination while packing it up showed only my bullet, entering on its right, slightly behind the heart but definitely in the vitals.
I was elated, and it was a lovely evening. Stiles got himself a nice gemsbok bull the next day, and we enjoyed the rest of our trip greatly.
Altogether, my hunt and experience with Noorsveldt Safaris is one I’ll never forget.
P.s. I found the hat
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