The Prince of the Bush
I have long lusted for a Sable.
It did not have to be a 'record book' Sable, I truly do not care, I do not measure my animals, I just wanted an old, representative Sable. I had told so to Jason. We had that discussion along the way. "You know," Jason had said, "more PH and client great relationships have been destroyed by a tape measure, than by anything else," he paused thoughtfully, "this is the bane of African hunting." I encouraged him to go forward. "You see," he continued, "a client who is perfectly happy with his Kudu, a great Kudu, and who had an unforgettable hunt for it, and made great memories, and could keep those memories for ever..." he paused again, melancholic, "...can have his entire experience ruined by a tape measure." "I hate tape measures!" he added, now genuinely upset. Oh, how I understood him! I have seen along the way the happy client, the triumphal client, coming back from a hunt of a lifetime, with a great trophy ... turn into a dejected, angry, reproachful inquisitor because the dang tape measure came 1/2 inch short. Gone the wonderful experience, forgotten the hunt of a lifetime, erased the immense achievement, destroyed the friendship with the PH, the darn horns are 1/2 inch short! Curse it! "Thank you," I told Jason, "thank you for reminding me that." He was apologetic now: "Oh, I did not mean...", "I know," I interrupted, "but thank you for saying this anyway, it helps me too keep things in focus." You see, everyone can become contaminated by continual talk of "really good head," "great trophy," "monster!" and I knew, deep down in myself, that I was not necessarily immune to developing an overly exalted sense of myself, just because the Gods of Africa have been really generous to me these last two years, and it is a slippery slope toward the blasted tape measure and its inevitable, sooner or later, bitter disappointment. "Thank you," I said again...
So our hearts were light and our mood joyous that morning, during the first week, when Jason said: "I am going to show you Pacet, today." "Pacet?"(pronounced Pachet, like 'hatchet') I asked. "This the old farm on the other side of the mountain," Jason replied, "it is part of Huntershill, but on the other side." "Few people go there, he added. "I think you will like it," he concluded.
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Pacet, the old farm on the other side of the mountain. "It is part of Huntershill, but on the other side. Few people go there," Jason said, "I think you will like it..."
I loved Pacet! Just as we started crawling up the first foothill, with the Toyota in low gear, we immediately faced a dilemma. Jason was negotiating a track that even a D6 Caterpillar dozer, fresh from a full rebuild, would have had second thoughts about, when I blurted "there!" Across the Canyon, maybe 200 or 300 yards away, a Waterbuck was sunning himself, comfortably bedded at the foot of a beautiful Aloe Vera tree in full bloom, vibrant with rich red color in the glory of the raising sun. The Toyota hiked up on top of rocks that would have indicated the end of the trail for about any other wheeled contraption, and Jason killed the engine. Henry and Strahli were already glued to their new Vortex binoculars. I heard a soft "ooooh." I smiled: Henry liked him. A short burst of murmured Khoisan dialect confirmed that Strahli had a pretty good opinion of the Waterbuck too. Jason was silent, peering through his Leica. "Hmmm?" I tentatively asked, having learned a prodigious amount of vocabulary over the last few days. "I don't know," replied Jason, "the one you got last year is better, I think." "You know, I have been wondering myself," I said, '"I think you are right." We glassed again for several minutes. "Not often I will pass one like that," Jason concluded, restarting the Land Cruiser's engine and giving briefly his verdict in Afrikaans to Henry and Strahli who sat on the high bench on the back of the truck.
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"The one you got last year is better, I think," said Jason...
Soon we were on an idyllic flat, perched between foothills and mountains. "I would not mind camping here," I said. "I would not mind it myself," approved Jason, and we dove hood first into a strange little forest of Aloe Vera tree, interspersed with rich meadows claimed by several family groups of Giraffe.
There the game started. It was hide and seek. A black form dashing to the left revealed the Sable. Jason made a sharp turn to the right and we drove in a back half circle to get ahead of them. This, we did quite nicely. But there were no Sable there. A Khoisan burst came from the back. Hah! Now they were on our right, streaming through the trees 200 or 300 yards away. A young bull. Promising, but nowhere near its potential. Female. Female. Young. Young. Young bull again. Another young bull, older but still young. Papa. A few lesser ones. Grand Pa? A wide semi circle to the left this time. Surely, we would reach the ridge before them and catch them for a better look. We got to the small ridge, killed the engine and watched. And waited. And waited. And waited, glassing below us. No Sable. Another burst of Khoisan. Hah! They went the other side! But why? And now a group of Springbok appeared behind them, almost sheep dogging them in front of them. OK, new strategy. Let's go to the ridge on the other side. Jason drove a wide detour and as we were about to climb the other ridge a sharp wrap resonated on the truck cabin roof. Jason lifted his eyes to the outdoor rear view mirror - that always gets angled just so when we are hunting, so that he can see Henry on one side and Strahli on the other side - and I saw in the corner of Jason's right side mirror I could barely see from my seat on the left, a black finger pointing. A group of Kudu already occupied our ridge, and started to show nervousness. Hah! And now our Sable were half a mile away still at a full trot, not really fleeing, but clearly concerned. No way we could catch up to them on foot. And the game went on, and on, with occasional interludes provided by Giraffe that would not let us sneak through a meadow without starting their strange slow motion gallop, scaring everything in front of them; a group of Impala rocketing in panic ahead of us; another Waterbuck crashing through the thickest bush as if it was an English green; and a threesome of Ostrich having apparently decided to herald our every move in their frantic flight always precisely in the direction we wanted to go. Two hours later we recognized that we were beaten...
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A strange little forest of Aloe Vera tree, on a flat on top of the foothills, interspersed with rich meadows claimed by several family groups of Giraffe...
Sable may be the "Prince of the Bush," and many a camera tourist or a Blesbok hunter may be easily excused to think that they are placid to a fault, looking contemptuously at trucks driving past at 200 yards or so, but the instant they realize they are the center of interest, things change...
So, by mid morning it was clear we were loosing 'hide & seek,' each time by a wider margin, and we called it quit. And as sometimes happen, by the time we were back down in the plain, cruising back without really hunting anymore, here he was, placidly walking in the complete open, not 300 yards away. Jason slammed on the brake - I have no idea how Henry and Strahli managed to not take flight and land on the hood - and we quickly glassed. Oh yes, it was him alright. I got out, Strahli jumped on my side with the sticks, Jason laboriously extracted himself on my side too - our Sable was placid alright, but there was no point insulting its intelligence and provoking him - and as he kept walking, we started walking too, keeping the truck between us. He walked in a semi circle to the left, about 250 yards away, we walked in a semi circle to the right, both turning around the Toyota like the short and long handles of a clock, and he stopped. Jason quickly spread the tripod of the spotting scope we had with us that morning, I quickly spread the tripod sticks, and got on them.
As mentioned earlier, this was during the first week. Jason and I had not developed yet the trust we built by the end of the two weeks in the little .257 Wby, so I had without a second thought grabbed the .340 Wby as I got off the truck. I know this rifle well. We have an interesting relationship. This is not a casual relationship. It is intense, highly competitive, it has been bloody once when we shot the Kudu together last year, and in the end it is ferociously simple: one of us is going to control and impose his (or its) will on the other. If I brace the big .340 right, if I control it tightly, if I remember that it will bark at me and try to bite me, it will do exactly what I want it to do, group its big 225 gr TTSX slugs within a inch at 100 yards, and kill whatever walks this earth out to 300 yard without a second thought. If I forget what furry I am about to unleash, and if I let the big .340 get in charge of the situation, I will miss a barn from the inside...
But that day I remembered that even though the .257 and the .340 look like twins in their matched pair, twins they are not. The big rifle went on the sticks, I shoved my banded earplugs deep in my ears, I grabbed it firmly as it likes to be grabbed, a big cartridge eased itself into the chamber, I took a deep breath, pulled the rifle deep and tight into my shoulder pocket, and "Hammir" (the hammer, as Strahli had nicknamed it last year) unleashed its furry on the creation.
When I do things right with the .340 Wby does things right too. No matter upon what, no matter how far (within reason of course, 300 to 350 yards being a good reasonable maximum distance in my judgment), no matter when or where, the big .33 slugs deliver incredible killing power. I used to shoot the .250 gr Nosler Partition exclusively (I did last year
https://www.africahunting.com/threa...faris-august-2018-plains-game-paradise.45017/) but I have changed for the 225 gr TTSX. I@t flies flatter, it recoils 20% less, and it kills just as well, even though, just as with the .257, I do not have a nice petaled 225 gr .340 TTSX to show you. It is still flying in the Huntershill plain...
I had my beautiful Huntershill Sable...
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