June 2 – Day 16
A cold front has moved into the area, and it’s really cold. I’m wearing an undershirt, a long sleeve shirt, a down fleece type jacket, and a hunting jacket I use in Canada in the winter. Gloves, and an “aviator” type of hat, with earflaps tied under my chin. And still I’m cold.
But we have ground to cover. We begin by driving, and once there’s enough light, we check for tracks. We see none. We visit the waterhole where we left the game cam, but no cheetah on it. So we drive some more.
By the time it’s too warm for cheetah, we try to find a zebra for Peter. Theo sees a few on the road more than 500 yards away, so stops us, and he, Peter and Hannes try to stalk them. From where I am I can see them come out of the trees onto the road about 200 yards from the zebra, which don’t seem too put out, at least not yet. I have to say the zebra we’ve seen from the vehicle have seemed quite skittish, much like zebra anywhere.
I see Peter get set up with the bipod, and hear a shot, but nothing moves. The zebra are looking around, but don’t seem sure where the noise came from. A second shot, still no reaction. A quick third shot, and they aren’t stupid, they hightail it out of there. When I get to Peter I ask what happened. He says he has no idea. He missed with all three shots, on a shot he should have made. He thinks maybe the scope has gotten out of whack. I agree it’s possible, but in 10 years of hunting, it’s never happened on this rifle.
So on our way back for lunch, we make a quick stop at the range, and the scope is dead on at 100 yards. Peter accepts it, but is clearly upset that he missed. Good lesson, if you don’t let it get to you. He’s a new hunter, and these things happen I tell him. How you react is what’s important.
After lunch, while it’s still too hot for cheetah, Theo spots some more zebra, and off they go again, leaving me at the truck. About 20 minutes later I hear a shot, and expect a call. It comes, and we’re off to meet them.
This time Peter made no mistake, and the zebra went down with one shot. Feeling much better now.
After pictures, we take up the driving again, and again, no tracks. We reset the camera, and chop down a tree, which we drag behind the truck to clear the road of old tracks. Even before we did that, there was more dust here than I’ve ever seen in Africa and that’s saying something. With the tree, if the wind is towards us, we’re choking. But it has to be done.
By about 5.30 we’re losing light, and it’s time to head back. I had told Theo earlier about my dislike for ostrich, a dislike I come by honestly, I have to say.
Those who read last year’s hunt report will know that I had no choice but to take out the Mad Ostrich of Fort D’Acre, even though I didn’t really want to. It turns out that he likely only understood Afrikaans, so when I said, “stop or I’ll shoot”, I should have said, “stop jou bliksem of ek skiet.” Even then I’m sure he’d have tried to take me out, because ostrich are like that. If they think they have a chance to get you, they will. Purely out of meanness and spite. Vicious, smelly, ugly, flea-infested things, which think nothing of ruining the best-laid plans and busting the best stalks. Really, I don’t know what these things do to merit being made into cowboy boots (a nice pair of which I have), but that seems to be their highest and best use. And I am prepared to help them achieve this pinnacle of usefulness. Any time, anywhere.
Bearing this in mind, Theo, who is clearly always thinking, says there’s small group about 400 yards ahead, and that they will likely follow the road turning right. If we hurry, we might get a shot before they get too far. I give it about a nanosecond’s thought, and say what are we waiting for? Why are we not moving? There’s good work, necessary work, humanitarian work, to be done.
Gottfried speeds up, and as directed, as soon as he turns the corner, he stops. We see the ostrich in the fading light, about 250 yards down the road. The male has just come out of the bushes, about half on the road and half covered up. I get ready to shoot, waiting for him to give me a shot. Well, what should I have expected? Cooperation? Not in the genetic make up. The bliksem starts to actually walk away from me, trying to go on down the road. Not going to happen. Not on my watch.
I say “ready?’ and don’t hear a no, so I aim squarely in the body as he’s walking away, and try to time the shot so that I get him in the middle of the “bounce.”
I squeeze the trigger, and he drops to the shot. I keep looking at him through the scope, but he seems down for the count. I get some “good shooting” and back slaps, and the vehicle starts up and we head towards him. At that instant, his head pops up, and using one leg, he starts to try to drag himself into the bushes. Damn. Looks like I took out a shoulder, but it might not be immediately fatal. Or it might be, but knowing these wretched things, it won’t die just to spite me.
Gottfried is told to stop about 50 yards away from the bird. A quick conversation ensues. “Want me to put another shot into him?” “I don’t think it’s necessary, you’ll just ruin meat, we can just wring his neck.” “Really?" And who’s going to do that, I’m thinking? I’m not getting near that beak! (this is from Dean; I’m not worried about it, because I’m not smart enough to be worried about it). Then the fateful suggestion: “Shoot him in the head.” Not sure where that came from, but I say that it looks to be a tough shot. Small target, and a moving one at that. But again, you have to understand that I’m a humanitarian, and I don’t want this horrible thing to suffer, and I sure don’t want to ruin the meat, so I agree it’s worth a try (actually, by now I’ve decided I don’t want to wring its neck, so this seems like a good out!).
Gottfried turns the truck off, and I try to get lined up. The light is fading fast, and the damn head won’t stop moving. Yet another ostrich that doesn’t seem to know when someone’s trying to do it a favour. I try to see how it’s moving, try to predict where it will go, and get ready. I take the shot, and ye gads, the head actually blows up in a cloud of red! The neck, holding the stub of a head (a beak, actually), is writhing on the ground, flopping this way and that, spouting blood in all directions. Everyone on the truck is groaning. A truly disgusting display, but not unexpected given the drama these things go in for.
So last year it was the Mad Ostrich of Fort D’Acre, this year it’s the Headless Ostrich of Ozondjahe. I’m going to have nightmares about this.
Later I see the video footage, and I have to say, I’m very pleased with the shot I made (impressed the hell out of the boy!), but really, it’s almost (only almost) too gory to watch.
One interesting aside. By the time we took the pictures it was too dark to really see any bugs this thing might have been harboring, but once I got back on the truck, I found myself picking horseflies (or some similarly sticky and relentless cousin) off of myself for much of the ride back to camp. Once in my room, I removed a few more as I got undressed for a shower, and – to my surprise – I removed another from my scalp after I had showered and washed my hair and dried my hair with a towel! These things do not let go easily!
I thought I did a good job of waiting for the pirture!!!
