PhotoCollector73
AH veteran
Excerpt from 'Great African Trophies,' by Dianna Rupp:
There are twenty buffalo bulls listed in Rowland Ward's book of records with spreads of over 54 inches and one cow with a 64-inch spread (the world record) from Lake Manyara in Tanzania; the cow was hunted by Mr. Cabrera in 1946. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would one day have the opportunity to hunt for a comparable monster buffalo, but among the top twenty listed bulls is the best buffalo I guided a client to in my long career as a professional hunter. I was fortunate to have guided my good friend and client, Dr. F.K. Flick, to this enormous bull at Lolgorien in Kenya's Masailand in 1973. Rowland Ward recorded this buffalo after the compulsory three-month drying-out period with a widest spread of 54 inches exactly and a tremendous boss of 14 1/4 inches, measured personally and officially by Maj. Johnnie Raw of Rowland Ward in Kenya. This same buffalo scores within the top ten recorded in the 'SCI Record Book of Trophy Animals.' Truly a buffalo of a lifetime!
Karl Flick was a regular client of mine and we had done many safaris together. He wanted to hunt a very big buffalo bull. I knew just the place: It was about ten miles north of the village of Lolgorien, on top of the Siria Escarpment, and adjoining the Masai Mara Game Reserve. I had opened up an area that no one else went into, and here I had found superb buffalo bulls. I never left without at least a 45-incher. My best up to that time from that area was a bull of just under the magic 50 inches, a bull with a 49-inch spread, and a massive boss of 15 3/4 inches that had been hunted by my close friend Hadelin Diericx of Mexico. I had seen other bulls even bigger than that in the area.
We set up our tented camp on the banks of the Migori River and then started hunting buffalo. Lolgorien is a forested area, with numerous open, grassy glades. It was buffalo heaven. On the third day of the safari, a small Masai shepherd boy stopped my hunting car and excitedly told me that two big buffalo bulls were laid up in a lantana bush thicket nearby. We loaded our rifles and followed the boy a short distance. He pointed out the hideout with the handle of his knobkerrie club. The wind was bad, so I decided to position Karl and myself downwind, and I instructed my two trackers, Laboso and Chanchalo, to deliberately allow their scent to filter into the thicket. It worked perfectly, and the two bulls bolted toward us. Both big bulls. I shouted to Karl to shoot the nearest. Down he went. The other bull looked good, so I shouted, "Shoot him as well!" Karl was an excellent shot on running animals, a skill he had fine-tuned on driven wild boar in his home country of Germany. We had two splendid bulls, the smaller at just over 44 and the larger at 47 1/4 inches! We were overjoyed, to say the least. The Masai boy was suitably rewarded for his accurate information. "Now we will find an even bigger bull!" I said, not for a minute thinking that we could improve on our already incredible luck. But we had ten days of our safari left and a third buffalo license was burning a hole in our pockets, and on top of that, we were in the right place.
Several days later I dropped off my tracker, Chanchalo, to check a leopard bait while we hunted for other game. Driving in our Toyota Land Cruiser back to camp for lunch, we met Chanchalo on the road. He was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. My first thought was that the bait had been hit. Instead, he informed us he had seen a single buffalo bull with a massive head. I inquired as to how big he thought it would be. "Much bigger than Mr. Straight's 50-inch buffalo we shot on the last safari at Voi!" he enthused. Now, Chanchalo was an excellent and reliable judge of trophies, so I knew he had seen something special. It was exciting news! The bull had bolted into the forest, but Chanchalo hadn't followed him and had quietly retreated so as to not cause any further disturbance. As it was now midday and very hot, I felt that the bull wouldn't run far, so I decided to continue our journey to camp, which was nearby, and have a very quick lunch. The plan was then to return to take up the bull's tracks in the heat of the day before he started to move again in the cool of the evening and leave the forest to look for grazing. The others in camp thought we were crazy to leave camp in the heat, but we kept mum about our plans for fear of jinxing the hunt!
The buffalo's tracks indicated a full-tilt bolt for the forest. We loaded our rifles, Karl his bolt-action .458, and I my trusty Williams Evans double rifle in .470 caliber. It was slow, tedious work inside the darkened forest, dim and gloomy under the overhead tree canopy. But the two trackers were more than equal to the task, and we followed the spoor diligently. We startled a slumbering warthog that crashed off into the undergrowth, making us all jump! Then I noticed we were following two bulls and not one. A quick check revealed that our bull, with his soup-plate-size tracks, had crossed with these two bulls and continued on his own course. We followed for another couple of hours. Karl was suffering from an injured toe, but made no complaint, sticking rigidly to the hunt. Then Chanchalo stopped, not moving a muscle. He had spotted the bull. Slowly he stuck his tongue out of the left side of his mouth to indicate where I should look. I couldn't see anything. A flicker of an ear gave the bull away. I couldn't believe his size - huge in every way - body and horns! He was lying facing three-quarters away from us, about fifteen yards away, in a small grassy opening, surrounded by dense forest. I whispered to Karl to shoot. "I can't see him!" came the anguished, whispered reply. "Lower, lower - on level with your feet!" I responded, barely able to keep calm. Slowly, Karl raised his rifle and took careful aim. The bull sensed something was amiss and turned his head toward us just as Karl's shot rang out. There was a death bellow, and all went quiet in the forest. We had "bearded the king in his den."
Composing ourselves, we checked our fallen quarry with disbelief. He was everything Chanchalo had told us and much more! He was magnificent. No other words could describe him. The width of his horns easily exceeded the length of my .470 by a long margin. We were all ecstatic. We also felt some sadness in witnessing the end of such a perfect animal. So ended a chase that involved more than five hours of meticulous tracking for the hunt and the trophy of a lifetime!
There are twenty buffalo bulls listed in Rowland Ward's book of records with spreads of over 54 inches and one cow with a 64-inch spread (the world record) from Lake Manyara in Tanzania; the cow was hunted by Mr. Cabrera in 1946. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would one day have the opportunity to hunt for a comparable monster buffalo, but among the top twenty listed bulls is the best buffalo I guided a client to in my long career as a professional hunter. I was fortunate to have guided my good friend and client, Dr. F.K. Flick, to this enormous bull at Lolgorien in Kenya's Masailand in 1973. Rowland Ward recorded this buffalo after the compulsory three-month drying-out period with a widest spread of 54 inches exactly and a tremendous boss of 14 1/4 inches, measured personally and officially by Maj. Johnnie Raw of Rowland Ward in Kenya. This same buffalo scores within the top ten recorded in the 'SCI Record Book of Trophy Animals.' Truly a buffalo of a lifetime!
Karl Flick was a regular client of mine and we had done many safaris together. He wanted to hunt a very big buffalo bull. I knew just the place: It was about ten miles north of the village of Lolgorien, on top of the Siria Escarpment, and adjoining the Masai Mara Game Reserve. I had opened up an area that no one else went into, and here I had found superb buffalo bulls. I never left without at least a 45-incher. My best up to that time from that area was a bull of just under the magic 50 inches, a bull with a 49-inch spread, and a massive boss of 15 3/4 inches that had been hunted by my close friend Hadelin Diericx of Mexico. I had seen other bulls even bigger than that in the area.
We set up our tented camp on the banks of the Migori River and then started hunting buffalo. Lolgorien is a forested area, with numerous open, grassy glades. It was buffalo heaven. On the third day of the safari, a small Masai shepherd boy stopped my hunting car and excitedly told me that two big buffalo bulls were laid up in a lantana bush thicket nearby. We loaded our rifles and followed the boy a short distance. He pointed out the hideout with the handle of his knobkerrie club. The wind was bad, so I decided to position Karl and myself downwind, and I instructed my two trackers, Laboso and Chanchalo, to deliberately allow their scent to filter into the thicket. It worked perfectly, and the two bulls bolted toward us. Both big bulls. I shouted to Karl to shoot the nearest. Down he went. The other bull looked good, so I shouted, "Shoot him as well!" Karl was an excellent shot on running animals, a skill he had fine-tuned on driven wild boar in his home country of Germany. We had two splendid bulls, the smaller at just over 44 and the larger at 47 1/4 inches! We were overjoyed, to say the least. The Masai boy was suitably rewarded for his accurate information. "Now we will find an even bigger bull!" I said, not for a minute thinking that we could improve on our already incredible luck. But we had ten days of our safari left and a third buffalo license was burning a hole in our pockets, and on top of that, we were in the right place.
Several days later I dropped off my tracker, Chanchalo, to check a leopard bait while we hunted for other game. Driving in our Toyota Land Cruiser back to camp for lunch, we met Chanchalo on the road. He was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. My first thought was that the bait had been hit. Instead, he informed us he had seen a single buffalo bull with a massive head. I inquired as to how big he thought it would be. "Much bigger than Mr. Straight's 50-inch buffalo we shot on the last safari at Voi!" he enthused. Now, Chanchalo was an excellent and reliable judge of trophies, so I knew he had seen something special. It was exciting news! The bull had bolted into the forest, but Chanchalo hadn't followed him and had quietly retreated so as to not cause any further disturbance. As it was now midday and very hot, I felt that the bull wouldn't run far, so I decided to continue our journey to camp, which was nearby, and have a very quick lunch. The plan was then to return to take up the bull's tracks in the heat of the day before he started to move again in the cool of the evening and leave the forest to look for grazing. The others in camp thought we were crazy to leave camp in the heat, but we kept mum about our plans for fear of jinxing the hunt!
The buffalo's tracks indicated a full-tilt bolt for the forest. We loaded our rifles, Karl his bolt-action .458, and I my trusty Williams Evans double rifle in .470 caliber. It was slow, tedious work inside the darkened forest, dim and gloomy under the overhead tree canopy. But the two trackers were more than equal to the task, and we followed the spoor diligently. We startled a slumbering warthog that crashed off into the undergrowth, making us all jump! Then I noticed we were following two bulls and not one. A quick check revealed that our bull, with his soup-plate-size tracks, had crossed with these two bulls and continued on his own course. We followed for another couple of hours. Karl was suffering from an injured toe, but made no complaint, sticking rigidly to the hunt. Then Chanchalo stopped, not moving a muscle. He had spotted the bull. Slowly he stuck his tongue out of the left side of his mouth to indicate where I should look. I couldn't see anything. A flicker of an ear gave the bull away. I couldn't believe his size - huge in every way - body and horns! He was lying facing three-quarters away from us, about fifteen yards away, in a small grassy opening, surrounded by dense forest. I whispered to Karl to shoot. "I can't see him!" came the anguished, whispered reply. "Lower, lower - on level with your feet!" I responded, barely able to keep calm. Slowly, Karl raised his rifle and took careful aim. The bull sensed something was amiss and turned his head toward us just as Karl's shot rang out. There was a death bellow, and all went quiet in the forest. We had "bearded the king in his den."
Composing ourselves, we checked our fallen quarry with disbelief. He was everything Chanchalo had told us and much more! He was magnificent. No other words could describe him. The width of his horns easily exceeded the length of my .470 by a long margin. We were all ecstatic. We also felt some sadness in witnessing the end of such a perfect animal. So ended a chase that involved more than five hours of meticulous tracking for the hunt and the trophy of a lifetime!
