I had this very thing happen to me in '21. It was a private concession in Limpopo. Initially we had gone to this particular area in pursuit of a nyala. The PH and I hunted the first day, and upon returning to our quarters the outfitter sat me down. It is worth noting that this particular outfitter does not own the concessions on which he hunts (but has hunted some of these properties for the last 20+ years).
At any rate, the outfitter sat me down and asked if I would like to hunt buffalo. At first I thought he was either joking, or trying to fleece a first-timer for some DG trophy fees. I initially told him that there was no way I could afford it. His reply was to not say no, just let him say what he had to say. "Tyler, we've hunted together now about a week. I know you and your shooting are up to it. You also have a rifle that is capable of handling it. Don't say no, just think about it."
I told him that he wasn't funny, because he KNEW I wanted to hunt buffalo, but I didn't have the money. "However, if we can get to a hospital, I do have two perfectly functioning kidneys, one of which I would be more than willing to sell".
"I don't think that will be necessary" was his dry reply. Rather out of the ordinary, for a normally joking, jovial fellow.
We discussed things a little further, and I got around to asking the price. I believe the outfitters jaw about hit the ground at the same time mine did when he told me the dollar amount. "Tyler, I cannot believe this price. In all my years of outfitting, I have NEVER been able to offer one at this price".
I thought about it, prayed about it, and discussed it with my PH on the side. The PH said something along the lines that if I had EVER considered buff, this was the time. I could hunt for several lifetimes and never have an offer anywhere near as good as this happen again.
I slept on this information, prayed, and thought about it a lot more. The next morning, I asked some more questions that I conjured up during the night. Seemed like the deal was just too good to be true, or there was some catch. Neither one of these things was the case...
As it turned out, the timing of this trip was shortly after RSA opened back up after Covid. There had not been any hunters in this camp for the previous two years, and the owner was feeling it, financially. The bulls were not lame or sick, nor were they in a breeding pen or anything of the sort. The owner just needed some income.
My decision was made. I was going to hunt Black Death! We had arrangements to spend several days camping in Kruger, but those were quickly scrubbed in lieu of buffalo.
I must say here that I never felt any pressure from the outfitter or the PH whatsoever. In fact, they reiterated to me that even if we were to hunt the buff, but I did not like any of the particular bulls, that I did not have to shoot. It was certainly not like some of the unfortunate situations I have read about where the client is pressured into shooting something.
We spent the better part of a week trying to catch up to these animals in the thick thorn bush, but could just not get an opportunity for a shot. We kept at it, and eventually we got the chance. We suddenly found ourselves amongst a herd of the giants. They were not surrounding us, but it sure felt as if they were. To this day I do not know if it was my heart, my imagination, or the hooves of the 25+ head in the heard, but I swear I felt the ground shaking. While we were waiting to pick out a good, mature bull, I kept praying over and over. I prayed to God that if I had a shot, to make my aim true. I also...well, plead with God. At that point I was unmarried, and the PH had a wife and kids. I actually prayed that if things went South, the bull would choose me and not him. Pretty sobering.
Eventually the bull we had decided on stepped into a clearing, about 20 yards away. As I eased my rifle up, it felt as if the bull was peering into my soul. Nearly broadside, head down, facing me. I held the crosshairs where the PH and I had discussed time and time again, and where I had read about since I was a child. When the pre-discussed pat came on my shoulder, the .375 barked. Immediately I worked the bolt and got the crosshairs back onto the fleeing mass of black. Just as I drew a bead, he was obscured by lesser bulls, cows, and dust.
"Good shot, Mr. Tyler. Sounded good, and he picked up his leg. Right on the shoulder. He'll be dead in a few minutes".
We backed out and gave him a little bit of time as it was getting dark. Fast.
Sure enough, a little while later, I had my hands on what was just days before a dream. A dream that I thought might one day happen, years down the road.
When we informed the property owner of our success, he began to cry. The income generated from this one animal was able to keep them going. An elderly man, I have no reason to doubt his sincerity. If I said he was the only one crying, I'd be lying. I know I was too, and 99% sure that through my tears, I saw those of the PH and outfitter as well.
Mampoers were poured, and we dined on buffalo that night.
On a side note, I was able to harvest a fine nyala the next day. Had we not initally been after that, we never would have been in that area in the first place. Sometimes God has a funny way of making things work out, for all parties involved. Also, sometimes things are not too good to be true.
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