ZIMBABWE: Once Upon A Time With Mapassa Safaris

VertigoBE

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Dear esteemed AH members,

My apologies for keeping you waiting, I wanted to wait for certain import procedures to conclude. As well as finish re-editing my text.
Bear with me, this will be a text-heavy hunting report, at round 48p and 27000 words. I'll put a few select pictures in there.

Also, to allow me to do things properly, I'll be posting this over a few days. The text is there to copy and paste, but now I have to re-insert the pictures.

I hope you'll enjoy it!

V.

PS. just tried the first little part, and it went very difficult, only managed to upload one picture...
PS2: I'm now literally screenshotting pictures, to paste them in the browser. I'm sorry for the low-res quality!
 
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ZIMBABWE October 2022



Prelude


This tale is of friendship, discoveries, remarkable adventures, and the pursuit of the greatest game that walks this earth. With this writing I would also like to thank my wife, whose indomitable spirit made it all possible. Throughout these personal accounts, you'll witness a deep passion for hunting, an appreciation for fine arms, and the friendships between individuals who share a passion.

The journey began at the conclusion of my first African safari in June 2021. Returning home, I found myself utterly smitten by the Africa fever, consumed by the desire to embark on an even more extraordinary escapade in the dark continent.

Prior to my initial safari experience, I had become a member of the AfricaHunting.com online forum. Engaging in numerous fascinating and sometimes enthralling discussions, fate brought me in contact with @rookhawk, a fellow enthusiast from the United States. Little did I realize how a simple private message to him would set a series of remarkable events into motion.

Recognizing @Rookhawk’s extensive knowledge of fine guns and rifles, I sought his guidance in acquiring a bolt-action rifle of exceptional quality and pedigree, one that would not only serve as an asset but also become a cherished heirloom for future generations to cherish. A heritage to leave behind for my children and grand children to fight over. Little did we know at the time how prescient this was. Because the impending gift of parenthood was awaiting us, as my beloved fiancée carried our first child within her.

With @rookhawk 's help, and that of Mr. Diggory Hadoke, a well-known gun writer, instead of acquiring a bolt action, I acquired a magnificent Heym 88b express with two barrel sets, one in 7x65r and one in .375H&H, on the Holts Auction of September 2021. However, it took such a long time to have this rifle delivered to Belgium, that two more rifles to start my collection were acquired. First up was a nearly new, fully engraved Dumoulin Centurion in 7x64 and secondly, I purchased a magnificent and again fully engraved .416 Rigby bolt action by Belgian gun maker Hubert Vereecke.

To thank @rookhawk for all his advice, I wanted him along for a hunt for Loxodonta Africana. During the summer a proposal was being pushed through the Belgian government by the blind animal rights groups, to ban the import of most of the Big 5 trophies. Before the window of opportunity would close, I wanted to hunt 1 bull elephant and import it’s tusks back to Belgium.

@rookhawk knew of a place, where he had been multiple times already, in Zimbabwe with Mapassa Big Game Hounds and lead PH Vaughan. The hunting grounds of Mapassa are in Matabele land, Western Zimbabwe, along the border with Botswana.

2022 was a busy year. First moving to a new house. Then preparing for the birth of our first child in March 2022, a beautiful daughter. After which we had all the organisation for our marriage in July. Somehow, we mangaged to make a plan for @rookhawk and I to go on an elephant hunt together by the end of the year.

Many messages, phone and video calls followed, to discuss fine arms, their maintenance and the equipment and training needed to go for an elephant hunt in Zimbabwe. @rookhawk did put up one condition for him to be able to go, and that would be if he can get his house sold, move and buy a new house in time. The final go would only be known by the end of August, for an end-of-season hunt in October 2022. Despite all the build-up, the plans, the gear purchases, calls with Vaughan and @rookhawk, eventually @rookhawk had to cancel his participation, due to the sale of his house, the move and all the complications that came with it.

However, with a nod from my amazing wife, it was agreed that I would be going anyway. The hunt would take place from the 20th of October 2022, untill the 7th of November 2022, adding one day each way for the travel, for a total of 17 full hunting days. Vaughan had not had the best of luck this year, as only 2 or 3 out of his total quota of 8 elephant bulls had been shot so far. I would be the last hunter of the season. This extra hunt would allow him to monetize at least one more license and give him and his crew some additional funds to bridge to the next season.

The stage was set for a grand adventure in the pursuit of ivory.

Chapter II – Mapassa Safaris​



19/10/2022 – Leaving my family

The day of departure arrived, and together with my bright orange repainted Americase that I had bought from AH member @Mark Audino, who I am sure will reappear again in future stories, I arrived with all my gear at Zaventem airport to start the first leg of the trip.

To ease the customers and rifle permitting process, I had hired the services of Henry’s RiflePermits in South Africa and a similar VIP service from a Mr. Whengayi Nhau in Bulawayo.

20/10/2022 – Into the Fray

Now I am sitting on the last flight to Bulawayo, having seen the airport personnel load my rifle case into the plane. I am almost ready to finally relax and look forward to maybe a first stalk this afternoon. Arriving at Bulawayo, I understand what @rookhawk meant with “it is a tiny airport”. It looks to be in the middle of nowhere, with the bushveld stretching out from the airport on all sides. I have arrived, looking forward to meeting the team. Into the fray we go.

Arriving at the airport proper, I had all the rifles checked and the officials counted each piece of ammo, just to be sure it matches exactly with the papers. Then out to the parking lot, where Vaughan was waiting for me in a Land Cruiser loaded to the gills and accompanied by 3 Jack Russel’s. Quickly enough we were on the road, driving through Bulawayo. Vaughan had a new Land Cruiser since this year, equipped with a V8 motor, that he would drive as if his house was on fire.

A few weeks before there had actually been a bush fire that burned quite a big chunk of Marshlands, the property where the lodge is situated. Luckily almost no animals got burned and Vaughan managed to stop the fire before it reached the house by pulling a big tractor tire behind him. The end of the dry season and all the bushfires around, made the air hazy with smoke and dust.

Marshlands is located about 6 km to the east of the town Marula (-20.493134 ; 28.142268). About a good hours’ drive from the Bulawayo airport. Upon arriving at the Marshlands lodge, I quickly met with a few of the members of the team, amongst which the second PH Garth, who would be with us every day. The truck was unpacked and I got the 7mm ready for a short look around on the 4000 hectare property, before the sun would set. So off we went in the truck, all geared up. Despite the recent burning, we did not see much game. One attempt of a stalk on a reedbuck later, the sun set and we made back for camp, for a delicious three course meal and then off to bed.

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Day 1 – 21/10/2022 – First Full Day, Getting my Bearings

We would begin the day with a wake up call by Maitre d’ , Paradzai, at 4 o’clock in the morning. With gunbelt, hat, and bino’s in hand, the .416 Rigby and the 7x64 in their soft cases in the back, we set off in the Land Cruiser. Most days on the truck, there would be Vaughan and Garth, tracker’s Mlilo and Junior, tracker/driver Seda and lead skinner Nkosilati, who was mute. On top we would have a Zimbabwean Game Ranger with us, to make sure that everything we did was compliant with the law. Vaughan would do most of the driving, with me sitting in the front seat and everyone else piled on top of the guns, ammo, cooking gear, chairs and hundred’s of other things in the back of the Land Cruiser.

As it was the first day, we were not too well organised and we only took off around 5:00 after having drunk a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs with cheese made by chef Francis. We ate these scrambled egg’s with cheese pretty much every morning before taking off. At least we had something in our stomach’s that way, but nothing too heavy, so we would not be burdened down for all the walking. We had about 1 hour to drive from the Lodge at Marshlands, to the Ingwizi Conservancy. There, in a dry river bed, Garth had been seeing quite a lot of elephant spoor, in the past few days.

Before we left Marshlands, we made a little stop on a dam, to see if my 416 Rigby was still shooting straight (and likely to see if I could handle my rifle). I had no worries about the rifle doing okay, and really wanted to try shooting two rounds in rapid succession, as I had not been able to practice this back in Belgium. Garth set up a box about 30m away. Shooting offhand, I proceeded to put two bullet holes in it about 5cm spaced apart, within about 4 seconds time between both shots. I had a little hangup working the bolt, which caused me to look down to my rifle, instead of keeping my eyes on the target, which Vaughan pointed out. Both Garth and Vaughan were happy with my shooting and we were on our way.

Back in the truck Vaughan explained that the rains were on their way and if they fell, it would mix up the movement patterns of the elephants and might start their migration across the Botswana border to feast on the first young leaves from the Mopane trees. At the end of the dry season, there is not much green available yet, and the mopane trees are often the first to flush with their protein rich leaves, on which elephants love to feast. So we had a bit of pressure to get on elephant spoor quickly and get the principal goal of this safari into the salt, before the rains would arrive.

The total area Mapassa has hunting rights on, is around 350 000 hectares. There are however two small blocks inside that vast area that were off limits. These blocks were called Homefarm and Wilbur Force, where the hunting rights belonged to another outfitter.

Driving through the dry river bed, spoor from elephant and every other African mammal, was everywhere. Elephants do not like to drink dirty or cloudy water, often found in the dam’s, where they will wallow around in the water. They prefer to go to such dry river beds, and use their tusks and trunks to make about 1m to 1.5m deep holes, to access the water that is under the dry sand. As this water gets naturally filtered by the sand, it is crystal clear.

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In this location in the conservancy, for the past few days, the elephants had been coming in the night to dig their holes and drink the clean, fresh water hiding under the dry sand. Unfortunately for us, the dry river bed where we could find the elephant drinking pits, continued on into one of the non-huntable blocks. The elephant herd, after quenching their thirst, would often continue into this block, so we could not follow them any further.

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After seeing all the spoor and following the giant footsteps for a few hundred meters to confirm that they indeed ran back into the non-huntable block, we had the guys chop down some branches to attach to the back of the Cruiser. Dragging almost half a tree behind us, would wipe clean the sand of any spoor, so the next morning we would be able to see what new had happened.

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We drove back out of the dry river bed, having decided that we would be back in the late afternoon, hopefully to catch the elephant while en route to the river bed or surprising them during their digging and drinking. As it was only about 8 in the morning by then, with a full day ahead, we would look out for other game to present itself and getting to know each other a bit. In the cab of the Cruiser, Vaughan brought a little .22 rifle that we would use to get some meat for lunch, or food for Vaughan’s hawk. Doves, go-away birds, rabbits, francolin and guinea fowl would all be fair game when we would encounter them.

Before lunch, we went on a little stalk in the thorn brush to see if we could get an impala or a zebra perhaps. It was not long, with the heat rising together with the sun, before I was huffing and puffing along. A couple of “disco donkey’s” were noticed walking away at a distance from us and to get in front of them, we had to speed up. Trying to get a bird’s eye view, I got my first experience climbing up the kopjes that littered the landscape. Kopjes are rock formations, of varying sizes, some only 10 meters high, others up to 80 meters or more. These kopjes are formed when softer volcanic rock and ash that comprise the soils of the area erode to expose the underlying layer of ancient granite that forces its way upwards from below the earth’s crust. They provide excellent places for leopard’s and small mammal’s such klipspringer, hyrax and steenbok to hide in. As well as being ideal for us to be able to have a look at our surroundings, rising above the thorn brush.

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I had taken the advice of other AfricaHunting.com members to have good slings for both my rifles. This to ease the carrying of the rifles all day long, but also for safety, in order to avoid the African Carry style. African Carry means the stock would rest on your shoulder, while you grab the barrel with your hand. Vaughan has a .500 Jeffery bolt action and Garth a .458 Winchester Magnum bolt action rifle, both without slings nor optics, which they would carry African style. As they would sometimes be up front, sometimes behind, it would be unavoidable that barrels would at times be pointing to the others in the party, although I did not feel unsafe at any point. These were professionals and they knew what they were doing. For myself however, most of the time I preferred to carry my rifle, barrel up with a sling, on my strong shoulder.

So arriving at the first kopje and looking up, I thought to myself "yes, this is where my sling would truly come in handy", as it would allow me to hang the rifle crossed over my back, having both hands free to climb. This thought had not yet fully left my mind, when I made a right turn while climbing, proceeding to force the muzzle of my barrel into the face of the rock. This left some steel, coming from the crown, behind on the granite. I was cursing myself under my breath. Not even 24hrs into a 17-day hunt, and I had already damaged one of my prized rifles. Oh well, I thought to myself, nothing I can do about it now, so no point in continuing to fret about it.

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By the time we got up on the rocks, the zebra's had outsmarted us and had disappeared in the brush. We climbed a few more of these kopjes the rest of the morning, but not seeing a lot of game. The heat must have kept everything resting in the shade. As some game would undoubtely be trying to get a drink, we tried our luck visiting a few water pan's. At the last pan we tried, we surprised a group of baboons. The male, a big dog, was taunting us to get take a shot at him. But tradition and superstition dictate that the first real game (birds apparently do not count) that should be taken, should be for food. Otherwise bad luck would follow us for the rest of the hunt. So we left the baboons alone and continued our way to another pan to have lunch and a siesta. As we had not been able to secure our own lunch, luckily there was a back-up plan in the form of pork chops and sadza. Sadza is a traditional porridge made from cornmeal and water, which has the consistency of baked bread dough. It means ‘meal’ in the Shona language and is eaten by locals at least once a day, together with some vegetables and if there is any available, some meat. I did shoot two go-away birds somewhere in the morning, which we proceeded to put on the barbecue as well. Quite dry and tough meat, but not bad tasting at all. After a short nap along a lake bank and some shenanigans with the geese on the water, we set out, back to the riverbed.

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Arriving there a bit early, we stopped the truck, dismounted and all proceeded to make themselves comfortable in the warm sand, for an additional nap. While we were getting some shut eye, we had the occasional visit of a few vervet monkeys, who were curious as to our purpose. They would just stare a few moments and when they would see us looking back, they would scurry away again.

17:30 passed and we geared up. I had purchased a nice Els&Co gun belt, together with an 8-round pouch for the 416 ammunition. My Von Gruff knife, with the closed sheath that we had designed together to avoid the possibility of the metal closure to rub on my rifle, was hanging on my belt as well. The .416 Rigby on my shoulder and we started to stalk through the riverside brush, just under cover, to where we suspected the elephant to be milling about to drink. Arriving there and nothing to be seen yet, we climbed some kopjes to have a better view and quietly listened for breaking branches and the deep rumbling of a group of elephants on their way.

It was a fantastic sunset, however having seen or heard no elephant, we left just as the darkness fell, back to Marshlands. On the way home we saw civet, some female duikers, steenbok and plenty of rabbits. Among which also some protected Jameson’s Red Rock Rabbits, a very rare species. Arriving at the lodge, we had a great three course dinner, and went off to bed early. Two go-away birds, a goose and two rabbits were the day’s tally.

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Day 2 – 22/10/2022 – An Old Warrior and a Cheeky Jokester​

Second day out for elephant, still the same game plan. Up at 4:00 in the morning, but this time we were a bit more efficient and we were on the road by 4:30. Our first destination was again the riverbed to go check out the elephant activity from last night. We saw a lot of spoor and one giant track. Both my shoes, size 11 Courteney’s, would comfortably fit in its tracks.

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The elephants in the Ingwizi conservancy are peculiarly all bulls. The reason for the lack of female groups and calves is two-fold. Inside the conservancy there is quite some water to be found, thanks to the conservation efforts of placing water pumps and taking care of the various pans and dam. This allows big game species, such as elephant, to thrive in the conservancy. However, the area around the conservancy is quite devoid of water. In almost any direction around the conservancy, for about 150km’s there is almost no water to be found. For females with calves, the jump across this dry “no-man’s land” is too much of a challenge. The second reason is that on the north side, where the Hwange national park is situated, there is a heavy 6 strand wire fence, separating Hwange from Matabeleland. This is mostly to keep the cattle from Matabeleland out of the national park. Adult elephant can get through this barrier, but calves cannot. This keeps the female groups in Hwange. Pretty much all the elephants in the Ingwizi conservancy are therefore bulls in usually very large bachelor groups.

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We started to follow the huge track, and we came to the border of the non-huntable block again and had to stop. Bummer, as we had felt the droppings they had left behind and could still feel them being warm. This meant that they had only left maybe an hour before we arrived. As this was still our best option so far, we decided to repeat the first day, and keep away for the remainder of the morning and early afternoon, seeing if we could secure some antelope meat, and come back in the late afternoon to wait them coming to water again. The guys again attached a big branch to the back and off we were driving through the loose beach sand.

While making our way back to where we had driven into the riverbed, Vaughan spotted a group of vervet monkey’s. While he was looking at them through his binoculars, I spotted a bit further to the left, two impala’s. Vaughan confirmed them to be just that and we quickly jumped out of the truck. Garth handed me the 7mm and Vaughan grabbed the sticks, Mlillo followed suit. We went into the bush on the opposite side of the riverbank where we had spotted the impala, in order to advance rapidly under cover. Arriving at the approximate height where we had last spotted them, we could not see them anymore, so we crossed the river bed again and started to stalk quietly into the thick bush. Visibility was limited to about 20m in any direction, with sometimes a game trail or opening allowing us to see a bit further.

We saw flashes of their orange-brown colours through some openings, where a group of about 15 or 20 were feeding in a clearing. There were two males and otherwise only females and young there. As we tried to approach, to get a shot at one of the males, the females must have spotted us and started to move away quickly, almost breaking into a sprint. The old male however had not spotted us and did not quite understand why his harem was so nervous and came walking out more calmly. As the females all broke out at speed, the ram walked out. From a kneeling position, trying to hide behind a 2-inch-thick tree, I took an offhand shot, getting the immediate tell-tale crack of a good hit. I had hit him high on the shoulder and he was dead right there.

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Impala in the local Shona lanquage is called mhara

An amazing old ram, not the biggest, but with a solid 2 inches of secondary growth. The first proper game of the trip was in the salt and the bush was now open, as the trackers explained! Everyone was joyous and smiling, happy to get some fresh meat, and having the ice broken. We had the photo session and then loaded him up and drove to a nearby cattle-farmer. Butchering him, we took the fillets, heart, liver and one back leg with us for our lunch. The remainder of the meat was given to the cattle rancher, who was ecstatic to receive some nyama.

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We continued to drive around to find elephant spoor or any other game that would cross our road, but did not see much. At the end of the morning, off we went to another water pan, to start the braai for lunch. The temperature was again stifling, so being in the shade close to the water would be very welcome. Arriving at the pan, across from us, a group of baboons was walking away upon seeing us. Another group came from our right, going to drink, but they kept their distance, so we went to have the guys set up the fire on the left-hand side of the pan, while Vaughan and I would sneak through the tree line, trying to get a good look at the baboons and see if there was a big dog with them. There was one who was trying his very best to get lucky with a female and would not let her drink in tranquillity. They kept on moving until they also got behind some rocks and cover. So back to the braai, where the heart, liver and the impala fillet were getting cooked together with the obligatory sadza. Just some onions, salt and pepper were all the spices needed to cook the meat to perfection. After the meal, it was time for a nap again.

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While we were lying there, a big dog and a female came back on the rocks to sit in the sun. I slid down the river bank, getting behind Garth and resting my rifle on a fallen-over tree. Sitting on my butt, it would be a rather long shot at 200 meters on such a small target, but I was very stable. I held the cross hairs just under this chin, and let a 7mm round fly. A loud crack came back from over the water, a solid hit and we saw him falling off the rocks. He tried once more to get up and run a few meters up a hill, but he did not make it far and rolled back down. In the meantime, the braai had been all packed up again and we went to get the old baboon. He was not huge, but absolutely ancient, with very thick calluses on his butt.

Some pictures later and we were off again, trying to find more elephant sign, but coming up empty. So back to the river bed to see what was going on. We climbed some kopjes and experienced another amazing sunset. Apart from a big family of hyraxes that were staring us down, we did not see much other game. Unbelievable, but true, these small rodent-like hyraxes are actually one of the species closest on the tree of life to our intended quarry, the African Elephant!

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With the sun setting, I could hear a tsunami of noise rolling closer and closer, until it was all around. This was coming from crickets, starting up their song along with the retreating sun. With the darkness starting to set in, the elephant had eluded us again. We were suspecting that they were outsmarting us by only coming to drink in the darkness, leaving well before sunrise. Unfortunately, it would also still be another 10 days before we would have moonlight again, so hunting them at night was not an option either.

The ride back to Marshlands was a bit more eventful however. Racing along the 'main road' leading out the conservancy, basically a dusty sand track, at close to a 100 km/hr, a steenbok jumped out in front of the truck and Vaughan could not avoid him anymore, so he got hit. We stopped to have a look at him, but he had expired. Too bad as it was a nice old ram. One of his horns was missing bizarrely and I suggested to take a look at the front tire, where we found it back, stuck in the rubber. Luckily it did not penetrate and cause a flat tire.

After this moment of excitement and some jokes from the guys, telling Vaughan he made a “good shot”, we were on our way again. While speeding along we saw eyes reflecting back in the distance and so we stopped to check it out. Four kids, the youngest being about 8 and the oldest maybe 14, were walking along the road at 20:00 in the pitch-black night along the road. They were accompanied by a few mongrel dogs. This was highly suspect and I saw two kids in the back trying to hide something behind their backs. At first, I thought it was a rifle, but it ended up being some sticks with a metal weight at the end. We all got out and Vaughan and the Parks Ranger started questioning them on what they were doing out so late.

Obviously, they were trying to poach some animals. How this worked, is that they would use a torch to find and then fix a critter in place, by shining in its eyes. At that point the dogs would be sent in to pin the antelope in place and they would finish it off with these clubs. It is difficult to imagine living in a society where it is normal for 8-year-old kids to go out in dark night, surrounded by all kinds of dangerous critters, two-legged and four-legged ones alike, to go hit some animals over the head with sticks. All just to get some meat. We are very fortunate in the West.

The Parks Ranger gave them all a good few slaps on their behinds and threatened them that if we would ever catch them again, they would be sent to prison. We left them there, a bit shaken and hopefully remorseful, but as Vaughan said afterwards, there is not much you can do about this. Every night 20 or 30 such groups of kids would be out to find nyama. And you can hardly blame them for wanting to fill their bellies.

Driving into Marshlands we saw a big group of eland running away from our headlights, with one good bull between them. It was a fantastic sight to see a group of these huge animals, the biggest bulls being larger than a cape buffalo, run with such ease through the brush. We did not give chase and continued on to the lodge for some rest.
 

Day 3 – 23/10/2022 – The Black Ghost​

Up at 4:00 again and off to the river bed to see what the elephant had been up to last night. The elephant had not come in to drink, so no spoor to follow and we started to feel the first pangs of worry that they might have started their migration to Botswana already. We started an hours-long trek around the hunting block that they had disappeared in the previous days, to see if there were any tracks leading out West. Luckily no signs of them packing up and moving camp were found, so after a roadside lunch of sandwiches, we decided to drive back to Marshlands to try our luck on some klipspringer, bush pigs or perhaps try to find that group of elands from the night before again. There really was not much more we could do right now. We knew the elephants were still there, that there were a few good bulls with them and we just had to remain patient until they made a mistake.

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Driving away from the riverbed, Vaughan slammed on the brakes and pointed out in the tree ahead some pigeon-like bird. “Shoot one!” he told me in a hurry. Jumping out with the .22, I tried to get closer and closer until I could be reasonably sure of my off-hand shot on such a small target. Luckily it worked out and when we went to retrieve it, it looked like no pigeon I had ever seen. With beautiful green colours. This was an African Green Pigeon, which due to it eating mostly fruits and seeds, has very tasty meat.

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After arriving back in Marshlands, we started our first walk through the bush. We came upon duiker, klipspringer, steenbok, and some other species, but either they were females or gave us the slip each time. There was one klipspringer standing on the very top of a nearby kopje, however, the 300m distance was just too far. We tried to get closer, but due to the brush, we had to get to the foot of the kopje to see him again, at which point he had long fled. A shame as this was a very big one.

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Sometime later we did pick up the tracks of a herd of eland. Nko, the mute skinner and not a bad tracker either, was making excited signs that there was a monster among them. He did this by hunching up his shoulders, arms down in a slight curve and muscles tense, a bit like the posture of a male gorilla. "Mhofu?" asked Vaughan, also doing this hunching up of his shoulders to signify a big one, to which Nko replied positively. Off we went into the jess, to catch up with the group. After a few hours of tracking, we finally caught up with them. The stalking went very slowly, because with all the dry mopane leaves on the ground, it was difficult to remain silent. Just as we started to see glimpses of them through the brush at about 70m from us, they noticed us too and started to make a run for it. Vaughan with the sticks and myself with my 416 rigby sprinted to the edge of a nearby clearing, trying to get setup when they would pass by. While running I was trying to cycle the .416, as I had been underloaded up until then. Barely had I put the rifle on the sticks, or the group burst out from the bush, in their famous long trot, crossing to the other side of the clearing. Out came a true monster of a bull, easily much larger than the biggest cape buffalo, almost black in colour. A massive, muscled body with a huge neck. Moving at speed, with females passing him in front or back, I did not want to risk a shot. The opportunity was missed and Vaughan was not too happy about it.

Anyway, we continued on and after regrouping, we would try again on the same group of eland that we had bumped. While stalking through the brush, trying to circle around their suspected location, we witnessed an ethereal view when a pennant winged night jar flew a few seconds in strange looping circles around us. I had difficulty believing this was a bird, it looked like something from another world. When it is flying with its very slow flaps, with the long trailing feathers from its wings and the bright colours, it looks almost like a thing out of a dream. An oversized butterfly or a creature from another world.

Getting closer to where we suspected the eland to be, Garth went up on one of the kopjes as a lookout, to guide us in, as the brush was very thick and visibility was very limited. He had barely made it halfway up, when Vaughan’s walkie talkie crackled with Garth’s excited voice. There was a group of bushpig’s, that he had disturbed, that was on a run in our direction. We were walking in single file, as there was too much brush around us. First the two trackers, Mlillo and Junior, then I and lastly Vaughan. We saw them coming through the brush, from over a saddle between two kopjes, streaming into the small valley we were standing in. “Shoot those pigs!” Vaughan shouted, especially as one was charging straight for the two trackers in front of me. “Get down!” yelled Vaughan to the trackers, giving me the possibility to swing my barrel over their heads and touch the trigger. Missed. I tried to reload to catch another one while they were fleeing past us, but the brush was too thick to swing well on these running boar’s. And I’m no Franz-Albrecht by any means either. The trackers however, had in their haste to get down, forgotten to plug their ears with their hands. When my first shot rang out over their heads, to get the one charging straight to us, they definitely had bells ringing for a while. But I’m quite sure they preferred that to a close encounter with a bush pig!

We all had a good laugh about the whole situation, and it took the edge a bit off the tense hours we had had before. It was a real privilege to see these nocturnal animals with their grey-white razorbacks in broad daylight.

“Let’s see how the eland reacted to that .416” Vaughan said, and we were back on the spoor. We spotted them soon enough, about an hour of tracking later or so. Quickly but silently we tried to bypass them, so we could wait on them filing past. Seeing the lead females passing at the end of an old overgrown game trail, I went to sit on my butt to look through hundreds of branches, trees, brush and what-have-you, to the end of that game trail, about 80 meters away. Balancing the rifle on my hands, supported by my knees, this was a position I was not yet familiar with. Where the eland were passing, at the end of the 80m long overgrown tunnel, there was only a 2m gap that I could see them, so I got ready. “Here he comes” Vaughan whispered and with the big black bull coming into sight, I tried to lead a little and touched of the trigger.

With that loud boom started 48 hours of pain. Fatigue and exhaustion turned it all into a blur. For although we thought that I had hit him, we never found any blood or fluids. Over the span of the next few hours, until it was far too dark to see, we would continue on playing a game of cat and mouse with the group of eland, trying to put more rounds into him. Two more times that afternoon the .416 Rigby barked, but seemingly hitting nothing but air and rocks. At one point, I was so exasperated that I asked Vaughan to take my rifle and put at least one good round in the eland, but he refused. “Not on non-dangerous game” he said.

We tracked the eland until it was too dark to see and then we had to give up, to try and follow up the next day, as we knew where the herd had fled to. Rest assured that my mood, and the mood of everyone else was quite sour and the ride back to camp was very silent. We had done a total of 23km in a span of only about 5 hours. Fast walking behind Vaughan, having to break into a run every few meters, in order to keep up with his long strides, then stopping, listening, hunching over and trying to run in front of the eland again. Our legs were black from all the dust and ashes. Every body part hurt. I got two blisters, one under each of my large toes that day. We were exhausted, had nothing to show for our efforts and most importantly I had disappointed the team. I was not in a good place that evening when I crawled into bed. Luckily I was so exhausted that sleep came fast, and I would not have to contend with my brain rehashing the events of the day too much.

Looking back, the only thing that could explain my shot’s from not connecting, is some kind of African buck fever. So much anticipation and stress that I put on myself to make a good shot and anticipating the recoil, that I probably pulled every round, flinching like a complete beginner. Two of the three shots where through heavy brush however. But one, the last one was not and I had a 3 second open window at about 75 meters, with the animal standing still. So even if there was some deflection playing a role in the first two shots, this could not have been the case in the last one. Vaughan even looked bewildered at me, when he saw dust pop up 2 meters behind the eland.

1728247476641.png
 
Very much enjoying your report, thank you.
 

Day 3 – 23/10/2022 – The Black Ghost​

Up at 4:00 again and off to the river bed to see what the elephant had been up to last night. The elephant had not come in to drink, so no spoor to follow and we started to feel the first pangs of worry that they might have started their migration to Botswana already. We started an hours-long trek around the hunting block that they had disappeared in the previous days, to see if there were any tracks leading out West. Luckily no signs of them packing up and moving camp were found, so after a roadside lunch of sandwiches, we decided to drive back to Marshlands to try our luck on some klipspringer, bush pigs or perhaps try to find that group of elands from the night before again. There really was not much more we could do right now. We knew the elephants were still there, that there were a few good bulls with them and we just had to remain patient until they made a mistake.

View attachment 638626

Driving away from the riverbed, Vaughan slammed on the brakes and pointed out in the tree ahead some pigeon-like bird. “Shoot one!” he told me in a hurry. Jumping out with the .22, I tried to get closer and closer until I could be reasonably sure of my off-hand shot on such a small target. Luckily it worked out and when we went to retrieve it, it looked like no pigeon I had ever seen. With beautiful green colours. This was an African Green Pigeon, which due to it eating mostly fruits and seeds, has very tasty meat.

View attachment 638623

After arriving back in Marshlands, we started our first walk through the bush. We came upon duiker, klipspringer, steenbok, and some other species, but either they were females or gave us the slip each time. There was one klipspringer standing on the very top of a nearby kopje, however, the 300m distance was just too far. We tried to get closer, but due to the brush, we had to get to the foot of the kopje to see him again, at which point he had long fled. A shame as this was a very big one.

View attachment 638627

Sometime later we did pick up the tracks of a herd of eland. Nko, the mute skinner and not a bad tracker either, was making excited signs that there was a monster among them. He did this by hunching up his shoulders, arms down in a slight curve and muscles tense, a bit like the posture of a male gorilla. "Mhofu?" asked Vaughan, also doing this hunching up of his shoulders to signify a big one, to which Nko replied positively. Off we went into the jess, to catch up with the group. After a few hours of tracking, we finally caught up with them. The stalking went very slowly, because with all the dry mopane leaves on the ground, it was difficult to remain silent. Just as we started to see glimpses of them through the brush at about 70m from us, they noticed us too and started to make a run for it. Vaughan with the sticks and myself with my 416 rigby sprinted to the edge of a nearby clearing, trying to get setup when they would pass by. While running I was trying to cycle the .416, as I had been underloaded up until then. Barely had I put the rifle on the sticks, or the group burst out from the bush, in their famous long trot, crossing to the other side of the clearing. Out came a true monster of a bull, easily much larger than the biggest cape buffalo, almost black in colour. A massive, muscled body with a huge neck. Moving at speed, with females passing him in front or back, I did not want to risk a shot. The opportunity was missed and Vaughan was not too happy about it.

Anyway, we continued on and after regrouping, we would try again on the same group of eland that we had bumped. While stalking through the brush, trying to circle around their suspected location, we witnessed an ethereal view when a pennant winged night jar flew a few seconds in strange looping circles around us. I had difficulty believing this was a bird, it looked like something from another world. When it is flying with its very slow flaps, with the long trailing feathers from its wings and the bright colours, it looks almost like a thing out of a dream. An oversized butterfly or a creature from another world.

Getting closer to where we suspected the eland to be, Garth went up on one of the kopjes as a lookout, to guide us in, as the brush was very thick and visibility was very limited. He had barely made it halfway up, when Vaughan’s walkie talkie crackled with Garth’s excited voice. There was a group of bushpig’s, that he had disturbed, that was on a run in our direction. We were walking in single file, as there was too much brush around us. First the two trackers, Mlillo and Junior, then I and lastly Vaughan. We saw them coming through the brush, from over a saddle between two kopjes, streaming into the small valley we were standing in. “Shoot those pigs!” Vaughan shouted, especially as one was charging straight for the two trackers in front of me. “Get down!” yelled Vaughan to the trackers, giving me the possibility to swing my barrel over their heads and touch the trigger. Missed. I tried to reload to catch another one while they were fleeing past us, but the brush was too thick to swing well on these running boar’s. And I’m no Franz-Albrecht by any means either. The trackers however, had in their haste to get down, forgotten to plug their ears with their hands. When my first shot rang out over their heads, to get the one charging straight to us, they definitely had bells ringing for a while. But I’m quite sure they preferred that to a close encounter with a bush pig!

We all had a good laugh about the whole situation, and it took the edge a bit off the tense hours we had had before. It was a real privilege to see these nocturnal animals with their grey-white razorbacks in broad daylight.

“Let’s see how the eland reacted to that .416” Vaughan said, and we were back on the spoor. We spotted them soon enough, about an hour of tracking later or so. Quickly but silently we tried to bypass them, so we could wait on them filing past. Seeing the lead females passing at the end of an old overgrown game trail, I went to sit on my butt to look through hundreds of branches, trees, brush and what-have-you, to the end of that game trail, about 80 meters away. Balancing the rifle on my hands, supported by my knees, this was a position I was not yet familiar with. Where the eland were passing, at the end of the 80m long overgrown tunnel, there was only a 2m gap that I could see them, so I got ready. “Here he comes” Vaughan whispered and with the big black bull coming into sight, I tried to lead a little and touched of the trigger.

With that loud boom started 48 hours of pain. Fatigue and exhaustion turned it all into a blur. For although we thought that I had hit him, we never found any blood or fluids. Over the span of the next few hours, until it was far too dark to see, we would continue on playing a game of cat and mouse with the group of eland, trying to put more rounds into him. Two more times that afternoon the .416 Rigby barked, but seemingly hitting nothing but air and rocks. At one point, I was so exasperated that I asked Vaughan to take my rifle and put at least one good round in the eland, but he refused. “Not on non-dangerous game” he said.

We tracked the eland until it was too dark to see and then we had to give up, to try and follow up the next day, as we knew where the herd had fled to. Rest assured that my mood, and the mood of everyone else was quite sour and the ride back to camp was very silent. We had done a total of 23km in a span of only about 5 hours. Fast walking behind Vaughan, having to break into a run every few meters, in order to keep up with his long strides, then stopping, listening, hunching over and trying to run in front of the eland again. Our legs were black from all the dust and ashes. Every body part hurt. I got two blisters, one under each of my large toes that day. We were exhausted, had nothing to show for our efforts and most importantly I had disappointed the team. I was not in a good place that evening when I crawled into bed. Luckily I was so exhausted that sleep came fast, and I would not have to contend with my brain rehashing the events of the day too much.

Looking back, the only thing that could explain my shot’s from not connecting, is some kind of African buck fever. So much anticipation and stress that I put on myself to make a good shot and anticipating the recoil, that I probably pulled every round, flinching like a complete beginner. Two of the three shots where through heavy brush however. But one, the last one was not and I had a 3 second open window at about 75 meters, with the animal standing still. So even if there was some deflection playing a role in the first two shots, this could not have been the case in the last one. Vaughan even looked bewildered at me, when he saw dust pop up 2 meters behind the eland.

View attachment 638628
Enjoying your report!!!!!
 
Great report thus far, keep it coming.
 

Day 3 – 23/10/2022 – The Black Ghost​

Up at 4:00 again and off to the river bed to see what the elephant had been up to last night. The elephant had not come in to drink, so no spoor to follow and we started to feel the first pangs of worry that they might have started their migration to Botswana already. We started an hours-long trek around the hunting block that they had disappeared in the previous days, to see if there were any tracks leading out West. Luckily no signs of them packing up and moving camp were found, so after a roadside lunch of sandwiches, we decided to drive back to Marshlands to try our luck on some klipspringer, bush pigs or perhaps try to find that group of elands from the night before again. There really was not much more we could do right now. We knew the elephants were still there, that there were a few good bulls with them and we just had to remain patient until they made a mistake.

View attachment 638626

Driving away from the riverbed, Vaughan slammed on the brakes and pointed out in the tree ahead some pigeon-like bird. “Shoot one!” he told me in a hurry. Jumping out with the .22, I tried to get closer and closer until I could be reasonably sure of my off-hand shot on such a small target. Luckily it worked out and when we went to retrieve it, it looked like no pigeon I had ever seen. With beautiful green colours. This was an African Green Pigeon, which due to it eating mostly fruits and seeds, has very tasty meat.

View attachment 638623

After arriving back in Marshlands, we started our first walk through the bush. We came upon duiker, klipspringer, steenbok, and some other species, but either they were females or gave us the slip each time. There was one klipspringer standing on the very top of a nearby kopje, however, the 300m distance was just too far. We tried to get closer, but due to the brush, we had to get to the foot of the kopje to see him again, at which point he had long fled. A shame as this was a very big one.

View attachment 638627

Sometime later we did pick up the tracks of a herd of eland. Nko, the mute skinner and not a bad tracker either, was making excited signs that there was a monster among them. He did this by hunching up his shoulders, arms down in a slight curve and muscles tense, a bit like the posture of a male gorilla. "Mhofu?" asked Vaughan, also doing this hunching up of his shoulders to signify a big one, to which Nko replied positively. Off we went into the jess, to catch up with the group. After a few hours of tracking, we finally caught up with them. The stalking went very slowly, because with all the dry mopane leaves on the ground, it was difficult to remain silent. Just as we started to see glimpses of them through the brush at about 70m from us, they noticed us too and started to make a run for it. Vaughan with the sticks and myself with my 416 rigby sprinted to the edge of a nearby clearing, trying to get setup when they would pass by. While running I was trying to cycle the .416, as I had been underloaded up until then. Barely had I put the rifle on the sticks, or the group burst out from the bush, in their famous long trot, crossing to the other side of the clearing. Out came a true monster of a bull, easily much larger than the biggest cape buffalo, almost black in colour. A massive, muscled body with a huge neck. Moving at speed, with females passing him in front or back, I did not want to risk a shot. The opportunity was missed and Vaughan was not too happy about it.

Anyway, we continued on and after regrouping, we would try again on the same group of eland that we had bumped. While stalking through the brush, trying to circle around their suspected location, we witnessed an ethereal view when a pennant winged night jar flew a few seconds in strange looping circles around us. I had difficulty believing this was a bird, it looked like something from another world. When it is flying with its very slow flaps, with the long trailing feathers from its wings and the bright colours, it looks almost like a thing out of a dream. An oversized butterfly or a creature from another world.

Getting closer to where we suspected the eland to be, Garth went up on one of the kopjes as a lookout, to guide us in, as the brush was very thick and visibility was very limited. He had barely made it halfway up, when Vaughan’s walkie talkie crackled with Garth’s excited voice. There was a group of bushpig’s, that he had disturbed, that was on a run in our direction. We were walking in single file, as there was too much brush around us. First the two trackers, Mlillo and Junior, then I and lastly Vaughan. We saw them coming through the brush, from over a saddle between two kopjes, streaming into the small valley we were standing in. “Shoot those pigs!” Vaughan shouted, especially as one was charging straight for the two trackers in front of me. “Get down!” yelled Vaughan to the trackers, giving me the possibility to swing my barrel over their heads and touch the trigger. Missed. I tried to reload to catch another one while they were fleeing past us, but the brush was too thick to swing well on these running boar’s. And I’m no Franz-Albrecht by any means either. The trackers however, had in their haste to get down, forgotten to plug their ears with their hands. When my first shot rang out over their heads, to get the one charging straight to us, they definitely had bells ringing for a while. But I’m quite sure they preferred that to a close encounter with a bush pig!

We all had a good laugh about the whole situation, and it took the edge a bit off the tense hours we had had before. It was a real privilege to see these nocturnal animals with their grey-white razorbacks in broad daylight.

“Let’s see how the eland reacted to that .416” Vaughan said, and we were back on the spoor. We spotted them soon enough, about an hour of tracking later or so. Quickly but silently we tried to bypass them, so we could wait on them filing past. Seeing the lead females passing at the end of an old overgrown game trail, I went to sit on my butt to look through hundreds of branches, trees, brush and what-have-you, to the end of that game trail, about 80 meters away. Balancing the rifle on my hands, supported by my knees, this was a position I was not yet familiar with. Where the eland were passing, at the end of the 80m long overgrown tunnel, there was only a 2m gap that I could see them, so I got ready. “Here he comes” Vaughan whispered and with the big black bull coming into sight, I tried to lead a little and touched of the trigger.

With that loud boom started 48 hours of pain. Fatigue and exhaustion turned it all into a blur. For although we thought that I had hit him, we never found any blood or fluids. Over the span of the next few hours, until it was far too dark to see, we would continue on playing a game of cat and mouse with the group of eland, trying to put more rounds into him. Two more times that afternoon the .416 Rigby barked, but seemingly hitting nothing but air and rocks. At one point, I was so exasperated that I asked Vaughan to take my rifle and put at least one good round in the eland, but he refused. “Not on non-dangerous game” he said.

We tracked the eland until it was too dark to see and then we had to give up, to try and follow up the next day, as we knew where the herd had fled to. Rest assured that my mood, and the mood of everyone else was quite sour and the ride back to camp was very silent. We had done a total of 23km in a span of only about 5 hours. Fast walking behind Vaughan, having to break into a run every few meters, in order to keep up with his long strides, then stopping, listening, hunching over and trying to run in front of the eland again. Our legs were black from all the dust and ashes. Every body part hurt. I got two blisters, one under each of my large toes that day. We were exhausted, had nothing to show for our efforts and most importantly I had disappointed the team. I was not in a good place that evening when I crawled into bed. Luckily I was so exhausted that sleep came fast, and I would not have to contend with my brain rehashing the events of the day too much.

Looking back, the only thing that could explain my shot’s from not connecting, is some kind of African buck fever. So much anticipation and stress that I put on myself to make a good shot and anticipating the recoil, that I probably pulled every round, flinching like a complete beginner. Two of the three shots where through heavy brush however. But one, the last one was not and I had a 3 second open window at about 75 meters, with the animal standing still. So even if there was some deflection playing a role in the first two shots, this could not have been the case in the last one. Vaughan even looked bewildered at me, when he saw dust pop up 2 meters behind the eland.

View attachment 638628

Nice tan :ROFLMAO: :ROFLMAO:
 
Keep em coming very nice report thus far feels like we are with you every step of the way.
 
Thanks for the nice messages so far. The next instalment will need to wait for tonight :)

@375Fox pointed out that there have been some changes on the hunting grounds since then. For the record my info is from end of 2022.
 
Thanks for the nice messages so far. The next instalment will need to wait for tonight :)

@375Fox pointed out that there have been some changes on the hunting grounds since then. For the record my info is from end of 2022.
A positive change to one of the small blocks you mentioned. Looking forward to the rest of your report.
 

Day 4 – 24/10/2022 – The Black Ghost Wins​



We all got up at 4:30. The plan was that Garth would go out to the dry river bed and check things out with the elephant, while Vaughan, 4 trackers and I would pick up the spoor from where we last saw the herd of eland sprinting away. No blood or leakage found so far, so a pure spoor tracking hunt from here on out. Picking up the tracks around 5:30, we were in for a few hours of fast tracking and stalking.

1728322732302.png


A local cow herder approached us along the way to say that he had spotted a group of eland being bumped by his cows, with one huge black bull amongst them. With new energy in us, we continued on and while we just about thought that we had again lost their spoor and would have to backtrack, one of the trackers spotted them on the other side of some thick brush. I had opted to take the 7x64 with me today, instead of the .416 Rigby, in order to be sure that I could take a longer shot if necessary.



The rifle went on the sticks, in the direction of the herd of eland, who were calmly grazing, unaware of us being there. I had a 10x10cm window, again at around 80m distance, through which I could only see the bull’s shoulder and ribcage. He was quartering towards us. I took my time and when ready, with Vaughan looking right over my shoulder, I touched off the trigger. The classic loud crack of hitting the boiler room rolled back to us and we were all convinced that I had a good hit. The eland sped off, scattering the group in all directions. So we resumed the tracking again. Despite still no blood or fluids on the ground, we expected to find his huge bulk behind the next bush.

1728322764981.png


A few meters turned into a few hundred meters, turned into a few kilometres. I did not know it yet, but that image I saw through my scope, of the bull’s shoulder, was the very last time I would see him. The shot happened around 10:00 and although the bull seemed to have split off from the rest of the herd, we spent the next 8 hours walking in the hilly landscape, crossing the entire property. Often running at full speed, when someone had seen a glimpse. The entire team, with Garth having joined us again around 12:00 did a formidable job tracking, and no one would give up. As we had to go quick, none of us had had any lunch or water, so when we took a break around 14:00, Vaughan proposed I would eat something and I told him that unless the trackers could get to eat and drink, I wouldn’t either. As a solution, we shared the three lunch boxes with the 6 trackers. Despite everyone's efforts, at the end of the evening, reaching the boundary of the 4000 hectare Marshland property, with the sun setting, we had to give up. The eland had jumped yet another cattle fence and continued on without stopping.

1728322791967.png


The entire day, various members of the team had sighted the bull, trotting off, allowing them to give us an approximate heading on which we could advance more rapidly. The bull had not shown any sign of feeling sick. No blood or leakage was ever found. Apart from the bull having split off from his females (but later on re-joining the herd), there was no sign outside of the loud crack that the bull had been hit. Garth too, in the last few minutes before night fall, got to observe the bull from the side I had shot him. The bull showed no signs of weakness, anything leaking, a dark spot or having any issues, and was seen trotting into the distance. Vaughan and I were unfortunately still trying to catch up on foot and could not get to those hills in sufficient time to make a shot. Not without trying though. We went into a quick jog those last kilometres in order to get there in time. In hilly country, with steep inclines, this was not easy for my flatlander background. This was one of my toughest physical challenges yet. Even worse than my hunts in the Highlands of Scotland.

Could it have been that the loud crack we heard, was instead of the bullet burying itself into a tree? Was the eland therefore even injured? Vaughan said he was convinced that he did not see any splinters or dust jump off from any branches or trees, but perhaps it just went straight into a thick branch? Another alternative theory we had, was that the bullet did find its mark. But due to the quartering-to position, where I had tried to place the round on the shoulder, to traverse both lungs, perhaps the soft RWS Kegelspitz bullet had flattened against the hard muscles and heavy bone of the shoulder. Or even skidded along the ribs. We will probably never know, unless that big black monster of an eland bull jumps back over the fence into Marshland’s.

Although I was feeling very down at that point, Vaughan admitted that we gave it all we could but that this battle was won by the black ghost. We did a total of 32km that day in the blistering Zimbabwean heat, going from the North of the Marshland’s property, crossing the 4000 hectares all the way to the very South. That evening, with a large rainstorm over the conservancy in the background, we had to give up on the eland. We could not pursue him any further anyway, and we had to get back to the elephant hunting. Garth had reported in that the elephants had come to drink in two different places in the riverbed, while he got showered in the morning by a localised rainstorm. The rain season had arrived and things were about to get even more tense.

Before going off to bed I had a call with the home front, where my wife told me that she would have to take our daughter to the hospital the next day at 10:00 for a check-up. She had trouble breathing and was coughing a lot. With a sombre mind I went to bed.
 

Day 4 – 24/10/2022 – The Black Ghost Wins​



We all got up at 4:30. The plan was that Garth would go out to the dry river bed and check things out with the elephant, while Vaughan, 4 trackers and I would pick up the spoor from where we last saw the herd of eland sprinting away. No blood or leakage found so far, so a pure spoor tracking hunt from here on out. Picking up the tracks around 5:30, we were in for a few hours of fast tracking and stalking.

View attachment 638790

A local cow herder approached us along the way to say that he had spotted a group of eland being bumped by his cows, with one huge black bull amongst them. With new energy in us, we continued on and while we just about thought that we had again lost their spoor and would have to backtrack, one of the trackers spotted them on the other side of some thick brush. I had opted to take the 7x64 with me today, instead of the .416 Rigby, in order to be sure that I could take a longer shot if necessary.



The rifle went on the sticks, in the direction of the herd of eland, who were calmly grazing, unaware of us being there. I had a 10x10cm window, again at around 80m distance, through which I could only see the bull’s shoulder and ribcage. He was quartering towards us. I took my time and when ready, with Vaughan looking right over my shoulder, I touched off the trigger. The classic loud crack of hitting the boiler room rolled back to us and we were all convinced that I had a good hit. The eland sped off, scattering the group in all directions. So we resumed the tracking again. Despite still no blood or fluids on the ground, we expected to find his huge bulk behind the next bush.

View attachment 638791

A few meters turned into a few hundred meters, turned into a few kilometres. I did not know it yet, but that image I saw through my scope, of the bull’s shoulder, was the very last time I would see him. The shot happened around 10:00 and although the bull seemed to have split off from the rest of the herd, we spent the next 8 hours walking in the hilly landscape, crossing the entire property. Often running at full speed, when someone had seen a glimpse. The entire team, with Garth having joined us again around 12:00 did a formidable job tracking, and no one would give up. As we had to go quick, none of us had had any lunch or water, so when we took a break around 14:00, Vaughan proposed I would eat something and I told him that unless the trackers could get to eat and drink, I wouldn’t either. As a solution, we shared the three lunch boxes with the 6 trackers. Despite everyone's efforts, at the end of the evening, reaching the boundary of the 4000 hectare Marshland property, with the sun setting, we had to give up. The eland had jumped yet another cattle fence and continued on without stopping.

View attachment 638792

The entire day, various members of the team had sighted the bull, trotting off, allowing them to give us an approximate heading on which we could advance more rapidly. The bull had not shown any sign of feeling sick. No blood or leakage was ever found. Apart from the bull having split off from his females (but later on re-joining the herd), there was no sign outside of the loud crack that the bull had been hit. Garth too, in the last few minutes before night fall, got to observe the bull from the side I had shot him. The bull showed no signs of weakness, anything leaking, a dark spot or having any issues, and was seen trotting into the distance. Vaughan and I were unfortunately still trying to catch up on foot and could not get to those hills in sufficient time to make a shot. Not without trying though. We went into a quick jog those last kilometres in order to get there in time. In hilly country, with steep inclines, this was not easy for my flatlander background. This was one of my toughest physical challenges yet. Even worse than my hunts in the Highlands of Scotland.

Could it have been that the loud crack we heard, was instead of the bullet burying itself into a tree? Was the eland therefore even injured? Vaughan said he was convinced that he did not see any splinters or dust jump off from any branches or trees, but perhaps it just went straight into a thick branch? Another alternative theory we had, was that the bullet did find its mark. But due to the quartering-to position, where I had tried to place the round on the shoulder, to traverse both lungs, perhaps the soft RWS Kegelspitz bullet had flattened against the hard muscles and heavy bone of the shoulder. Or even skidded along the ribs. We will probably never know, unless that big black monster of an eland bull jumps back over the fence into Marshland’s.

Although I was feeling very down at that point, Vaughan admitted that we gave it all we could but that this battle was won by the black ghost. We did a total of 32km that day in the blistering Zimbabwean heat, going from the North of the Marshland’s property, crossing the 4000 hectares all the way to the very South. That evening, with a large rainstorm over the conservancy in the background, we had to give up on the eland. We could not pursue him any further anyway, and we had to get back to the elephant hunting. Garth had reported in that the elephants had come to drink in two different places in the riverbed, while he got showered in the morning by a localised rainstorm. The rain season had arrived and things were about to get even more tense.

Before going off to bed I had a call with the home front, where my wife told me that she would have to take our daughter to the hospital the next day at 10:00 for a check-up. She had trouble breathing and was coughing a lot. With a sombre mind I went to bed.
I have always been very impressed by your postings. I have to say it speaks volumes about the person and hunter you are when your PH told you to eat and drink you said not unless the trackers did as well. That just speaks volumes about you!!!! Well done!!!!
 

Day 5 – 25/10/2022 – When the Bush Presents an Opportunity, Accept Graciously.​



As we all were fully knackered from the previous two days, we decided to sleep out a bit and get up only at 5:00, to leave at 6:00 for the river bed. A friend of Vaughan and Garth, Ian, who was visiting from Australia, would be joining us today. Ian is a native to the region as well, but his family had to leave Zimbabwe many years ago due to the land grab under the genocidal dictator Mugabe. Just as Vaughan's family lost their farm, Ian's family lost the farm Steakfonteyn, located just next to the conservancy. As a thank you from Vaughan for having hunted a big leopard a few months before on the Steakfonteyn farm, he would be along for the ride and if a big Kudu would appear, he might try for a shot at him.

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Before we continued on, as Vaughan was suspecting some issues due to recent events, we did set up another cardboard box at 100m, to see if both the 7mm and the .416 Rigby were still shooting right. Or perhaps he just wanted to give me a chance in gaining back some confidence in my shooting skills. As I suspected, there was nothing wrong with either rifle, both hitting where they ought to, and the likely explanation of the issue probably had more to do with the oaf holding the rifle.

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We arrived at the riverbed around 7:00 and started looking for fresh spoor, but none could be found. As on the third day, we decided to loop around the non-huntable block to see if they had left their holiday home and started the trek to Botswana. After having driven for about 2 hours, by pure chance, Vaughan decided to take a slightly different route and this was most fortunate as not much further we found fresh spoor and dung on the damp sandy ground. Both Vaughan and Garth could not hide their excitement, jumping up and down with exuberance that we finally had some good tracks that we could actually follow. While we were gearing up at the truck to start the stalk, we heard branches breaking and some trumpeting, only a few hundred meters into the thick brush. The vegetation around us was mopane woodlands with acacia thorn trees. Nasty stuff to get through.

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Quickly it became serious all over again, as well as very quiet when the tracking began. We followed the trail of broken branches into the thick stuff, but as we could not quite locate them, so we climbed up a kopje to have an outlook. Most likely due to some swirling wind or the noise we made while climbing the kopje, the elephants smelled or heard us and they took off with a vengeance. We could hear the breaking branches for minutes while they moved at speed through the mopane.

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We pressed on, tracking was easy as their signs, broken branches, footprints all over, were easy to follow. About 10km we followed them with the signs getting ever fresher and we had noticed that they had calmed down and started feeding again. We slowed down as well, stopping every few meters in the scorching heat to listen for their noise. But still no visual on how many there were, or if there were any good bulls among them. By around 11:00 we began to tire under the excruciating heat of the sun, but we also knew that they were not far off by now.



When reaching a kopje, we decided to climb it with the whole team, so we could have a better idea of what the elephant were up to, how many they were, where they were exactly and perhaps see if there were good bulls among them. We were expecting them to be a bit more stationary in the midday heat, trying to find some shade under the dispersed marula trees. As we were many, Vaughan, Garth, Ian, Mlillo, Junior, Nko, Seda, the Parks Ranger and myself, we had to keep our noise to a minimum. Climbing up, huffing and puffing, we tried to stalk the top of the kopje, so we would not get noticed. We arrived at the top and sat down on the boiling hot rocks, fully appreciating now why baboons have such thick callouses on their behinds. We at once observed a large group of elephants.

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What a sight it was to find about 40 dreadnaughts in the bush, only their back’s sticking out from the mopane, in a large elongated circle, about 500 meters away from us. The mass of grey back’s, shining tusks in the sunlight and one light greyed bull towering over all the others in the middle of the group.

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While observing the elephant, I tried to get a few WhatsApp messages through to my wife, to know if everything went well in the hospital with our daughter, but we were fully out of range of civilisation.

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From our perch on the kopje, we had an excellent opportunity to observe the different elephants in the group. There were some younger bulls with small tusks, some older ones with long and thin ivory, a few with heavier, but often broken tusks. But we always refocused our attention to the light-coloured giant in the middle. We could only see his right tusk, which was broken, so only a stump stuck out, but we could tell he had mass.

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“What do you think about the big one?” asked Vaughan. We started to discuss about the pro’s and contra’s of the different elephant we could see.

With the well meaning, but badly informed green party in Belgium pushing for a ban on the import of ivory, this trip would likely be the only one I could take, where I would be able to import the ivory. Obviously, I wanted to have us try for the best bull possible and it was only day 5 of a 17-day hunt. But with the rains having arrived, I also knew that we might not get another 5 chances before they would all be gone to Botswana.

On the other hand, I have never been much of a trophy hunter before, and do not really care about pounds and inches. Age of the animal and the experience of the hunt have always been the more important factors for me, leaving the measuring tape well behind at home.

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Looking at the big bull in the middle, we could only see the one left tusk, broken off, being only a little stump. After some deliberation on my side, with the age factor taking over from other considerations, I told Vaughan that if the bull only had one broken tusk, that I would be happy going for him. We waited in the baking hot midday sun until he moved. It took over an hour to see what was on the other side and its right tusk too was broken and even a bit shorter still. Meanwhile the group had dispersed itself a bit, with about 20 or 30 out of the 40 total, going a bit more to the left, while the big bull together with a few of his askari took to the cover of a marula tree for shade.

We saw some other bulls that had clearly longer, or unbroken tusks, but none that had those tell-tale signs of character and old age. A decision had to be made and it was clear the light grey bull was the oldest and biggest of the bachelor herd. The trackers, the PH’s all agreed that the bull was close to 50 years old. It was the bull to take. Not the nicest or biggest tusks, but clearly the oldest member. I did not want to take a 30 year-old elephant that still had quite some years in him left. Having made up my mind, happy that the bush put this old warrior on my path, I replied to Vaughan and Garth “Let’s get the old one”. Having the opportunity to take an animal half a century old, would be an honour. If this was the bull that the hunting gods had chosen for me, I would accept graciously.

After having observed them for about one and a half hours, it was time to make a move. I took off my bino’s, re-adjusted my clotes, checked my gun belt and knife and wiped the sweat of my brow with my Tilley hat. Then, opening the bolt of the .416 Rigby to double-check if it was still fully loaded with 4 in the magazine and topping off with one extra round of Norma’s 450 grain with Woodleigh Full Metal Jacket in the chamber, off we went down the kopje. Only Vaughan, Garth, Mlillo and I would be going, while the others, including Ian would stay on the kopje to keep overwatch and direct us if needed.

The wind was blowing more or less from the by now smaller group of bulls under the marula tree, so if we went, we would need to be quick and decisive. As the other part of the group, who was more to the left and closer to us, would risk catching our scent when we make our approach to the further group under the marula tree. Once in the mopane and thorn trees, visibility was limited to about 25 meters in any direction. Luckily, we had the big, green marula tree sticking out of the surrounding bush to guide us in.

Just before our decent from the kopje, the group under the marula tree had turned, facing our direction, so Vaughan asked if I would be comfortable with a full-frontal brain shot. This would likely be the only shot opportunity that would present itself, when taking into consideration how the elephant herd was positioned, the direction of the wind and the fact that the old tusker was flanked by his two askari. Having studied many pictures and videos and having discussed at length with knowledgeable members on the AfricaHunting forum, about the anatomy of an elephant skull, gave me the confidence to nod yes.

The brain of an elephant is only about the size of a large loaf of bread. However, its’ head is about 120 centimeters wide and 150 centimeters high. The brain being attached to the spinal cord and located all the way in the back of the skull, means that depending on the angle you are looking at an elephant head, means you will need to aim for vastly different points on the skull. Missing the brain, means your bullet hits nothing but flesh and inside the skull a blood-filled honey comb that can absorb enormous amounts of shock. Basically, if you miss the tiny brain in the large head, the elephant would be off running before you could blink. And as no large arteries would be nicked, he would not unleash a lot blood, possibly even surviving the ordeal, but the elephant will be in a large amount of pain for a long time. Perhaps succumbing to infection, many days later.

There are two recommended ways of making a brain shot. The first one is a perfect side-on brain shot, where you locate the ear hole slit, follow it to the bottom where the hair is sticking out. Then just about 5 centimetres in front of that you put your crosshairs.

The second option is a full-frontal brain shot on an elephant. The way to do this is to locate the zygomatic arches, the bony underside of the eye socket at the top of the cheeks, then draw a horizontal line between them and aiming just below that line. Adjusting a bit for the distance you are from the elephant and the elevation. When in doubt, aim low. Because usually you will be shooting upwards, due to the size difference between elephant and human, so if your bullet would undershoot the brain, it could continue to still impact the spine a bit further. Obviously, only solid, non-expanding bullets of the highest quality and sectional density should ever be used on elephant, to ensure deep penetration in a straight line.

For both brain shots, an almost perfect positioning is necessary, and usually brain shots are not recommended for a first-time elephant hunter, as nerves can make this a most difficult shot. In this case, due to the wind and how the elephant were setup, we would have no other choice.

As silently as possible we tried to stalk closer, stopping every few dozen meters to listen and feel for the wind. We probably had the luckiest wind we could have ever had. A constant slow breeze, just changing a little bit of direction each time we needed it. The stalk from the kopje to the elephant herd in front of us was a shallow demi-circle going counter clockwise. This because the herd had almost split up, with more and more of the elephant going to the left and closer to the kopje, while the object of the stalk was remaining on the right and further from the kopje. Vaughan on point, then myself, followed by Garth and then Mlillo with the shooting sticks, snaking through the mopane and thorn trees. We could hear the rumbling of the elephants around us from time to time in the blistering heat and suddenly they appeared before us. Three towers of grey muscle towering ahead of us with their ivory glistening in the sun. In the middle of the three was the light coloured one, his eyesight slightly obscured by some brush, about 15 meters away from us. The left one was standing clear and had a direct view on us. From his stare it was obvious he had noticed us four sneaking closer, but had not quite made up his mind if we were a threat or not. The old one too had noticed something, but made up his mind that there was no threat, so his askari did not quite know how to react.

Vaughan signed for the sticks, which were passed very slowly from Mlillo to Garth, then to me and to Vaughan. As we were in single file, trying to hold on to our rifles at the same time, the wooden legs sometimes clunked together while they were being passed through and the three bulls were getting restless. They could not smell us, but could catch our movements.

With the sticks being placed in front of me, it was the first time that I dared to properly look at the main object of the hunt. Three big bulls were looking in our direction from about 15 meters away. The right one from our point of view, was mostly obscured by brush, the middle one had only it’s massive head partly free, when looking at us, but he had brush covering his eyes. The left one was staring straight at us, standing free of any brush. He had clearly spotted us. The big one turned to his right, looking at the left bull that had spotted us, as if to ask him “what are you getting your panties in a twist for, I can’t spot any danger”. Thereby also swinging his head away from the brush that was covering his eyes and allowing me to make out most of his head.

Getting onto the sticks, I therefore had only a quartering-to shot available to me. If full frontal is zero degrees, and a perfect side on would be 90 degrees, this would be about 60 degrees. I had to make some quick calculations to estimate where the brain would be from this angle, trying to imagine the anatomy of an elephant skull and the location of the brain from this in-between angle. I compensated by locating the ear hole, which was still a bit obscured by some brush, to get the right elevation, and then aiming about 40 cm in front it. I tried to aim in such a way that my bullet would theoretically exit about 40 cm behind the opposite side ear hole.

Once I was certain of this location, and I’m sure Vaughan was pleading to all the hunting gods for me to get on with it as they were increasingly getting restless, I let a Norma .416 Rigby solid fly...
 
Hmmm.... What shall I do, continue posting for today??? Or keep you all in suspense...

:E Rofl:

enough teasing:

 
An immediate reaction of throwing back its head and collapsing on its hindquarters first, was the first thing I noticed after the loud boom of the shot. All indications of a successful brain shot. The two other elephants screamed out, turned on their heels and were out of sight before the big bull lay fully on its side.

As I had seen the reaction to my shot, confident it was a brain shot, I picked the sticks ups, nice and easy, “admiring the shot”. A bad habit I’ll need to lose in the future. Vaughan, to the left of me, who had his .500 Jeffery raised as well while I was making the shot, in case of a necessary back-up shot, quickly brought me out of my reverie. “Reload!” he yelled and urged me to run in a wide circle around the bull's back, while the brush was alive with crashing branches from the rest of the herd stampeding away. While running around, the bull had his legs stiffly outstretched, and it seemed there was still some life in him. Coming up behind him, Vaughan pointed with his rifle to the top of his head and told me to put in a “coup de grace”. On my knees I went and put one in the top of his head, then a third safety shot between the shoulder blades, through the spine and it was all over.

The bull was down and emotions could start to run freely, I was shaking on my legs, exchanging handshakes, back slaps and hugs with Vaughan and Garth. We screamed of joy at the top of our lungs, our exuberance echoing up the kopje where Ian and the other trackers had been following every step of the stalk.

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Walking around the bull, to get a look at the ivory, we were all amazed. Yes, they were little stumps, but mostly because it was a massive bodied elephant! Garth and Vaughan agreed that this was one of the biggest elephants they had seen. With the tusks coming into sight, this was a big surprise, as the bull had massive tusks. Cracked yes, but at least 18 inches at the lip, carrying its mass well forward. We were all ecstatic as the tusks had not looked as big from a distance, due to the bull’s giant size. The other tusk, that we had not had a good look at, was impaled into the ground, so with everyone together, using a pole cut from a nearby tree, we lifted its’ head up. It too was cracked, but at an earlier point in the bull’s life, with the tip much more broomed-off. It also carried its weight well forward.

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Meanwhile, Ian and the other guys had joined us and the congratulations and thanks flew through the air. While they arrived, it was time for me to take ownership of the elephant in the traditional way, by cutting off its tail. Cutting my first elephant’s tail would be a very memorable and emotional event event for me, so I wanted to bring a special knife to the occasion. One year and a half before I had a custom knife made by AfricaHunting member “Von Gruff”, a New Zeeland master blade smith. Together we had also subsequently invented a closed off sheath, but with the stud on its side, instead of on the front of the sheath. This to avoid the stud to rub against a rifle.

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Cutting the skin of the tail and feeling for a place between the bones for the knife to get into, was not as simple as some before me have made it seem. But the large, razor-sharp knife definitely helped. After the triumphant holding of the tail and some first pictures, we set the guys to do some light brush clearing, so the trophy pictures could be taken. Meanwhile we were all recounting the moments leading up to the shot.

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Ian, who had been watching our progress from the kopje, told us that by the time my third shot fell, the entire herd of elephants was already at the other side of the valley, about a kilometre away. Had I made a bad shot, there was no way we could have followed up and chased them through the thick mopane and thorn trees.

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Now that everything calmed down a bit, we started to make plans for the recovery. We were about 800 meters from the nearest dust road, with very few people living in the vicinity. While Vaughan and Garth were discussing this, Nko found a nest of bees in the marula tree, under which the three bulls had been sheltering for shade. These were tiny bees without stingers, so we could break the nest open with impunity and share the delicious wild honey inside. To the man we all wanted to taste it, and the trackers and skinners twice!

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Plans were made, and the first step would be to contact the nearby villages, to alert them that there was an elephant down and nyama to be gotten. Vaughan, Garth, Ian and I hiked back to the truck, defining a path for the guys to start clearing, towards the sand road. It was around 14:00 now and the sun was beating down on us hard. Once at the truck, Vaughan drove up a nearby ridge line, so he could place some calls to nearby chiefs.

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After all the necessary calls, and figuring that it would take some time for nearby locals to start coming in to help with the recovery, Vaughan proposed to rinse off the dust and sweat in a nearby lake. All four of us stripped, and with a Zambezi beer in our hands we jumped into the cool water for a few minutes of refreshment. We were acting a bit like children on Christmas morning. Then drying off, into the truck and back towards the elephant.

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During our absence, about 400 meters of brush had been cleared and we were stuck with the Land Cruiser behind a tractor and trailer and about 30 men that continued to hack a path. As I still had no 3G connection, to allow me to call home, Vaughan and I jumped out of the truck and climbed up a nearby kopje, where he gave me the possibility to use his phone for a few minutes to place an international call home and so I could hear if all was well with our daughter. Luckily my wife had only good news to share. Our daughter was fine, and would only need some light medication to get better. I could then tell her that I had some success on my side as well and my wife shared in my enthusiasm. She was probably just happy that the dangerous part of the hunt was over with me alive and well.

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While the group of men were still clearing a path, we walked ahead to where the skinning had already started by about 10 people going at it. The skinning of an elephant happens in the removal of first the trunk. Then six panels are skinned off, three on each side. Meaning the elephant had to be turned over with the use of the Land Cruiser to get to the other side. Then the head would be taken off, and once that was done, it becomes a free-for-all for the locals to get meat.

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But with the first panel from the front left leg and shoulder being removed, it was time to make elephant kebabs. Using meat from the top of the shoulder, cubes of fat cut from behind the eyeball and some onions, 3 kebabs were soon sizzling away. And good thing this was too, as none of us had eaten anything since the omelette early in the morning.

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With more and more people arriving, the work went fast until we had to turn over the elephant using the Land Cruiser. At the first attempt, the big rope broke in half in two places, but the second attempt did the trick. Turning over a 6 ton plus animal is no mean feat. Now the skinning of the other side started, while we were feasting on the kebabs. This was very good eating indeed, I should have asked Vaughan to make us even more. It is very tough and dense meat, which needs a long time to cook, before it becomes edible. I found it delicious.

The whole recovery, until we got all six panels of skin, the trunk and the skull into the truck, took until sunset, with more and more people streaming in. In the end there were about 40 men, women and children there, hacking and slashing to get as much meat as possible. They would be going at it the entire night, until only a big pool of blood-stained sand would remain. In total, this meat would be feeding up to 300 people for a few months and would likely need to be stretched out till next year’s start of the hunting season, as I was the last hunter of this season. Among them were also children taking part in the recovery, the youngest probably only about 2 years old, guarding a wooden plate where his parents had put a piece of meat on. This elephant and its’ nyama would be a welcome source of food in an otherwise protein starved part of the world.

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Once Vaughan’s Land Cruiser and Garth’s Hilux were fully loaded up with the skins and the skull, we gathered all the guys and started the road back home. Passing us, we could see a lot of people on bicycles or on foot making their way to the kill. People would still be on their way there by next morning, to pick up any scraps that would remain.

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Along the main road out of the conservancy, en-route to the intersection in the town of Marula, we passed a local bar where we had to make a stop to get some fresh beer. Having not had the chance yet to see what a bar in Zimbabwe looked like, I went together with Junior to get some beers. Outside a group of onlookers, 50 strong, had gathered around Garth’s truck, where the skull was. Inside the bar, as it took some time to get all eight beers, multiple people started approaching me. In broken English, with wide smiles, they thanked me for hunting in Zimbabwe and providing them with meat. Six men and one woman approached me, grateful, sometimes with tears in their eyes, for the meat that the community was about to receive.

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Jubilant we arrived at Marshlands, where Vaughan’s father was also waiting for us. He had brought over a speed boat, for us to use the next day. He, Vaughan and Garth all shared in a celebratory drink of a fine single malt that I had brought over specially for the occasion.

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Congrats on a nice bull! Look forward to more!
 

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autofire wrote on LIMPOPO NORTH SAFARIS's profile.
Do you have any cull hunts available? 7 days, daily rate plus per animal price?

#plainsgame #hunting #africahunting ##LimpopoNorthSafaris ##africa
 
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