Got home twelve hours ago. Will report when I can, but had a good trip.

Here's a teaser:

Ernest my friend,

Welcome back.

We want stories and lots of pictures, but we'll let you rest for a day or two first

Will do!

Tossing Ele's tail?

P.S. Wellcome back!

quote:

Originally posted by mouse93:
Tossing Ele's tail?

P.S. Wellcome back!

A chunk of Hippo hide?

I was asked by the game scout to chunck a hippo tail into Lake Kariba as a tribute to Yami Yami or it wouldn't rain for a year???

As the picture shows below, this wasn't your average safari:

Bridal boquet?

Another question:

What bait is Lou using for the elephant?

quote:

Originally posted by JudgeG:


As the picture shows below, this wasn't your average safari:

I know where this was taken. They had my wife in the same head dress. Welcome home.

quote:

Originally posted by JudgeG:
Another question:
What bait is Lou using for the elephant?

1. According to pics posted so far could be Deep Tail Dancer

2. One of the Magnums

3. If none of above then it must be a cucumber or cabbage or something alike with 500 gr. sinker

Welcome back Ernest! Looking forward to your latest hunt report. So is the elephant jig what Lou was using for bait or what you were dancing with the locals?

wellcome back judge, great teasers, now please dont let us wait to long for your write ups.

best

peter

Welcome back, Ernest! Glad you had a great trip, can't wait to read all about it.

Regards,
Jason

Hippo tail! the big serpent must be very happy this year.

Welcome home Judge! Can't wait for the story.

Discarding used or secondhand beer?

Andrew McLaren

That's what the Judge does if you try to serve him blended whiskey. It's single malt or nothing!

quote:

Originally posted by JudgeG:
As the picture shows below, this wasn't your average safari:

Hmmmmm. That LEOPARD shirt may be a hint.

Welcome home G, glad to hear you had a great safari.
David

Welcome home Judge.
Can't wait for your report!

Looks like the monster mash... Fishing for elephant and ammo belt to finish them off close to the boat... I love this stuff...

Mike

Can't wait "for the rest of the story"!

Glad to see that you appeased Nyaminyami! Waiting for the report and pics!

Ernest,

Welcome back home! Looking forward to hearing about your adventure.

Best,

jjs

With all those smiles showing it must have been a fun Safari...

quote:

Originally posted by jjs:
Ernest,

Welcome back home! Looking forward to hearing about your adventure.

Best,

jjs

ditto

Welcome back online Judge! Looking forward to your story!

Again, welcome back. Was that the American Watusi that you were teaching the locals to dance to? (ooh, a professor ending a sentence with a preposition)

Welcome back! I will be looking forward to my favorite liberal's Hunt Report.

Great pics so far.......


Bob

Did they mistake you for an ex-Chippendale?

quote:

Originally posted by Wink:
Did they mistake you for an ex-Chippendale?

When did Earnest quit the Chippendales?

Welcome back. Looking forward to the stories and more photos!! Don't make us wait too long...anticipation is only good when it comes to the actual hunting!

Cheers
Chris

Hi Ernest,glad you are back and hope to read of many wonderful tales. I do wonder why you are not wearing a thong like the other dancers?

Don't need one. Just a peanut shell and a rubber ban. Alas!

quote:

Originally posted by Aspen Hill Adventures:
Hi Ernest,glad you are back and hope to read of many wonderful tales. I do wonder why you are not wearing a thong like the other dancers?

I'm just glad they didn't swap outfits with you....YIKES !!!!

Please excuse my egotism that makes me believe that anyone would want to read this stuff, but I enjoy writing. The mess is unedited. I'll try to fix it tomorrow and finish the ramblings (second only to James Joyce in unreadability and to Edward Gibbons in length.

Attitudes

I’m often asked, “What’s the most important part of the safari experience?”

Is it the planning? Is it your relationship with the professional hunter? Is it the area you choose? Maybe you think it is the country or concession, the time of year or the companion you take (or leave at home).

Heck, as for me, I think it is all in the attitude! Maybe this little story will explain my position.

I’ve never really sat down and figured out how many safaris to Africa I’ve made. I’m afraid to because I’m sure someone with the IRS, ICE, UPS, POTUS, NAACP, ATF, NFL or any acronym’ed big brother would find something wrong and make me stop going if they knew.

Some safaris were good, some were great, but, to me, what makes for success is not having a rigid plan that’s not open for compromise or change.

I just got back from a safari booked through HHK Safaris with Lou Hallamore as my P.H. The trip was conceived last September while Lou and I were enjoying a mopane fire and a sundowner at Deka Safari Area on the last day of an unsuccessful leopard hunt. We’d gotten a great tom leopard coming to our bait, but it just didn’t work out with one “In the Salt”, using the title of Lou’s book. Deka leopard hunt reference

Lou and I had made a pretty good friendship those 14 days at Deka, both of us having a history of some hard-assed military adventures in our youth, both being a wee bit past middle-age and neither of us feeling that we have to prove much to anyone or ourselves either.
We discussed various areas of Zimbabwe in which to continue my quest of “Mr. Spots” and we decided on Chete for several reasons. First, I’m not interested in killing a leopard using a light… just my preference, not a judgment. Secondly, I dearly love to hunt elephants and Chete had a good supply of tuskless ladies around and the trophy fee for one was within my budget. The deal maker was that I love to fish and Lou promised me that he’d teach me the tricks of catching Tigers on Lake Kariba. Deal done!

Of course, since this planned trek to Zimbabwe was so important, I had to make an appointment to fly over to Bulawayo in March to talk to Lou and make plans…. Seems we did that, but somehow went up to Chirisa, too, and shot a management bull elephant during our conversations. See Chirisa hunt reference

My departure for Chete was set for September 7th with me flying out of Jacksonville to Atlanta and then Delta’s long, long Flight 200 to Johannesburg with a R.O.N. with the Bekker’s at Afton Guest House and the morning flight to Victoria Falls the next day.

The morning of the departure finally came, I kissed my sweetheart goodbye and drove to JAX, making a stop at the Gander Mountain store en route to get some last minute fishing stuff and a package fly rod set for Lou as a present.

For a pleasant change, the check-in and the flight to ATL was seamless. I had the pleasure to invite Jason Johnson and his wife to meet me at the Crown Room for a toddy while we awaited the Delta flight to JNB in a little more comfortable atmosphere than in the general concourse. Great folks!

You always wonder what the heck you’re going to experience when you walk down the jetway to get on the flight to JNB, at least if you fly tourist as I usually do. Do you have some grotesque woman sumo wrestler next to you, or maybe a whining, snotty-nosed twenty-month-old or a guy who hasn’t bathed in six weeks?

Well, this time, the god-of-16-hours-in-an-aluminum-tube smiled upon me and I had a whole row to myself. I, of course, restraining my territorial instincts to mark my turf by peeing on the seats, immediately put some crap all over the empty ones, impolitely trying to retain my good fortune. It worked and after a couple of drinks and a tepid supper that tasted like greasy ground cardboard and would have made Ronald McDonald vomit, I spread my considerable (but shrinking girth) out and actually slept pretty darn well for 8 hours, watched a movie and then slept some more.

Upon arrival at JNB, my baggage and gun case showed up promptly, the printed SAPS forms sent to me by Jennifer at HHK were in order and, of course, it was nice to turn the corner into the arrival lobby at JNB and see someone from Afton with GILBERT printed boldy on a welcome card.

I spend an hour or so with Annalise before supper talking about Louis ... We discussed good things and fond memories as the pain of her loss of a husband has begun to fade some with the help of Grace and those of us who loved her life mate.

The place has been spruced up some, they have a new van, WiFi is available and I had a great time over dinner with pilgrims going and coming. I'll do it again.

Now, one of the best parts of the trip!

I’d been a couple of times to the Ultimate Lodge in Victoria Falls, but during an interim time when Russell Caldecott had “sold” it to another individual. My conception of the place was that it was nothing fancy, just a safe and cheap place to hang out for a day to make sure your guns, etc., caught up to you before you headed out to Matetsi or Deka or Riverside.

Folks, that sure as heck has changed in the past few years. I’d corresponded with Russ several times and had even told him that I hoped he'd arrange transport to the Boma or Vic Falls Hotel for a nice dinner with a floor show. Russell told me that I could forget about those places if I wished; he’d fix me a great dinner and provide entertainment.

Whatever hopefull expectations I had of Ultimate Lodge, colored by my earlier stays sans Russell, were exceed tenfold in every way. Russell has really fixed the place up and found some great folks to help him run a really fine place that is no longer just a somewhere to sleep and to mark time.

A very efficient fellow met me at customs, took me to the lodge in a clean, well-kept vehicle and put me in a room with nice accommodations that were no longer a bit shopworn as in my previous stays. For those who might want to cool off after a day sighting around Vic Falls, I took note that the swimming pool was chrystal clear, a rare sight in Africa.

I even found a lighter for my cigars (which I’d requested by email to be procured locally due to TSA prohibitions on my transporting one) sitting on my bedside table. Little things count. Ask Russell and he will provide.

That afternoon, a bit tired, I passed on the Booze Cruise (at least until after my safari) and took a nap to be awakened by BColyer (good guy and AR poster) who was also a guest. He came to get me for a drink before dinner…. and what a dinner it was!







Russell didn’t have just a tribal dance troupe; he also had a second band of Rasta looking guys who wouldn’t have embarrassed Bob Marley a bit. Dang it was fun! You certainly don't have to go to the Boma for a floor show any more.





Getting down with a bit of Zim Reggae





The next morning (after an Alka-Seltzer), I flew to Chete in a Cessna 402 chartered for me by HHK. Interestingly, the pilot had never been there and began to descend into Sijarira and I had to get him pointed down the lake a bit (a sign of things to come, perhaps).

Upon landing, I was met with Ernest the Elephant and four Texans who had killed some good dagga boys and put me up baits with some of the meat (DrScott and Bigguy458 with the help of their wives and Little Ernest).



All this was planned via AccurateReloading private messages. Ain’t Saeed great! We wished each other well, me on my quest for leopard and them on their trip home.

Lou and I said hello for the beginning of our third safari together, watched the heavily-loaded plane stagger aloft in the heat of midday and putted off to Chete Camp. I was in bliss!

I know, I know… this is a hunting forum, but Lou and I immediately started pulling out fishing tackle and lures and began talking tigers. He also gave me some news about where we would hunt. It seems that I’d be chasing leopard, a cow buffalo and impala for bait and a “bonus” sable at Chete and my hippo and tuskless license was at Sijarira with the logistics being accomplished in HHK’s great 26’ Pelican with a 115 h.p. Mariner. I smiled and Lou confirmed what I was thinking. Running around in a boat would make it mandatory that we stop a likely drops and fish for a few hours every day. Smiles!

For this hunt, I had toted with me (via TuffPack) my Searcy Classic in .450 N.E. and my .416 Ruger Alaskan. I was shooting Hornady DGS solids in both rifles for the big guys (I thought) with some great shooting 350 grain TSX’s for the .416 for Mr. Spots.

After a lunch of Eland filets with a chutney sauce and a cigar overlooking Chete Gorge where the good ship Catalina passed below, I went and checked the rifles. I put two 480 grain solids in 2” at 40 yards from offhand(Wow!... I impressed myself) and both TSX shots from the Ruger were in the 1” circle at 100 yards, that done with the help of a super clear Swarovski 1.24-4x illuminated scope (for late evening shots, I hoped).

Lou told me that the plan was to stay at Chete for a couple of days, hopefully shoot a cow buffalo in the morning and maybe get up baits (or maintain those already up) for a total of 6 by the end of the first day… an ambitious schedule, for sure. He said that two females were already on baits (which proved to be a trend) and hopefully a male would get hungry before long.



Checking tracks



Here as some views of the Chete camp.









I can’t abide with instant coffee, so I’d requested to be awakened in the mornings with a cup of Maxwell House made with tea-style bags. It surely isn’t perked, but a darn site better than that powdered crap. Promptly at 4:45 a.m. the next day, I heard the soft knock of a waiter and a “Good Morning”. I took a sip of the hot liquid, turned on my little Grundig radio to the BBC to see if Obama had sold the Gulf of Mexico to Hugo Chavez, took a hot shower and went to breakfast. Hot damn! In Africa and going hunting again!

We were blessed in having Andries Kotze in camp with us as an appy P.H. He had breakfast with us, and had so much enthusiasm I had to giggle a bit at his eagerness. As I write this, he’s doing his practical test and I hope him well! He’s passed all the other requirements so he’ll be a full-fledged P.H. if he can make the examiners happy. Good luck Andries! You certainly are qualified in my un-educated mind.



Delightfully, we found tracks of about 40 buffalo within 20 minutes of leaving camp. I grabbed my .416 Ruger, put a TSX in the tube and some solids below and off we went. Within 200 yards we were in buffalo and the wind was right! Easy, huh? Killing a cow buff is not very hard, is it? Well, not so fast, Ernest!

Following the tracks, it was through very, very thick stuff and all we could see were black and brown shapes with an occasional flash of horn in the gradually brightening sunlight.

We paralleled the progress of the herd and began to be able to define individual animals, but every dad-gum time we could see a mature cow, there were animals behind her. I was on the sticks or leaning against a tree at least 10 times that morning over a period of 3 hours, but the only good shot I’d had was at a 37 inch hard-bossed bull with deeply dropping horns that came to inquire as to what we wanted. I guess he was satisfied that it wasn’t he we were after and unconcernedly walked back into the ladies, not to be seen again.

In any event, by noon, when we finally heard the thunder of hooves signaling that the buffalo had teased us for the last time, I’d had a good and sweaty workout of about 8 kilometers of up and down and slogging across sandy dry riverbeds. Not bad… not bad at all!

That afternoon we diesel-stalked some impala for bait and found them about everywhere. Getting out of the vehicle as required by my ethic, Lou’s regard for the law and common sense (we were hunting, not shooting), I made a couple of unsuccessful stalks on some lucky ladies.

Finally, with Andries "guiding" and me on the sticks, I popped a female at 60 yards. Afterwards, it was fun to hear Lou offering 30+ years of advice to Andries as to little things, like deaf clients, fat clients, old clients and clients who would pretend to not see game just to screw with the appy-P.H. First blood and fresh bait and some laughs.

Supper was fresh tilapia as I requested. The cook (I guess "chef" is a better word?) lightly battered it and pan-fried the almost wafer-thin filets. Dang it was good. I made a sauce of squeezed lemons and the ubiquitous sweet orange drink concentrate always by the bar in Zimbabwe, some drawn butter and vinegar all spiced with a touch of Tabasco. It worked well and I put my brew in a little water bottle and used it for the entire safari when we had fish.

The second morning we checked 4 existing baits by vehicle and one on the water. We hoped to put up another on the shore close to the Sijarira concession. Of course, going fishing had nothing to our plan.

We loaded up the boat with enough fishing gear to star on the B.A.S.S. tour (along with my double and the Ruger) and hardly got on a plane before Lou stopped at the western mouth of Chete Gorge to introduce me to the toothy tiger.

We were using Mepps spinners which had the treble hook removed and a single one replacing it. A strip of tiger filet dipped in mercurochrome for a blood effect. It works! Dang, a 5 pound tiger fights like a 100 pound tarpon! What fun.



My first tiger.




I killed another two impala along the beaches (they were everywhere); we checked existing bait (being hit by a female, alas!) and put up another. Fishing beckoned and we continued up the river that divides Sijarira and Chete to make some casts. Elephants were about as frequently seen as impala and sometimes in the same place, too.





Before we could wet a line, we spotted three cow buffalo up on one of the high hills that embrace Lake Kariba, luckily on the Chete side where I had the license. We beached the boat below an intervening crest and began an 800 yard stalk.

After an hour in the hot sun with rocky ascents and descents and scurrying Indian-file from termite mound to termite mound, we got with 150 yards of the three girls who were in plain view on the opposite hillside. It was obvious that we were not going to get any closer in the barren terrain. The cows were up hill and only football field from the inlet that curled around below them making recovery a sleigh ride instead of a chore…. and what the heck, it was a bait animal, not something I was going to put on the wall and tell stories of being charged in the long grass.

I sat down and put my back against a convenient rock-hard ant hill, put my pack as a soft rest on a bump thereupon, turned the Swarovski to 4x, took a breath, let half out and shot the cow through the top of the heart with a 350 grain TSX trucking along 2500 fps.

Predictably, it was a shoot-through and she didn’t go 40 yards, considerately making some progress towards where the boat would eventually be beached.



As an aside, you folks should look into whether or not a cow buff is available when you hunt Zimbabwe. Often you can do so on plains game daily rates, trophy fees are cheap and you can get in the jesse with them just like a daggaboy. Trust me. When you can’t see but 20 yards, a buffalo is a buffalo and the ladies horns are usually sharper than their boyfriends.

That evening, while enjoying butternut squash, and impala stew with vegatables and a green salad with tomatoes, Lou made a suggestion upon which I agreed. We would go by boat up the lake to Sijarira, leaving the now fresh “land” baits for Alfred (Lou’s driver) to check. We could easily check the “shore” baits by boat from Sijarira.

It was time to get about the business of hunting hippo and tuskless after picking up a Forestry game scout from that concession. We’d have a vehicle available at Sijarira (Kirk's, the camp mangager's) if needed and while looking for hippo and elephant from the boat… of course, WE COULD FISH!

Sijarira camp:








As the pictures show, we saw elephant everywhere along the shore at our new location. I’d imagine that we saw 10 to twelve different groups each morning or afternoon totalling at least 100 elephants per day, but we couldn’t find a single tuskless among them (we actually glassed some in between casts) .




By radio, we learned that female leopards were on three of the baits that Alfred was checking back at Chete and after a week, so we gave up there (on the "land" baits, anyway) for a while and Alfred brought over Lou’s Land Cruiser (a 3.5 hour drive, but only 25 minutes by a fast boat. (That is, if you don’t try to catch a tiger or three on the way.) We’d keep checking/replenishing the Chete shore baits, of course and I still had a sable available back there.

Wow! On the seventh day or so, on one of the "water baits" we thought we had it made. As the trail cam picture shows, we had two leopards, one bigger than the other, on the same bait just downstream from where I shot the cow buffalo.

We could see clearly that one was a female and the second was larger. One leopard's set of tracks in the rocky soil seemed to indicate a tomcat. We prepared a site for a blind, cleared a walk-in path and waited one more night to check the camera. Alas, subsequent pictures proved both to be female, no nuts on either.


Other good stuff was happening, though. On the morning on which Alfred arrived with the vehicle at Sijarira, we decided to check the interior for a tuskless girl. Boy, does Sij have some desolate and barren landscape. I don’t know if any of you has read the book or seen the great movie, THE ROAD, but Cormack McCarthy must have been thinking of Sijarira when he wrote his novel of apocalypse.

About an hour after leaving camp after lunch, we came into one those areas and found some fresh tracks. Hunting tuskless is usually a very physical event since you end up tracking lots of elephants, getting amongst them and pissing them off while you try to find a cow not blessed with ivory. And, when you get among cows and calves, the women folk tend to get a bit cheeky!

I’d estimate that five percent of cows don’t have tusks, some of them have dependent little ones and some are just not mature, so you look at lots of elephants after a lot of walking before you get lucky.

All that in mind, when we saw the tracks, Lou suggested that I stay by the car with Andries while he and Clement (his tracker) walked over a hundred yards or so to a cliff and look to see if the group which made the tracks was still in sight in the valley below. Having to relieve myself, I complied.

I’m glad I did.

While hanging onto a tree limb (no picture included) and doing my business, I heard, in the direction opposite from which Lou had gone, a dull clunk that sounded like two very large rocks banging together. Holding my shorts up with one hand, I slipped up another 10 yards up the hill and saw 11 elephants about 400 yards away, just chilling out in the shade of a copse of mahogany trees.

When Hallamore and Clement returned (no elephants in sight for them), I’d already pulled out my Searcy, put in a couple of solids, marked the vehicle on the GPS, gotten Lou’s .470 Wilkes double out and we was ready to go see if a tuskless was among the group I’d discovered.

There just is nothing in the world like it, at least to my simple mind. Elephants in sight. Clement going first, Lou behind, me a step to the rear with the game scout and Andries following.

Lou puffed his powder bottle and we made a plan. We had discovered that there were actually two different groups of elephants, the one on the same side of the ridge we occupied, and another down in a valley about 200 yards below the eleven I’d seen first.

We could tell that the lower group contained 5 elephants, three cows and two young ‘uns, but all had tusks. We couldn’t see the upper group well enough to tell much except there wasn’t a baby in the bunch and one bull of about 30 pounds was among what looked like 10 grown cows.

The wind was in our faces so we decided to go straight for the elephants that were facing in various quartering postures towards us.
When we got within 100 yards we had a chance to check out (and find tusks on) nine of the ten females, but still couldn’t eliminate the tenth until she turned directly toward us. After a moment of study, Lou put down his binoculars and turned to me with a great big smile. Number 10 had no teeth!

We did have a problem, though. The elephants were loitering in a horseshoe shape with the open end towards us. The bull was at the far left and closest to us was a cow on the right end of the forty-yard-wide shoe. She had only one tusk that extended at least 45” straight down on the right side. Weird looking!

The cow we wanted was at the closed end of the group. To get to her for a frontal brain shot, we’d need to get within the horseshoe. Lou motioned for Andries to lead us into the potential caldron and he and I took deep breaths and began to creep forward, trying our best to avoid the Rice Krispie leaves that made silence impossible. Lou gave us confidence by being close enough that felt I could hear his heartbeat only muffled some by my booming own. I think I was really taxing my pacemaker! You, who have been there, know what I was feeling.

Andries did a fine job using what little cover that existed. We got with 50 yards with no trouble. The elephants were quite still, just making an occasional gut rumble or dropping a load of dung with a muted thump.

At 40 yards Andries stopped and I could tell he was thinking about putting up the shooting sticks he had in his hand. He turned to me and then to Lou and decided on his own that frontal brain shots needs to be more up close and personal. We crept forward another 15 yards.

By then, the bull had figured out that something was the matter. Andries brought his rifle to port arms, and moved out of the expected muzzle blast. I already had my double raised and the safety off. The front bead settled on a wrinkle in the trunk and I began to squeeze the trigger.

Just before the sear broke, the bull took a step towards us (I learned this later because I was concentrating on a wrinkle on my targets trunk). Turning towards the bull, apparently in response to his growing alarm, the cow’s head moved to her right, then again before I could shoot either frontal or side brain. When her head stopped moving and was then quartering toward me, I contemplated shooting right below the eye. Before I could make that unwise decision, a very strong gust of wind hit the left side of my face.

We all waited, hoping our target would turn her head back to me (or further to her right for a side brain), but before that happened, either one of the elephants down the hill or another on the right side of the horse shoe trumpeted, signifying that our scent had reach its trunk.

With lots of bellows and bluster, ten elephants, all within 40 yards of us, began to run up the hill, quartering away. Damn, that makes a lot of noise and gets the ol' thumper in overdrive.

For a moment or so, I had a chip shot heart/lung opportunity on the tuskless, but I didn’t know what was behind her at that point and held my fire. (The Hornady DGS bullets had usually been shoot-throughs before and I didn’t want to take a chance).

Disappointed, but elated at the same time, we had a pow-wow. Andries went to the top of the hill and discovered that all ten elephants were still in sight and slowly ambling along in an adjacent dry creek. We had plenty of light left since it was only 3:30 so we gave the elephants a bit of time to calm down and started over. Lou started talking about where we could fish the next morning. Dang, he loves to wet a line.

We spent the next two and a half hours slipping along in and out of elephants. It was if the tuskless knew that we were after her. We got within 30 yards of the bunch a half-dozen times, but she always was at back of the group, had another elephant in front of behind her or just moved when we got ready to shoot.

Dang if one time, the elephants hadn’t done a complete circle and I couldn’t shoot because I risked hitting the Land Cruiser and the Chete game scout who had remained in the vehicle.

It finally got too dark to deal with a bunches of tons of animals, so we, with some spring still in our steps, walked to the car, popped a cold Zambezi and bumped back to the lodge. What a great afternoon.

That night at the fire, while I enjoyed a single malt and an Arturo Fuentes maduro, Lou asked me my priorities for the hunt. We could go back to Chete, of course. Graham at HHK and offered me a sable for just the trophy fee and we’d actually found some and made a stalk before spooking them on the second day… that was available up there and we could hope that something would encourage a male to eat at the "land" baits.

Or what did I think about staying at Sij and focusing on our two shore baits and a hippo and tuskless? … and fishing would be easier.

Was I disappointed about on our failure to that point in getting a leopard? Of course I was, but by then we’d gotten six different leopards on the baits at Chete and all were female. It just didn’t look like it was going to be my year for Spots, but heck, we still had two baits that something was eating upon and I’d really been fired up hunting elephants that afternoon.

I took a sip of the peaty fluid, swirled around the ice cubes and decided that Sijarira was the place to be. I'd go with the flow and be happy. I made a conscious decision to be satisfied.

Why the heck he didn’t tell me before, but as soon as I told Lou of my decision, he said he’d been on the sat phone with Graham and that I could hunt a leopard at Matetsi 3 next year included with the buffalo hunt that I’d arranged for my daughter. Matetsi sure isn’t a given for leopard, but somebody has to do it, the price was right and I'd be there anyway!

Still fired up about the elephant encounters of the day before, I was up and showered before my coffee arrived the next morning. BBC didn’t report that Obama has conceded New Mexico to Old Mexico and I was going elephant hunting. It had to be a good day coming!

We drove for about an hour in the early morning light and got to a place that Lou called the Mountains of the Moon. As far as one could see were just brown rocks and boulders, stunted and elephant scarred mopane trees scattered about and lots of up and down and blood red sand for thousands of acres.

We continued along for another 30 minutes in the lunar landscape, finally reaching a bit better looking forest of healthier mopane, lots of pod mahogany and various grasses and trees. Eventually, we came to an fork in the road which led down to the lake.

Upon inquiry, Lou was told by the Forestry game scout that the road was impassable after a mile or so since the level of Lake Kariba was still high and one couldn’t cross a creek bed that still held water. Andries suggested we try it anyway, so we drove off of the ridgeline and descended towards the lake.

For a bit, going was fine and the flora aquired hints of green the closer we got to the lake. We reached the ford and sure enough, it looked quite deep. In fact, fish were hitting the surface right where the rutted tracks indicated the way across existed during dryer times.

Andries, being the eager fellow he is (his nickname is “Grasshopper” because he can’t stay still), jumped off of the Cruiser and began to wade the stream, trying to find a route across. Maybe his nickname needed to be changed to "Moses".

We all kept a good look out for crocks while Andries found us a ford that only got the Cruiser's doors half wet. While semi-submerged, I asked Lou if I could troll from the back of the Cruiser for tigers, but he didn’t think that was funny.

We made it! Albeit with Andres wet to his armpits.

Just about as soon as we got out of the canyon and maybe 400 yards over the hill crest, there was a tap on the top of the cab.

Elephants!

To our left about a mile away, as we putted up an ascending ridgeline, they were being revealed one by one as we climbed and more hillside was exposed to our view.

There were 14 elephants in the bunch. We stopped and began to glass. Even at that range, we were sure that there was a tuskless among them, and maybe two.

Before this trip, my girlfriend and I had started (well, she’s always done it) an exercise plan. I joined a gym with her and we tried to do 3.5 to 4 miles a day with the last mile on an incline. Without those workouts, I’m dang well satisfied that I’d never have kept up climbing the first ridge towards the elephants, ‘cause we hit it hard after the mixed bunch of cows, calves and bulls. I didn't even begin breathing hard. I was a bit proud of myself.

There was basically no cover at all. The sun was baking us, the rocks were trying to turn an ankle or knee and we were at a half-jog. I had my Searcy in hand and was after an elephant. I was with my good friend Lou and I was grinning like a dog crapping peach pits.

Lou picked a point where we could intercept the elephants which were moving right to left. We started somewhat behind, but by hurrying, doing the “constant bearing, decreasing range” thing in my mind, I saw that where Lou had us headed would work if we (or something) didn’t spook the elephants.

Within 30 minutes we were about 200 yards of the boys, girls and babies. There wasn’t any cover to speak between us. I don’t know if they smelled something, heard us break a branch or what, but they all stopped and turned toward us like a line of cavalry preparing to charge. Ears were all out with a few trunks raised. Even without binoculars, it was clear that the group held two tuskless cows as we suspected, one about a foot taller than the other, but both grown and neither with a little one.

We just hunkered down and waited for a good ten minutes. From time to time, the elephants would take eight or twelve steps towards our projected rendezvous, but then immediately stop and turn towards us again.

Damn! It looked if they’d get to the point of the triangle before us and I’d not get a shot.

We had to do something. We crouched down as low as possible and backtracked a bit down the hill and momentarily below the line of sight of the elephants. We ran about 200 yards to our left and didn’t really slow down when we got up the crest and further to where we hoped the herd would meet us.

It worked.

To our right, all 14 came forward, still occasionally stopping and looking askance back towards where we’d been.

When we had somewhat skidded to a stop, I’d lost traction in the lose rocks and had ended up somewhat leaning over a log that was about 30 inches high with one leg on each side of the thing. I eased my leg over the top and sat as if I was on a stool.

The biggest tuskless was second in the train coming towards us in single file with no overlap, thus I wasn’t worried about a shoot-through.

I wanted a side-brain shot, but the elephants picked up their pace and I asked Lou if a heart/lung shot was o.k. He nodded affirmatively.

The great old lady passed at 35 yards. I could rest my left elbow on my knee due to my semi-sitting position. I put the front sight a hand span in front of her ear hole, but she began to raise her trunk and to swing her head left and right. I moved the sights to her shoulder and let the .450 N.E. speak.

Slack-jawed, I watched her fall as if someone had snatched a rug from under her. She rolled a bit to face us, albeit still on the ground. I fired again, this time trying for the brain, missing, but stunning her further. Dad-gum if the Hornady solid didn’t go through a bunch of skull and then break the front right leg just below the knee. (You just had to be there and see the tumbling mass of elephant to understand how that happened!)

As I reloaded, a bull joined her on her right and a cow on her left. Two cows protected her backside. Somehow, she got up with blood covering her shoulder in a crimson sheet that sparkled, ruby-like, in the bright sun. I wasn't the only one that noticed.

When I started to shoot again, from our right, a couple of cows began to run at us. I hopped up and we retreated about 30 yards, all the while trying to figure a way to end the thing. Unfortunately, I’d be almost certain to hit another elephant if I fired toward her.

Within 60 seconds of my first shot, she fell again. The surrounding elephants moved away a bit as if to better observe what was going on and I fired a right and a left into the now-downed cow. All the elephants made noises, took menacing strides towards us and flapped their ears for a bit, but it was over. Some loud shouts and hand claps and the survivors topped the ridge without glancing back.

I ran the 60 yards or so to her and fired a round into her sternum up through the heart.

She never moved.

Vultures were already circling. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Maybe two minutes from the first shot to my final one and the ugly birds were doing their devil's flight. Karibou Africa.

I guess it is not unusual to feel mixed emotions when you kill an elephant. I had just taken a life that might have been almost as old as mine. Lou and Andries left me alone. I sat for a minute, said a prayer to God for making such wonderful creatures and for allowing me the joy of hunting them.

The sadness passed as I began to think about the stalks of the day before, the 13 pissed elephants within 35 yards, about our lookng-over-our-shoulder retreat when they wanted to stomp us flat and about the tail hair bracelet that I’d proudly wear in memory of the lady.

A fine morning. A wonderfully fine morning on a wonderfully fine safari.




More to come later... if you can stand my dribbles of thought.

quote:

More to come later... if you can stand my dribbles of thought.

The flesh endures Judge, please post more!

In all seriousness thank you for taking the time to write up this excellent report.

Yours in anitcipation,

Amir

Great story. I'm waiting for the conclusion.

Wonderfully written. Thanks Ernest.

Thanks, Ernest, we've been waiting. It sounds like a wonderful trip, and so far an absolutely first class report.