I originally wrote and posted this back in 2004, after returning from my first safari in Namibia.

It came to mind yesterday after I got the back of my hand eviscerated by a blackberry push while clearing brush in my backyard. As bad as it felt, and as much as I bled, it didn't hold a candle to what I experienced in my first interaction with African thornbushes. Hence my penning the following account of that encounter.

Enjoy:


THORN OF PLENTY


No one ever told me, or should I say, warned me, about African acacia thorns!


Now, being a Southern boy, I am no stranger to thorns -- briars, stickers -- whatever you want to call them. They are a part of life in the South, especially for the outdoorsman. Hardly a day in the woods goes by that I don't have to find the least painful (and bloody) way out of a blackberry thicket, or untangle myself from one of those "wait-a-minute" wild rose vines that finds a way to wrap around my neck. And have you ever been climbing a hill and reached out grab a tree to pull yourself up, only to find out that you grabbed a young black locust? You won't make that mistake but once.


I used to think that these instruments of the Devil's revenge on the South were as bad is it gets in terms of flora blood-letting. Little did I know (or that I would soon find out) that compared to African thorns, our briars and stickers are "bush-league".


Advance forward to my very first day ever hunting in Africa. We were in the highlands of Northern Namibia seeking Mrs. Hartmann's zebra (don't know how the sombitch got out of the barn in the first place!). It was me and a young assistant PH, Chris. We were making our way up a rocky ridge when Chris turns around and says, "we'll have to find another way up; this route is too thick."


Too thick? I looked ahead and only saw a couple of willowy branches crossing the game trail in the next hundred yards. "What do you mean 'too thick'? Where I come from, the path to the outhouse is more treacherous. And we make that trip sometimes naked (NOT nekid, which according to Jeff Foxworthy is a whole other state of being)."


"Suit yourself," said Chris. "You go that way and I'll meet you at the top."


"Too thick!" I thought to myself. "Geeez, these Africans are pussies! Why where I come from ........" My thought was interrupted by the initial encounter with one of the willowy branches crossing the trail. I looked at it and could see that it was covered up and down with small black thorns; anemic little things that weren't hardly worthy of notice.


I reached out with my thumb and forefinger to grab a leaf, so I could safely pull the limb out of the way, when.......THE MUTHER F----- ATTACKED ME!!!


Yes, I'm not kidding, it sprung for my hand and wrapped around my wrist. At which point I jerked my hand away in reflex. Big mistake! The bloody stump that had occupied the space where my hand used to be caused intense pain to radiate up my arm. At which point I stepped backward -- right into the main body of the bush! It was at about now that I started to realize that maybe these Africans aren't so dumb after all.


The battle was joined, and I was losing. The bush entangled every appendage (yes, even that one). I could feel the life slipping out of my body. I started thinking about all those stories I had read about PHs and hunters surviving hand-to-claw encounters with leopards, lions and hyenas. I looked to them for strength, but soon came to the realization that all they had to deal with were man-eating cats. I had serious doubts that ANYONE had ever survived an attack by a man-eating acacia!


My thoughts turned to my wife and kids back at the lodge. What if I didn't return? Would my wife blow all the life insurance money on some young stud who would make her much happier than I ever could? Would my kids grow into the avid outdoorsmen I had started them on the path to be, or would they instead grow into happy, successful adults with hot wives?


The thought of their happy and productive lives without me were more than I could bear. It was about here that I summoned my reserve strength. As the cursed limbs dug ever deeper into, first my clothes, and then my precious hide, I spyed a bright light in the dirction of the mountain top (I was later to find out that it was a firey red ball in the sky -- called the "sun"). My only chance was to move toward the light. Gathering my feet under me I pushed with all my might, and to my surprise, actually made headway agains the behemoth's deadly tentacles.


Encouraged, I pushed one last time and..... I was free!


I looked back at evil from which I had escaped. Even though I was torn and bleeding from a thousand (or at least ten)points, I knew I was lucky. Small pieces of shirt and pants material hung ominously from it branches. Otherwise it stood there just as innocent-looking as it had when I first approached.


I continued up the mountain, a much wiser man than I had been even few minutes before. On all sides of the trail stood bushes similar to the one that nearly taken my life and I gave them wide berth.

When I reached the top, Chris was perched on a rock. He took one look at my tattered, torn and bleeding body and said, "I see you found the black-thorn bush."


"Ain't nothin' compared to the blackberry bushes back where I come from," I lied. "Where's all them bad thorns you folks is always squawking about?"


Later that day we were getting ready at assault another ridge, when I decided to glass toward the summit. About a mile ahead of us, crossing an otherwise clear 50-foot-wide trail, was the single, willowy limb of a black-thorn acacia. I put the glasses down and looked calmly and Chris and said, "We'll have to find another way up. This route's too thick."

Hysterical! Great read.

Blackthorn is the worst. I remember fighting it in Botswana in the central Kalahari….

Too bloody funny! I smiled the whole way through.

Thanks!

Funny and brings back memories. Remember finishing a day's hunt with pants held together with duct tape. Message to self: Always carry a roll of duct tape in your kit.

Been there, done that. On my first hunt in northern Namibia in 2012 I left a good chunk of an ear lobe hanging on a thorn bush. My PH had climbed a good sized Koppie ahead of me and spotted a nice Kudu bull. In my haste to catch up with him, I ducked under a thorn bush but managed to snag my ear lobe. It took several minutes to stop the flow of blood and by the time I reached my PH the Kudu was long gone. Lesson learned.

I think they are akin to our Honey Locust. What I hate most about them is that when I pull them out the tips always seem to break off under the skin.

What was those African thorns that were hook shaped? Once those caught me I had to have help getting loose. The more I tried to free myself the more of them that caught me.

Ha ha ha ha. Very good. Thank you.

I am gonna laugh and smile about your writing of the hike up the mountain all day! Thanks for the smiles.

That black thorn acacia bush is no joke, did some detours around in on my Namibia leopard hunt.

That made me laugh.
You are a good writer!

Fortunately, I was forewarned about the RSA thorns and accustomed to Texas thorns, so I wore bird hunting pants with double layer thorn resistant material on the leg fronts. Also wore my long sleeved hunting shirts with double thickness forearms- in fact I still have one of those on from a hunt today. This, plus leather shooting gloves reduced my thorn damage to a minimum.

Charles L mentioned Honey locust, a cursed tree that has nasty thorns and roots that will sprout around any tree that is cut down alive. So they must be poisoned before being cut down and removed. I am still battling ta few of them in my pastures after 20 years. One hunting lease I was on had entire fields of the stuff that a person could hardly walk through. Even cattle avoid them. I do not miss that place at all.