evening

22 June 2009, 03:43

butchloc

evening

the days hunt is over. It was a cold rif=de in the top seat of the cruiser. You froze most of the way. Africa is supposed to be hot, so why was it so cold on the way back. Nevermide, the light of the camp are in sight. Your legs and back are stiff. Its hard to climb down from that high seat. The walk back to your tent is better described as a waddle. Every muscle in your body aches. It was a long walk after that buffalo. Yards stretched into miles. You didn't even load the rifle today. That old dagga was smart, maybe to smart. As you slip off your shoes and pants, the hot shower is calling your name. The first drops come out and feel as heaven should. The hot water washes away layers of dust. Earned layers. The sting and itching of the tetse fly bites are evaporated as the water washes over them. There are welts all over your body from the flies. it was a hard day, but that buffalo had to have gone 44 inches.
The feel of a clean sweatsuit lifts your spirits higher. It's dark now, even the red glow of the African sun is gone. As you walk down the path, the torch lights the way, warning of the adders that seek the warmth of the rocks. Then there is the mopane fire . Its light and warmth are a becon in the dark. As you slump in the chair, wilson brings the first sundowner. The liquid slides down your throat and is adsorbed by your body as quickly as you can swallow. The quiet of the night is all encompassing. Only the hippos and an occasional nightjar break the silence. Your PH comes over by the fire. You both try to escape the smoke, but to no avail. He to is refreshed by the shower. As you gaze into the moppane flames thoughts of the day come back. You didbn't fire a shot with your rifle, but then again there were those guineafowl in the garden this morning. Now the cook has made them into guinea snacks. Previews to the nights supper. The conversation turns to the days events. It was hard work, Sweaty work, torturers at times, but that is the hunt. Now its time to renew the soul. Perhaps another sundowner will help. Then wilson calls, supper is ready., You grap your glass and head for the dining tent. The aroma makes you spit. Eland steaks. The prime eating steaks of the earth await. Gravy, fresh vegetables, and a fresh salad. Eaten with the music of the night. Zebras and bushbuck bark, hippos talk to each other, even a early hyena calls. Then there is a human cry. A cry of fright. Following there are shouts of laughter. The rubber snake that was left where the cook must pass, the snake that was skillfully left in a tree where it would fall on an unsuspecting cook had done its job. Everybody was in glee, everyone except the cook, who was swearing vengeance by poison . You suppress laughter, knowing that you had just a little to do with it. and after all he is cooking your breakfast in the morning. An afterdinner scotch or gin, or whatever it was makes your eyelids weigh a ton. As you slowly wander back to your tent, you gaze upwards, upwards to tthe skys of the southern cross. There is order in the heavens you decide. Order that you know as you crawl under the blanket and pull the mosquito nets down. The are tings in the world that are good, much more than what is evil. You know this in your heart, for mother africa has told you so tonight. Then as sleep arrives, the lions call

Andrew McLaren
Professional Hunter and Hunting Outfitter since 1974.

http://www.mclarensafaris.com The home page to go to for custom planning of ethical and affordable hunting of plains game in South Africa!
Enquire about any South African hunting directly from andrew@mclarensafaris.com

After a few years of participation on forums, I have learned that:

One can cure:

Lack of knowledge – by instruction. Lack of skills – by practice. Lack of experience – by time doing it.

One cannot cure:

Stupidity – nothing helps! Anti hunting sentiments – nothing helps! Put-‘n-Take Outfitters – money rules!

My very long ago ancestors needed and loved to eat meat. Today I still hunt!