This is a chapter from the book I am working on, Written by Fairgame and previously published in ASG. Posted with Andrews knowledge and permission.



The picture IS the dry land Sitatunga


I told him not to shoot and my command was stern. I was not going to let anybody shoot this magnificent animal up the backside. Besides this bull had my full attention, as he was not only running as hard or as graceful as any antelope I have seen but was heading inland away from the lush sanctuary of the swamp. My urgent instruction was repeated again as the sitatunga ran for dry land, My client Ron was disturbed to say the least and rather irritatingly remarked that the last time a PH made a decision like that it cost him ten thousand United States dollars. Why did they go for the scant cover of dry land I pondered? It was the third bull in as many minutes to run for the distant tree line. Bet you ten grand you would have wounded it I thought to myself.

I had first seen this particular bull a couple of days earlier whilst surveying the area for my pending client, I was just about to give up my early morning vigil having been satisfied with the quantity of females and adolescent males that I had observed when I first saw him and for a brief moment I mistook a massively splayed set of horns for a Crawshay’s waterbuck feeding in the papyrus. It was quite the most magnificent antelope and having identified the trophy I quickly vacated the machan as to not to disturb him. I was elated to have been so fortunate to witness such an animal and that I had done my job well. It was eight o’clock in the morning and the wind was good, piece of cake. I noted that it was mid morning and late for sitatunga however these animals were different and did not conform to the habits of their kind.

Prior to the discovery of Sitatunga in our concession the hunting of this specie had been confined to the Bangweulu swamps in our Northern province, one of the worlds least explored wetlands. Bangweulu ‘where the water meets the sky’ encompasses some seven hundred square miles of foreboding waterways and it is here that Africa’s greatest population of Zambezi Sitatunga resides. It is a surreal and beautiful place but the hunting of them is a wet and muddy business. To improve your chances of success some difficult country has to be navigated, mainly under the cover of darkness. Recently statistics have shown a dramatic drop in number of kills due to over hunting and human encroachment. Without specialised equipment much of Bangweulu is virtually impenetrable to us mere mortals and I personally know of no white man who has ventured deeper than the fringes of this vast morass. It was then with some relief when we discovered sitatunga quite literally on our doorstep

And it was quite by accident when Richard Bell-Cross, the present operator of the vast Lunga Luswishi concession, who in the early morning of 2002 had stumbled upon them in the swampy fringes of a natural spring. Historically there had never been on quota in this area and I very much doubt if anyone knew of their existence. We then heard of another small swamp on the Mutambashi stream some twenty odd miles up the Kafue River and decided to check it out. Initially it looked grim as a number of villages lined the opposite bank and the game had been hammered into extinction. However there was numerous signs of our quarry and it was evident from spoor that there was a population of bulls. Mutambashi could be better described as a marsh and encompassed little more than 10 acres of wetland. Maybe a bull could be taken out from here and whilst we had seen quite a few females we had yet to see a decent male. Richard decided to take the risk and put one on quota. He called up one particular hunter we knew who liked a challenge and who had in the past prove impervious to hard hunting. All we could tell him was that we had found a small pocket of Sitatunga and his only inquiry was what waterproofs did we recommend? He was somewhat surprised to learn that they were not needed. Shortly before his arrival a road was being cut into another viable wetland adjacent to the Kafue River and it was here on one gloomy morning that we witnessed the reed banks come alive this secretive animal.

In the first light on a bitterly cold morning of our winter and as the swamp mist dissipated seven bull sitatunga stepped out of the gloom into the sights of Mr Mill’s rifle. Big Sitatunga the radio crackled. The hunt had lasted less than an hour.

Richard had observed that the Sitatunga bulls were living out side of the swamp and in the surrounding thickets. We could only surmise that the wetlands were diminishing and that over time the Sitatunga have had to adapt to dry land. It was only at night that the bulls ventured from their lairs to feed and that the swamps were not big enough for the bulls to define territories of their own. This was my theory, but then why hadn’t they been poached out? The Kaonde people consider them ghosts, bad spirits and so leave them alone it was pointed out. I found this fascinating and others would agree that often the highlight of a professional hunters career is the pusuit of one particular specie and indeed the hunting of animal that you understand and that you have studied to some degree of detail.

The search for Sitatunga became infectious as it incorporated exploration and adventure. Having abandoned the drudgery of city life Richard’s father would disappear for weeks on end into the hinterlands to return with the scars of hardship and marvellous tales of country and game. The twinkle had returned to his eye and his step was youthful. Everyone was enjoying this and there are few places in Africa where one can venture that have not been disturbed by man, Word of a swamp or even a damp stand of papyrus would send Richard or I to survey it. It was classic hunting without a shot being fired. The quota was increased to three and then four as big bull Sitatunga were flushed from their watery feeding grounds.

I for one like swamps as they enclose a completely different and isolated ecosystem of their own. Often a habitat for dangerous game there is a sense of expectation when traversing the gloomy stands of papyrus and reed. For the most your movements are restricted to the darkness hours and the approach to the machan is in complete silence your way guided by the dull luminescent glow of starlight. Often the bulls detect you en route and their deep resonating bellows strike fear into the hearts of first timers. Cold and wet you stand in silence straining your senses, for the grey of first light or the liquid step of your quarry. As the sun lights the horizon a curtain is drawn and the show starts. It is one of Africa’s little theatres and you feel privileged to be one of her spectators.

It was one year later when the ‘big swamp’ was discovered, and it is remote, some seven hours rattling drive from main camp. Our notes record sightings of some thirty Sitatunga in one morning and quality bulls far exceeded anything shot to date. I had never seen the big swamp, it had no other name then, and nor had Richard as he drove his unsuspecting client to a GPS coordinate. The car was parked in a stand of monotonous miombo woodland and the digital tracker led them to a high rocky outcrop and there beyond lay the big swamp green and glistening an emerald set amongst hard granite ridges. It was quiet almost deathly as it was here that the Kaonde ghosts lived, and there were many. The hunt had lasted some thirty minutes.

Richard remarked that he had a brief glimpse of an immense bull in the distance and that it was his regret that he did not have more time to survey the area. Time was not his side and besides who is going to turn down a twenty niner? Having utilised the small quota no one the area was abandoned for the season and all I had was a mental image that beckoned me. If only to see a ghost.

Today was my turn. It was less than an hour on the first day and everything was going to plan. The sun had painted the horizon with its dusky palette and the first colours of dawn highlighted the Mutambashi bull as he stood fully broad side at a mere hundred paces from the machan. I considered this a bonus for all my hard work and had predicted the shot would be much further. I would be back in the comfort of the main camp by lunch. A thin spread of feathery papyrus covered the bulls shoulder and in what I considered an authoritative tone I instructed Ron to shoot through the centre of it. As he began questioning my decision two other bulls erupted from the reeds and all three ran hard for the cover of the thickets. Damn, and it was at that point I stopped the big man from risking a shot. The walk back to camp seemed much longer and I hadn’t really catered for more than one night in the bush. This was supposed to be easy, I had been too confident and the bloody wind had now changed for the worse.

It was day two now and under the blanket of darkness we again stalked the watery depression. The wind was worse still and seemed to scorn me as I led Ron silently back to the machan. Yesterday I had bartered some rather expensive fish from the neighbouring village. My client now tells me that he won’t eat fish of any description, he was now hungry and I short of cigarettes. There is a hippo chewing grass to our right but Ron does not know that because he cannot see it nor does he notice that the sound has stopped because the beast is probably looking at us. Would my client be able to hold a torch on the beast if charged or should I try and do everything myself? The gloss on this Sitatunga hunting was wearing thin at that moment and for the first time I was thankful for the bad wind and for the acrid smell of wood fire. For earlier, much earlier that morning I had risen and spent an hour or so saturating our clothes in smoke, hoping that this might fool a Sitatunga. Well if Ron did’ not like the taste of catfish then he positively detests the smell of smoke. This had all the ingredients of becoming real hunting. However it was not to be for later that morning it was my turn to make an announcement on the radio.

Some may say that this is all a bit easy and admittedly it can be, but one has to consider the effort and hours put into the research prior to the hunting then I think we deserve the rewards. There will be more swamps as the map has indicated so and it is the anticipation of discovery and exploration that are the perks of our job. Imagine a man or woman who would be prepared to hunt distant regions that have been long forgotten or never ventured by safari hunters. When time and the constraints of modern day safaris are wavered for the pursuit of one animal. Is that not how hunting used to be?

The big swamp is now called Makango and another Chiburimushi There are others and new satellite imagery shows us even more. To date a hand full of sitatunga well in excess of thirty inches have now been taken on dry land and some truly monstrous specimens have been witnessed by us and by our clientele. For myself I am satisfied for I have now seen the Kaonde ghosts and the places they haunt.

Footnote – The new world record was taken here recently by Richard Bell Cross and measured 35 inches –


Nganga

That is one awesome trophy.

Well done on all counts.

that brings back some good memories

Excellent story. Wish there were a lot more ghost species out there.