It was a short nap and now you're boncing down the road from cap once again. As you start to get close to the old river bed, Fred turn the cruiser and brings it into a new area. You, look at him questioning. He explains that this old bugger is to smart, to cunning, and that you need to come in from a different direction, one he would not expect.
The new blind that you set up yesterday is in a rockpile. It's 3 PM and the rocks are hot from the sun. As you climb into the blind, it seems like a sauna. You knew it would, and you know that as the sun departs that it will get cold, but you brought a new book, a blanket and a hope that tonight will be the night. It's your 3rd trip trying to find a big leopard. The first two yielded nothing, and now you have a track. You haven't seen the old guy yet, but his track is the biggest Fred has ever seen. It's almost the size of a lioness.
The wait seems endless, the minutes have pasted into hours and the sun is going over the hill, leaving hues of gold, and purple, and pink. Then you hear it again. Crunch. Your heat skips a beat and adrenaline flows into you body. Fred is looking through the binoculars again, even as you lift yours. The bait in in a tree, positioned so that the cat can eat from above or below. It's below. Still light enough to see clearly, your heart and hopes drop again. It's the little female.
You drop back into your chair, hopes dashed, as does Fred. He turns back to you and mouths the words wait, he still may come. You sit back, hoping against hope, but with the resolve that it will be the 54th night to come up empty.
As you drift into your own little dream world, Fred grabs you leg. Not the little tap you agreed on, but a grab that almost breaks the bones. You eyes pop open, Fred is back at the binocluars. Hope floods into your brain, even as the second adrenaline rush hits. He's there. The female is on the top branch and the big old male is streching up to eat his share of the free meat. He's huge, he dwarfs the female.
You must leave him eat for a bit, to become so engrossed in his meal that he doesn't notice the small movement of the rifle barrel as you settle in behind the stock. It's so dark now that you can just make out the yellow olf his body, streched out reaching the bait. The black of the crosshairs are resting on the yellow mass, and you remember to hold back a bit further than on an antelope. The flames reach out of the barrel toward him, and the recoil hits your shoulder. Then he's gone.
Now Fred asks how you felt about the shot, because the flames blinded him and he didn't see the cat drop. You're afraid that the shot may have been a bit to far back, but it looked solid. Well lets to see.
It's dark now, General shapes of the trees are recognizable, but that all. You make your way carefully up to the bait tree. Freds torch clicks on and waves around under the bait. Nothing. Now all the thoughts that float through your mind are centered around your shot, did you do well? Is he dead of alive? Dead you silently pray to yourself. All the horror stories of leopard attacks are coming to mind.
6' away there is something in the light. Blood, Red blood. The sign soes up the hill infront of you. The hill is a maze of things a cat could hide behind.
Lets just give it a few minutes Fred says, as Jimson all of a sudden is at his side. It looks like a good hit, but lets give him a few minutes.
While you wait in the dark, there comes a sound. A sound like a cough. Not from up the hill, but close alongside. Freds torch pierces the darkness, and stops on the glowing eyes of a young male lion. 40 yards away. He's coming in, keying on something. You don't know if he's keying of you, the leopard, the bait or what, but at the rate your heart is beating, your rifle seems to have shrunk to a BB gun size. Fred starts yelling at the lion, and you join in, making his ancestory most colorful. The lion moves away, but only a couple of paces, then stops and stares at you. Not the same stare of hatred the buffalo had, but more one of curiosity. Then he moves away, 100 yards, 150 yards and he begins to call. The sounds of his roars shake the still night, and cause shivers up and down your back. Then he's gone.
Checking your pants to make sure your bladder held, you look at the PH and Tracker, wondering if they held the same fear as you just experienced.
It's been overe a half an hour when you start to make you way up the hill. The blood tril is faint, but its still there. Thee on that rock, there on the grass, there on the, no, its disappeared. You make you way up the hill, each step taking long moments. No sign, No blood, No tracks. Finally after an hour or so, the tracker says that you must go back down and find the sign once again.
As you move down the hill, jimson leaps to the side. The torch lights flow to where he was. The behind the bush, behind the rock he lays. Life has left the great cats body. If the lion hadn't have come in on you, the three of you would have gone up the hill earlier. To early, He had laid in ambush, and surely would have gotten one of you, but the lion did come, and he died waiting.
Now as you kneel beside this great hunter, you reach out to touch him. Tears come to your eyes. Tears of joy, Tears of remorse. You have taken a great life, it is what you intended to do, but in doing so some of you died with him. Some of you die with each living thing you have taken the life of, and with each there is remorse. As a hunter you accept this, and hope it will never be any different, for if it would ever change, you would give up hunting, because you would become a killer, not a hunter. You know the difference, Fred know the difference, Jimson knows the difference.
Jimson has left, going back to the cruiser. There is help there, Franz is waiting there and you need the help to move the leopard back down the hill. It takes all 4 of you to lift him, and carry him down the hill and into the back of the cruiser.
The lights of camp appear around the curve. Fred is blowing the horn on the cruiser, and the camp staff are running out. As you pull into the yard, the staff gather around the truck and a chant starts. As they hoist the great cat out of the back, the chant grows louder, and louder. Pride starts to swell into your chest, as you gaze on the leopard. He is even bigger than you imagine a cat could be. AAt the shed he is weighed and measured. 7'10" long, the scale goes to 200# and stops, not because of the weight, but because that is as far as the scale can read. This is the biggest leopard anyone there has ever seen. Big, and very old. The teeth are worn down to a fraction of what there were at his prime. You're thankful that he is that old. Taking him when his life was starting to ebb away seems only right. As you try to lift him up for pictures, the limp weight prevents you from picking him up all the way. How did you deserve such a trophy? Never mind, you did. Now its time to reach into the duffle for that bottle of black labeled scotch. Pour Fred one and yourself one, Lift your glass, and remember. Remember africa

I am in the process of booking my first leopard hunt.Reading this essay has me chompin at the bit.I only hope that it does not take me 54 nights in a blind to get the job done.

Can't wait for the next installment.

butch,

I have experienced the gut wrenching doubt about a shot that maybe was not good. It is very unpleasant but a part of hunting that most of us will go through at one time or another if we hunt much.

Another nice installment. You can definitely write what you have felt.

Congrats again on the "toad" of all leopards. The Save does grow some monsters.

Mark

Just outstanding!

WONDERFUL! Jerry Hoover