quote:

Originally posted by Bud Meadows:
Scruffy: Yes I stopped at the Bakkerie in Outjo to buy the tastiest Apple Strudel in the world. I arrived early in the morning just after they opened and the native sales clerk said they were “All sold out”. So I went next store to the SPAR supermarket where they’ve always sold pastries from the Bakkerie. The manager there told me that he since the Bakkerie came under new ownership they’d raised their prices so high they stopped carrying their pastries! BUMMER

I, and anyone else who has every eaten those pastries, feel your pain!

quote:

Originally posted by lavaca:
Scruffy,

Nice story.

I'll tell another one on myself. Years ago, I took a couple of bowhunting trips to Namibia. Not interesting anymore, but this was long ago. The set up was over a bore hole in a hide (blind). And you wait. No longer have the patience for that or the interest in hunting over water.

This particular blind was a pit blind. It was octagonal and your face was at ground level. There were windows, screened by burlap where you peeked out. I was leaning on one side of the blind, with my face against the window and my bushman guide was doing the same on the opposite side of the blind. The main shooting window was out the front in between us.

It was a slow afternoon and I'll admit, I had leaned my head against the edge of the side window, and my have even been dozing a bit. All of a sudden, something cold and wet was thrust hard into my left cheek.

Basically all hell broke loose. A mongoose stuck his nose in the window and found me.
I reacted, the guide reacted, I bowled over that poor bushman half my weight and we both wound up on the floor of the blind, the mongoose had an equal reaction and the whole troop stormed off in a cloud of dust.

The Bushman found all this incredibly funny and when we got back to camp, he kept repeating the story over and over, much to my chagrin.

If a person was sitting in a lion blind around midnight and that had happened - most folks would have stroked out!

Great stories.

I'll tell another one, but only if bullfrogs count.

I had a Cuban uncle. One of my mother's sisters married him.

He was a great guy - one of my favorite uncles, and I had a lot of them, as my mother had many sisters.

His name was Angel Jaime. Pronounced "Ahn-hill Hymee."

My Cuban uncle's family fled Fidel Castro, and the rest of the damned communists who took over Cuba in 1959. The Jaime family spread out and settled throughout the USA.

Like most Cubans, they asked for nothing and were incredibly hard workers. They made the American dream their own.

My uncle Angel owned four gas stations in and around Detroit, Michigan. I visited him and my aunt and cousins one summer and stayed for four weeks.

I told my uncle I wanted to learn to shoot, because I knew he carried a pistol with him everywhere he went and was a good shot. He made no secret of it. In those days, Detroit was the scene of race riots and great violence.

My uncle was successful in his businesses and said he would shoot anyone who tried to destroy any of them. I knew he would.

He also owned a big farm outside of Detroit with cattle and lots of big ponds on it.

One day, before leaving for work, he handed me a .22 Mag. rimfire rifle and taught me how to use it. He taught me how it worked and how to aim and hit my target, and also how to handle it safely.

He told me to go to the ponds with my cousin Mark and shoot the biggest bullfrogs I could find. He said, "Aim behind the eyes. That will blow them in half. Easier to clean them that way."

I went out with my cousin and we must have shot well over a dozen huge bullfrogs that day.

That night, my uncle fried up several pans full of frog legs in garlic and butter.

He served them up with French fries and green beans with almonds and sesame seeds and they tasted so good I can almost taste them now.

I will never forget my Cuban uncle.

I owe him so much.

Nice!

I had an great aunt, sister of my grandmother, who died before I was born. She married a farmer and I got to spend some time on their farm. He grew cotton, sorghum and citrus mostly. My uncle Elmer died right after Hurricane Beula in 1968. Wasn't clear whether he had a heart attack or was elecrtricuted by a downed line. My aunt gave me two of his guns, a Savage 99 and a Winchester Model 97. The Model 97 was a goose gun with a long barrel and full choke. I had a great place to hunt doves right on the Rio and they were thick so I shot them at long range with it. It wouldn't handle heavy loads for waterfowl. No one wanted to hunt with me.

But my aunt really liked venison, but hadn't had any since my uncle died. I shot a doe with that old Model 99 and butchered it for her. Made her day.

We were hunting in Matetsi, Zimbabwe.

We had a bait, and a make shift blind.

Basically a frame with sacking.

It was at the edge of a dry river.

Our approach was from the river.

We were there, and lioness came along.

We had a lioness on license.

She must have sensed us, as she just trotted away.

I fired a shot at her, she fumbled around a bit and dropped dead.

I was using Barnes X 300 grains in my 375/404.

The bullet hit her behind shoulders on the right, and ended up in the joint of the left shoulder.

Funny thing was the bullet was facing backwards??!!

Much like Saeed's story, seeral years ago I shot a Kudu at Blaauwkrantz in the Eastern Cape and this particular kudu was shot much closer than normal, only about 120 yards away. Shot behind the shoulder, dropped in its tracks (.300 Win Mag, 180 gr Barnes TTSX at about 2880 fps), when we walked up on it the tracker noticed the bullet protruding from the off shoulder...base first.

My newly designed NO MISS bullets have been especially developed to be recovered.

Here is a an example last year.