Sure, that's one way of doing it but how do you get a lion to grab you by one shoulder every time?

Saeed,
this story is a classic!

enjoyed it immensely

Hi Saeed

If ever you visit South Africa you can have a look at the knive and lion skin in the restcamp Scukuza in the Kruger national park. We have true heroes in the South African conservation circles, people that to the day are still prepared to give their lives to save animals. That is why we
(South Africa and Namibie) can again hunt BLACK Rhino legally( only 5/year).

Regards

Wimpie
FROM A WARM AND SUNNY SOUTH AFRICA
A bad day in the bush is better than a good day in the office!!!

Yes indeed a legendary tale from our bush - Mr Harry's Grandson Kim, is a regular visitor to my offices in between sojourns in the bush. He is a serious "bushman" in his own right and a great photgrapher to boot - probably the most knowledable guy on leopards that I have had the pleasure of meeting.

Have a look at http://www.kimwolhuter.com/ for a family version of that "Lion tale" - go to the About Kim section and follow the links.

Ironically, we served in the same Military unit in Namibia - he was in the Mounted wing and I in the Trackers wing - fortunately we did not bump into Lions whislt on horseback in the bush - other "predators" a plenty though.

I really do hope that the lion had a nose which was at LEAST 50% black

Great story! Two weeks ago I had the pleasure of doing a four day walk in the Kruger National Park. While waiting for the rest of our crowd to arrive I visited the Stevenson Hamilton Library. Harry Wolhuter's lion skin and his knife are on display. A very ordinary but effective knife and a big lion!
Regards,
Springbok

The following is from the book MEMORIES OF A GAME RANGER; by

Harry Wolhuter, a game ranger.

In August, 1903, I was returning from one of my usual patrols on the Olifants. On the second day after leaving camp my objective was a certain waterhole en route, at which I intended to spend the night, but when we reached it we found that the pool was dry. It was now about 4 pm and the only thing to be done was to push on to the next waterhole which was about 12 miles distant.
Accompanying me were 3 police boys driving the donkeys which carried all my possessions and three dogs. The latter all rough �Boer� dogs. Very good on lions.

I instructed the boys that I would ride ahead along the path to the next waterhole, and they were to follow. I then started to go along the trail, and of the dogs �Bull� escorted me, the bitch �Fly� and a mongrel-terrier, remained with the boys.

Although it became dusk very soon I continued to ride along the path � as I have often traveled that route by night during the Boer War to avoid the heat of the summer sun. I gave no thoughts to lions, as I had never before encountered these animals in those parts. Most of the herbage has been recently burnt off, but here and there a patch of long grass remained. While riding through one of these isolated patches I heard two animals jump up in the grass ahead of me.

It was now too dark to see, but I imagined that the animal were a pair of reedbuck, as this has always been a favorite locality for these antelope. I expected them to run across the path and disappear; but instead, and to my surprise, I heard a running rustle in the grass approaching me. I was still riding quietly along when two forms loomed up within 3 or 4 yards and these I recognized as two lions, and their behavior was such that I had little doubt but that their intentions was to attack my horse. Although, of course, I had my rifle (without which I never moved in the veld) there was no time to shoot, and as I hastily pulled my horse around I dug the spurs into his flanks in a frantic effort to urge him to his best speed to get away in time; but the approaching lion was already too close, and before the horse could get into his stride I felt a terrific impact behind me as the lion alighted on the horse�s hindquarters.

What happened next, of course, occupied only a few seconds, but I vividly recall the unpleasant sensation of expecting the crunch of the lion�s jaws in my person. However, the terrified horse was bucking and plunging so violently that the lion was unable to maintain its hold, but it managed to knock me out of the saddle. Fortune is apt to act freakishly at all times, and it may seems a strange thing to suggest that it was fortunate for myself that I happened to fall almost on top of the second lion as he was running in front of my horse, to get hold of it by the head. Had I fallen otherwise, however, its probable that the lion would have grasped me by the head, and then this book would assuredly never have been written.

Actually, the eager brute gripped my right shoulder between its jaws and started to drag me away, and as it did so I could hear the clatter of my horse�s hooves over the stony ground as it raced away with the first lion in hot pursuit; itself in turn being chased by my dog �Bull�.

Meanwhile, the lion continued dragging me towards the neighboring Metsimetsi Spruit. I was dragged along on my back, being held by the right shoulder, and as the lion was walking over me his claws would sometimes rip wounds in my arms and I was wearing a pair of spurs with strong leather straps, and these acted as brakes, scoring deep furrows in the ground over which we traveled. When the �brakes� acted too efficiently the lion would give an impatient jerk of his great head, which added excruciating pain to my shoulder, already deeply lacerated by the powerful teeth. I certainly was in a position to disagree emphatically with Dr. Livingstone�s theory, based on his own personal experience, that the resulting shock from the bite of a large carnivorous animal so numbs the nerves that it deadens all pain. For, in my case, I was conscious of great physical agony; and in addition to this was the mental agony as to what the lion would presently do with me. Whether eh would kill me first or proceed to dine off me while I was still alive!
Of course, in those first few moments I was convinced that it was all over with me and that I had reached the end of my earthly career.

But then, as our painful progress continued, it suddenly struck me that I might still have my sheath knife! I always carried this attached to my belt on the right side. Unfortunately, the knife did fit too tightly in it sheath and on two previous occasions when I had had a spill from my horse while galloping after game during the Boar War it had fallen out. It seemed almost too much to expect that it could be safely there after the recent rough episodes. It took me some time to work my left hand round my back as the lion was dragging me over the ground, but eventually I reached the sheath, and to me indescribable joy, the knife was still there! I secured it, and wondered where first to to stab the lion. It flashed through my mind that, many years ago, I had read in a magazine or newspaper that if you hit a cat on the nose he must sneeze before doing anything. This particular theory is, of course, incorrect, but at the time I seriously entertained the idea of attempting it though on second thoughts I dismissed the notion, deciding that in any case would just sneeze and pick me up again � this time perhaps in a more vital spot!

I decide finally to stick my knife in his heart, and so I began to feel very cautiously for his shoulder. The task was a difficult and complicated one because, gripped as I was, high up in the right shoulder, my head was pressed right up against the lion�s mane, which exuded a strong lion smell (incidentally, he was purring very loudly something after the fashion of a cat � only on far louder scale � perhaps in pleasant anticipation of the meal he intended to have) and this necessitated my reaching with my left hand holding the knife across his chest so as to gain access to his left shoulder. Any bungling, in this maneuver, would arouse the lion, with instantly fatal results to myself!
However, I managed it successfully, and knowing where his heart was located, I struck him twice, in quick succession, with two back-handed strokes behind the left shoulder. The lion let out a furious roar, and I desperately struck him again: this time upwards towards his throat. I think this third thrust severed the jugular vein, as the blood spurted out in a stream all over me. The lion released his hold and slunk off into the darkness. Later I measured the distance, and found that he had dragged me 60 yards. Incidentally, it transpired that both first thrusts had reached the heart.

He's probably lion....just kidding, a little play on words !