Hey Guys,
This is chapter 2 of my book "Chipolopolo" I have been converting all my text over to mac "pages" on advice from our own Cal Pappas. This is the version from windows and is not edited so please ignore typos and spelling.

The crossover is almost complete to the new system. It's a bunch of work for a guy with few computer skills. Andrew Baldry has been an immense help, advisor and Friend on this project for 4 years, it is now close to being printed.

Like chapter one it is long, please enjoy.



Over the course of my pursuit of dangerous game I have developed some opinions regarding the differences between the hunting of lion and hunting for leopard. The quest for lions is much like engaging in a war with a foe in which you can trust. They will engage you in the open wearing a uniform and fight you mano a mano on the battlefield. They then will loudly signal their charge before the bloody battle commences, very gentlemanly indeed. A leopard on the other hand is much like a terrorist, coming to do battle when you least expect, if he comes at all. He has neither the honor nor the courage to stand and engage he who pursues him. Wound him, it is now guerilla warfare and the odds of finding this terrorist alive and not facing the most furious of all charges available while hunting here in the valley of the shadow of death are slim at best. When he comes (not if) he will come from 4 feet possibly in complete silence not a roar not a sound to announce his intentions until he is upon you or your PH or both. If his first salvo is successful and he fades back into the bush without sufficient wounds to sink him, you must relive this horror again. This time you will know the results before you ever even start the grim task and somebody will surely be peeling a chain saw of rosettes off your face and the services of a qualified seamstress will be required in camp. My first leopard hunt came on the heels of a “more than I bargained for” lion hunt that is also written in these pages.


It went kinda like this.


“Tree Rats we call them” Alister said as he backed the cruiser up to reacquire his brimmed leather hat that had just been ripped off his head by a low thorny acacia. I didn’t know what was more intriguing at the time the term tree rats for such a noble beast or the small trickle of blood that produced a single unnoticed drip from the end of the professional hunter’s nose. As he continued to explain with great detail how we would hunt them we drove ever deeper into a vast mopane forest, constantly weaving in and out of the trees that marked the track with a simple swatch chopped into the trunk of the mopane trees, then the bush turned into miombo woodland then back through the village of Zokwe a route I became very familiar with over the course of long days of checking lion baits. We were finished hunting for lions so we were dropping the remaining hippo bait and checking it for any leopard activity. One had been hit by a leopard but the hyenas seemed to have finished off the bait and all signs of spots were old. Week old hippo bait is the foulest smelling thing you can imagine, it is dripping with rotting flesh and the maggot filled liquid drips to the ground below. When sitting in a blind downwind the constant smell would surely give even the vulture’s pause.

Alister had a couple of places in mind to hang some fresh bait’s anyway so the next morning we set out shoot a couple of impala. We were looking for a particular old one horned ram Alister had seen around and wanted to remove him from the gene pool. A one horned ram has a decided advantage during the rut and his genes not being exceptional need to be removed. After stopping for a restful bush lunch of cold bushbuck fillets served on buttered bread leftover from last nights dinner, we finally ran into this chap just walking down the road that parallels the Luangwa river. Alister stopped the cruiser coasted to a stop and quietly just pointed. I jumped out and chambered a round in my scope sighted .375HH and pulled up to shoot. The shot was a difficult affair of about 30 yards with plenty of sand and sky blocking my shot. At the shot all three of the boys in the truck just pointed low and shook their heads in disgust. I had just gut shot our leopard bait. We now had to blood trail this ram for about a half a mile, when Alister finally got the opportunity to anchor him with his .458 lott. He shot it straight in the ass eliminating any need to remove any guts or intestines. I eventually managed to kill another impala without any drama we then proceeded to Alister predetermined spots to set the traps.


As with setting lion baits these guys were a machine, they all knew their jobs, John would climb the selected tree, and Lemick would prepare the ropes and attach them to the impala then throw the rope to John waiting high in the tree. Frederick would throw guts and paunch about and Mettie would do nothing. At that point I just had to ask why Mettie did absolutely nothing and didn’t get his ass kicked by the others or Alister. It seemed that years ago Alister was driving to check out a new hunting block in extreme northeast Zambia called Tondwa, I’ve been there its remote as hell and borders the Congo. The drive is a day and a half from Lusaka and Alister did it without stopping. He took a wrong turn somewhere along the way and wound up on the dangerous side of Congo and got to a point where he couldn’t stay awake a minute longer. The pair stopped on the side of the track to grab a nap. Alister threw down a blanket, Mettie turned over a water can and sat next to Alister and told him “boss you sleep I’ll keep watch” when Alister awoke there was Mettie still at his post wide awake. He’s loyal Bwana that’s why I keep his worthless ass around.


In any case an impala bait must be hung in a certain manner. For one it must be rear legs down front legs up as if the impala were hugging the branch upside down. This makes the leopard struggle to acquire the bait to feeding height thus allowing more time exposed and also makes the baits last longer which is good, as it gets expensive shooting what’s left on your license for leopard baits. Secondly the tree selected must be correct in height and must be in a location to allow for the blind to be downwind and have the setting sun in the correct position allowing maximum daylight using the silhouette of the leopard as part of the targeting itself but in a way that the sun is not in the hunter’s eyes but the setting sun still shines upon your bait site. Lastly the location must allow for the construction of a blind to be within 30 yards and shielded from an aerial view from vultures with a grass skirt. As with lions most leopard disasters are due to long shots and the PH in charge wants it close especially for a nervous hunter (me). They sweep the area around the bait tree trunk clean of all debris or leaf litter for ease of track identification. Just before leaving the area we would sling the impalas stomach contents all over the bait tree’s trunk. We hung the second bait in a korango that even looked to me like a leopard should live around here. It was complete with a little stream and a water pan not 40 yards from the bait. The tree branch we selected was about 16” in diameter and was of an angle that would allow for a person to simply walk to the position the bait would be and be about 15 feet from the sand at the bottom of the korango. The only thing that struck me as odd was the copious amount of elephant dung around.


The following day we left camp enthused about the days possibilities. Along the way to the first bait we had been passing a dilapidated old shanty the villagers from Zokwe use to sleep in to keep buffalo out of their rice fields during the wet season. Ali had on occasion seen a mature Sharps Grysbok living in the shade of this thatched structure but had never had a client around that wanted to shoot one when the opportunity presented itself. Well, we saw him and I needed no prodding, I departed the cruiser before it stopped and pursued the little antelope into the abyss of long grass and actually got a shot at him before he disappeared. I had remembered Ali’s instructions to shoot the pigmy antelopes behind the ribs to try for a clean exit hole without bullet expansion. I did my best and rolled him nicely receiving pats on the back from the gang who had followed along behind me. Funny just yesterday I was the guy who couldn’t even kill leopard bait. As we approached the tiny trophy Alister with obvious excitement shouted that this could be a new world record or at least occupy page one in the hallowed pages of Rowland & Ward. A large Grysbok weights probably 20 pounds and I was amused that three guys were carrying it back to the cruiser by three of its legs; Alister told me it was a sign of respect to the animal for all to be involved. We then proceeded to the first bait and determined that it had not been hit. Having the Grysbok and no salt we felt in necessary to go straight back to camp to forego any possibility of hair slip and get him skinned and in the salt as soon as we could. It would now be too late to check the remaining leopard bait this afternoon.


That evening in camp I spoke to my wife on my satellite phone and she informed me of hurricane Katrina and all the destruction that ensued in the southeastern United States. It wasn’t anywhere near my Phoenix, Arizona home but it then occurred to me how far from home and my loved ones I was and for the first time after hunting all over the globe felt homesick. I couldn’t figure out why, maybe it was because I was in Alaska on a moose hunt on the fateful morning of September 11th, 2001. Our air charter was 2 days late and with winter coming hard and fast we were concerned the pilot had lost the plane after dropping us 10 days earlier leaving our whereabouts uncertain. Upon returning home from that trip I purchased a satellite phone of my own allowing more peace of mind for my family whilst I gallivant around the planet hunting creatures with more sharp tools to carve you up than a whole truckload of crafty cabinetmakers. After a restful night sleep I had my “game face” back on and was ready to conquer whatever the African bush had to serve up for the day.


We decided to go straight to the bait we had hung in the korango, 22 kilometers away. Upon arrival we were pleased to see that a leopard had in fact fed. Ali was satisfied the cat was a large tom and we would focus the full attention of the safari here for now. A blind was now the next order of business and as you may have figured by now, John and Lemick got to work cutting poles while Frederick gathered copious amount of the plentiful long grass and Mettie actually kicked around the leaf litter that was where the blind was to be constructed. It was fascinating to watch, I could probably build a blind given enough time but these native trackers did it without a spoken word to each other. They must have built hundreds of the damn things together over the last 10 years. After no more than an hour they announced to Ali and I who were sitting in the shade swatting tsetse flies, that the blind was finished. They grabbed all our gear to arrange the chairs and fix viewing and shooting ports, John requested my .375HH and set the barrel out the shooting port then tied the scope to the top pole inside the blind in such a fashion that all that would be required for me to shoot would be to get my shoulder into the stock and mildly elevate it and I would be right on target. Next, they took another pole and attached it to the inside front of the blind at about a 60 degree angle to my left and tied it to the side of the blind allowing me an elbow rest (I’m a southpaw). My shooting position was to be rock solid. No excuses to miss or shoot poorly a leopard that would be a mere 24 yards in front of me. We then drove a couple of kilometers away and ate lunch, I was in this primitive paradise hunting the dangerous game I love with a bunch of guys I liked to be around, I somehow now felt at complete peace with the world as I never had and began to realize this entire show was for me and me alone. When a man knows why he’s here there is no mistaking it.


We napped for a couple of hours through the heat of the day in the cool shade of an acacia and awoke to the boys cooking some sort of gruel in a pot; it looked like liver or something, I have no idea what it was but it smelled truly hideous and I thought it might be something to smear on leopard bait until Lemick ate some of it.

We loaded the cruiser to leave for the blind and I tried to piss myself dry knowing that would be forbidden to even think about in a leopard blind. We got to the blind at about 4:30, just as the wind began to blow. I think this was the first time I had seen a windy day in the bush, or maybe I just never noticed it before. Ali was concerned about the wind as apex predators don’t readily expose themselves when the wind blows. At around 5:30 Alister grabbed my leg and motion with his chin to the left side of the blind. I must have been daydreaming about some damn thing pretty important to allow it to interrupt a leopard sitting. In any case it took me a while to finally see him but he was here. He was the camouflaged assassin slithering his way in the long grass surrounding the blind. He never showed himself proper just bits and pieces while making a full revolution around the bait and blind area. I felt he knew we were there and he was just testing us, it was a game of chess and he had just made the first move. We had no move, we just had to sit and wait and watch and listen. As the sun began to set I found it very difficult to sit still in this hard white plastic garden chair and I was now almost hoping that the light would soon fade so the pain in my ass would do likewise. At around 6:15 Ali stood up and called it a sitting, he then lit a smoke and radioed for the truck. As he pushed the brim of his sweat stained leather hat back exposing a very definite tan line on his forehead that seemed odd to me, he shook his smoke a little in the general direction of the bait and stated “without wind we’ll kill this cat tomorrow at around 5:45”. I saw no reason to doubt this character as he has done me no wrong as yet and has a sixth sense about these animals he loves so, the drive home while long was enjoyable seeing the civets and genets dart in and out of the lights dancing in the bush and the strange gate of the hermaphroditic hyenas bounding from one side of the track to the other, seemingly pacing the truck as they peer over their sorrowful looking shoulders at the truck almost daring us to take a shot to end their misery. Funny I now call it the drive home.


That night after dinner Alister summoned Matius, the camp waiter to retrieve a possibles box and his pump gun from his chalet and was sorting through it he pulled out of it a tattered and torn cardboard box of Winchester 12 GA. SG loads. He then pulled the scatter gun from its soft case and began to wipe in down with a silicone rag then ran a patch with Hoppe’s bore cleaner through the bore. I always liked the smell of Hoppe’s #9 bore cleaner as it always reminds me of pleasant gun cleaning sessions with my father when he was alive, man would he proud of me now, where I was and that I was doing things he always wanted to do but never made the time. I now realized Ali was preparing for potential close combat with one of the most feared of all wounded animals and he did it without bravado or ego, he just did it. I now was feeling very inadequate and very much like a rookie “client” and Alister was just doing his job, but I somehow knew better as we had shared several trying times together in the bush including a lion charge. Hopefully Alister had a fraction of the faith in me that I had in him.


The next morning we just sat around camp and enjoyed another perfect morning in Africa, I went for a walk with my camera down the Luangwa River. I got several chances at some real photo gems, a saddle billed stork with a small fish in its bill, a giant of a croc that I stalked to within 30 yards of and a pod of hippos that I watched for an hour or so. Funny, I never took one photo, this was my time in my place and I chose not to share it with anybody else, I think I matured immensely on that solo walk as I learned that the photo album of my mind is the only one that really matters in the end anyhow. On the walk back I passed within 30 yards of my chalet coming into camp from the opposite side that I had left from and noticed a trio of lion pugmarks in the soft Luangwa sand, funny, now I sleep well, deep and sound regardless of what’s out there at night. After returning to my chalet Alister called me to the dining room. He had made a plan; we would go have lunch at Chanjuzi (the camp in the next hunting block) then go from there to the blind at around 4:00 PM. When we arrived I was surprised to see Terry Von Rooyen, a PH I had hunted Sitatunga with a year prior. He was conducting a buffalo hunt with a father daughter team (Gary & Sandy) from Perth, Australia. They were wonderful people, I have had mixed results with people I’ve met in safari camps. Some, as Gary and Sandy were marvelous and some as mentioned on previous pages were horrible self important bores, insecure with huge egos that simply exuded arrogance.



At around 4:00 we said our goodbyes and jumped into the cruiser and sped off through the bush, by this point deep into the safari I was beginning to feel at home here knowing most of the birds, a few of the plants and trees and even some of the faces of the kids that mobbed the truck with every trip through the villages. I was starting to wonder how it would even feel to even go home, maybe I was here. We arrived at the blind at around 4:30 grabbed our hard white plastic chairs, that make my ass sore within minutes, rifles and packs then tied the grass door shut behind us with chord made from palm leaves as the boys departed in the cruiser. I could hear the little diesel chug along for probably a minute or two before it faded away into just the sounds of the African bush, we were now alone hunting for leopard with the confidence required for success.


We sat for what seemed about 45 minutes before we had any action. But it wasn’t a leopard it was elephants that had come to water. We watched the antics of the elephants with great interest. They would suck water and mud up their trunks and spray one another with great enthusiasm. Seeing something as large as a bull elephant laying down splashing and playing in the mud like a small child was definitely amusing. Just as the pain in my backside was beginning, Ali grabbed my right thigh and just motioned with his whisker covered chin to my left and just outside the blind and mouthed l-e-o-p-a-r-d. I was frozen afraid to move at all before finding this creature in my vision; I dare move only my eyes within their sockets as not to give our position to the now present enemy. I then saw him; he was no more than 5 feet from me. All I could see was the top of his formidable head, his right ear and right eye. It was then that the mainline rush of adrenaline hit me like heroin must hit a junkie in the streets of New York City. I had no bodily control of my shaking or pulse rate. Ali just shook his head in the affirmative and motioned for me to rise into my rifle that was prepositioned with the muzzle out the shooting port with a rope tying the scope to the top of the blind to allow me to snug into the rifle and slightly raise the stock into a comfortable and steady shooting position. As the leopard slowly started to stand and gingerly walk towards the bait tree his eyes never leaving the elephant show. He then stood directly below the bait and looked straight up at it. I now was following this incredible creature in my rifle scope, my nerves were now a little more under control when the passage from many an African hunting story hit me like a lightning bolt “the most missed shot in all of Africa”, I fought this demon for what seemed about a month but probably just seconds passed. I thought I should just shoot the son of a bitch right now, Ali never said anything about not shooting him under the bait. I even remembered Ali scratching an “X” on the ground in the leaf litter below the bait marking the spot in which he predicted the leopard would fall motionless from the tree and he was sitting directly upon it. I could now feel Ali leaning over to whisper something in my right ear, expecting him to say “shoot” but instead he said “be sure not to shoot an elephant”. No shit, I may be a rookie but the rosettes are a sure way to tell the difference between the two to the untrained eye. Now the leopard is heavily quartering away sitting on his butt, I was rock steady and confident and told myself “now” I simply squeezed the trigger, at the shot all hell broke loose, the leopard did a beautiful back flip with I believe a full twist and departed the way he came with deep guttural grunts all the way into the long grass behind the blind. Ali was now concerned about the 3 panicked elephants that were trumpeting and running in circles having no idea what had just happened. Ali instructed me to be still and quiet as he has had elephants in leopard blinds before. What a scene this must have been.


After about 2 minutes the boys showed up in the cruiser, the elephants beggared off and we departed the blind. I now felt as though a thousand of brick had just been removed from my shoulders. I felt very, very good about the shot, as Ali asked me, I told him “in just behind the ribs on the left and out on the far shoulder 100%”. It was 5:55 PM. We looked around for blood very cautiously as not to disturb any sign, we found a little blood and some gut which disturbed me but the blood did continue all along the way the leopard departed. It was now just about to dark to see without a light so Ali summoned John to bring the hand held torch, which he did. Ali then switched it on and off and on and off some more, the light was screwed. Now here we are in the deepest darkest Zambian bush that the Luangwa Valley has to offer with one surefire, mine. Ali just stood there and smiled shaking his head. Without hesitation he had made a plan; we would drive back to Johnny’s camp (the closest) to get some proper lights for the dangerous task at hand. When we arrived in camp Terry was having dinner with the Aussie’s, we explained to situation and Terry decided he just had to go along, so off the three of us went into the dark to go find a leopard, at night, in the long grass.


Somewhere along the way Ali started to tell me how this would go, we would start where we left off, Ali on my left and Terry on my right, I was to be unarmed with the light between the shotgun toting PH’s. Ali was deadly serious in his wanting me to understand just how dangerous this could get. We were both sure the leopard was dead but this is dangerous game hunting in one of Africa’s truly wild and dangerous places and well you know “Murphy”. I fully understood and made sure both PH’s knew it, Ali also made sure I knew of his faith in me by stating “I saw you with the lion Bwana and I know you won’t run”. Ali loves his native guys but said that if the leopard came they would probably drop the light and run. So off we went into the long grass, at night the grass seems surreal and the artificial light seems to dance and reflect movement that really isn’t there. The trio of us moved slowly and deliberately as I tried my best to keep the light where the pros were looking, not where I was. There was almost no blood now and we are probably no more than 35 yards behind the blind, Ali and Terry were steady and focused as was I. They would part the thickest sections of the 8 foot tall grass with their shotgun barrels and we would all look as closely as we could. Just as suddenly as it started, it ended as Ali proudly proclaimed “sir there lay your leopard”. He was stone dead. I could hardly contain myself and I threw the torch to Terry and rushed to my leopard. The cat was of average size probably 140 pounds, I was straddling the cat and reached down and picked it up by myself drawing a chuckle from Ali. I was determined to carry this magnificent creature to the cruiser where the guy’s were on my own which I accomplished.


A leopard is truly one of the creators finest projects, I assure you. The sleek feel like no other animal the proud piercing eyes, the claws, the teeth and positively perfect camouflage. It evades me who said it Capstick I think. “The lion when dead looks verminous, rather shabby with dried blood, mane tangled and filthy, not the leopard. He always gleams, a perfect shimmering sheath a mantle of magnificence over steel muscles as smoothly swirling as the tail of a trout pool”.


My life now is as good as it’s ever been. The ride home was absolutely indescribable euphoria, the singing of Chipolopolo and pats on the back from the crew. The only way to feel this feeling is here amongst these men and these dangerous animals. I believe I have found where I belong and what I belong doing; here men share something words just cannot describe. As we approached camp Nyaminga, Ali stopped the cruiser and requested “2 pipes” from the gun rack and requested me to announce our arrival home by shooting both barrels from my .470 into a sand bar on the banks of the Luangwa River. The camp erupted with noise as the generator slowly came to life and lights started to flicker on all around. The staff gathered bongos and the party started. I could no longer contain my emotions and wept tears of jubilation, I felt I was among the finest of friends I have ever made, even family, man what a safari.

The dancing and celebration is deeper in meaning than spiritual. It is in a way an awakening in a man. I believe it releases something primal something instinctive. You are never the same.

Fantastic read, Steve.. I throughly enjoyed it.

Makes me want to load up and get on the next flight to Lusaka.

Good story. I enjoyed it.

Nice piece of writing mate.

Well done sir.

For those who missed the first chapter, here's a link:
Chipolopolo Chap 1

Steve,

Nice! Been right there and done exactly that. The total cat hunt from shooting the baits through the camp celebration is like no other experience and has to be witnessed in person to truly be appreciated.

Mark

Well written.

Very nice Steve. I enjoyed it very much. Thanks for posting it for our pleasure...

Thank you Steve!
well done
Whats the news on the book?

quote:

Originally posted by matt u:
Thank you Steve!
well done
Whats the news on the book?

Matt,
To date; Manuscript was sent to Safari Press and subsequently rejected. I started the search for another publisher but most of them are real difficult to communicate with.

I was fortunate enough to meet Cal Pappas on a fishing trip up to Alaska in June, he showed me how easy self publishing could be using "pages". Now all my effort will be getting the format crossed over from word to pages. Cal knows some guys that for lack of a better word take the proofed manuscript, format it to be sent to the printer.

At present I'm 50% done with crossing over. the text is finished. Funny thing is the actual writting was the easiest part of this.

Thanks,

Steve

quote:

Originally posted by MARK H. YOUNG:
Steve,

Nice! Been right there and done exactly that. The total cat hunt from shooting the baits through the camp celebration is like no other experience and has to be witnessed in person to truly be appreciated.

Mark

Mark,
You are correct, words cannot do justice to the feelings, the smells, the sounds and the emotions.

Steve

Yep, not too bad at all! Good writing as well.

With this chapter as a sample, I am very suprised they did not accept it for publishing. I enjoyed it very much. I can just hear Lemick singing Chipolopolo!

That's some good shite isn't it??? (Lemicks singing) Did you ever see the Chef Sampson dance?? geeez, dancing with the star's

Thanks,

Steve

Yes, I have a video of him dancing with my wife. It embarrases her now to watch it!

steve

get this book published, i would love to buy it.

cheers

peter

Brilliant Steve.

Especially loved the camouflaged assassin!

quote:

Originally posted by Nganga:

quote:

Originally posted by MARK H. YOUNG:
Steve,

Nice! Been right there and done exactly that. The total cat hunt from shooting the baits through the camp celebration is like no other experience and has to be witnessed in person to truly be appreciated.

Mark

Mark,
You are correct, words cannot do justice to the feelings, the smells, the sounds and the emotions.

Steve

Add me to that club

Great hunt & great writing! Thanks

Thanks for all the kind words.

Incidentally the Grysbok shot in that story was measured by Master Measurer, Laura duPlooy, it came in at #5 all time Zambia as far as SCI, never checked.

Steve

Steve:
Do continue with this with or without my suggestions. It is a good read AND Ludo may take a second look at it as it is drawing good comments. You (and your wife and son) are welcome at my home anytime. I have a few .600 and 4-bore shells with your name on them!
Cal

Hey Cal,
I took your advice and am crossing over all this text to "pages" it is a large undertaking and I've made some critical errors, losing some text. This chapter as I stated is the "unedited" version. I am updating it proofed in pages so I didn't lose the proofed version.

I am not going to have any extra days before or after my sheep hunt so I won't see you till winter if you decide to drive around down here for a bit. You need to come help me on my vette for a few days!!!

Did MS ever contact you?

Respectfully,

Steve

Steve,

You will need to get a qualified designer to help with layout, photos etc

My suggestion is bang in the text and get a few mates to proof read first.

I am off for a couple of weeks and will talk to you then bud.

Cheers

Andrew

Wonderful story with good writing. Thanks for posting.