Ladies and Gentlemen,

I have moved my hunt report to the African Hunt Report Forum. I will keep updating it there as time permits.

We had quite a discussion with Walter yesterday, and he said he is sure not the only "hunter who has bad luck" at hunting.

He conveniently forgot self implicating all the problems he encounters upons himself.

Anyway, he said we should run a "story contest" which then developed into "stories contest", so here goes:

We would like you to write and post, on this thread, a hunting story about any of the following categories.

The stories do NOT have to be 100% true, just make sure you make it "funny" as Walter said.

Each winner in any category will get his very own, personalized, set of 4 DVDs of our hunt of this year.

Here are the different categories:

1. Elephant
2. Buffalo
3. Lion
4. Leopard
5. Rhino
6. Hippo
7. Any plains game.
8. Any stories to do with characters who mess up your hunt - "Walter type" stories!

As a bonus, we will also include a 2 hour DVD of our Champions to each winner. This DVD has all of THE CHAMPIONS you see on our video library, in full DVD quality.

Good luck to you all.

Hey Saeed,
Can we not just BUY a set for those of us that are not so "creative"

quote:

Originally posted by Bwanamich:
Hey Saeed,
Can we not just BUY a set for those of us that are not so "creative"

Here is Walter's answer:

"NO, and if you are from the "Land of Plenty", and "Home of Safari", you should have no problems telling us many hunting stories! Just do as Saeed does about me. He INVENTS them himself"

Saeed,

Would a North American Elk hunting story have any place in this contest?

Joe

This is going to take some doing to come up with something comparable to the S&W Comedy Team!!!

quote:

Originally posted by RIP:
This is going to take some doing to come up with something comparable to the S&W Comedy Team!!!

Come on RIP!

I think what we get up to pales in comparison to some of the tales I hear occur at other hunting camps!

Joe,

You can post any hunting story. The only requirement is to make Walter laugh!

After all, he is the judge of this contest!

Calling all tall tails then!
I shot a kudu in his front right leg one time, resulted in a 5 hour chase of a 3-legged Kudu who could still jump over 6-foot tall brush piles, almost as bad as Walter shooting a kongoni in the dick. And I have a story about a whitetail buck ... for later, when I am not working so hard!

This is my first post here so i dont know if this qualifies but it really did happen .

This is a true story.
While bow hunting out of a homemade cloth groundblind in the limpopo prov. of RSA sept. 2007 we had an eland stick her head in our blind window.
just about licked the video cam and gave my poor wife quite a scare , me i thought it was pretty cool, we had a herd of kudu at the waterhole the whole time she was messing with us. after she had her fun she went to the back of the blind and proceeded to stick her head under the flap and grabbed our cooler by the handle and me being about 200lbs and outweighed by 5 to 1 proceeded to engage in a tug of war with a cow eland over our cooler of food and drink. i won the war but lost the battle as the coolers contents were scattered all over the blind when she let go of it. much to my amazement and my wifes the kudu were still milling about the waterhole , so i decided to try and shoot the herd bull , well the eland cow must have sensed this because as i raised my bow to draw on the kudu she hip checked me across the blind and at my expletives (many of them ) all the animals left and our hunt from that blind was done.

The story goes such.

We were hunting for Impala on a game farm. For reasons of hunting ethics we will call it Ripley’s ranch. (Yes believe it or not).

The ranch had amazing facilities and lots of game. When we arrived we saw that the impala were in very good condition and the veldt was in good condition as well.

We had a hunting party of two. The first night was glorious and sitting around the fire watching the tongues of orange lick the darkness back with the jackal’s long soulful call just made us realise we were again in the bush. Then the hyenas mocking laughter caused an eerie silence to descend on the night momentarily.

The next morning we were up early and bright the frost causing the landscape to look like a virgins white sheet had been placed on the land.

Soon our trackers arrived and we were off. Walk and stalk being the true hunter’s method.

We soon realised that the tracker was a bit inexperienced. He walked too fast and was constantly way ahead of us. We spoke to him and told him that this was not good.

When we finally came across a herd of impala we were stuck. We could not take a shot as the tracker was 20 meters in front of us. The herd had sensed us and all eyes were on us. A huge Impala ram was looking at us and at 100 meters a frontal shot was on. EXCEPT for Bongani being in the way.

We sat in a stale mate until Bongani decided to try and wriggle back to us. With a snort and a clattering of hooves they were off.

Again we spoke to Bongani, again he assured us he would not do it again.

We were in search of the monster Ram, no luck that morning.But Bongani was again heading us up.

That afternoon we decided to try for some blesbuck. Bongani after his lunch siesta had forgotten what we had told him and he was heading the pack again. Even after we asked him to slow down.

We came across a herd of blesbuck Bongani was in front by about 5 meters. My mate managed to leopard crawl to him and get a shot off. The blesbuck dropped like a stone. However the shot looked high to me. Bongani got up and proceeded to walk in front of my hunting partner. I was shouting at him to get out the way. As he turned to look at us the blesbuck got up and headed for the hills. With Bongani the only target no shot could be taken. To say we were pissed was an understatement.

So the follow up began. Bongani now being held by a leash literally. We had him hold onto a belt. We followed the blood spoor. But the blood slowley got less and less. Then we got to a branch in the path. There was lots of spoor to the left and only one set of spoor to the right. Bongani was off to the left. We called him back telling him the buck had gone right. But he was adamant they buck had gone left. I then told Bongani and my mate to go left and I would go right and proceed back to the farm house. As I now wanted to speak to the farm manager.

Departing company I followed the spoor. Not to long after that I heard a shot go off. I was surprised as I had seen blood on the spoor I was following.

I decided to continue to the farm house anyway. As I came around a corner in the path there was a blesbuck looking very sick and bedded down. I put him out of his misery.

When I got to the farm house Bongani was there with my mate. They had shot another blesbuck and Bongani was now smiling his head off.

When we looked at the blesbuck there was no second wound. Bongani insisted that we had missed the first buck and that it had fainted with fright. When we went to pick up the buck I had shot and pointed out the two shot wounds Bongani was at a loss for words.

After speaking to the manager we were informed Bongani was the only resource and we had to make do. When asked who was going to pay for the blesbuck we were informed we would have to as my mate did take the shot on what he thought to be the wounded animal.Lesson learnt.

The next morning Bongani arrived well prepared for the day so to speak. Glazed eyes fit for spotting game. We left camp and again Bongani was ahead of the game.

We had not gone far when we hit a heard of impala. Bongani was about 30 meters in front of us again. The big boy was there again. My mate had had enough. He hit the deck and indicated to Bongani to stay still. Bongani eyes got big when my mate took aim at the animal.

He was now not quite sure what to do. Bongani was starting to get really excited but dared not move. My mate indicating to him to stay still and put his head down.

Eventually he put his head down and closed his ears with his fingers. This is when my mate turned the rifle to the left. You could see Bongani sqwirm when my mate worked the bolt. The shot with the muzzle break had a spectacular effect on Bongani.

He started rolling around holding his head screaming. Once we had him calmed down we ascertained that not only had he wet his pants but that he had thought we had shot him.

While lying in the veldt a bee had come to rest on his head and with the shot the bee had stung him.

Boor that will be hard to top without a vivid imagination. "D"

Walter Character story.

The South African version.

Basil De kock.

The hunt was organised and the date set. All the necessary food was bought and all the necessary beverages organised. All the necessary bedding was accounted for and all the necessary beverages were organised. The rifles were checked ammunition was checked. All the necessary beverages were double checked.

Basil was in charge of this trip. All the necessary beverages were packed and the rest of the non essentials were packed around the beverages.

That which could not fit was left behind. We had to turn back when Basil realised he had left his trusty double at home. Luckily I asked him to double check for his ammunition.

On the trip up we had to stop on numerous occasions for breathing stops. Basil plus biltong plus beer equals lots and lots of natural gas. Saeed may one day discover this special gift of Basil’s and utilise Basil for profitable purposes.

At one petrol stop the petrol attendant was taken aback by the silent but violent emissions of nerve gas. When Basil disappeared into the loo and all the men came out in unison we thought our suffering had ended. But alas the gas chamber was only being refurbished for more biltong space.

After the 8 hour trip, which usually is 4 hours, it was decided we would draw lots as to who would be in the same bungalow as Basil. I slept in the kitchen lapa. After all someone had to protect the food from the animals and it gives one a better sense of being in the bush.

The air never smelt better than when we alighted from our vehicle on the farm. We now thought we were free from all odours. For the week at least.

Basil a man of few words was also a consummate soloist his nightly songs were heard throughout the camp to be followed by his daily bowel generated roars.

Basil also had another quirk. That was when in the bush you had to smell like a man from the bush. So washing was a definite no no. The bodily odour is a wonderful thing. It seems to increase exponentially with the days and walking.

It also seemed to have an adverse affect on the trackers as they would as the week went on stay further and further from Basil and when ever possible upwind.

Supper times were interesting to say the least and the campfire always had basil’s chair in the down wind position. So the smoke would repel the dammed mosquitoes from our dear fellow hunter. We did not want him getting malaria.

Basils we found to have excellent knowledge on all subjects as the consumption of the necessary beverages increased and as the night wore on.

He saw service for the FBI and was a consultant to the CIA. MI 5 had approached him for his services on some very delicate matters and as a qualified parabat he was in demand by the SAS. Hamas had also enlisted his technical skills. But he could not revel for exactly what purpose or he may have to silence us in the bush.

He had shot many a dangerous game animal and saved many a maiden from lethal charges with his double gun. He had also made love to a mermaid and he had single headedly neutered the last male unicorn owned by the sultan of Dubai in the secret underground garden of weird and exotic animals kept by his majesty. His tussle with the yeti to get to the unicorn was a most eventful episode of brute strength verses pure genius. This secrete mission was sponsored by the Chinese mafia so that they could have the monopoly on unicorn horn powder which Basil personally vouched did work.

The next day his double gun seemed to have had its sights knocked as he missed shots on all three of his impala. The sighting at the range off the bench however did not substantiate this theory.

However Basil did explain at length that it could have been the mirage effect from the excess carbon dioxide emissions from the vegetation as it photosynthesised in the warm sun creating a refraction of light that made the impala look closer than what it actually was.

But the impala stayed safe for the whole week. It was obviously the heavier weighted bullets he had decided to use. These were attracted to the ground faster than his lighter bullets he usually used. It had to do with Newton’s law of gravity where two bodies of mass are drawn to each other and as the mass increases this attraction was greater.

That is why Basil made sure he maintained his mass at all times and made sure any women he met also had great mass thus substantially increasing the likelihood of attraction between two heavenly bodies.

At the end of the week Basil had come to the conclusion that the impala were to skittish to be able to shoot and that our success was attributed to the fact that he had herded the impala in our direction where the angle of incidence from the suns rays were at a more perpendicular angle thus eliminating the refractive index of the sun so as to allow the scope to be less affected by the mirage and allow us our shots of 100 meters or less to be spot on the money.

The trip home was a long one as Basil said the only place to wash properly was at home. Thankfully the biltong had seemed to have been finished before the trip home and the beer had somehow on the last night seemed to vanish. Those trackers can be sneaky bastards.

Basil however seems to have taken up hunting on a solo basis now. He feels that the interaction the night before a hunt with fellow hunters does not suit his mental preparation for the hunt. This does not allow him to be zoned in on the animals psyche sufficiently to be able to shoot them.

Basil we miss you please come hunt with us again

Mpumalanga: September 2007. It was the last day of a successful hunt, but still no Warthog. As a last resort we built a ground blind overlooking a waterhole, and settled in. Myself, the PH, and our gamescout observed all manner of game, not knowing that we were soon to learn a most valuable lesson, and take "bush dancing" lessons at the same time. Just before dark, a very nice old Boar made his way to the edge, and was met with a spine shot just behind the shoulder. A full back flip left him about two or three feet into the water. A couple of thrashes,and no more movement. We waited about 15 minutes before approaching the pig, as a large Rhino and her calf were watching from about 40 yards away. They eventually wandered off, and we went to retrieve the hog. All this time had gone by, and the water had not moved-no ripple whatsoever. We handshook, congratulated, and were all quite happy.None of us thought to poke the eye to make sure the old guy had really expired. Big mistake! Upon grabbing hold of the upper tusks, both the PH and the gamescout began a wet, muddy "bushdance" which was over in an instant, but must have seemed like an hour. The pig was immobile from the shoulder back, but his front end was very much alive. A 500 grain solid from a .458 put an end to the conflict, and in the course of a minute or so, three men learned a lesson that will last a lifetime. Nobody was hurt, and we all had a good laugh--after school was out!

There's no real humor in this but I'll submit it anyway.


A Good Death
By
W. Baxter Byrd



The hunter he sat
By the tent at his camp,
And sipped some hot tea
To ward off the damp.

The village girl came
With horror in her eye,
And news of a marauder
And fear she might die.

With tusks like the trees
And menace in his heart,
It rampaged and ravaged
And tore her shamba apart.

Arthur A. Wilson
Came from Stoke-on-Trent,
To seek his fortune
In the Dark Continent.

He hunted for money
White gold was his game,
And for himself and his tracker
He made quite a name.

He told of adventures
Escapes they were daring,
Which he shot himself out of
Indeed they were harrowing.

But it was the tale of this tembo
That the village girl told,
That held his attention
While his tea did grow cold.

"Chalo pack the things
For a two-day trip."
"Ndio, Bwana†Chalo said,
And gathered them quick.

In just a few hours
As the village girl said,
Chalo picked up the track
He now burned in his head.

He worried not
If the track became mingled,
For at the sight of this foot
The bull could surely be singled.

The cracks and the splits
On the elephants foot,
Told the story of his life
As do words in a book.

He saw the bad drought
Of this Chalo was sure,
And the heavy rains that came
As never before.

He saw many wars
And more tribal battles.
And heard the war cry
Of the Masai's leg rattles.

But now he was old;
Too far past his prime.
And his death was assured,
It was a matter of time.

His teeth were ground flat
Chalo knew when he saw,
By a gather of footprints,
The dung filled with straw.

"He's a wise old brute,
Ancient." Wilson said.
As they peered in the dense brush
Where the footsteps now led.

They moved on ahead
Wilson's gun close at hand,
When Chalo suddenly stopped;
Things were not as they planned.

"Mbili Tembo Bwana." said Chalo,
Pointing to the ground,
And Arthur just looked at him
Not making a sound.

"So another has joined him,
Probably an askari,
Keeping the oldster some company
On his one last safari."

"Ndio." Chalo agreed
It was a younger elephant
Who provided twice the eyes,
Ears and nose with which to scent.

"Let's leave them for now.â€
Arthur said looking ‘round,
For the sun was dropping closer
And closer to the ground.

It would be of no use
To continue by torch light
So the two made a camp
And would stay for the night.

A tin of bully-beef
Provided their meal,
Cooked over the small fire
By which Chalo did kneel.

As the night crept close
And the fire crackled on,
Arthur laid his head on his hat,
His rifle in his arm.

He looked to the sky
That was gleaming with stars,
And listened to the night sounds
Some near, some quite far.

A lion grumbled here,
A hippo honked there,
And hyena laughed behind him
Close enough to stand hair.

The fire spat small embers
That rose way up high,
That died and were reborn
As stars in the sky.

He imagined the number
Of campfires it took,
To fill the earths' sky
In all directions he looked.

And then all was silent
Except for Chalo, breathing deep,
Then Arthur shut his eyes
And soon was asleep.

He dreamt of his wife
Whom he had left at home,
While he wandered this land
A wife should not roam.

He dreamed of the joy
To see her again,
When he could afford the trip
Back to his own home-land.

Then his body relaxed,
And his dreams did subside,
And he lay like a dead man
As the fire slowly died.

Chalo woke him with a nudge,
"Wewetaka chai?"
And handed him tea
That warmed his insides.

They picked up the track
Of sage and apprentice bull,
And continued in earnest
The morning still cool.

For half a day they plodded
When over a rise they saw,
A great and huge and hulking mass
The elephant did stand tall.

"Hapana askari." Chalo hissed
As they backed down the hill,
The askari was nowhere,
There was only one bull to kill.

Arthur looked and listened
For the old man's company,
For he knew from experience
This could be quite deadly.

The monolith stood
And stripped tender shoots,
Which he shoved in his mouth
And mashed their sweet roots.

His tusks were long and curved and white
And nearly touched the ground,
And Arthur wondered how he could
Have carried them around.

His temples they were sunken
And his backbone now was sway
And Arthur guessed how many years
They took to get that way.

Fifty, Sixty, Seventy
Or Eighty years or more,
Had grown this majesty
That time would now ignore.

Convinced that he and Chalo
Were the only one's there present,
He raised his Holland and Holland
A double Five-Seven-Seven.

At thirty paces he took a shot
That hit the old man square,
But then he turned and vanished
Like a specter in the air.

Then Arthur and Chalo now began
To give the old man chase,
And on they dashed through the bush
Their hearts they both did race.

Till finally the old bull stood
Like a mountain in the bush,
And Arthur fired again
And felt the hammering push.

The bull it staggered, then it fell
With a mighty noisy crash,
And Arthur and Chalo both
Knew he breathed his last.

Acrid Cordite filled the air
And sweat formed on their brow,
And they stood and honored the bull
That was forever a part of them now.

For quite a few minutes
They both stood in awe,
Of the largest they’d taken
That made the others seem small.

Arthur reloaded the rifle
And walked alongside,
And touched the great eye
To make certain he’d died.

He sighed and he rested
And breathed for a while,
Then Chalo came towards him
His mouth in a smile.

He held the great tail
That he cut off with care,
That told the bull’s age;
There was nary a hair.

But as the men stood
And quenched their deep parch,
A noise came behind them;
A plodding death march.

The askari came fast
With a furious might,
His ears folded flat
And his trunk tucked in tight.

He picked up poor Chalo
And threw him back down,
And knelt on his chest;
A sickening sound.

Arthur got at his gun
And stood both feet set,
And screamed at the bull,
A salty epithet.

And then the bull whirled
And faced Arthur Wilson;
With blood on his tusks
That in the sun glistened.

Arthur aimed at the spot
To send this beast to his heaven,
And pulled the front trigger
Of his Five-Seven-Seven.

The bull did not buckle
Or begin to expire
For Arthur's Royal Holland
Had refused to fire!

In the moment of panic
Arthur forgot to consider,
He had a second chance;
There was the rear trigger.

But the bull had now hit him
With those barber pole daggers,
And at the impact
Wilson started to stagger.

He fell not a pace
From his previous kill,
That he had first seen
When they peered o'er the hill.

The askari was on him
And blocked out the sun,
And with a tusk though the chest
Arthur knew he was done.

The bull bellowed off
And Arthur looked to the sky,
And by his best elephant
The mighty hunter did die.

But this great adventurer
Did not die sad,
He lived his great life
Like no other had.

By his soul the brown plains
And brush will be haunted,
As Arthur A. Wilson
Would surely have wanted.

Copyright W. Baxter Byrd

superb....great...I loved it!

There is something about going on safari that brings out the little boy in me. I’ve been on six, and my last one, for elephant, was the most enjoyable, by far. I understand why Saeed always hunts with the same PH; it’s much more fun that way.
My last hunt was with J , my fourth safari with him and his outfit. My son (14) and I were sharing camp with a REALLY overweight husband-and-wife hunting team, so I will not give too many more details of location, etc.
In preparation for the hunt, I had prepared a couple of special loads for my 505 Gibbs; these were meant ONLY for J’ use; with a 144 grains of H4198, propelling a 600 gr Woodleigh, they churned up SIGNIFICANT recoil, and I was looking forward to the spectacle of James shooting the 505! (He had done some evil things to me on my last safari, and I was out for revenge)!


CALIBERS IN CAMP, WITH THE 505 EXTREME LEFT;

My accomplice was Kitty, our lovely camp cook who weighed 105 lbs soaking wet. I had some powder puff loads for her, too, and for my son!



Suffice it to say that the big 505 kicked the snot out of J, who lost his glasses, and refused to shoot again; Kitty, of course, stepped up and had no problems at all shooting the rifle! Great fun was had, with comments re how old and feeble my friend J had become, etc.
He had his revenge, though. While tracking the elephant, he suddenly bent down, plunged his finger in the elephant dung, put it in his mouth, cogitated for several seconds, and then announced “Ah, they have been in the Marula grove! I know where we will find them! And then set off at a rapid pace, at right angles to the tracks!
Mystified and full of questions, I caught up with him, only to be silenced with a “hssst! No talking, please!†5 more minutes of practically running, and I caught his shoulder and asked again for an explanation for our sudden change of direction. Giving me a pitying look, he deigned to tell me that it was really too complicated for a chair-warming, soft, coddled, American to appreciate the finer nuances of elephant hunting; “You’ve got to pay your dues, my friend! It doesn’t come easy, you can’t get it out of a book!â€
After many entreaties, he went†I really don’t expect you to be able to do this, but I can tell by the taste of the dung where the elephant is headed! Not to be deterred, I plunged my finger in the nearest dung pile and tasted it!
A strange gurgling sound behind me attracted my attention. Turning around, I was treated to the sight of a grown man rolling on the ground and actually laughing himself sick! He had put his middle finger in the dung, but his forefinger in his mouth!
Our African trackers and game scout were equally amused; hence forth they called me “Ndlovu.........â€, but cannot blame me for leaving out the last part in my moniker! They even carried me on their shoulders when we got close to camp.
Not to be outdone, Kitty made sure I didn’t forget either; at every meal, comments were made about my dietary preferences, to the point where I was actually served an unmentionable mess one day because “that’s what I preferred!â€
There were many more fun episodes, but time doesn’t permit me to recount them all. My son put saran wrap on the toilet after our fellow guests got back after a long jeep ride; the lady hunters vocabulary and lung power even impressed some old salts from the Game Department who had come in for a sun-downer. And on our last day, when Kitty was feeling too nauseated to eat breakfast, I did examine her throat, peer into her eyes, and diagnosed her as being pregnant! But that is another story, anshe did eventually forgive me.

ELEPHANT HEART


LIONESS THRU SCOPE

Indlovu, Oh Great Eater of Elephant Dung:
Did you actually allow 144 grains of H4198 with a 600-grain bullet to be fired in your .505 Gibbs rifle? Abusing J I can understand, but no rifle deserves that!!!
Surely this is BS.
Your tale was fun. Thanks for sharing.
I'm still working on my tall tale.

I am much aggrieved that Walter is still being accused of excessive flatulence by associational similarity to the "Basil" character.

The fart nonsense got started due to DRG's announcing his gift of electronic fart-machines to Saeed's safari party. Walter is not to blame!

That DRG is one wild and crazy guy.

Belive me Basil is a one of a kind and Walter looks like a innocent little puppy compared to Basil.

One of the nights Basil had the whole camp awake in the wee hours of the morning.

He had been sitting by the fire by himself meditating. The bottle of Jack Daniels was the crystal ball of choice. He had been preparing hard to establish the hunter’s zone so that he would be more successful on the morrows hunt. However he had to rid himself of the fifth or was it sixth helping of pudding he had had.

The ablutions were in darkness as the genny had been turned off as per normal.

He had decided that his superior night vision was sufficient to make his way to the toilets and did not use any lighting.

We all came rushing to his aid after he had emitted the most horrific blood curdling scream I have ever heard.

The whole camp was alive with activity. When we found him he was lying at the doorway to the ablution block holding his shoulder whimpering.

His pants were wet which he insisted was the venom from the puff adder that had been sitting on the door waiting for him. That he was mortally bitten and that we had to take him to hospital post haste.

We asked him to remove his hand so that we could ascertain if the bite was low enough so we could put a crepe bandage on to slow the venom dispersion.

But we could not find any wound marks at all.

He insisted he had seen the snake strike at him.

When the manager arrived in his pj’s and boots. The camp guard spoke to him and all the staff started rolling around laughing.

The manager explained that the toilet was frequented by a bush baby that drank from the leaking tap inside the ablution block.

The guard had also cornered it the one night and it had jumped on his shoulder and out the open door to its freedom.

RIP,
you know not of what you speak!
144 gr 4198 doesnt produce any pressure signs at all in my CZ 505; I dont, of course, try it in my Fred Wells 505, but only because Im afraid I might drop it or something. I get 2600 fps with above load.
But I only fire that load after I am well fortified with-you guessed it- elephant dung!


above: 505 cz 550
below 505 fred wells

Crazy man, crazy.

I'm still working on my story.
Delaying tactic: See if Walter chuckles at all over this one:

Safari Elf Yourself

I just got a new car, a BMW X5. It has one of those new "keyless" operating systems.

The key is just a block of plastic which has 3 buttons on it.

One opens the doors, one locks them and one opens the tail gate.

There is a button one has to press to start the engine, and press it again to stop it.

And as long as the key is inside the car, you can start it. It can be in your pocket too.

If the car is locked, and the key is in your pocket - ie. very close - all one has to do is pull the handle and the door will open. If one stands a few feet away this does not work.

Well, I had an idea as Walter came over to have a look.

Walter "AH a VERY nice new car! Can I drive it?"
Me "NO!"

Walter "I should have known you will be in one of your negative moods again"

Me "I remember the last time you "borrowed" my car you kept it for two years!"

Walter "I looked after it for you! And you owe me for the petrol I had to put in it while looking after it"

Me "Look, this is such a great piece of German engineering. The door opens when I cough!"

Walter "Show me show me! I want to see how it works"

I got the key out of my pocket, and locked the doors, then put the key back in my pocket.

I reached for the door handle, and coughed as I pulled it. The door opened.

Walter "Do that again. I just want to make sure you are not up to some tricks as usual!"

I got the key out and locked the doors again, put the key back in my pocket, coughed as I pulled the handle, and the door opened.

Walter "OK, I wnt to try it, but I want you to stand FAR away! I don't trust you"

This worked like a charm, as if the key is a few feet away, the system won't respond to the handle being pulled.

I walked away, and looked.

Walter coughed and pulled the handle. Nothing happened! He tried it again, and again, and again! Nothing happened!

Walter "Come and try it again. I want to listen to how you cough!"

I walked to the car, coughed as I pulled the handle, and door opened.

Walter "Forget about the car. Just look at me and cough!"

I did.

Walter "Again, again"

After a few times he thought he got the hang of it. So I was sent "far away" as not to interfer.

Walter coughed and pulled. Coughed again and pulled. The door won't open.

In the afternoon his son came over with some friends to shoot.

After they had finished, they apparently stopped by my car, and Walter had his son try HIS coughing if that would open the car!

I did not see this, but our driver came in laughing.

"Walter and Walter Junior were trying to break into your car. They were pulling the handle and coughing"

He called this morning. Apparently this little episode had riled him so much, he thinks he got the answer. He thinks somehow one has to program his cough into a microphone inside the car. And he wants to try to do this this afternoon!

Several years ago I decided to take my brit spaniel and go hunt birds at a hunt club ranch. The local wild bird numbers were down and I really wanted to get the dog on some birds. Anyway, after driving out to the club and checking in, I was sent out to a remote section of the ranch that was known for good quail hunting. Things started off pretty good and in a short time I had few birds in the bag. It wasn't to long and the call of nature hit me. I was still within visual distance of the pickup and there was a outhouse conveniently located there so off I went. Upon arriving at the outhouse I laid my vest and gun down and thought about what to do with the dog who was now on a leather leash. I decided to take the end of the leash inside with me and when I shut the door I just hooked the end of the leash over the lock handle inside. I proceeded to drop my pants and was sitting ther taking care of business when suddenly I saw a yellow wasp buzzing right in front of my face. No big deal I thought as it was only one wasp, but then quickly appeared another and within a few seconds there was a swarm of the things. I decided I needed to get the hell out off there quick. Mind you my pants are around my knees and we haven't made it to the wiping part yet. I slowly reach for the latch as I'm trying not to startle them when I feel the first sting take place. At this point all hell breaks loose. I grab at the latch which won't open because the dog is pulling on the other end meanwhile I'm swinging my hat like a wild man with my other hand, and cussing up a storm. Finally the latch opens and I fling myself out the door landing several feet out in the dirt, pants still around the ankles. Got the picture? I get up and assess the situation and quickly look around to make sure nobody is seeing this. After cleaning up I decide my hunting day is over. I've been stung in 8-10 places. I load the dog and head out, and as I pass the clubhouse there is no stopping. I've had a good laugh just recounting this event. Hope everyone else does too. Scott Hayman

Safari Elf Yourself

Something to do with java script blocking may prevent the above video from playing. Works fine on my 'puter.

Can anyone else see Walter, Saeed, Roy, and Alan as elves dancing to "Jingle Bells" jazz?

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1251934301

Happy Holidays.

yes!! they look very dashing, I must say!

During the same trip, we had a somewhat loud and opinionated first time safari goer out for plains game and buff, along with his wife. neither appeared to have exercised much restraint at the table in the past, and exercise probably was a word not very familar to the dynamic duo. This gentleman waxed eloquent about his 378 weatherby, its killing power, laser like trajectory etc, especially after a few drinks or three. We had the usual light-fast vs slow-heavy debate for DG, till all the PH's and I, were tired of Mr Know-it-all.
J and I made a plan!
Two cartrides were prepared, a 505 with a spent primer, no powder, and a 378 stuffed with several primers and tissue paper, no powder or bullet. The 378 cartridge was handed to my son, and after dinner I made some outrageous claims about the 505, how it was a low pressure round that wouldnt go off even if thrown in the fire; wheras a 378 or similar would go off like a bomb! Loud and long were the arguments, J agreeing with me and every one else scoffing!
The culmination was when I threw the inert round in the campfire, and J and I watched everyone scramble to get the hell out of there, including our hero, who spilt his drink etc ! Needless to say, we laughed long and loud when nothing happened.
When every one returned to their chairs, my son said that high pressure rounds like the 378 were apt to go off even when fired, from "residual priming compound due to inefficient ignition". This touched off another round of loud argument, ending with my son throwing the 378 "empty" in the fire. The resulting bang threw coals all over Mrs hunter, who couldnt take the joke, but everyone laughed till we cried!

quote:

Originally posted by Indlovu:
yes!! they look very dashing, I must say!

Thank you Indlovu.
In more ways than one.

Enabled java script is the key to seeing the Safari Elves dance to the music?

A low quality scan of a scaled down freeze-frame:

Rip boy are you in dodo when Walter see what you have done...

Mike

Mike,
Great! You were able to view it!
Thanks for letting me know.

Safari Elf Yourself

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1251934301

Santa couldn't do it without the elves. No disrespect to the elves.
Happy Holidays!

I don't know why but of all the animals I could have hunted the Bushbuck just seemed to stand out and I knew I really needed to work hard to try and get the ram I was after. The Limpopo was just a few miles away from our accomodation and the PH finaly said that tmorrow was the day we would start hunting this wonderful little antelope.

We made the short drive to the ranch in the dark and picked up Philemon our tracker. I got the story about him being the best tracker in the world and how the only thing he couldn't see in the bush was the future, but he was working on it.... Yada yada yada...

Anyway off we went stalking along the banks of the river looking for our bushbuck. As we came round a bend I saw a Ram stood under a large Tree. I could see that although not the biggest ram in the world he was a shooter, according to the photo's I had seen on AR. THe conversation went like this:

Me: There's My Bushbuck I'm gonna shoot him
PH: Where Is he?
Me: By the big tree. I'm going to shoot him.
PH: Oh there he is. Do you want to shoot him?
Me: Yes I'm going to shoot him. He's big enough for me
PH: I think he's a shooter. You can shoot him if you want. Get on my shoulder. Or we can look for a bigger Ram?
Me Shut Up I'm going to shoot him, Bang!!

The bushbuck dropped to the shot and there were high fives all round. Our Eagle Eyed Tracker was standing well back from the two gibbering white guys occupying himself with the contents of his nose, while we sorted out our "domestic". In fact these Domestics between me and the PH took up most of our waking hours and greatly enhanced the enjoyment of the day.

We went upto the Ram and the PH said he would wander off to the Backie to retrieve the Ram, and I should stay with Philemon. After a couple of photo's of Philemon with the rifle and the Ram he asked me if I would like to see the Crocs sunbathing on the banks of the River, so off we went. All that was left were the tail marks where they had gone into the river at our shot. I Had an empty Rifle and no binos so I was looking through the scope at the opposite bank of the Limpopo.

Phil: You shoot and Crocodiles go in water sir.
Me: Philemon, look there are some bushbuck over there
Phil: Yes Sir
Me: I shoot?
Phil: No sir, Botwswana!! (While frantically pointing accross the river)
Me: I shoot, You go get Bushbuck? Big one!!
Phil: No sir!! Botswana.... Crocodiles!! (He was now jumping up and down and breathing heavily while clutching his hands to the top of his head)
Me: It's OK. You bring & I give you 20 Rand. (I started Cycling the bolt on the empty rifle.
Phil: (Fidgeting uncontrolably now and visibly sweating) Crocodiles sir!!! Big!! (He then descended into absolute gibberish where he was struggling to breathe and talk at the same time)
Me: 100 Rand?

At this point he stopped stone still and I'm assuming was trying to work out how many visits to the local dancing girls that would buy him. He was Visibly torn and I suddenly realised I had got myself into a real fix. I had no intention of shooting accross the river nor actually expecting him to swim the croc infested pool.... If he decided to take me up on my offer I''d be in the shit so to speak.

Luckily after what seemed like ages but was probably only a few seconds, Philemon turned about face and took off into the bush lest the "Crazy Ingleesh" offer him more Rands. I breathed a sigh of relief and wandered back to my Ram. When we left to go back to our lodge, I gave Philemon something in excess of the 100 Rand he had turned down and the smile on his face made me think that he had worked out how much fun he could have with the money!!

Rgds,
FB

Saeed,

I just read the post about the coughing Car lock!!! That is one of the funniest stories I thik I have ever heard!!!

This book is an absolute must.

Rgds,
FB

My story begins on the rear part of a remote ranch in Mexico. A friend and I were hunting deer when a cool front blew in and started raining.

We gathered up some mesquite wood to use for cooking and headed to the shack where we were staying. The shack had a nice fireplace with a drop down grill. Try as we might we couldn't get the wet wood to burn. I looked around and found a plastic bottle of charcoal starter but it was empty.

I told my friend not to worry as I would fill it with gasoline and squirt a little on the wood to get the fire going. Here's where it gets to be like Walter and Saeed.

My friend "don't do that!"
Me "don't worry, I know what I am doing"


I soaked the wood a little and threw a match. "Whoosh!"
Me "see how well this is working?"

Another gentle squeeze and another "Whoosh!"

My friend "Dont do that again!"

Me "Don't worry, watch this!"

After this "Whoosh" the fire travels up the stream and catches the plastic bottle of gasoline I am holding on fire.

Me "Oh shit! Open the door" as I drop the flaming bottle.

My friend opens the door as I execute a perfect drop kick of the flaming bottle through the center of the door.

My friend "You idiot, you kicked it under the truck! That's our only transportation and it is 25 miles to the nearest phone!"

Me "Don't worry! Watch this!

I jump in the truck and put it in reverse. I start backing up when the front tire runs over the flaming bottle of gasoline. "Boooooooooom" "Whooooooosh".

I can see flaming coming out of both sides of the truck and in front and remember thinking this is not good. I keep going in reverse until I reach a big water puddle. We then get enough water on the fire to put it out.

Me "I have an empty beer can and this time I will only put a little gasoline in it"

My friend "Give me the keys, I am going to town to eat"

Saaed,

Are you sure that Walter will not be reading AR and find out about your prank. I hope not please do yourself a favour and see if you could install a little tape recorder with a microphone inside the car so he could live happy and believe his theory for one more day.

Walter only reads the forum when he is here.

He is too busy otherwise screwing things up.

I asked him to go the Toyota dealer, because we need to replace our Landcruiser.

The dealer has all sorts of models, ranging in price from about $40K to $65K.

He called from there.

Walter "They have BEAUTIFUL cars, but very expensive. Never mind, I forgot, you are paying. What colour do you want?"

Me "I have told you I want a white one, so why the silly question now?"

Walter "OK OK, they have WHITE, they have PEARL WHITE and they have SHINY METALIC WHITE! So what colour do you want?"

Me "Just plain old white will do, thank you"
Walter "They have PLAIN white, but it is one of the most expensive ones. You told me you want a cheap model!"

Me 'Walter, I want a 6 cylinder, automatic, white. I do not want an 8 cylinder super luxury one"

Walter "They don't have that in white. BUT, they have a REALLY nice white one, 6 cylinder, automatic, spare wheel on the back, rust proofed, ready for delivery, diesel"

Me "I don't want a deisel. I want a petrol car"
Walter "Diesel cars are SO nice now, I think you should get this one. You will give it to me later on anyway, and I prefer diesel to petrol"

Me "I do NOT want a diesel car, so forget it"
Walter "What is wronw with diesel. They are so nice"

Me "You want a deisel car buy one yourself"
Walter "Why should I buy one when you give me your old ones anyway?"

Me "Well, you have to do a few things before you get the old one. First, you have to get me the model I want, without all this silly argument about deisel. The quicker you listen and do what I have asked you to do, the quicker you will get your car"

Walter "OK OK, the manager is here. He says he can get the one you want. EXACTLY like you want, next week, and he is giving us a discount for cash $46,000 only. Do I book it?"

Me "Yes do that, and don't forget to get registration papers for the transfer of the old one to you"

Walter, laughing "Ha ha ha. I am WAY ahead of you. I got those papers FIRST. Now all you have to do is sign them, and I can drive me car home"

Me "Last time this happened it took you a week to sort out all your fines with the trafic police. You better start off right away then"

Walter "Oh bloody hell, don't remind me of last time! I lost my wallet, I lost my drivers license. BUT, I got me a pickup truck!"

I hate to see what will happen when he goes to police to get his registration done next week!

This is what keeps me searching for Saeed's posts time and time again. . .!!!

Yesterday Walter came in here with 4 rifle cases.

One had a Blaser 22, 2 had Sako Quads and one had a Kriegof double.

Me "What rifles are these?"
Walter "Don't ask silly questions, just get ready to shoot them!"

Me "They must be large calibers, that is all you bring for me to shoot. You normally keep the little ones for yourself.
Walter "They are small, and I don't have time to shoot them I will put the scopes on, and you do the shooting while I do the rest"

He opened the first case, and says "Your favourite make! A BLASER 22"
Me "What the hell is that jutting out of the side pointing upwards?"
Walter "It is the magazine! Thats is where all modern rifles should have them anyway. The Blaser is starting a trend"

Me "Yep! A trend in utter stupidy! Who is so stupid as to buy this rifle anyway"

Walter, laughing "Ha ha ha! It is one of your cousins, and I am going to tell him what you have said"
Me "I will be happy to tell him myself"

Walter put a scope on it, and gave it to me to sight in.

I did that, and went out of the shooting area to see if he has finished one of the otehrs.

He has not, and was sitting eating cake and drinking tee.

Me "Sleeping on the job, as usual!"
Walter "I am going to ask you something, and don't say no. Because if you do, I have to drive to the other end of town to get scope mounts"

Me "What is wrong with those you have there?"
Walter "They don't fit! Your German friend sent us the wrong ones"
Me "What do yopu excpect from someone who spent so many years with you? Some of your intelligence must have rubbed on him!"

Walter "Can I swap those scope mounts with those you have in the cupboard?"

Me "Alright, you know where they are. I suppose you want two sets now ha?"

Walter "Yes, and you better give them to me. I am not going to open that cupboard. Last time I did that you shot me with the air pistol, and you made be promise to NEVER, EVER, open anything here without asking permission"

Me "A shame I missed"
Walter "You did not MISS, you just forgot to put a pellet in the pistol. But that makes no difference, I KNOW you would do it. You have no sense of humour"

He put one of the scopes that came with rifles on one of them. It is one of those thought of by someone who has absolutely no idea of either rifles, scopes or ammo. The scope has 4 seperate rings, each of a different colour, under both of the turrets. The colours correspond to a similar coloured band on each barrel. The barrels are 22 LR, 22 WMR, 17 HMR and another 17 caliber I forget the name of. One is supposed to adjust each ring for each barrel, and that is supposed to keep them all zeroed!

A Great idea in theory, but a bloody disaster in practice.

Anyway, I shot them and adjusted them for the 17 HMR, as I was told to do.

Me "What is in that gun case?"

Walter "It is a double rifle 9.3x74, and we do not have ammo for it"
Me "Why did you bring it here then?"
Walter "Just in case you will give us some to shoot it"

Me "You know I do not have any of those silly rifles with two barrels. Shotguns should have two barrels, rifles should only have one"

Walter "I don't understand you. You like to hunt Africa so much, and you do not use a double rifle. That is what REAL hunters use, like in the old days"

Me "Well, we are not in the old days, so I will stick to hunting with a single barrel rifle"

Walter "Listen, do you want to have some fun? This is the first time I can play a nasty trick on someone, and you will get the blame for it. Not as usually happens and it is the other way round"

Me "What trick?"
Walter "Go and get one of your snakes. The man who owns that rifle is coming in a little while, and he is scared of snakes. So what we will do is remove the rifle from the case, and put the snake in"

Me "Do I know this guy?
Walter "Yes, you do. And he knows you too, because he said he did not want to come here because he is scared of snakes, ha ha ha"

I got the snake, and we put it in the rifle case. We set up the video camera, and waited.

Eventually the man arrived, and stood next to his gun case. He was far too busy yep yapping with Walter, so I opened the case, and asked him what caliber his rifle was.

He looked down, saw the snake, and SCREAMED while taking off! He ran out of the room, up the stairs, got into his car, and left.

I took the snake back, and went out looking for him. He was gone!

I went down to the shootign room, and Walter was on the phone with him.

Walter "Saeed is here, he says you better stop the car and get out. There is another snake in your car. He put it under your seat"

Suddently the conversation stopped, and Walter was looking at his cell phone as if it had life in it!

Walter "I think he is VERY upset! He dropped the phone, I could hear it clanking!"

I thought I better go out to have a look. And sure enough, the poor guy was walking back into our yard. He stopped in his tracks as if he had seen a monster as soon as he saw me, and was ready to take off again!

I explained to him that the snake was back in its house, and that there is no snake in his car. Walter was kidding!

He would not have any of this. He started screaming at me and blaming ME for this.

Walter's little prank worked to his advantage!

Saaed, I suppose there is no near chance that you go out and buy tickets to go and watch a comedy show of any sorts with Walter around.

This guy is a disater on two feet!

Yesterday I asked him to order me some 577 T.Rex brass from Horneber in Germany.

He called and said they had about 250 577 NE in stock, and should he buy all of them.

I called him.

Walter "did you get my email? You see how fast we Germans work?"

Me "Yes, but you got the wrong brass!"
Walter "Waht wrong brass! You asked me to find out about 577 caliber and I found you 577 caliber brass. Mush better than that rubbish you bought from A-Square!"

Me "It is the WRONG 577! I want 577 Tyrannosaurus Rex, NOT 577 Nitro Express!"

Walter "All you have to do is run these in teh sizing die, and they will work. It is that simple. If you want, I will do it for you"

Me "Sounds just like your logic with loading heavy bullets and less powder ha?"

Walter "I still don't understand that one"

He meant the day we were testing some 308 Winchester loads. In his infinite wisdom, he noticed that I used less powder as the bullet got heavier.

Walter "Why are you using less powder when the bullet is bigger"
Me "It is not bigger, it is heavier. And one has to use less powder when using a heavier bullet. Otherwise the pressure will get too high"

Walter "So that means if you load a REALLY heavy bullet, you do not need any powder ha?"

Me "Go and have some cake and ice cream. And leave the loading to me ok?"

Walter "I want to know WHY you load LESS powder with a heavier bullet"

Me "It is following the laws of physics, which I am sure you do not know mch about"

Walter "The only physics YOU learnt at school involved girls! And I bet THEY did not learn much either"

He is actually on the phone right now tryiong to find about the 577 T.Rex brass.

And just to add to his confusion, I asked him to find out about 9.3x64 and 9.3x69 brass! The last one does not exists - at least as far as I can remember.

It would be interesting what he comes up with!

Keep them coming Saeed. They are my daily dose of comedy, mixed with Walter's seemingly extraterrestrial logic. I'll belt Walter knows more about the ozone than Al Gore. . .

Saeed,
Tell Walter the 9.3x69 is the 9.5x69mm Tornado necked down to 9.3, same as a .366/.338 Lapua Magnum. I believe ALF has speculated that this is the absolute optimum balance in an idealized hunting rifle cartridge. It will surely cure Walter's riflery deficits. He must have one.

You must be really desperate for gunsmiths in Dubai if Walter is allowed to work on rifles there.

Surely gunsmithing is just a sideline for Walter, done for special clientele, friends and enemies, out of the back room of his dining establishment, the "Roadkill BBQ Pit Dubai" where he features his real expertise as chef.

I'll bet his pork BBQ is about as popular there as his gunsmithing.
Mutton anyone?

Who in the world trusts Walter to mount a scope on a rifle?