Hunting is a sport where the unusual happens.

We were having lunch with friends when I was asked about strange things happening on our hunts.

One incident jumped to mind.

A perfect example of someone who should have taken up golf rather than go on a hunting trip.

We were hunting in Chete, Zimbabwe.

When a couple passed our camp on their way to another camp.

They were from Germany.

A man and an older woman.

I cannot remember what relationship they were.

As usually happens, we talked about hunting and guns with them.

He had a custom stocked Ruger 77 in 416 Rigby.

The rifle had a thumb hole stock.

Extremely heavy, probably close to 15 pounds.

He wanted to shoot a lion.

That is it.

He refused to shoot a buffalo cow for bait.

But agreed to shoot a kudu cow for bait!!?

He had one box of ammo.

Apparently he never fired his rifle, as it was “shot and tested by my gunsmith”

At the range, he found it hard to even hit the target box!

I think his PH sighted it for him, after he had fired several shots.

Off they went looking for a kudu cow.

They found a herd, his PH picks an old cow and tells him to shoot it.

He fires, and the cow runs off with the herd.

But, a young bull standing several feet away drops dead!

Must have been an all mighty flinch!

Anyway, a big argument followed, as the price of the bull was more than a cow.

They did put the kudu for lion bait.

But thankfully no lion came to feed!

He wanted to book another hunt the following year.

He was informed that they had no openings for several years!

We were hunting elephant and buffalo in the Caprivi strip when another hunter came through our camp.

He and his PH planned to spend the night with us prior to leaving the next day for another camp farther down the strip.

He was an American dentist from California who was hunting buffalo.

We were sitting around the campfire and started talking about guns and what he would be using.

He told me he had a new Dakota rifle in caliber .450 Dakota, but he thought something was wrong with it. He said it seemed “loose.”

He asked me if I would take a look at it.

He brought it out and handed it to me. As I opened the bolt, the action seemed to shift.

I looked at the tang and there was about a three quarter inch crack behind it in the top of the pistol grip.

Plus, the wood in the area just behind the tang was actually splintered!

I pointed this out to him and he seemed surprised. He said the rifle was brand new.

My PH got his tool kit from his tent and luckily had a screwdriver with a bit that would fit the rifle’s action screws.

The front screw was barely tight, but the back screw, the one that screwed into the tang, was even less so.

I told the hunter we should tighten the screws, but that ultimately he would need to get the stock repaired.

I also told him I was afraid the crack would get worse, even with the tightened action screws.

He was not happy about this.

I tightened the action screws as well as I could, and he went on his way the next day.

I never heard anything further about his rifle or his hunt, except that he did kill a buffalo.

On that safari, I did not!

I would not shoot that gun again. I had a 450 Dakota. Anything that takes 112 grains of powder behind a 500 grain bullet could turn that stock into kindling! It has some recoil!

I had a game scout murdered in front of us on a hunt. He had confiscated a net from a poacher. The poacher demanded it back, scout said “No” so he stuck a filet knife under his rib cage in retaliation.

I won’t reveal the country or area because I wouldn’t want that operator to suffer because of a one time incident with a single crazy person.

My late friend Walter liked to shoot pigs.

We were in Zimbabwe, an at that time whatever is on quota can be shot by anyone with a hunting license.

No limit to the number of animals.

Sadly, whenever we found shootable warthogs, Walter was not with us.

So I ended up shooting a few.

It was end of season, we were finishing the quota.

One after Walter was with us, and we saw a warthog.

Out if the truck with Roy, and we all went after the warthog.

We course it close to where we stopped, and Walter cannot walk very far.

He had his rifle, a Blaser in 7x64.

He decided to let me go after the pig, and was going to go back to the truck.

We tried following the warthog, it it was not easy.

A few minutes later, we heard a shot.

Back to where we left Walter.

There he was standing with one foot on the warthog!

With a big smile on his face.

Apparently we scared the pig, which went back to Walter.

Walter: Hey Roy! I don’t need you to guide me to hunt. I can do it by myself! Useless hunters like Saeed need your help!

Roy: Good Walter. As you seem to be self efficient, get that pig on your shoulders and walk back to camp!

Roy started walking to the truck, leaving Walter behind!

Walter, shouting : Wait! Wait! I was only kidding! Both you and Saeed are my friends! You more than him!

quote:

Originally posted by Wendell Reich:
I had a game scout murdered in front of us on a hunt. He had confiscated a net from a poacher. The poacher demanded it back, scout said “No” so he stuck a filet knife under his rib cage in retaliation.

I won’t reveal the country or area because I wouldn’t want that operator to suffer because of a one time incident with a single crazy person.

HOLY CRAP!

Guys,

I can't top the murder story but I did have what I'd call an interesting start to my safari hunting on my first safari in '94. I've told this story before but it's been years and I don't expect that most member will remember it.

August '94 Sadie and I arrived in camp in the Zambezi valley to start a 14 day buffalo/PG hunt. Upon our arrival we were told our PH was finishing up with his current clients and would be arriving in camp shortly. We got unpacked and were relaxing with a beer around the campfire when the PH and the current clients arrived in camp. The clients had a fantastic safari with some great trophies and everyone was in a great mood. The PH called for beers all around and the party started. We went to bed about 10 PM and about 3 AM I heard a radio playing loudly. Then all was quiet until we were awakened for our first ever safari day. The PH didn't show up for breakfast and the day got worse from that point onward with the PH showing up at 10 AM wanting to go hunting as he blew booze in my face! We had a few words and he may still have a bruise from my finger as I poked him in the chest.

After some negotiation we conceded to let him try to continue the safari. I'm glad we did that as he stayed sober thru our safari and turned out to be very good at his job.

Fast forward to the next morning the PH was waiting for us ready to go and just a litte way out of camp a elephant bull popped up on the road. He iwas flapping his ears and false charging the open vehicle. My first thought was we probably should get the f!@# out of here but the PH wanted me with my binoculars to look at the bulls forehead for wounds. He expected that poachers had tried to unsuccessfully kill him. Sure enough he had two festering open wounds just above the tusk line. At this time the bull ran off into the bush. I was relieved to say the least and was thinking that this was a Hell of a way to start a safari.

My relief was short lived when the PH said we needed to put the bull down. His job in the Campfire Area required him to do animal control. Ok! I was game to seeing him shoot the bull. We found the bull in a few hundred yards from the road with his head hidden behind the leaves of a tree. The PH pulled me to the left and said "This is your elephant". When he said that a state of calm came over me, I asked where to aim and I put a 500 gr solid at the top of the V behind the shoulder. The PH followed up with a shot as the bull turned to run and we heard him crash to the ground shortly there after. I was left feeling WTF just happened??????????

There have been alot of hunts and safaris since that first safari but I think this one always sticks out most in my memory.

Cheers,

Mark



Next

Couple of sort of humorous stories, though neither were in Africa.

We hunted elk for years in Colorado, Rio Grande National Forest south of Del Norte. We found an accessible road that went deep into the mountains (since closed by USFS due to dumbasses tying to drive 4x4’s up the sides of mountains). Very nice camp site, there were 4 of us that hunted there for several years, had to hunt on foot, really steep climb out of our camp site. Two friends, also from flat land Texas brought two horses one year. We thought this is great! The horses can pack any elk we were lucky enough to shoot! Opening morning, the horsemen pushed their steeds to the top of the ridge above camp, passing my buddy and me who were huffing and puffing up to the top. When they reached the top, both horses went nuts, bucking both riders off and running away, took them 3 days to recover their horses. Guess the horses didn’t like the mountains.

Second story…I, along with three friends had a deer lease near Goldthwaite, Tx years ago. We had a small raggedy-assed travel trailer where we stayed. Everyone brought their own supplies, including food. One guy seldom brought food and would eat anything left in a cooler or refrigerator. I hated that and brought it up several times, didn’t help. So, my youngest son went with me one weekend and he put a handful of jerky dog treats in a baggie and left them in our cooler. We went hunting the next morning and when we returned, the “jerky” was gone and so was the guy that ate it, seems he went home with an upset stomach! Too bad, never told him though he might read it here!

How it all started for me.

Late 70’s.

Some of my younger friends here might find this story falling in the “unbelievable” sorts of stories.

But I assure you everything is true.

Of times, sadly, gone bye!

A lady from the previous Yugoslavia was working for me.

She and her husband used to come shooting with us.

The husband gave me the book DEATH IN THE LONG GRASS by Peter Capstick.

I read and enjoyed it.

I was in Seattle, Washington, as a guest of Boeing, before going to Houston, Texas, for my commercial pilot training.

I had a 2 month break before that started.

Looking at a hunting magazine, saw an advertisement for Klinenbergers, who were in Seattle, advertising African hunts.

Well, I thought I had two months to kill, so why not go buffalo hunting!

Went to Klinebergers, met Bert, I think, and his son.

Only hunt available immediately was one in Zimbabwe.

It was with Roslyn Safaris.

No choice, so I booked a 21 day full bag hunt.

I had no rifles, Bert asked if I wished to buy any.

Sure.

Off I went with his son to a gun shop.

My intention was to buy two second hand rifles and leave them in Zimbabwe.

Both a Ruger 77 in 25-06, and a Remington 700 Safari in 375 H&H Magnum.

I was going to go to England, then to Zimbabwe, so how to get the rifles there?

No problem.

Bert said he can get one of his clients to take them to Victoria Falls, and I can collect them from the airport.

Imagine THAT happening today!

I arrived at Vic Falls airport, and had to go through all sorts of excuses to get my camera and spare lens through customs!

My rifles and ammo were in a box left in the corridor in the airport!!

A few minutes and I was out, meeting Roy Vincent who was going to be my PH.

This was morning.

Drove to camp, had lunch, and planned to sight in the rifles in the afternoon and go hunt.

Roy was asking what I wanted to shoot.

“Anything” I said.

What trophies was looking for?

“Anything”

The poor man got confused.

And stayed confused for over 40 years we hunted together!

After sighting my rifles, we went out hunting.

Shot a waterbuck.

Got back to camp just before sunset .

Roy used to carry a small 22 caliber pistol to finish off animals around his waste.

When we got to skinning shed, we could hear a loud argument going on.

Apparently the head skinner was drunk!

In late afternoon!

He was having an argument with Peter Johnson, who owned Rosalyn Safaris.

Our arrival didn’t help things, as Roy and the head skinner were not on the best of terms.

The skinner told Roy he would sort him out if he did have a pistol!

Suddenly Peter whacks the skinner on the head with his hand!

Threats started flying from the skinner!

Back to the lodge, and my girlfriend was asking if it was going to be safe for us!

At night I had the Ruger next to my bed, as I wasn’t sure what might develop in the dark!

Nothing further happened.

We had a fantastic safari.

And the African buffalo hunting saga continues.

And the African buffalo hunting saga continues.
...an great beginning of an hunters life...
You should write your biographie, Saeed.

Those were the days, my friend.

Bert and his wife Brigitte were two of my favorite people.

Absolutely honest, humble and down to earth.

I miss them both.

Have a story similar to K Evans. Five of us in Elk camp near Eagle Colorado. We were using the rancher/outfitter's experienced ranch/pack horses. A load of Okies pulled into the ranch with two crew cab duallies. one pulling a trailer with 4x4s and enough gear for an army. the other truck was pulling a million dollar horse trailer load with slick, shiny "top horses" that had many show trophies from back home.
Three days later I happened onto two of the guys standing next to a very beat up and bloody horse and looking despondently at the completely broken stock of his brand new Weatherby 340 mag. Apparently when they strapped a fresh elk quarter onto the show horse, it freaked out and the elk quarter beat the horse near to death. of course the rifle was in the scabbard.
they didn't make fun of the scraggly ranch horses after that.

When I was younger and dumber. Put in for a goat draw and won. Took dad with me and off we went. Another two hunters had been attacked in their tent the previous year same hunting unit by a grizzly but wasn't a full on attack.

Long story short. Goats were too high up. Would need mountaineering gear and ropes to get up to or retrieve.

Slept last night off a trail and in middle of night we didn't know but a branch broke off a tree above us and slammed onto side of tent. Dad assumed it was a grizzly and sat there with gun loaded rest of night. I Woke up normal and found the tree limb and chuckled.

As we packed up and walked out. About 100 yards away in the creek bed we travelled. Was a mom and cub grizzly tracks, that had walked past in the night and walked exactly out the same path we were about to.

We both walked with loaded guns at that point!

I made my first trip to Tanzania in 94. One of my brothers went along . He got deathly ill in Masailand. I truly believed he might die.

The day this went down, we were in serious volcanic dust. Pete looked like Al Jolson in black face . If he had not been so sick, I would have laughed my ass off.

We got to the camp . It was clear that Pete needed a bath. Guess who got the honors to help him. I got him in the shower and advised that if he told anyone I had given him a bath, that he would wish he had died . He told me to shut the f@&k up and not to make him laugh.

We flew to Amsterdam. We were on standby to Orlando. Things were a bit different back then. Cell phones didn’t work. There was no e mail . No one knew we were traveling .

We were sitting in a restaurant eating lunch. I heard my name being called over the PA. Odd I thought . I took off in search of the room I was told to report to . I noticed there were few passengers around .

At any rate , I went down some stairs where a uniformed guy was standing . He asked if I was Mr. Shores. I indicated I was. When I answered , he pulled out a gun and several uniformed people rushed out from under the stairs . One was a woman who was very nervous. That made me nervous . Guns were being pointed at us. My brother starts to make smart ass comments . I tell him to shut the hell up or I am going to knock him out .

They started to question us about our bags. The bags were sitting on a table. They asked if they were ours. Yes, they were ours. They inquired what was in the bags. Pretty normal stuff like dirty clothes and boots. They wanted to inspect. Feel free I told them. The female agent opened my duffle. There sss a garbage bag with dirty clothes on top. The female agent cut the bag open. She sticks her hand inside and brings out a pair of my dirty underwear. I broke up laughing . The male agents started laughing. The woman turned bright red.

At this point , I was pretty sure they realized that we were not terrorist. I assured them that we had nothing that was a problem. If they could tell me what they were looking for perhaps I could help them. They advised that we were on standby to Orlando. Our bags were checked to Orlando. They saw a lot of batteries and thought it might be a bomb. Well, I was absolutely shocked to hear this .

I told them we had several batteries for a video camera. They looked at each other with a sense of relief . We pulled the batteries out. All was good .

A hurricane was about to hit where my brother lives . He went straight home . There was no power anywhere. By the time he could see a doctor , all his symptoms had disappeared. To this day, he has no idea what happened to him.

A couple more…
We hunted mountain goat in BC a few years ago, near Revelstoke. Lodge/cabins were on a very nice lake. Only access was by boat across the lake. Outfitter loaded 4 wheelers on a boat, carried them several miles and unloaded to ride trails into mountains. We did the only a couple of time due to being fogged in for several days. We saw a couple of goats that were unreachable. Second to last day arrived with clear skies and no fog! We drove several miles into the mountains and glassed for hours, spotted a decent hot waaay up a snow covered peak. We decide to try for one and strap on crampons and start climbing a very snowy/icy steep slope. About 2/3 the way up I lost my footing and started sliding down the mountain on my stomach, feet first. After a couple hundred feet and going seemingly 100 mph, I managed to roll over and catch myself in a small bush. The hunt was over at that point . Oh, outfitter said he hired a couple of young guys to clear trails and so forth and they tried loading 4 wheelers (after he told the not to) and lost two of them in the lake. It was almost 250 feet deep right off of the shore.

Larry’s story reminded me of another weather related oddity, this one in Newfoundland, moose hunting on the Gander River and staying in a lodge on a bluff overlooking the river. While we were there a hurricane struck Newfoundland. Never imagined a hurricane would make it that far North. Where we were it was pretty intense, the lodge was a large log building and it honestly shook from the wind. We could look out over the river and as we watched we could see it rising, feet per minute! It rose probably 45 or 50 feet, came out of its banks and came up to the lodge foundation. This lasted maybe 3 hours and then the wind switched direction and the water subsided, pretty crazy. Shot a moose the next morning, too.

We were in the Deka Safari area in Zimbabwe.

Went in the afternoon to look for buffalo.

Never shot one before, and after reading DEATH IN THE LONG GRASS, I thought I better be prepared.

Somehow I managed to cram an extra round into the magazine of my Remington 700 Safari rifle, 375H&H Magnum.

We found a herd and followed it.

Just as the sun was going down, we caught up with them drinking at the camp waterhole!

Roy picked a bull and I fired at him.

My rifle magazine opened up, dropping all the ammo.

Never mind that, I loaded a round and took off after the shot bull.

Roy screaming “Stop! Don’t run after wounded buffalo!”

A few yards further, we found our bull on the ground.

It was getting dark as we took pictures by flash.

Rene and her kids, Alan and Diana, were actually watching the buffalo at coming to drink.

Totally unaware we’re about to shoot!

I have another.

My maternal grandfather liked to hunt . The thing that really rattled him was turkeys . He totally lost his mind when a big gobbler was around.

I must have been 15 or thereabouts. We went squirrel hunting . I spotted some gobblers and even watched them roost. I passed on shooting the squirrels.

My grandfather always called me boy for whatever reason. I get back to the car to meet him. He said , “Boy what are you all smiles about ? You didn’t even shoot.” I told him that I had seen these gobblers. He got wide eyed at that news.

He had a million question for me . Boy can you find them again? Bow was it a big gobbler? And on and on.


We take off early the next morning. I was grill again. Boy can you find them ? Boy are you sure? He was quite excited.


We walked to the place where I had see the turkeys . It was dark. We sat with out backs against a tree. My grandfather leaned over and asked I was sure we were in the right place. Before I could answer , we heard something hit his hat. I looked over at him and the turkey had shit on his head.

We both broke out laughing which ended our turkey hunt for the day .