IN THE CATHEDRAL OF THE MOPANES

Chirisa Safari Area is one of the special places of Africa. It is a million acres of rolling hills, steep bluffs, broad vleis and impenetrable riverine jesse lining the Sengwa River and its tributaries. Deep within it lies a broad, flat plain of wonder: The Cathedral of the Mopanes. Elephants are there.

On March 3, 2010, I boarded a little commuter plane in Brunswick, Georgia on my first leg on the way to Safari. While I had made numerous trips to Africa, my excitement for this trek was no less than my first. I had refined my packing list, packed and repacked, shot rifles, corresponded with other safariphiles and just generally had a great time preparing. When the door closed on the aircraft, I sighed and began to enjoy the experience instead of just anticipating it.

The flight to Atlanta was uneventful and I arrived about noon in expectation for the evening non-stop flight to Johannesburg. I got off my wallet for a Delta Crown Room card and was able to use my little notebook computer to correspond some with friends and even do a little last minute business for work (I can’t believe I admitted that!).

As usual, Kathi Klimes at Wild Travel had picked out an aisle seat for me and the flight to JNB was actually tolerable. For the first few hours of the flight, I had the pleasure of talking to my row mates. By the window was a cute little lady from just outside of New York City who was on her first visit to Africa.

Between us was a Registered Nurse now living in Michigan who had been born in the little village where Livingstone’s heart was supposedly buried. I’ll never forget laughing until I about wet my pants when the lady innocently asked the guy what she could expect in Africa. He replied, stone-faced, “I think you will find that lots of Black people live there.” He had just started a home health care service, had 8 nurses working for him and was not happy with what Obamacare was going to do to his business.

I’d tried to arrange my sleeping schedule a bit on the nights before I left, so sleep came relatively easy (encouraged with a mini-bottle or three of Glenlivet). I awoke as we crossed the Namibian Coast , had a Virgin Mary and a cheese sandwich and got my SAPS forms ready.

After a quick stop at the immigration desk for my visa I found my bag immediately on the carousel and upon entering the main terminal was met by Afton folks. We walked around the corner to SAPS where I found my rifle (after a short wait) and made the quick trip to the Guest House. I decided to eat there and had a great steak with folks in route to the East Cape and then to bed about 10:00 p.m. Of course, I awoke about 2:00 a.m. but, with Afton now having a wireless router, I was able to play on my notebook until I got sleepy again and actually ended up with a good eight hours of quality rack time. (I gave the netbook to Louis before I left. He's pretty much confined to his bedroom now and I thought the netbook would give him a window to the world, so to speak. Get better Louis!)

Even though I had printed out the South African Airlines webpage about baggage allowance, the ticket lady made me pay about $20 U.S. for excess baggage for the flight up to Bulawayo. Why fight for $20?

After almost an hour delay because SAPS couldn’t decide whether or not my bag with the ammo in it (in a locked metal box) was kosher, I met Jon Beiber (who had arrived on a flight from JFK that morning and a more delightful hunting partner you couldn't find) at gate 27 and we had a nice flight (albeit the ceiling was really low at Bulawayo). HHK had prepared all our gun permits and we soon were met by Lou and George Hallamore in the old hanger that now serves as a terminal.

We made the trip into town and to the Bulawayo Club and were most pleasantly met by the staff there. The Club was founded prior to 1900 and the facility was built with all colonial splendor. Obviously, with all the changes in Zimbabwe, maintaining membership and paying expenses was a problem and the building had fallen into disrepair until recently, that is!

Luckily for us safari hunters, a plan was made and the Club is now open for guests. A huge investment has been made (and so continues) to bring the structure to its former glory and, while some work is still in progress, it is now a place where one can return to days past.

Since the members still own the Club (subject to the management company’s lease), all the pictures, busts, trophies, furniture, etc. remain. The Long Bar is still there, the dining room is elegant, the food is about perfect and the staff strives to please. Cost was quite reasonable. Jon and I were blessed to have Sharon Stead and her husband Phillip join us at dinner (the investors/managers) and we could clearly discern that they were in the deal for the long haul. I wish them success because they deserve it. The Bulawayo Club The Steads also own Amalinda. Check it out for your wife when she goes with you to Zimbabwe. Amalinda

We met some folks who were going to Omay North and we talked about our prospective hunts over some smokey red liquid products and then we all went to sleep with eager anticipation.

What a hoot! About 5:30 in the morning I was awakened by a porter who had seen me talking to the other folks about Omay. He thought I might know how to contact them as they, of all things, had forgotten their firearms when they loaded up the Cruisers for the eight hour trip to camp. When Lou arrived about 6:15, he called the P.H.’s wife and she was able to get them on a cell phone, unfortunately already a couple of hours out of Bulawayo. We passed them coming back to retrieve their guns. Dang glad that the porter was bright, honest and had seen us talking the night before!

The trip to Chirisa was long, long, long! I did have the joy of seeing my first Mexican restaurant in Zimbabwe at Kwekwe. For some reason, Lou wouldn’t stop so I could buy everyone a burrito. I wonder why?

Finally, after miles of splashing through mud puddles, we arrived at the Parks office in Chirisa and then on to Ingwe Camp. We found it to be quite comfortable and situated with a great view of the Sengwa River (which still had a slow flow of water). We unpacked and took our guns to the range for checking zero. Both Jon and I made minor adjustments on our scoped rifles and found our Searcy .450 Nitro Express’ to be right on. Jon had a Hyem .300 Win Mag scoped double for plains game and I had a little stainless .416 Ruger Hawkeye for my back up/rain gun. I had QD mounts on the Ruger and eventually just took off the scope and used the absolutely adequate iron sights that come on the gun. You don't shoot elephants very far away, if you can help it.

Then some bad news at supper. Jon and I had planned to hunt “management” elephants, that being a cow without a dependent calf or, better, a broken-tusked bull or one without much potential and less than 28 pounds. Alas, Parks had screwed the pooch dispite their earlier promises and only one tuskless (not management) elephant was available. Since I know what “karibu Africa” means, and I’d killed plenty of elephants, I just told Jon that I’d figure out an alternative plan (maybe get drunk and cry?) and for him to hunt the tuskless. Jon fussed that we should draw straws or something, but finally accepted my proposal. I knew that HHK would give me my money back if I wanted, but I decided to hang in there for a bit.

Heck, sometimes a good turn is rewarded. Jon got the tuskless quota and I had nothing… or so I thought. About 11:00 on the first day of the hunt (Sunday), Kevin, the camp manager found Lou and me riding around with our thumbs up our rear sides, so to speak (I had a buffalo on license so I had something to do), and told us that he had convinced Parks to give me a management animal (and they did eventually give Jon one, albeit at Sengwa Research which adjoins Chirisa). Jon did get into elephants every day, but couldn’t find a tuskless without a small calf and when he got his management elephant go ahead at Sengwa on Thursday evening, even though he saw dozens of elephants the next two days, the thick jesse made success impossible, but he’ll tell you about that.

Graham at HHK is going make Jon some accommodation, since, even though he hunted elephant every day, Jon did have a contract for a somewhat different hunt than that he experienced (and enjoyed). HHK is good about that kind of stuff. I’m sure they work out to everyones satisfaction with a plan in Dallas come January.

After securing the permission for the management elephant for me, we returned to camp for lunch. On the way we met Ross Johnson who was hunting from Swainsen’s camp with his client. Ross turned out to be a real asset because he’d call if he saw fresh elephant tracks on the road. Unfortunately for him, on the third night we were there, Ross had an acute attack of kidney stones, inconsolate pain, vomiting… the works. Luckily for him, his client was a doctor and had strong pain meds and got him through the night. He tried to hunt one more day, but packed it up and went back home a day earlier than planned. For those of us who have had stones, we know his pain, God Bless him. Damn, nothing hurts worse.

But, back to the hunting.... On Sunday afternoon, while we did a bit of diesel stalking around Chirisa, Lou explained that we were about to come to one of the most beautiful spots in Africa. He called it The Cathedral of the Mopanes and when I saw it, I knew why.

We first crossed a little creek that still had a bit of water, through the horribly thick jesse alongside, and then climbed up a gentle slope to a broad, flat plain. Immediately, I knew I was in a special place. Stretching before me was an expanse of gently waving pale green grass, only knee-high, shaded by widely spaced Mopane trees, all about 60 feet high without a bit of understory or low limbs to spoil an unobstructed view for hundreds of yards in all directions. I may have seen a prettier park in England at a great manor house, or maybe Lolkisale is as beautiful after the early rains, but you couldn’t have proved it to me that first view. I just wanted to stop, get out of the vehicle and die. I was in heaven.

No wonder the name! The magnificent trees were the flying buttresses that supported the sky, the gargoyles were the twisted limbs that peered down, the supplicants were the groups of impala that were scattered about and the stained glass of Notre Dame has no greater beauty than the sunlight that filtered dappled and changing through the swaying dark veridian-shaded leaves high above.

Lou looked at me with a knowing smile and said, without speaking, “I told you so.” Humbled by God’s creation, I finally signaled that we could go on and we putted across the 1000 hectares until we descended into the jesse again. Oh, if I could just see an elephant in that Cathedral. “Lord”, I prayed, “Grant me that wish.”

Since Chirisa has some communal lands on its borders, and since it was close to harvest time, we decided that we’d drive the boundary roads to see if there was any crop raiding going on. We saw absolutely no sign of any depredation and zero tracks or dung on the periphery. The elephants were apparently staying in the concession. As we drove back to Ingwe, I was a bit disappointed, having seen no elephants my first day (albeit a half one), but supper with Jon, Lou and George quickly got my spirits up for the next morning’s hunt.

It didn’t take long the next morning to get excited. About thirty minutes into our morning ride, Alfred tapped on the roof of the Cruiser, signaling that something was in sight. I had seen tracks in the road and I assumed that we’d get out, age and sex them and decide if they were worth following. Shows what I know! As I was opening my door I looked to the right across Lou’s side and saw the gray hulk of an elephant about 50 yards away, rear end towards us.

I exited as quietly as possible and was handed my Searcy .450 N.E. double and I quickly put in two Hornady DGS rounds. As I eased around the back of the vehicle, Lou whispered that he thought it was a bull, but very small... too small. Alas!.

We slipped up on the elephant to 30 yards or so and he heard us, spinning around with his ears wide and his head up. Lou laughed softly at his mistake and whispered, “Let’s back out of here. He’s 35 pounds at least.” As if somehow the bull knew he wasn’t at risk, he made a few head waves and foot stomps and even ran two or three steps toward us as we moved away. Lots of fun, that!

The bull had great potential. Lou was right in that his body was small and he was young, but his tusks were long and thin with a really nice curve upwards. More than three feet of ivory cleared his tusk sockets. In ten or 15 years, he was going to be a fine trophy, but for today, he had too much potential for what I’d paid for. "So what" I mused. It's always fun to get rock-throwing distance from any elephant, and I really wasn’t ready to end my hunt so soon (or so close to the vehicle).

After lunch, we found a huge amount of tracks from both bulls and cows. We followed them for about two hours and found where some of the elephants had laid down in the shade, leaving deep impressions in the sandy soil. Shortly thereafter, we could see bits and pieces of elephants through the jesse where the elephants had moved to feed and stay out of the sun. We crept to with 30 yards of several cows, but saw none without a calf (we really wanted a bull if possible) and eventually, the wind swirled and the whole heard was off in a roaring thunder. Cool stuff!

Supper was buffalo loins, marinated in wine and served with a light, white pepper gravy. It was amazingly tender and tasty, especially with a good South African red to wash it down with. I had a custard for dessert and a nip of Drambuie with my cigar by the fire. Life was good.

On day three we found the perfect elephant. Again, Alfred had seen a bull from the car as we motored around looking for fresh sign. I just caught a glimpse of a moving shape about 130 yards away as it disappeared into the thick stuff. I had no idea if it was a bull or a cow, but it didn’t look spooked at all. We all piled out of the vehicle, hatted up and headed out.

The trackers quickly discerned that we were following a bull, and a big one at that. Lou told me not to get too excited because he feared that the ivory would be bigger than my Parks’ imposed maximum of 28 pounds. I don’t know how you don’t get fired up about following an elephant, regardless of whether or not you can shoot the thing, so I just smiled and let him lead the way.

The bull was moving pretty rapidly and we did our best to stay up with him, but the trail (and poop) began to get colder. After a couple of kilometers, we lucked out. The bull had decided he didn’t like a tree and had stopped to beat it up.

He was now facing us so we moved forward slowly. Albert and Clement (Albert’s brother and the other tracker) slowed to let Lou and me pass. We stopped to glass the big guy. Dang! A perfect management animal he was. His right tusk was broken at the root and the left was quite thick, but missing about a third, the tip of it being broken, too.

We were about 35 yards from the bull and had no way to get closer. He had sensed us by then and had stepped clear of the now downed tree. He was quartering towards us and swaying his whole body. I tried to figure out how to miss the tusk root that extended up into his skull. His head wouldn’t stay still. I wondered if I should shoot to break his near leg and hope that the bullet still ranged into his heart and lungs.

As quick as a whitetail, he spun to his right and began to run, trumpeting loud enough to be heard surely in Botswana, maybe even in San Francisco. Dang, that elephant could toot his horn. Though he gave me a couple of good opportunities for a heart shot as he crossed before us, I just didn’t feel right about shooting and Lou, being to my left, would have had his ear drums explode if I’d popped a cap. In retrospect, I could have killed the elephant, but grand old bull like that deserves not a “probably”, but a “certainty”. I did the right thing.

Later that day I got to enjoy seeing a 50” plus Kudu, lots of Zebra and a herd of buffalo gallop through waist high grass.

On the fourth day, we walked a lot, always on a relatively hot track. We heard elephants, tested dung, walked some more, sweated a lot, but never got close enough in the thick stuff to see a single cow, calf or bull. The tired phrase, "That’s why they call it hunting", comes to mind.

On the next morning we walked a mile or so down through a mowed path to the river. The grass must have been eight feet high on either side of us and you couldn’t see two inches into it. There was absolutely no wind and it was unbearably hot. We found no evidence of elephant activity on the Sengwa and began to retrace our route back to the vehicle.
I was next to last in line, following Clement, Alfred and Lou with the game scout following me. All of a sudden, the guys ahead of me scattered like a covey of quail. I think I just levitated. The game scout wouldn’t admit to what he did, but he became invisible for about a minute and had a huge shit-eating grin when he finally reappeared.

Apparently, after we had passed on the way to the river, a whole bunch of buffalo had bedded right beside the path and were lying within arm’s length of where we had walked (and were retracing out steps). I don’t know if they heard us, smelled us or saw us, but let me tell you, it doesn’t matter if 50 buffalo are coming towards you from three feet, or going away. It gets your attention. Thank the Good Lord these exited left instead of right.

We had a good laugh after we got our breath back, for sure, but we tended to stick to the middle of the path the rest of the way to the Cruiser. Every bird that flew up caused a rifle to come to the ready, and I changed my underwear as soon as I got back to my room.

That afternoon was event-less if unsuccessfully tracking elephants, seeing bushbuck, buffalo, eland and impala is not an event.

Did I say that dinner was a braai with sausages, kudu filets, buffalo steaks and boneless chicken breasts. Nice! I slept well!

On the morning of sixth and next-to-last day of the hunt we motored to the old campsite that overlooks the Sengwa from a couple of hundred feet high. We glassed the miles of grass and jesse below and eventually saw a single bull feeding on brush and enjoying the shade of several trees. The elephant was to the east and with the recent rains, there was no way to get closer in a vehicle. In fact, we had to go down the hill to the west and then loop around the cliffs, sloshing in the riverbed to get to him.

It took us an hour to get below to where we had been glassing. Each step in the river was into a sticky goo that latched upon your boots and make walking a small torture. Pulling your self free caused a sound like "shurrrrrr-glump" from the suction. It was at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit and there was no wind. The white sand radiated the heat like an upturned blow torch. We plodded on in the baking sun until we thought we were abreast where we had seen the elephant earlier.

When we climbed up the bank, I sadly discovered that the sawgrass that had looked knee deep from above was actually armpit high. You couldn’t progress unless you pushed it aside with your arms and shoulders. I got hotter and more tired.

When we cleared the grass, we immediately smelled enough buffalo dung to think we were in Omaha at the stock yards. Grunts and grumbles were audible from less than 50 yards to our right. Disregarding the buff, Clement found the bull’s tracks and we followed them into the riverine jess, and once therein, I could hardly see Lou’s back. Most of the time we were hunched over or almost crawling. How an animal as big as an elephant can noiselessly maneuver through that stuff amazes me, but we couldn’t hear anything but occasional buffalo farts and bellows, now behind us.

I realized that I wasn’t sweating. I felt I had to pee, but couldn’t. I stung when I tried. When we occasionally were in sunshine, my pupils wouldn’t contract properly. Everything was a bright glare and I wasn’t focusing well. Very disappointed in myself, I quietly kept going. I had been drinking plenty of fluids, or so I thought. This will pass, I promised myself.

Finally, I decided that I didn’t need to commit suicide and told Lou that I needed to stop. I tried to pee again, but I couldn’t. I lied and said I felt fine, but just wanted to rest for a minute, which I did. When I arose, I knew I’d better really quit this time. I was dizzy and had clammy skin.

I found a termite mound in the shade and sat down with some water and electrolyte mix and told Lou that we’d better call it off until I felt better. I became nauseous and puked up some bile. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and I lay down. After about 30 minutes of careful sipping of water I stood and found I was much better. In fact, I didn’t even have to rest on the way back down that damn river bed, but I was damn happy to get to the car and then to my room and take a cool shower. I couldn’t eat any lunch, but took a hour’s nap and believe it or not, was convinced that I was jam up and jelly tight to go hunting that afternoon. We went, but saw no hot tracks so my mettle wasn’t really tested, luckily for me, I guess.

What happened? I think I let my pride take me a bit too far that morning. I should have quit sooner, I reckon. I'm glad I was trained in the Marine Corp to recognize the signs of incipient heat stroke. I pushed the limit, though. Live and learn, even at a crotchety old 63 years old.

On Saturday morning, when I heard to gentle whisper of “Good Morning” from the waiter who had come to awake me, I had very mixed emotions. I was all too aware that this was the last day of my safari and that if I’d been a little better a hunter, I’d probably have gotten an elephant (and let’s be truthful, we don’t go to Africa just to see the scenery). I, of course, was still a little afraid of what had happened to me the morning before and that, coupled with my desire to not be a wimp gave me some angst of conflict.

I ate my breakfast in silence and contemplated the forthcoming day. While the Cruiser was being loaded, I sat by the fire and looked up at the Southern Cross fading as the sky turned pink in the east. I took a deep breath and decided that somebody could fly half my ashes home and sprinkle the rest at Vic Falls. I was in Africa and I going to kill an elephant today if I didn’t kill myself first.

I walked down to the awaiting fellows at the car and when I climbed into my seat, Lou said, “You aren’t going to believe this!” He told me that Alfred had come to him that morning and told him to drive straight to Mopanes. Alfred had a dream and he was convinced that we needed to get there immediately, no stops, no hesitation, no slow driving…. just haul butt to the Mopanes. How do you argue with a vision? Off to the Cathedral we drove with all deliberate speed.

The dawn had broken when we arrived. Dew had been heavy that night and every single blade of grass had its own liquid diamond on top that sparkled brightly in the rising sun. A mist of fog hung under the giant trees like a silky veil making a million prisms shoot rainbows of colors at us as if all were timed to flash and wink as we passed from shadow to light. The call of doves was music to my ears. Ah, Africa!

Almost immediately we found beaten down grass and steaming dung from dozens of elephants. We tried to follow several sets of tracks, but they were so interwoven it was impossible to tell which wandering bunch was which. Alfred told us to stop. This wasn’t in his dream.

We got back in the vehicle and drove for another few hundred yards. I could hear Alfred smile when he tapped on the roof. Yep, that's what I meant. I heard him smile!

“This is it!”, his grin said when he handed me my rifle. (I had my stainless Hawkeye in .416 Ruger that morning because heavy rain was forecast. No cloud ever graced the sky that day. Go figure?).

Even I could see where the tracks (and we) were headed. It looked as a bunch of guys on ATV’s had plowed over the knee high grass and ruined the lawn-like plain that glistened under the wondrously gnarled and green canopy of Mopanes.

Albert explained that the three bulls he had seen in his dream were headed for the dinge jesse about a mile away, but if we hurried, we were going to catch them. To hell with heat stroke, to hell with being tired, to hell with it being the last day. I’d bought into this dream thing and I was in God’s own Cathedral and I was going elephant hunting.

I don’t know if one would say that were stalking, tracking or charging like cavalry. We almost ran the whole way, just dodging an occasional bush or a fallen tree in route. The light filtering through the trees and mist made unfocused patterns of yellow, pale blue and pink upon the grass. It was surreal. We passed a cow and calf kudu at 30 yards that just stared at us as if they thought we were fools. Impala didn’t even look up as we hurried by. Perhaps they knew they weren’t in Alfred’s dream.

Clement stopped abruptly. We all heard it the second time. A gut rumble worthy of a freight train sounded before us. I looked about and saw that the Cathedral was slowly becoming less open and an understory of smaller trees and brush was beginning to limit our vision. We were on the boundary of the plain and the elephants were about to enter the damn jesse. We pressed on.

We stopped again and Lou and Alfred raised their binoculars. I didn’t need mine. About 60 yards away moved a great dusty hulk, then another and a third. Lou and I moved forward with Clement, Alfred and the game scout trailing some yards behind. Alfred had a smile a yard wide. His dream came true.

The elephants were moving right to left before us. Lou squirted some powder and the wind was coming from our left front quarter. Perfect!

We moved a bit forward and to the right. A huge bull stepped clear of the brush and trees and I saw 60 pounds of ivory on his left side. He was about 35 yards away. To his rear a bushy tree started to shake and then bend towards the ground. It had obviously suffered the ministrations of an elephant before and it had a bevy of suckers growing from its trunk. I could see the outline of an elephant pushing and fussing with the tree, but I couldn’t see its tusks, or even discern its shoulder.

Lou and I moved forward to twenty-five yards. The tree stopped shaking and an elephant’s head came clear of the tangle. The tusks were short. Just right. Lou whispered to take him when I had a shot. The bull pulled his head back and seemed to stare at us. “Crap”, I thought, he’s seen us. I was wrong. Turning his head back to the right, he just walked through the tree, pushing it out of the ground with his chest and began to pass broadside, perfectly in the open at 22 yards. Not a bush, not a branch, not a dang thing between him and me.

The little Ruger came to my shoulder like it was made just for this moment. My eyes were fixed on a point a half-hand in front of the ear hole. The white line of the rear sight and the over-sized front bead aligned without any conscious effort on my part. The bead moved a bit forward to where I looked.

I don’t remember pulling the trigger, but burned in my mind is the boom of the shot and the immediate and violent upward pitch of the elephant’s head and the simultaneous sack-of-potatoes dropping of his butt. He was dead before he ever hit the ground. He landed upright.

I worked the bolt and put a round in the chest before he slumped to one side, then after he fell over on his right shoulder, I sent another up between the legs that crossed through the heart and both lungs and almost hit his spine. All bullets (Hornady DGS) exited.

The other two bulls didn’t hesitate. Like blown smoke, they disappeared with hardly a sound.

Killing an elephant is not a casual event to me. I do it because I love it, but my emotions are always mixed when it happens. I approached the now dead fellow and sincerely said a silent prayer to God as a thanks for creating such magnificent animals. I somehow mourned a bit, even though I knew that elephants need to be managed and that all the meat and ivory would go to good use. I don’t think that animals have souls, but they do have some eternal substance, and I promised to always remember this ones power and presence and in doing so, keep my part of the deal to make this elephant live on.... and so I write about it to let others remember, too.

I looked at Lou for the first time since shortly before the shot. It was obvious that he had the same emotions that I did. After a bit, he looked at me and said, “This is what we do, isn’t it?”.

And that said it all.

Dinner at the Bullaway Club with the Steads.



The Long Bar. I forgot to mention that I met Alan Shearing and his wife there for a drink before supper. I was their anniversary. Alan looked pretty good, considering that a buffalo about killed him last year. He sent his thanks to the AR guys and gals that helped him financially and with prayers during his ordeal.



The gourmet Mexican restaurant in Kwekwe is the only place in the world where you can get Mlimo's and Montezuma's Revenge at the same time.



Checking rifles



View from the "old" camp and down into the tall grass where I had heat problems.



Sunset from Ingwe the first night.



Lou in the Catherdral



Checking tracks. Note how green and thick everything is.



Taking a break in my infamous flag pajamas. They've been on more than ten safaris! The drink is Famous Grouse and the book is Chris Cocks' great read about being in the Rhoadesian Light Infantry, one of Command Sgt. Major Lou's old regiments.



Loading up to go recover the elephant



The Master and his pupil



The guys who make it happen



Recovering the elephant



The sun closed the last day of the safari quite appropriately, I think

Thanks Judge. Good stuff.

Great report Ernest!!!

Fine shooting and congrats on getting your ellie!!

Thanks Judge for another great story. I will print it so Will can read it.

I love reading your stories. You have quite a knack for transporting the reader!

Thanks!

Great story Ernest. things do seem to work out if you have faith and work hard.

Congratulations,

Larry

Great stuff, Judge.

A big S. Texas, Yeeeeeeeeeeeha, to you Judge. What a great story and lovely elephant. Thanks once again for sharing the hunt with us and may you make many more safari.

Great report. Congratulations on the ele.

Judge-

Fantastic story and awesome pictures, Thank you for sharing with us.

Jason

Thank you for your report. Beautifully written.

Great story!. You had me there with you. I could hear the rumbling gut and buff farts.

Congrats Judge, great read.....Just adds to the anticipation of my Zim Ellie hunt in 19 days!

Outstanding as usual, nice photos too.

A great story well told.

You are one FINE story teller Judge and thanks so much for sharing your hunt with us!

It is good to see that dreams still come true. Great read Judge.

Ernest, Thank you for a great read and a great hunt you had.

Mike

Thanks for sharing with us- you are a great storyteller and I enjoyed reading about your adventures !

Another super story

quote:

Originally posted by sandyhunter:
A great story well told.

+1

Ernest,

Great story. I was there with you when you shot the elephant. Killing an elphant is an special expereince.

Mark

Congratulations Judge and thanks for a great story.

Great story Judge...Thanks!

Great hunt and great story! I enjoyed reading and re-reading it. Congratulations!

Ernest: Great story as usual. All of your training in legal writing, as a lawyer, handsomely paid off with your African writing as well!

Outstanding Ernest as always. Congrats, David

Thank you for sharing!

Great story, thanks for sharing that with us. We'll even forgive your association with Beibs.

Great story Judge.

Thanks for a good story. Well written. We are indeed blessed that we can still hunt such great animals. Congratulations.

Thank you..

Judge. Thanks for sharing your adventure with us,and congratulations on your bull.

Judge.
Congratulation with your elephant, and Thank You for the written words that did cast a spell on me while I was reading your report

Ernest,

Your description of the Cathedral of Mopane sure brings back many memories for me. I have hunted Charisa three times and visited this area at least twice on each trip. On my first visit there I was with Gomez Adams and we walked into it just before dark. When we got to the south end just before the ground starts to rise we ran into a herd of 20 or more elephants. The grass was only inches high and we could see them from their toe nails to the top of their heads. The sun was already down below the horizon and in the dimming light they were wandering around apparently aimlessly. It was a truly surreal sight . These elephants paid no attention to us although some passed within 10 yards of us. They seemed to be in their own mental world. It was utterly quiet, no sound of moving elephants, trumpets or stomach rumbles. A cloud of smoke passing by would have made more noise. One very large bull approached and passed within ten yards of us. At first we thought he was tuskless and therefore the object of our search but Gomez noticed a small piece of ivory protruding from the right tusk socket no more than two inches long. Ahh, but that put him safely out of our reach. But no matter it would have been a shame to have disturbed this tranquil setting with the roar of a gun shot. By the time we headed back the 400 yards to the cruiser it was almost totally dark. In the last dregs of light two herds of buffalo came out of the dense Jesse bordering the mopane along with a couple of bush buck, several zebra and a small herd of impala. Inexplicably, none of them paid the slightest attention to us as we wound our way through them. It is as if this is a magical place for them as well as us.

When I tell this story many don't believe me but I have the video to prove it.
465H&H

Judge Great story of a great hunt!!

Very nice, Congrats to you. Not sure how I feel about the PJs though.

Thanks for the great story Judge. Glad your Chirisa trip worked out.

Thanks for the fine story and photos, Judge. I am gratified that you have an appreciation for the gravity of killing one of these beasts and that you haven't become jaded with experience. Congratulations.

Great stuff amigo. We need a dinner date! say when! jorge