After a miss on an Impala.. "Mr. Dennis, you must take your time and squeeze it sweetly behind the shoulder" The PH says the guy has never shot a rifle in his life

When asked if he's tracked dangerous game... "To cape a hippo you must use a chainsaw and an axe"

One tracker would argue with you if you doubted his statement that his grandmother was born in 1801 and is still alive. He claimed she was 202. At least his math was right.

Here's a funny one I'll never forget......

We had just taken a very big leopard early one morning after spending the night in a blind. As we were taking photos, etc., our head tracker (who spoke almost no English) drives up in the Landcruiser. As he gets out he notices with obvious surprise that the leopard we had on the ground was a real whopper. He put his hands on his hips, walks around the leopard, and exclaims loudly, "F&#$%!!!!!.....SH?&$!!!!!!!!

That seemed to be the extent of his English, and we dropped to the ground laughing at his outburst...

AD

[ 06-26-2003, 02:55: Message edited by: allen day ]

There was a spot where the doves were always flying over the river from the tribal land near a camp in Zim. Every evening if we came in that way it was the same. Lots of doves. After some of the more serious business had been taken care of the PH assigned the tracker to walk with me the short distance from camp to the flyway. I was toting my trusty Remington 870 Wingmaster with a mod. choke and as many shells as would fit in a binocular case. It was early in the afternoon as we approached the area and the birds were not yet flying. But suddenly the tracker crouched down and pointed to a dove pearched in the top of a tree about 200 yards away. "Shoot!!" he says. "No." was my reply. "The birds must be flying before I shoot them." I explained. He had no idea what I was saying. A suitable shooting spot was located and I motioned that we would wait here for a while. Pretty soon the tracker was doing a good imitation of a black lab.

How about this comment to me, "You're sitting on the rock where a buffalo killed my uncle." Made me think a minute.

At hunts end, I had my head tracker swing by my chalet to take first choice from a selection of clothing I had planned to leave. He tried on half a dozen garments varying in size from medium to extra large and, after each, while smiling broadly as he glanced in the mirror, said: "Puffect"!

In 97 I hunted with a tracker named Meeka. I told him several times that I wanted a kudu with gahunas dragging in the dirt and horns that reached to the sky.

When I hunted with him in 2000 I asked him how many childrenhe and his 3 wives now had. He said 11. Then he smiled and said"Gahunas work too good"

eydoc

My favorite classic tracker understatement was in 2000 when I was hunting with Russell Lovemore, PHing with Frontier Safaris at the time. Our tracker, Wandile, had been gored by a buff and had his leg ripped open from knee to mid-thigh. It's a long story, look me or Russell up and we'll recount it over something cool and a crackling fire, but we are rushing Wandy to the hospital in Somerset East. He's already embarassed by the fact he's riding in the front seat instead of me, and as we dash along at 100 mph on the wrong side of the road, he looks at Russell and asks him if it's OK to smoke in the car! He didn't want to bother me with his smoke since he noticed I didn't smoke on the trip. The guy was a real cool character. We picked him up 4 days later after a couple of hundred stitches to close him up! He insisted on walking out of the hospital.

It was a Sunday morning last day of the hunt and I was looking for a good warthog with my bow. My tracker got me really close (15 yds) to a couple that were foraging. I put a carbon arrow straight thru a big boar who ran but 20 yds before dropping.

On seeing the cloud of red dust as the boar fell, the tracker yelled out "Eish, master, that one, she is buggered!!"

First let me say that for whatever reason I have trouble seeing impala if they aren't moving or standing in the middle of a road...any thing else I can see.

We were well into my hunt with everything in the bag except a leopard and I had been having a run of pretty good shooting, especially a running game. I had taken a bait impala just as he started to go followed seconds later by a running warthog that the shot startled...both a close range. I made a one-shot kill on a big zebra stallion running across my front at about 100 yards...a shot that tumbled my wounded sable at 200+ yards as he got up and ran from my 1st shot and just the day before I had taken 2 impala on the move...one just starting to go and one really carrying the mail.

we were going out to check the leopard baits when we came around a corner of the road and the tracker spotted a herd of impala in the distance. PH said shoot one just in case we need to replentish a bait. The tracker and I got out and got to within almost 200 yards when the cover ran out. I turned my Swarovski 1.5-6x42mm up to 6X and took the shot....a couple of heads came up but no other reaction and the impala I was shooting at never moved. A 2nd shot with the same result followed by a 3rd shot....now the herd was restless but the impala I was shooting at just stood there. The tracker didn't say a word as I reloaded while I walked back to the vehicle...I wasn't going to waste anymore ammo on animals wearing armor. About halfway back we starteld a small group of impala that took off like rockets. Rifle came up, the trigger broke cleanly a very nice ram hit the ground at about 100 yards and actually skidded a bit.

When we got back to the truck the tracker said something that everyone laughed at and when I ask the PH what he said he told me tracker said he was going to carrying rocks in his pockets to make the animals run because I couldn't seem to hit them when they were standing still. I gave him a cigar for his insight.

It was toward the end of our safari and it was the hottest day that we were there. The temperature was in the upper 80�s and my father had just downed his zebra. We were some distance from camp so we decided to gut the animal and wash it down to keep the meat from going bad.

My father seen the PH laughing at something the tracker said to him so he asked what had been said.

It was explained to us that the tracker believed that if he cut open the stomach of the zebra and placed it in the sun the next morning the sky would be covered in clouds. As a joke the PH asked him to cut it open as to test the theory. Up to this point we had not seen may clouds, especially enough to cover the entire sky.

When we awoke the next morning it was apparent that it was not as bright as the previous days had been. Upon opening the door we noticed that there was not a blue piece of sky to be seen. It was as if a storm moved in during the night.

When we approached our PH he stopped us and stated that he already knew. Our tracker, not wanting to miss his opportunity, had wakened our PH at 4am to show him the clouds. When we climbed on the truck for the days hunt our tracker pointed to the sky and all he said was �voodoo, voodoo�

The best understatement that I heard, came after we stalked a Gemsbok. We stalked to within 12 feet of a sleeping White Rhino, before we discovered our doing. The Rhino snapped to his feet, but couldn't figure out where we were. He thrashed his head around in a threat gesture and destroyed a couple of thorn bushes, then ran off away from us. With big eyes and a serious look, the tracker turned around and said "That Rhino was bloody close!"

The best comment I heard from my tracker, came after I shot a Black Wildebeast Bull. Apparently the client before me was a poor shot. We were hiding in some small bushes and trees in an otherwise open area. The herd of some 50 Wildbeast finially came toward us, but hung up about 350 yards out. It was nearing dark, and we had to shoot or risk not getting a shot at all. The PH and I had a serious discussion on what I should brace against for the shot. I favored a leaning tree, he favored the shooting sticks. I leaned onto the tree, while he and the tracker were debating the best trophy of the herd. We finally came to an agreement on the best trophy of the bunch. But, the animals kept moving about and chasing each other, and it was difficult to keep up with the choosen animal. I never lost sight of him, but the PH and the tracker were constantly questioning themselves. All the time it's getting nearer to dark. I finally quit listening to the debate and shot the bull that I knew we had picked out in the beginning. The Bull fell to the shot, and the herd ran away. Both the tracker and the PH turned to me and said "You missed". I said " NO, the Bull lays over there.", and pointed toward him. When they finally saw him, the tracker jumped about three feet into the air and yelled " Now, this guy can shoot!". I still get a little ego boost off of that comment.

Gentlemen,

We seem to always have some fun with our trackers and game scouts.

Hunting Chete, in Zimbabwe, we had a very kind game scout called Madiquana. He was a small guy, with his left arm magled a bit.

When we asked him how he got that damage to his arm, he said:

"A crocodile bit me"
I said: "If a croc bit you, how come you are still alive?"

He said: "I bit the crocodile on the nose, and he let go of me!"

This same scout, will carry his Motorola hand held radio with him wherever he went - despite the fact that there was no one to talk too, and the battery was absolutely DEAD!

We followed some buffalo one day for several hours, and they got together with a whole herd of cows. We decided to give up the chase, so before we headed back to the truck, we sat down for a short rest.

I asked him: "Where are the bulls?"
He said: "I don't know."
I said: "You have a radio, so why don't you call and find out?"
He said: "The buffalo don't have a radio!"

On another occasion, we had another game scout whose name was Charles - he did not like to be called Charlie!

One day we shot a few impala, and were waiting for Roy to bring the truck to load them up.

I said: "Charles, you are only the second person I know whose name is Charles. The other one is Prince Charles of Great Britain."
Charles said: "I am a prince too!"
I said: "What tribe are you a prince of?"
He said: "The Wankie tribe!"
Alan Vincent then asked: "Then you must be Prince of the Wankers!"
Charles said: "Yes!"

A tracker by the name of Phineas is a perfect example of a tracker who loves hunting.

Every year, we put on a shooting contest for our trackers and game scout. They all get the same prize - a torch and a knife.

The fisrt year we did this we asked them how big a target they can hit at 100 yards.

Phineas made a circle with his forefinger and thump of about 2 inches in diameter! And he has NEVER even fired a gun before!

The other tracker and the game scout both said they can hit a target of about 6 inches at 100 yards.

We tied some balloons for them at about 30 yards. TRhe balloons were about 6-8 inches in diameter.

They had 3 rounds each shooting a Ruger #1 chambered for the 460 Weatherby.

Each time one of them fires and misses, he just shakes his head in total amazement!

As it hapened, only Phineas managed to hit one balloon.

As an example of Phineas desire for hunting, a few days later we saw a hyena looking at us from some long grass. All you can see is the head and shoulders. As soon as they saw teh hyena, the knocked on top of the truck. I was in teh process of getting out of the truck, get my rifle and load, get on teh shootign stick and shoot the hyena.

Phineas did not have any patience at all. He was whispering "Shoot, shoot, shoot, baaaa, shoot, shoot, shoot, kill it kill it kill it!baaa shoot, shoot, shoot!"

As soon as I shot the hyena, he was jumping up and down dancing, screamign in his language.

Alan said: "Phineas does get excited sometimes!"

In 1998, after our successful hunt near Chinoye, we were doing some bird hunting with Louie Mueller and a tracker named Funny. It would be a gross understatement to say our shooting was bad, and in an entire afternoon, we had burned up a box or more of 12 ga. shells and did not have a bird to show for our efforts.

Finally, my brother gets a piece of a Francolin that had flushed and insanely flown over the truck. I too fired, broke his wing, and he augured into the fence along side of which we were driving, and bounced back into the track where Louie drove over him.

Funny got off the truck; walked around to the front of the truck as Louie backed up exposing the Francoline still alive. Funny picked upon the bird, expertly wrung its neck, and said something in Mtebele to Louie which caused Louie to fall out laughing. Louie turned to us and reported, "Funny says, 'His bird!'" I understood why Funny got his name. And, of course, he got the bird along with a couple of others! Ku-dude

While not a tracker story - I still chuckle when I think of it.

A fellow engineer, Tokkie, returned from the Kalahari and was talking of 350 - 400 m shots at Springbok. I raised a questioning eyebrow - he continued talking of 350 to 400 m shots at Springbok. I eventually politely asked him to stop B .... g me. He looked at me quietly for a few seconds and remarked that I should first go and hunt there.

So I went (OK so it was ~ 10 years later)

Three friends - all engineers.

We came to the top of a sand dune - there down in the "street" between our sand dune and the next row of dunes was a solitary Springbok - standing broadside on to us. Ivan passed on the shot as did John. They both turned to me - the senior hunter!

My mind called up the picture of Tokkie sitting opposite me in my office and I could clearly hear his voice saying "Wait until you have hunted there".

Patient Springbok that one - while we were trying to pass that shot to one of the others, he just kept looking at us. Actually a very cunning Springbok he also turned to face us directly - presenting us the smallest target.

I then tried to be intelligent - crest to crest the dunes were about 350 m apart. (I had measured that while coming in from the road to the camp). The Springbok was roughly at 45 degrees from the line perpendicular to the dunes and approximately in the middle of the street. Sin, or Cosine, of 45 degrees is 0.707 - so the range should be about 350/2/0.707 = 250 m. Slight swirling puffs of air - random - so ignore them... (Yes - engineers do think like this ...)

My rifle was sighted in for 200 m (trajectory @ 300 m - 9" and @ 400 m - 26" - engineer, as I said) so I aimed at the base of his throat - giving me the full depth of his chest as a target. Also since we shooting from the top of a 35 m high dune there was a slight downwards angle to consider (Didn't think of that at the time - a man can't think of everything).

Good shot, clean trigger break, no sight jump. There was time to recover the sight picture and see the puff of sand that spurted up 4" to the right of the Springbok's rear foot.

Disappointment at the miss - relief that it was a clean miss - realisation that, to hell with the scientific approach - the range was a lot closer to 400 m than 250 m - must apologise to Tokkie

- and then the roof fell in on me.

Ivan is built like a pyramid - solid - so when he smote (the only word that fits) me on the back and declaimed (again the fitting word) "A GRAND MISS, edi, A GRAND MISS!"

I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I could see well enough though to notice that the Springbok flicked it's tail and calmly trotted off to the west - up and over the sand dune. Probably to tell the herd that there was little to fear from this bunch of Cape Town City hunters.

cheers edi

This story was told by PH Eric Lambrecht, while we were at a dairy farm last year, outside of Gobabis, Namibia, near the Botswana border, at the edge of the Kalahari desert.

The bushmen were clicking away one evening, when Erik commented on the unique sound of their speech, and I said, "Better yet, one has to wonder what they have to talk about."

Erik laughed and said one night he was in a field camp with several bushmen and the head tracker, who could also speak some Africaans. They were all laughing at something the head tracker had said, when Erik asked if he could know what he said so he could laugh too. The tracker demured. Erik insisted.

The head tracker then repeated, "There was once a white farmer, whose wife and daughter went to town to buy some things, while he stayed behind to do some work on their generator. Along came a jackal, who approached the farmer and asked him for work. "No, go away, you are a jackal!", said the farmer. The jackal replied, "I will do whatever you need. Try me out." The farmer said, "Alright, go to the shed and get a screwdriver, then return to the electrical panel and tighten down the contacts I tell you to."

The jackal, now out of sight, turned to see the farmer's wife and daughter return from town. The wife exclaimed, "Jackal! What are you doing here! Go away, now!" The jackal replied, "No, your husband said when you return I could fuck you and your daughter." The wife said, "That's ridiculous. My husband would never say that!"

The jackal then said, "Listen, I will show you." The jackal yelled out to the farmer, "Which one do you want me to screw?" The farmer yelled back, "Both of them!"

Bushman humor.

[ 06-29-2003, 16:29: Message edited by: wayne nish ]

Wayne, very good.

***

I was once in Kenya and we had a guard for the camp who was a Maasai with a large broad bladed spear. His job was to keep all us Muzungus safe from the wildlife and especially to accompany at night anyone to the bush toilet which was a couple of hundred metres away in the bush.

A pride of lions had killed a wildebeest (or something, I forget) only a few hundred metres away and were busy squabbling over the feast. Also a male lion had half-circled our camp just out of firelight on his way to the feast, grunting as he walked.

Now we had no firearms in the open camp as this was in the Maasai Mara.

The Maasai guard pointed up to the hill where the roaring was going on and said:

"Simba Sings"

Also on a trip to the bush toilet I asked him :

"How close have you been to a lion?"

And he replied in his deep sonorous voice:

"This close."

Pointing to the tip of his spear. Which we learned later was the truth.

[ 06-29-2003, 17:33: Message edited by: NitroX ]

Dennis: Thanks for starting this thread, as I have gotten many good laughs out of it. I wish I could add something, but the farthest I have been from dear old Oregon is New York City, St.Petersburg, Florida, Wrangell, Alaska, and Vancouver, B.C., where the only hunting was for beer that was cold.

Yep,
Thanks to all for this thread destined to be a classic of AR.COM.

In the words of Motsome (Mott-soo-mee), a fearless Botswana tracker, skinner, and all-around handyman and "fixer" that I have known:

"H0-HO-HO-JEEZ-HO-HO-HO!"

You had to hear him belt it out to fully appreciate it ... such as just after you downed a buffalo with one shot ... such as just after he held up that buffalo rumen he had emptied of grass and proclaimed "Fresh meat!" ... or after he finished taunting a lone hippo bull in an isolated, muddy pond to charge toward the shore by shaking his backside at him while shrieking some Setswana jibberish.

Wish I could have understood the Setswana that he was taunting the hippo with.
Could it have been translated to English as: "Bite me you bugger! Your mother wears hip waders!" ???

[ 07-01-2003, 07:56: Message edited by: DagaRon ]

I've reported this before, but with apologies, I will repeat it.

On the same trip to Zim, we went up to Dande. One night, Louie told us about the French couple who had come out to hunt dangerous game. The man was noticeably older than his female companion, who may or may not have been his wife, but who most certainly was enjoying the privileges of his bed. As a result thereof, she did not arise until lunch, but returned to bed with him for an afternoon "nap." At lunch, at dinner and during the afternoons when she accompanied the hunt, she plied him with small green pills. These pills and their purpose were the topic of discrete discussions among the staff, as was the erotic behavior of the couple.

Towards the end of the hunt, the staff was discussing with Louie the possibilities of their tips as it had been a long and successful hunt. There was a lively discussion including speculation about the size of the tips and the resulting expenditures as they went around their camp fire. Finally, they reached the oldest skinner, a man of many years and two wives, who told Louie with a big smile, "Boss, I don't care about the money, but if you could get me some of those green pills I'd be very, very happy!" Ku-dude

[ 07-01-2003, 07:16: Message edited by: Ku-dude ]

Not funny things said by tracker, but by PH...

We were hunting with the most wonderful PH named Gemis. He would do anything for a good stalk and crawl in the bushes. For example we sneaked around for Impala for one hour without boots in a big veld of bush, the only way to get close enough. And we got it.

This time we were hunting Blue Wildebeest, and sat down under a tree and saw the wildebeest 400 meters out in the open field. We could not get them at the moment. Sometimes when Gemis thought there was too little action, he liked to make a little drama out of everything. The first day we didn't realize that, but then when we got to understand his special sense of humour, he got us to laugh all the time.

I have this on VHS, and it's like this:
You have to imagine two guys sitting under a tree looking at a wildebeest at 400 meters distance. Zoom on the wildebeest which is peacefully grazing. Zoom back on the hunters under the tree. The PH with a excited look on his face, whispering to the hunter, in the same english accent as Arnold Schwarzenegger (this is normal for Gemis):
PH: How many rounds do you have?
Hunter: 15.
PH: Ok. Then it's like this. If you miss 14 shots, you'll probably miss the fifteenth too.
Hunter: Seriously nodding his head "I understand".
PH: So you must keep the last bullet.
Hunter: Nodding againg.
PH: You see, he's preparing to charge us right now.
Hunter: Looks scared.
Zoom on Wildebeest: Peacefully grazing 400 meters away.
Zoom on hunters again. PH: They are wily animals...so when he's charging us, you shoot.
Hunter: Nodding, now not able to be serious any more. Not the girl behind the camera either, the picture is jumping...

I love this guy, he could make anything funny.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

My long time friend and PH Roy Vincent, with whom I have hunted since 1982, has a wonderful way of expressing himself. We seem to argue non stop, to the amusement to everyone around us, especially Roy's son Alan, who is A PH himself, and likes to accompany us to make a video of all these mishaps.

It does not take anyone new long to catch on to this.

Once we were trying to shoot an impala on the dry flood plain by the Luzi River. There were literally thousands and thousands of dead tree trunks, left over from the time they flooded Lake Kariba.

There was a large herd of impala scattered all over the place. All one could see was impalas and dead trees.

Roy put up the shooting sticks, and said: "Hang on a minute, I am going to look for a good trophy to shoot." He glassed them, then announce: "Shoot that one by the dead tree"

I said: "Which dead tree?"
Klaus, who was standing behind us, said: "The one by the impala!"

The impalas decided to leave, so they ran off.

Roy said: "Why did it take you so long to shoot that impala?"
I could not answer, as like the rest of the gang there, I was laughing my head off.

We saw some kudu bulls walking in the bush, and Roy suggested I shoot a particular one. I did. They all took off. We went to investigate, and found some blood leading into some really thick brush.

A few minutes later, we saw the kudu standing in the bush. All I could see was his head. Roy put the shootign sticks up, and stuck his fingers into his ears. I looked, but still could not see any part of his body.

I said: "I can see his head!"
Roy's answer came back "No he is NOT dead!"

On another occassion, we shot 2 impalas from a herd, and the rest of them ran up a hillside, and stopped. One buck was standing facing away from us, at over 400 yards away. I fired a shot at him, dropping him.

Roy said: "You hit him too far back!"

I don't know where he expected me to hit the impala which was facing away from us! We found that my bullet went in his hind leg, going through teh whole length of his body, and came out at the neck-shoulder junction.

I used to use a 270 Ackley for plains game hunting, and Roy never stopped teasing me about how small that caliber is.

His usual comment would be: "Wait until he gives you a good position to shoot at. That minimum caliber has to placed perfectly to kill them"

When I later used my 375/404 for everything, he would say: "Be careful which one you shoot, that cannon of yours will go through and kill another one!" This despite the fact that the nearest animal might be a few hundred yards away!

One day we were looking for zebra to put up as lion bait. Walter was chosen to shoot the zebra.

We saw a number of them, but, Roy never managed to get Walter into the position he wanted. The zebra were either too hidden or too far.

On the way back to camp before lunch, Roy said: "If we rely on those guys in the back we'll never get a bait!"

I said to him I would shoot the next one we see.

Not long after, a few zebra ran across our tracks, so we stopped the truck and jumped out to try to shoot one. The zebra stopped about 180 yards away, and Roy put the shooting sticks up and told me to shoot the one on the left. I did. Thay all took off.

I said: "I wonder if I hit him?"
Roy: "You did! I heard the bullet connect!"
Me: "How can you hear the bullet when you have your fingers in your ears?"
Roy: "I did not have any bloody time to put my fingers in my ears! You shot too fast!"
Me: "Will you stop complaining! We are either too slow to shoot or shoot too fast."
Roy: "Yes, something in between would be nice"

On my one and only hunt in Zimbabwe about 10 years ago, I fired at a Cape buffalo while resting my left hand in holding the rifle in the crotch of a low acacia at a range of perhaps 40 yards. The buff had a boss on him that made him look like he was wearing a helmet. The buff turned and ran off. The miss was perfectly obvious. My PH was dumbfounded - and so was I. "Gerry, how could you have missed?!". I was at a loss too, and very ashamed. One of the trackers came running back. There was an exchange between him and the PH. The PH, to his credit, said that the tracker wanted to show us something. He showed us where the bullet had broken off a small twig, maybe the thickness of a man's thumb. I was using a 375 H&H. indeed, I had seen the twig in the scope and assumed that it wouldn't deflect the bullet.It did. That's my funny story about what a tracker said. That tracker saved my hunt. (They followed the herd for miles anyway to make sure that it wasn't a hit)

In 2001 I had to walk back to the site of my buffalo kill in Mozambique with 2 trackers, Kefus and Richard, and a game scout, Everson. I had refused the offer of a GPS upon assurances the natives could guide my back to where my friends, Don and John, were digging our bakkie out of a sand wash.(I had never used one before) Off I went with the 3 blacks for a 7K hike back to the buff. Soon skinning was finished and as the fellows hadn't eaten all day and it was just on dark they prepared some sadaz and grilled buff rump. After a meal and a bit a dagga for them, off we went on our merry way back carrying fresh buff parts over ground we had seen lion and elephant sign all day during the hunt. We had walked perhaps 30 to 45 minutes with the boys conversation becoming more and more heated. I couldn't understand what was being said as the exchanges were in a native dialect, but could tell there was some point of disagreement. Finally, all progress stopped with the fellows throwing their loads on the ground and a hell of an argument ensued. When all was quite, Everson, the only one who could speak much English, came to me and said...."Mister Perry, these 2 gentlemen and I disagree on which way to the truck. Do you know which way the truck is?"

At the time I didn't know whether to laugh of cry, but now think it is extremely funny. I would have loved to have had a photo of my expression at the time.

Perry

The impala I mentioned in the first post was very cagey and would separate himself from his 14 ewes if he detected he was being hunted making a stalk very difficult and resulting in long shots. Apparently a client previous to me had also missed the same impala ram three times! So after my two misses a tracker named "Shakespear" called this Impala "Lucky Man" stating "This impala has had 5 bullets go by his head and still he rides 14 ewes". BTW, after letting the ram settle down for three days and re-join his ewes, on the last hunting morning we tried one more time and I was successful in taking "Lucky Man". I told Shakespear that the rams luck just ran out.