Since we're posting stories, this story I authored concerning my experience in Tanzania last September is published in the latest issue of Big Game Adventures Magazine.
Making the Shot – On Dangerous Game
Every hunter understands the importance of making a good first shot. First and foremost, the objective is to effect a quick, humane kill. Placing that first bullet a few inches too far back on a whitetail can mean endless hours of tracking for the hunter and agony for the animal. At best, the deer will be found before nightfall. At worst, it will meet a grisly death by wolves or coyotes and a nice trophy will be lost. When it comes to truly dangerous game, members of the “big fourâ€, there is an added feature. A less than optimum shot translates into hours of heart-pounding, hand-wringing follow up. With elephant, the odds are good the unfortunate marksman will be crushed on the spot. The lion, leopard and buffalo however, play a different game –one of hide and seek with fatal ambush the intent. Anxiety off the scale The trip was tedious but my long-time hunting buddy, Mike Jines and I ultimately ended up at Usangu Safari’s Camp Maji Moto in the Usangu Game Reserve of southern central Tanzania. It was September, 2006 and we were there to hunt Cape buffalo. Situated on the Ruaha River, the camp is very comfortable and picturesque with hippos offering their vocal greetings not unlike a sixth grade band student practicing the tuba. There are plenty of crocs cruising by and an occasional monitor lizard dropping by the skinning shed hoping for a handout. Not so picturesque were three black (spitting) cobras sighted at the camp entrance. Mike and I were at Usangu’s 21 - day dangerous game camp and our sightings of leopard, lions, elephants and buffalo on a pretty regular basis convinced us of that. I also kept my eyes peeled for mambas and puff adders and I am happy to report I saw neither.
Besides the dangerous game all about us, another aspect of the camp spoke of dangerous game. We shared the camp with a fellow-Texan father and son team hunting lion, leopard and buffalo, starting with lion. We were all new arrivals beginning our hunt. It was Mike’s and my first buffalo hunt. For the other two, it was their first lion and buffalo hunt. Each had taken leopards on a previous safari. Our dinners and campfires were cordial, sprinkled with an occasional smile, but there was an unexplained stiffness in all of us. It was a brooding, tense mood pervading our behavior and conversation. Both father and son would often sit in their chairs, bent with their elbows on their knees, looking at the ground before their feet. The dad finally broke the silence, “I know I can make the shot but if something goes wrong… and my son, I can’t let anything bad happen to him.†As for me, I tried over and over again to extract a pledge from my PH that he would unleash his big double immediately after I fired my first shot. I got a lot of hem and haw but I never got that pledge. I sat and wondered. In ways it puzzled me that a man would spend so much money to place himself in such an uncomfortable position.
For the next several days, the lion hunters hung bait and Mike and I followed buffalo spoor. In spite of all the Kilimanjaro beer I drank each evening, I found my mouth so dry I couldn’t swallow as soon as we would start tracking. Apparently the beer had settled in my hands. My palms were slippery wet. Over and over I would replay making the shot. I would imagine the buff dropping to my rifle’s report followed by “high fives†and cigars. All the while, I, my PH, my tracker and the game scout were fording streams, scaling river banks, crawling through thick bramble and otherwise assaulting every part of our bodies. At times I was convinced our tracker wasn’t really tracking. Rather, he was just going places where we might see buffalo. On the second day, after a very long, hot and tiring stalk, I realized the old tracker knew exactly what he was doing. We were on two bulls in very thick cover. My mouth was horribly dry and my hands like wet dishrags. The time of truth seemed upon us but at that instant, the wind swirled and the bulls vanished into the thick. The Ambush On the third day I stepped out of my tent with a new-found confidence and resolve. I can’t explain why or how other than I had plenty of time to think the shot through and after working hard for two days trying to get a shot, I was ready to take one. And, maybe the fact that Mike had taken a really nice bull the morning before, in an exciting hunt which included jumping a large male lion hunting the same buffalo, had awakened my competitive self. After all, we’re best friends but I can’t sit idle and let him best me on something like this! For whatever reason, I was ready.
We started the day as we had before - riding in the Land Cruiser looking for spoor. Around 10:00 am, we found ourselves along the banks of the Ruaha River where the stream serves as the boundary between the Ruaha National Park and the Usangu Game Reserve. The buffalo herds are known to move back and forth across this boundary to feed in the Reserve and refuge in the Park. The trick is to catch them on the Reserve side and the herds were overdue. Nonetheless, no fresh spoor was to be found.
As we turned the Land Cruiser to go search elsewhere, my PH, Zahir Mulla, noticed a head peeking out of the bush on the Park side. We threw up our binoculars as yet another ten heads emerged. Then there was thirty swelling quickly to fifty. The herd was coming to water. The wind was in their faces blowing from the Reserve. In all likelihood, they would water and then cross into the Reserve to graze. We quickly did an about face and hurried to thick cover about 200 yards further down the bank. Our plan was to wait until the entire herd had crossed the River and entered the thick bush on the Reserve side. We would then follow them downwind until we could find a bull to take. On either side of the river there is about two-hundred yards of clearing before reaching the thick bush. We would peer through the thicket we had parked behind and watch their progress. It was a large herd of about 500 led by around twenty old bulls.
We watched the herd cross for about forty minutes and then it happened. The wind changed and was now nearly at our backs. The result was a change in direction for the herd. Instead of crossing directly into the bush to our right, the herd was now coming toward us. The good news was no need for a long, arduous stalk. The bad news was we might get winded. A new plan was in order and quickly hatched. We would lay in ambush along a dry creek bed directly in the herd’s path and only about fifty yards from our current location. We carefully sneaked to the creek bank and quietly dropped into the dry bed. We then crept up and down the creek, concealed by the bank, peeping over the edge at different points trying to pick the spot for the ambush. After about ten minutes of “prairie dogging†along the creek, we settled on a spot.
Our chosen ambush site was behind a screen of thorn bush growing on the edge of the bank. Laying against the bank, half sitting/half kneeling, I was able to view the lead buffaloes at about twenty yards through an opening in the bush. No dry mouth; no sweaty palms; to my amazement I was dropping into the zone. A decent bull stepped clear and I put my crosshairs on him. As I did, a cow stepped behind him so I pulled up. I let a few more pass before another lone bull stepped in front of me. I wasted no time pulling the trigger on my .458 Lott. The rifle thundered and the bull bolted with a soft point straight through the heart.
I leapt out of the creek and on to open ground. My buffalo was standing broadside at about forty yards. I sent a solid his way striking him in the shoulder and eliciting a bellow. In an instant his call for help was answered by yet a better bull. I put a soft point in the second bull’s heart followed by a solid in the shoulder. I now had two wounded buffalo on their feet at forty yards! As I quickly reloaded, the second buff ran to my left behind a big bush. I put two more in my first buffalo and he went down as I heard my PH fire both barrels on his .470 double. I moved left, reloading as I went, only to meet my PH behind the big bush reloading. I learned later he had fired on the second buff even though it was staggering because it was heading for the thicket. His shots didn’t faze the bull other than causing him to turn and head straight for the PH. Not wanting to reload his double in full view of the buff, he ducked behind the big bush. I passed him, not saying a word or knowing any of this, stepped out on the left side and emptied my rifle into buffalo number two. My PH joined me and fired two more times. We had the second buffalo down.
A couple of insurance shots in the spine and we were ready for the “high fives†and cigars I had imagined in my preparatory daydreams. As we re-constructed the event I learned my PH was not standing behind me but rather on the other side of the big bush in case a wounded buffalo headed for the thick bush on that side. When I questioned him on that he simply answered, “Russell, it’s like I told you when you got those three quick shots off on that hartebeest, if you can shoot that fast, I’m not worried about buffalo.†My PH had more confidence in me than I had in myself. As it turned out, I fired nine rounds and put down two bulls in about sixty seconds. What an experience! Back at Camp Upon our return to Camp Maji Moto with over a ton of buffalo loaded on the Land Cruiser, I learned that Mike had taken another good bull. We were in a celebratory mood. Our fellow hunters, while congratulatory, still donned their solemn demeanor. The son commented to me, “Well, I guess the pressure is off for you.†I agreed. Both the father and son had lions coming to their bait. Their pressure was peaking as mine vanished.
The next day, Mike pursued his third M’bogo and I hunted crocodile and plains game. Our camp mates continued their quest for Simba. Early afternoon found me at camp to load bait for a croc hunt when we heard three nearby shots. It was the signal; a lion had been killed. The staff, all Africans, broke into song, chant and dance as they assembled to greet the successful lion hunter. The dad had taken a large male lion and was now being carried on the shoulders of the staff in a parade to celebrate the killing of Simba. His broad grin spoke volumes on his release from anxiety’s grip. Later that evening, the son returned with a grand old, black-maned lion. Both lion hunters had made the shot. All was well at Camp Maji Moto.
"Peace is that brief glorious moment in history when everybody stands around reloading" - Thomas Jefferson
Every morning the Zebra wakes up knowing it must outrun the fastest Lion if it wants to stay alive. Every morning the Lion wakes up knowing it must outrun the slowest Zebra or it will starve. It makes no difference if you are a Zebra or a Lion; when the Sun comes up in Africa, you must wake up running......
"If you're being chased by a Lion, you don't have to be faster than the Lion, you just have to be faster than the person next to you."
Posts: 6825 | Location: Tennessee | Registered: 18 December 2006
I would love to shoot a buff like those two.I would not shoot it in the heart but high and on the rear part of the shoulder blade.Texas,you said you shot them in the shoulder both times and they did not go down.I am curious as to what bullet and load you used.Where these the Hornadys you mentioned? Did they flatten out?
Posts: 11651 | Location: Montreal | Registered: 07 November 2002
Yes, the first shot on each was a 500 grain Hornady Interbond straight through the heart. Follow up shots were Hornady 500 grain FMJ's. The Interbonds virtually disentegrated. The solids zipped on through. Both animals suffered serious heart damage on the first shot but stayed on their feet. Then it was a matter of putting as many holes in them as I could until they went down. All shots were in the shoulder/vitals. These animals can simply soak up a lot of lead.
As for the high shoulder shot you mentioned, I've used it with success on whitetails but on cape buffalo, I'm afraid the effect would be negligible. Their vitals sit low in the body. You would be following a wounded animal for sure. And, with these guys, that's not the thing to do. All agree, shoot for the vitals and keep shooting.
