I personally don't need to be convinced, I have met people in person who have been and how it changed them and how they want to go back. I have read the books and seen the videos. I have read the forum and been to the expo shows and talked with the PH's.

What I need to do right now is answer a the question "Why Africa" in writing to a new female friend who dosn't hunt but is not against it. She is adventurous and I believe she will get it. There is just so much to say and I've read so many good quotes here, my first respose would be "you must kidding", but I really want to explain our passion in a fairly short answer that will give her a taste of what its all about and what I'm about. Any good ideas" Quotes?

Thanks
-Wyo

Have her read Judge G's "I've Been To The Mountaintop".

No, but I have read almost every Capstick book and If I had a way with words the way he did I wouldn't be asking for help. I will put Judge G's "I've Been To The Mountaintop" first on my list to read.

Thanks
-Wyo

If you wish to read my ideas about why I do it, I'll give you three references:

Link to "Mountaintop"

Here is another way to express it. It was titled "A White Hot Quiet", but I can't find it doing a search? What's up with that, I wonder? Canuck? Anyway, here's the text:

Lumbering along on the deeply rutted track, I dozed on and off with the ticking drone of the diesel singing a wonderfully familiar lullaby. It was the last day of safari, late in the afternoon and I was content with my bag to date, smiling in my sleep, I'm sure, and beginning to convert actions into fond memories.



"Buffalo! Buffalo!" came a cry from behind me. Instantly awake, but not quite sure where the heck I was, I grabbed the rail in front of me and stood up and was immediately whacked by a branch full of thorns hanging across the road. Damn! Where are they...?



I'd seen at least 500 buffalo in the last few weeks, and had taken at a pretty good one, but the single word, "Buffalo" was to me like screaming "Gold!" to Cortez. Where are they? Where are they?



The two trackers had already bailed out of the Land Rover before it slid to a stop. The Game Scout was handing me my rifle. My PH, Clarke, was no where to be seen. I was picking thorns out of my brow and I still didn't know anything but that somebody had starting shouting "Buffalo!" and it was time to get my big fat butt out of the vehicle and get busy.



I swung down from the truck and ran to catch up with the last guy disappearing in the high grass. What was happening? I stopped to gather my wits and was about run over by the PH who was just behind me. I'd forgotten that he was in the cab of the truck.. stupid me! When I turned and looked into his eyes, I saw a cold, black stare of absolute seriousness. "Twenty yards and we'll talk.", were his only words. I followed. Sheep to the slaughter. Meat to be butchered. Thus was I.



As soon as I got a few yards into the tall grass, I understood. The grass was only good spit's thick, having been burned almost up to the road. We crept to the edge of the burn where the tracking staff awaited, peering intently through the last clumps of the wiry stuff down a little hill and into a copse of trees.



Son-of-a biscuit-eater! Three old dagga boys were standing about 200 yards away, as still as stone, deep in the shadows and almost invisible. How the trackers had seen them, I'll never know. Though barely discernable, yet seemingly vulnerable, they were still out of range for a sure shot, even with my .404 Jeffery with a good scope attached. I tugged on the PH's shirt sleeve and motioned for us to retreat a bit into the tall grass.



"Thought you might want to take a deep breath," were Clarke's first words during our respite. I took the last gulp of air for a while and nodded affirmation. Then, "Are your ready?" he asked. "Down the ditch on the left?" was my response. "Wrong wind. Back to the road and down through those trees to the right, but it's getting dark, so lets hurry" was his answer.



We scrambled back to the track and trotted 75 yards back from whence we came and then slid on our rear ends down the slope to get to a line of trees which extended towards the dagga boys, still resting in the shadows. Bent over like refugees from a lumbago clinc, we keep the brush and trees betweeen us and the buffalo, trying to keep as quiet as possible, knowing full well that darkness was coming and the wind was fickle.



All of a sudden the PH stiffened like like a 8th grade school boy watching cheerleading practice. What the hell? All I could see was Clarke's sweaty back. The buffalo were still at least 100 yards away, or so I thought. Why the alarm? What was right-damn-there that had stopped us dead in our tracks?



I eased my head over the PH's shoulder and saw the mother of all buffalo. Damn.. there was a cow with about 40 " horns (or so it seemed at the time), staring us down from only 10 yards away. Where the heck did she come from? She didn't bob her head or turn to the side or lick her lips... Hell, she didn't even breathe. She just focused all her energy on deciding if she was going to waste her time in killing us triffles or just walk away. In the meantime, she was ruining my underwear.



Crouched in a very uncomfortable position, I immediately started to cramp up. Pain began in the big toe of my left foot and radiated to the top of my head. I began to involuntarily shake. And then the second 10 seconds began. My first thought was that I had spent money to get to this place where I was going to die. I could have just walked in front of a truck back at home.



The big-mama cow slowly turned and let us know what she thought about us by raising her tail and dumping a steaming load of green shit, then she slowly walked away toward our right... away from the dagga boys. Whew!



After a look between the two of us that confirmed our individual suspicion that we were crazy as hell, we eased to the edge of the trees to check on the whereabouts of the bulls. "Still there," were the words I heard, but all I could see was brush and the sweat that had coated my glasses. I wiped them off, cursing age and infirmity. Figher pilot eyes that had gone to seed.



We then half-crawled another 50 yards and slowly arose, sliding up on either side of a palm which was right at the edge of our cover.



Now I could see! Only 20 yards away was the closest buffalo, butt to me, head down, apparantly dead asleep. Two dark shadows were on either side, and I felt, if not knew, that I could see rib cages expanding and contracting in the murk.



I raised my rifle to see if I could see the sights (scope now removed) and was pleasantley surprised to find that I'd have no problem in putting a bullet where it mattered, that is, if I could see which buffalo to shoot, and where.



The bull nearest to us had a broken horn, it extending only a few inches from it's head. What did the others look like? Clarke whispered that the head tracker,who was still in the high grass up the hill, had indicated that one of the bulls was a whopper. Crap! Right next to a great buffalo and we couldn't see a damn thing but dusky shapes!



Great things come to those with good sense. (This wasn't my idea, but I had already tipped the guy for my first buffalo! A good move, my friend!) Figuring out our problem, up on the hill, the recipient of my largess simply stood up and walked a few feet out of the grass toward the bulls. I grabbed the tree with my left hand and cradled the rifle between my thumb and first finger, intent on the sights. Something was going to happen... and it needed to happen in the next few minutes, because nobody needs to fool with buffalo, particularly if wounded, in the twilight, and twilight was coming quickly.



One buffalo stepped forward towards the oncoming threat. The wise, old, broken-horned bull slipped like blown smoke into a patch of grass, never to be seen again. The third bull took three steps away from us and committed suicide by looking over his shoulder back at the approaching tracker. Every bit of my soul concentrated on the buffalo. I heard no noise even though I'm sure sounds were all around me. My heart didn't beat. It just swelled to bursting. I didn't even breathe. Just a flush of white heat to my intermost being encompassed me.



Deep dropping, 42" horns framed a mean-ass face which I could now well see and which was plainly exibiting a thoroughly pissed off disposition at the intrusion. Obviously he was deciding whether to fight or flee. I solved that problem with a 400 grain X-Bullet slightly behind his ear. The dagga boy hit the ground with a thump that registered like a 5.0 quake in San Fransisco. I worked the bolt and fired again, albeit into what I could then only see as a dark mass. I immediately sat my shaking rear end on a fallen tree and breathed for the first time in 10 minutes.



Another time of white hot quiet had come and gone.



On the way back to camp, now completely in the dark, I took a puff of my cigar and contemplated the dull glow of flame circling the ash. I only had one thought. How could I exist having to wait another year to do this again? Damned if I knew, but I'd not sleep a night in the interum without seeing that cow, up close and personal, or the look on the dagga boy as he turned to contemplate an intruder... or the limb that knocked me silly, or the wine at dinner that night, or the Southern Cross..

Oh, how I pine for Africa.

And finally, this picture tells it all (and I'll be sitting in the same chair in 13 days!):

"..there are no words that can tell the hidden spirit of the wilderness, that can reveal its mystery, its melancholy, and its charm. There is delight in the hardy life of the open, in long rides rifle in hand, in the thrill of the fight with dangerous game. Apart from this, yet mingled with it, is the strong attraction of the silent places, of the large tropic moons, and the splendor of the new stars; where the wanderer sees the awful glory of sunrise and sunset in the wide waste spaces of the Earth, unworn of man, and changed only by the slow change of the ages through time everlasting."

Or at least that's how Teddy Roosevelt described it.

It is many things. The magnificent animals you will hunt, the scenery, the memories created,but to me it was also that feeling of entering the food chain when you stepped into bush.

I sure can't say why, but I went the first time looking for something different and I was hooked (can't say why) but there it is. I have missed some years - hunting on other continents - and for the year following I felt empty having missed hunting in Africa that year. One can write all the words but it takes being there done that (not in a bored way) to truly understand what hunting in Africa is to a hunter.

Because it exist or it is there (I think that it has been an answer of Sir Edmund Hillary to the "why do you want to climb Everest?"), it is the most wide and primodial land on the earth, because the nature or because we are behind a romantic dream, because a lot of reasons ......... But I still love my first answer.

Adventure? Distance traveled? Exotic? Romantic? Any or all of these and so many more reasons depending on who you are. Many go for different reasons, those who go back do it for the same one. Love. Now if you can explain to her the reasons one falls in love you're quite a man!

It's the only place I have ever visited that I missed before I left...

There are many ways to say, with pritty words, what it is, but IMO, it all boils down to AFRICA is where it all began, and to a true hunter's sperit, it is going home!

Read my Tag line below! It was the last sentence in my journal of my first safari in Africa, and I didn't even remember writeing it till I found the old journal and re-read it !

The way I think about Africa is that Africa is the ultament in hunting. And yes I'm going back.

My first African experience was in the Eastern Cape hunting plains game in the Winterberg Mts. What we noticed was the soil was a brown-gray, fine sand, almost dust, which are product of eons of erosion of volcanic rocks. It worked its way into our clothes, our shoes, even our skins it seemed. It was like the moon dust the astronauts talked about, getting into everything.

That is the way Africa is. It works its way into your head, your heart and soul until you have to be there. It is a hard land, but it is honest. Its animals and birds are so diverse and incredibly beautiful. Its people reflect the land. And you come to love them too.

The hunting is great-the greatest. But it isn't just about the hunting. It is about AAF-RII-KA. As Patton said,"God, help me, I love it so!" Kudude

I go to Africa because I have an intense hatred for the life I live here in big city america. A ten day hunting trip to Mother Africa is a short reprise from that which I detest, but most of all going there is proof that such wild places still exist.

Muletrain, I feel sorry for you (I don't mean to offend) I just could not live where I hated it so. I guess I am a very blessed as I love where I live and I love what I do for a living. Africa is great and I enjoy my visits greatly but home is still the greatest place.

I agree with Judge G. A picture is worth a thousand words here and maybe some favorite pictures would help her understand the love of Mother Africa that we all have.

Why do humans climb mountains? Go to the Moon; dive the deepest seas, or explore the darkest caves? If she has one drop of Explorer's blood in her veins, she will come back a different person. No book, movie, picture nor words will accurately describe the adventure called Africa. In the end the Hunter hunts himself. Go and enjoy. You'll never be the same. LDK

I've seen quite a few of Africa's many faces. Many are not pretty, and some are absolutely horrendous. Hunting Africa came to me late in life, and it is a face of Africa that provides an experience unlike any other. I will always yearn to return. There is nothing like it anywhere on the face of this earth.

Thanks men, I think I did alright with my short reply of "Why Africa",,,, here is her response:

"I have seen and heard the obsession of those that have been... in fact a friend of mine that lives here in helena ... him and his wife are taking off in a couple weeks for Africa... for 3 months. They've both been for a "Safari photo tour" when they were younger... now they want to go back and just wander, pretty much on their own... and a guy and his brother I know have gone several times, he goes over to work in the hospices (have some stories about these).
Reading what you've written kind of makes me want to go... I hadn't given Africa much thought, mostly I think because I couldn't see myself in one of those Safari suits or groups...I imagine I would be rolling my eyes a lot of the time... =} but I never really gave much thought to me being in the real Africa... I would like to see it..."



Thanks again,
-Wyo

Wyo,

You have had a solid strike now set the hook. Sadie is my better half and she enjoys Africa as much as I do even though she does not shoot herself. I think you can try to put the "Safari Expereince" in words for the uninitiated but they have go once to really get it.

Mark

Mark,

I noticed your location and website. If you ever host a PH in Cody or have any other events let me know, I'd like to be invited. My email is wyomingben@yahoo.com, heck I may just reel in this female friend in from Mt to come with and you guys can help me with "Why Africa"...

Thanks
-Wyo

Africa is where time began!!

quote:

Why Africa?

The list is endless,as endless as the continent, huge expanses of nothing but flora and fuana, it is more than the hunt and kill, which should epitimize hunting. The beautiful sunrise's and sunset's. The friendly and gracious people, the sounds, Oh my, the sounds, you don't hear the wildlife like that here in the states, it starts early in the morning, faint and sparse, and as the day awakens it grows, it is like one creature trying to out do another, like a crowd of people starting with wispers then all wanting to be heard, a beautiful cresendo of noises, until the heat of the day, then it starts all over towards the end of the day, birds chirping, parrots,game birds,monkeys, baboons, lion, leopard, elephant,the distant chatter of the trackers and skinners, thier laughter as they tell everyone in thier personal camp about the days exploits, about this days hunts and hunts past, man the list goes and on and on.

Night time around the campfire, worth it's weight in gold, no street lights, just the fire light, only a small circle, close to you and the darkness and wild beyond, with the nights sounds entertaining you, with talk of hunting, wars,and african life, shared with friends and companions. Jokes, laughter, relaxation beyond belief,a cold drink and then supper.

The food, mostly wild game, 5 star quaility, fresh garden veggies, fruit fresh from nearby orchards or local fruit trees. Smoke from the cooking fires, the distinct sweet odor of mopane, sticks with you, brings back the memories.

And then of course the hunt, a different animal, reptile,bird at every turn. The plants, cactus, baobabs,shrubs, flowers, grasses. It is beyond compare, even my home state of Wyoming pales in comparison for the varity, and isolation.

And yes once you go, you desire nothing, but to return! Hell it is better than sex!

Life is nothing more than a collection of memories, and if you are patient, polite, and eager to learn, a trip to Africa will go down as one of your best memories to add to your collection!