Greg R and BobF

Maybe you can copy-and-paste for me here...

Biscuit Barry

FULLY ALIVE IN AFRICA


Have you ever been so happy you just couldn't sleep? How about night after night after night again? Well, my September 2-8, 2005 safari to the Republic of South Africa (RSA) didn't start out quite that way.

I'd previously hunted in RSA, up north in what's now Limpopo Province with Mabelingwane Safaris. Taking my wife, Pamela, along I wrote up that experience in a report called I TOOK MY WIFE TO AFRICA ("Frustration and Fulfillment"). Pieter Diedricks did his utmost, addressing the difference between what I needed to know to succeed, and the book-reading, video-watching plus shooting I'd done to prepare myself. Yet, no kudu for me.

The focus had been on my returning to Africa to hunt kudu in particular, my missionary family not having had the resources or inclination for hunting during my Ethiopia childhood. While shooting a warthog took away that painful lack, kudu wasn't "in the cards". An impala and a massive warthog were in Pamela's!!

This time I'd be in the Port Elizabeth/Uitenhage area with Arthur Rudman's Blaauwkrantz Safaris, booked through his USA agent, Greg Rodriguez (Mombasa Trading Company) hunting a plains game package with an option for a second kudu at a great discount. And, yes, I left my huntress spouse and kids behind.


Here's a few hurdles that showed up, as follows ;

1. SAA attendants went on strike just a month or so before my flight, already booked and paid for
2. work shift changed from 7-7-6 reverse rotation 8-hr. to 12-hr shifts with mandatory on- call days
3. spike in blood pressure discovered during job physical
4. father-in-law went to hospital for recurring heart problems a week away from departure
5. funeral for Pamela's "Pop" (grandfather / dad's step-dad) a week before departure
6. throwing-guts-up sick kid two days from departure
7. second AC at house needs replaced (@$1200) : cooling fins corroded
8. noise in JEEP that cost me thousands in AC bills a couple years ago
9. rifle listed in documents for trip, including temporary permits safety blocked and bolt fell on the ground!!! (two days before flight)
10. taxidermist shipping tags, last he had, lost at post office "somewhere"
11. Hurricane Katrina disrupting flight to Atlanta THE DAY BEFORE FLYING TO RSA!, And, we live on the Gulf Coast! Yikes!!

I'll just tell you that all were factored out. I did learn this : Victory is built on a foundation of "failure".

Well alrighty, then! I actually did make it to Blaauwkrantz and went hunting as scheduled. Thank God! The evening of my arrival, PH Phillip Dixie (married to Zani nee Rudman) had me check the guns, .300 H&H Remington 721 customized and .416 Rigby "Bruno"/CZ 550, for zero. This we did off a sawdust-filled bag + bench-rest @ 25-yard range behind the lodge, holding the
gun down just at the fore-end and "squeezing" a round off. All my data is based on greater distance, checked at 50 yards, including shoots off long / shoulder-high "stix" at (after load development) home-made headless kudu target with replaced oval Chinette paper plates that is shot completely clear between shoulder and heart regions. They tell me to shoot lower, I guess because they are mostly shooting above or below horizontal in the hills and canyons of P.E.
And, 99% of game that does get wounded their tracker hounds recover. There's a "1% Club"?

My .416 Rigby rounds are 410 or 400 grain Woodleigh or RHINO (molycoated or monometal)handloads around 2400 fps. hitting the same place at 50 - 100 yds. The .300 H&H are 150-grain SIERRA P.H., 180-grain Woodleigh PRP and 200-grain SPEER flatbase @ 3100, 2800 and 2800 fps accordingly. The 200-grain and 150-grain loads drop the same at 300 yds ( - 7 ") and the Woodleigh drops 16". All are bang on for a heart shot @ 50-yds and I know what to expect in between (because I have my data / table from my planner in the daypak).

This all figures in to my choice for Day One. I have confidence in the 150-grain load (.300 H&H -- the .416 Rigby is back-up / in case I want to shoot my second kudu with it) for accuracy. What throws me is the gun check and the fact that we did have to move both scopes to center the bull @ 25-yds. And, in Day One, I wind up using short "stix" for an on-your-butt uphill shot. Never knew to practice that! All my "stix" work was with a tight sling, fore-end on hand rested on stix, pulling back towards me like Boddington writes, pushing forward and shooting when I have a good "picture". Philip wants me holding fore-end and stix "all together", pushing forward and squeezing a round off, head down. "Make the animal fall down through your scope." he tells me later on. Man, did he work with me to get it right! But, what about all that previous practicing I did??!


Day One [alias "DAY OF THE BUSHBUCK (LOST)"]

My priority animals are kudu, kudu (#2) and bushbuck. So, off to Sunlands we drive because we need to take a walk while the sun is rising and try to catch a bushbuck off guard. I'm trying to get enough water and air in me to keep up with xHosa tracker "Morris" (actually Nceba, but we say it badly, except for Philip who speaks xHosa like his nanny taught him growing up, so its Morris) and Philip who are trucking along speaking to one another trying to put me in a good spot. We have to punt, and when driving to another spot Philip somehow spots a bushbuck up the hill. I can't even find him in his spotting scope!!! "Let's take a walk", says my PH, who carried my rangefinder for me earlier and now hands it top me. Not much later, he re-finds the bushbuck and sets us up for the bush-to-bush approach to the spot 120-yards away below him. Out come these short "stix", I get hunkered down and ready for the command to shoot. The bushbuck turns around to face left, offering enough chest to put the crosshairs low (I thought!) and take a shot.

He went down hard, kicking a bit like a back hit, then slowly raised up as we watched. We didn't
want to damage that beautiful cape so held off on a second round. You know what happened. I should have shot again, because the tough little guy made it on his feet and slowly started off. To cut this shorter, we went to check for blood, found plenty, and decided to go back for the tracker dogs (who recover 99% of all wounded game, remember, and Philip has never lost a bushbuck!) Should have been plenty of time to stiffen up enough to want to fight / bay for the dogs so I can end this. Well, we went back up following the hounds, and I saw a flash of something white and brown as the dogs gave tongue. He never did bay, went around the mountain several times, and I ran out of gas, returning to where I'd shot and retracing every step on my own while Nceba and Philip tracked "my" bushbuck all over two mountains. Dogs came and went, a bushbuck bounded away in the valley, too fresh to be "mine". We broke for lunch and watered the dogs, then tried again, toting camera and rifle along in case he bayed.

Eventually, and how they got that far I don't know, Nceba and a top tracker from elsewhere on the job worked out he'd jumped a fence far away without re-opening a wound Nceba noticed high up the back. I'd shot high, wounding and losing one of God's most beautiful creatures, and I had practiced, done my best, listened (obeyed), paid attention, etc. I was devastated to ruin Philip's record -- it felt like Jonah just before the sailors got him -- I'm in the "1% Club", the trophy fee is spent and I've got a real problem with my safari. Philip stays positive and always "making a plan", teaching and observing me daily as he encourages me to shoot right.

Nceba found an old bushbuck skull + horns which he placed on a bush where I found it just before we loaded up to go do something else. It seemed a fitting "trophy", and I was paying the trophy fee, so decided to mount it along with anything else I'd get to take away with me besides experience.

Later on we stalked up to a dam ("tank" in Texas) and saw a good impala, just a bit too far away to take a shot in time with the sun going down. I'll never forget "The Day of the Bushbuck (Lost)". There'll be no sleep tonight. What agony!

I'd printed off a page of xHosa words from the Net, and had fun trying them out once Philip helped me to pronounce correctly. Mama Trinette wanted me to build on my Afrikaans at dinner, so it was fun trying to go from written page to spoken word. And, it seems to help with my (low) people skill.


Day Two

Still smarting from the loss, we checked the .300's zero. Along with the 200-grain load, all seemed well and we took off in the early bright for another of Arthur's properties back of the lodge to glass for kudu. Nine bulls and several cows later, the sun was getting high enough that they'd be lying up for the day. It's great fun, these greater kudu! Nothing "good enough", even for the first of two I can take. Next, we were off to another property (each larger than my Mason, Texas deer lease by far), flatter and more plains-like to find me an impala. "Let's take a walk" and again it's with the xHosa communication, quietly done between Philip and Morris, me hitting the water and trying to keep the gap between us closed. Philip spotted an impala herd with a good ram, and we did the bush-to-bush crouching/hiding approach thing uphill again. Oh, boy. Out come the short stix again, and it's something under 200 yards I'm supposed to sit down and whack. I hunker down and hold low, but shoot over! Then it's clouds of dust with impala, black wildebeeste and blesbok streaming across the plain, no matter what we do.

Enough with the 150-grainers, okay? I swapped over to the Woodleighs and we check "one last place" before lunch break. At maybe 70 yards, off long stix, taking a familiar shot this time the second impala ram drops. Then it's me throwing my camo visor up with a whoop!, "Praise Jesus" is out of my mouth like I were in Mason, and the pressure is off! Tiny holes in the flatskin make me happy, and we take pictures before doing a partial field-dress they call "gutting", and head in for lunch. What a confidence booster (but check Day Five with the .416 Rigby later on)!

Along with an R10 bill, I tip Nceba a bag of M&M's (American "Smarties") for the bushbuck skull idea. These have turned out to be a real pleaser, along with some fleece-lined work gloves I bought to give the guys riding in the beds of cold trucks. Chocolate works! (And kindness ahead of time aids in reconciliation should you do something stupid, which you'll see later on I did.) Lunch was great and we visited with Frank of KAROO Taxidermy, helping a couple Houston guys ending their hunt. Bart McDonald and Steve Dazet were a pleasant "before" to my time at Blaauwkrantz, sharing a donated hunt they'd purchased at SCI auction/fund-raiser. We talked about what I knew of Hurricane Katrina and the devastation. Nap time leaves me still taking down notes for my write-up and I'm too happy and excited to sleep. Wonder if I'll sleep tonight?

That afternoon we went to Spitskop for evening kudu hunting. Not thinking we'd be at the first spot all afternoon, I swapped for my darker prescription glasses. Also swapped out for the 200-grainers, anticipating cross-canyon shots like the morning hunt offered. Under the spekboom ("fatbush", a succulent plant kudu adore) secluded from view, me locked down into short stix (Ugh!), we discover kudu cows and some bulls drifting over an opposite saddle, feeding across the way at 200-yards or so. Philip spots a "good bull" with forward pointing tips and we wait for it to come across. I mentioned the dark glasses problem to Philip, saying I'd not be able to do what he wants if it gets dark soon. This results in our moving slightly out in the open, whereupon that bull finally appears. Philip has me get ready over long stix,waiting for him to show something besides his horns and backside. Finally, I'm to shoot, but Philip says that one is also high! What is going on?? The bull suspects nothing, and we watch him feed some more while I wait to shoot again. This time Nceba says I hit him in the leg, and Philip says it sounds like a gut shot! "How?!" I am begging. Oh, no. It's still happening, and I do not understand. But, the kudu stands there and I hold firmly low a third time pleading, "Help me Jesus!" I do not want to keep hurting pretty animals and screwing up shots.

"Brilliant shot!" my wonderful PH calls out. Morris says he's down and I have to again get Philip's help in finding "that brown spot under that green tree" in my scope. How do these guys do it? Morris crosses to where the bull lies, signalling -- he's ours. "Down down? He's mine?" Yes, says Philip! Then it's me walking towards MY KUDU as Philip retrieves the truck and cameras. Hugs and congrats, me enjoying the feel of smooth, beautiful skin and those sweeping, corkscrew horns. His face smells like spekboom and there are only two tiny holes in the prettiest cape Philip's seen lately. One is in the back right leg, and the other where I held last, just on the forward part of his brisket. I don't know that I might be pulling shots, raising my head early, or if the brass is old and my rounds are erratic. But, I'll take the result!

We had just enough light for the many photos, then a quick "gut" and positioning for the morning retrieve by stretcher. Will I sleep tonight? Not likely. Baby is in the woods (where the jackals and bushpigs don't usually hang out), and Daddy is going to worry until morning. But, I'm so happy I ride in back with Nceba all the way to Blaauwkrantz. Crazy, but I avoided a cold. And, I got only two hours' sleep at a time as the thinking, rejoicing and writing down notes carries on. I'll never forget "Afternoon of the Koedoe / iQudu / Kudu / Agazain / Tendalla / Tragalephus strepsoceros".

Day Three

First thing Sunday morning, having rounded up two "volunteers" (who each got their pair of warm gloves) and a stretcher, we headed back to carry MY KUDU out to the truck and Blaauwkrantz farm for trophy preparation and meat storage. Unlike in the "Kudus and Caracals" video (Ken Wilson ; Sportsmen On Film), nobody sang me the "Chu-chalosa" xHosa song. I was assigned the horns/head spot, while Nceba, Philip, Api and Manietje each grabbed a post and we staggered over brush and thorns towards the "bakkie". We got it done, and I was so proud that I didn't stumble!

I feel included, fully alive in Africa!" In fact, I am on the Web! Look in http://www.blaauwkrantz.com inside "Trophy Room" , "Latest Trophies". Having given the guys the rest of the morning off, Philip and Zani Dixie worked in a jaunt for film development and CD preparation from digital camera CompactFlash card, along with their own errands. Zani takes care of the website and my family got to share my joy immediately, thousands of miles back in Texas as soon as she selected the photo. Technology, eh?

I took more pictures of road signs and gates around lodge and farm, getting back in touch with my love for African birds and flowering plants. New to me are aloe, bird-of-paradise and fatbush plants surrounding the lodge. Nceba caped my kudu while others took care of trophies from outgoing hunters. They have an excellent operation, both trophy preparation and adjoining abattoire/fridge with game and domestic animals separately processed. A locker full of kudu hindquarters is an encouraging sight. Wonder if I'll have a second kudu in there soon? If scores are important to you, my first measured as follows; left horn 45" + 9 1/8 " @ base, right horn 45" + 9 2/8" = 108 3/8 "green". SCI minimum is 98" so, yes, he is a "good one".

That afternoon the wind blew like mad as we pursued blesbok at Eardley's place. I chose blesbok over the smaller target of a springbok. You know why! Still with the 200-grain load, off long stix behind the last bush we could get to -- a miss! "You must have shot high, because you are jerking the trigger, Barry, and lifting your head. And there was no reaction from the animal." Aargh! My sight picture was firmly low on a quartering away, head down blesbok bull. Slightly left of the target during scope checks, the round just could not be shooting high. What to do?

The herd ran all over the hill and then left. We travelled to several spots, frustrated (me only) in the wind and cold. "Let's check one last place here," says Philip, "before trying something else." Sighting a group I thought he said was bachelors with bad coats, Philip noticed one with blood on his face. (How'd he see that!) "We must take him," says my PH. I agree, hold with tight sling and good bag rest on the blesbok standing dumb-faced in a line in front of the Toyota. My sight picture said "gutshot", but down the bull went, and I stayed ready as we approached. It was my original blesbok, nicked at the base of his left horn!! Now I am just laughing about this shooting stuff. "Devils and angels are taking turns shooting this thing," I opine. I am going to put the 200-grain load up, though it has given me success. Maybe the brass is one reload too old or something, but ain't it great?! So, do I stay with success or choose accuracy? Oh, the second shot was also perfect, despite what my mind was showing me. It's getting better all the time. But, this is another "first" I've done to Philip. What's he done to deserve me? Maybe he will want to swap Francois for the two new hunters coming in tonight, Nick van Zyl and Dan Alegre, another purchaser of Arthur's SCI-donated hunts.

Again, not much sleep this night, mainly due to Larium but also because MY KUDU is a done deal.
Nick's stories of elephant hunting and lady PH's told in thick Afrikaans-flavored English have me rubbing shoulders with big time hunting now, and I'm revelling in the association.

Comments :

A single digital photo from the left side with Nceba caping the kudu shows bruising consistent with a middle of the body gut / between the last two ribs shot. Shot number two was indeed too far back -- gut shot raking to the far hip, which anchored him nevertheless. The SPEER bullet evidently transversed the animal without significantly opening. Either that or a fragment of same penetrated to exit the far hip. (Bullet recovery was never performed.) Third and final shot into the brisket shows no exit in pictures. Perhaps the tanned cape being sent on to me will reveal something more.


Day Four

September 5, 2005 at Blaauwkrantz opened with a slight drizzle as we headed out to actually hunt duiker, Philip's favorite. We have time to do this, and can always do a night drive to "collect" this last animal in my package. We also look to "better" my first kudu, which can be taken incidentally as we attempt to catch duiker of sufficient horn in the open. Or, we can do it deliberately, glassing the hills the way Philip and Morris are so good at doing. Progressing towards rain, in which case we'll drive the roads and see if duiker will come out when it stops, the weather indicates Nceba's time will be better spent skinning the blesbok. Until now I've not helped with gates, since Morris handles that part of the job. But, I'm not to proud to work so it is up to me to do the gates open-close thing. Since I've brought no soft case, the Remington 721 rides with me holding it, and I'm consistent in unloading my rifle chamber to ride in the cab, chambering and putting my rifle on 'safe' each time we take a walk, carefully moving it around to get out and back in doing gates.

I'm now using the 180-grain Woodleighs for little holes in a little animal. Nothing we see, after the sun starts shining, is "good enough" although I silently sight in on a ram or two and mouth "Bang-bang. Bang, bang, bang." Philip continues his excellence, and it will be reason enough to shield mount a duiker skull-and-horns just to honor this skill and obsession! We glass down each fenceline and roadway at each gate. We go bush-to-bush, in and out of cover to get close enough to look for "enough horn". Females and young rams abound. Nothing shootable appears except for a brief stopping-in-the-road-in-front-of-the-truck kudu. Beautiful! Good enough for kudu #1, but not for a second bull, yet. And so it goes until lunch.

We continued walk-hunting for duiker in the afternoon, when I did the stupid thing alluded to in Day Two. At the first gate, I forgot Morris was with us again. As I opened my door to get the (his) gate I heard a "thunk" and see Morris is grabbing his right arm. Man, did I feel bad for hurting my new friend! He went somewhere deep inside himself as I tried to check on him, apologizing all along, concerned there was damage. Basically he shook it off, though we both kept an eye on his wrist. I was hoping he'd remember the M&M's, gloves, my xHosa attempts and appreciation from the days before. Certain things I've learned from black culture in Texas and friendships in Ethiopia apparantly don't transfer well to life on the Eastern Cape, and I also hoped I hadn't been an embarrassment to him, being too friendly in front of co-workers at the farm. "He hates you now!" says that voice.

Well, we walked over hill and down dale, tramping the hills for likely duiker hang-outs. Only once darkness begins to fall -- still have sunglasses on from our first time out of the bakkie to "walk" -- do I realize my right hip is giving out on me. All the way back to the truck I'm "fisting" the hip to provide enough tension to keep a muscle from locking up on me. Yes, I did hope Nceba would notice and feel l'd been served back for his pain. I really wanted to see him smile again soon.

Headed back for dinner, I ask to do more sitting down tomorrow, my almost 49-years' old never-been-fit body not able to do the slow running Nceba and Philip think of as "walking". We make a plan to hunt for kudu in the evening, in a "hide" / box blind over (get this) oranges! Just like we have Dole banana boats and trucks all over Freeport near where I live in Clute, Texas, there are citrus farms around nearby Uitenhage (say "you ten hayg") and Pratensie. Wildlife love their trash oranges. Kudu will stop for a couple in the evening, on the way to regular feeding plans, and duiker will stick around if the peelings have dried out a while.

I planned to take both the .300 H&H and my .415 Rigby to the hide, the first for duiker and the other because Chucky Pinkerton shot "my" kongoni on Senior Girls Camping Trip (in 1975 at Rift Valley Academy, Kijabe, Kenya) with a cartridge of his own brought along matching Mr. Barnett's big rifle. I don't know the caliber, but it seemed big as a .416 Rigby and kudu #2 would serve just fine to settle that score. Actually, friend Mark L, told me if I'd take his spot as one of the camp slaves I could shoot in his place as well. No such thing occurred. My first African rifle was a Bruno, originally .375 H&H re-chambered to .375 Weatherby prior to my purchase of same in the 1990's. Having gotten a fresh picture of Mark from attending his nephew, Joey's secondary school graduation, I had fun sighting in and fire-forming brass using his "snap" at the 100-yard target. Mark has been vital in my life, so it wasn't personal or anything like that, just my sense of justice and humor in play. I'd get caught in class for something Mark started, usually because I was laughing so hard. We've been "square" for a long time, okay?

At dinner we chose between curry and offal (alias "tripes and trotters"). Only for Mama Trinette, who could probably cook camel meat so good you'd slap your mama for more, will I try something "awful" to my taste. I don't "do" menudo either -- Mexican tripe stew Either you love or hate some things. Liver, tripe and parsnips figure into my "No, thank you" along with lamb. Ordinarily. Liver is still a filter to me, but I at least tried and successfully ate some of the rest of that list for her. You can have the tripe and liver, but as long as Mama Trinette is the cook, I'm game! We had soup first, and she said it had kudu bones for flavoring, so we were getting closer to what I wanted for supper real soon.

I think offal was a treat for Nick and the Rudmans, including Philip and Zani, appreciated by them as the Afrikaans flowed around a table now devoid of Houstonians. I got to use a few more of my accumulated Afrikaans words, and got an appreciative chuckle or two with my attempts. Basically, any ice I'd imagined forming thawed out in my mind. In fact, I'd even gotten a cheery "Good night" from Morris as he headed to his room for the night. (In the morning, all was "kulingile" between us, which was important to me.) The evening ended in cameraderie, but sleep was a stranger again as I reflected on the up's and down's one experiences when fully alive. Ambien helps a little, but apparently not much if I'm keyed up. So, more with the pictures, notes and reflection until morning. Strangely, I'm not tired at all during the day -- naps are mostly just thinking and looking at the ceiling. I arrange, count up and re-arrange all my Rand, dollars and travellers' cheques calculating against my trip total to make sure I can shop, make a deposit at the taxidermist's, do tips, pay Mr. Arthur in full, etc.


Day Five

My hip is fine despite yesterday's exertion, and we spent the morning after duiker again. There is time to talk with Philip whenever Morris goes back from "walking" to retrieve the Toyota, and the glassing continues. At lunch, Dan mentions he is preparing to build himself a .416 rifle of some sort. Nick asks if they might shoot the .416 Rigby to get an idea of its recoil, and I of course agree! Both guys are spot on at the 25-yard target, Dan from off his own two feet, and Nick using the sawdust bag rest. I feel better and better about yesterday, having seen some use in my hauling the big rifle on this trip. I elect to use the .416 with RHINO softs stacked on solids if a kudu shows up at the oranges.

We bumped a few early kudu cows walking in to sit in the hide. I know how to do this kind of hunting, and set the .300 over there, the .416 here, daypack, binox, water, snacks and so on each in just the right place. Philip wants me to shoot from the corner of the front window, so I get a glove ready to rest my hand on should an opportunity appear for either duiker or a better kudu. A few practice moves with tight sling wrap hold and we're here for the duration.

We saw female and young ram duiker. Birds came and went. The sleepy afternoon turned to early evening and it will soon be kudu time. Finally, a couple bulls show up! The better of two is a twin to my first, but I really want to shoot with the big gun. Ka-booosh!!! "You shot behind and over him." No reaction, except to depart before a second round is chambered. How did I miss a broadside kudu at 50 yards???! (Nick and Dan tell me later I must shoot a big caliber differently from the small ones. Nick says you must swing from the animal's rear and fire when you reach the shoulder. Dan says, "I just aim at where I'm going to shoot!" Ah, me. More to learn.) We stayed put until dark, hoping for a "good" duiker. Finally it is too dark to shoot, but Philip keeps trying to glass for horns on the duikers there as we walk toward the oranges. I want to be sure there's no blood, there is none and Philip is right again. Okay, Chucky Pinkerton. You and me's square, fellah. I'm glad I got to try, but that's it for the big gun this trip.

Upon returning to the lodge, we learn Nick and Dan are on a night drive to collect nocturnal species on their package, then must leave early to take care of wives. Three weeks of shopping together seems enough, and I'll have the run of the place for my remaining time at Blaauwkrantz. "We must cuddle you tomorrow," says Trinette, which is fine with me. Maybe she meant coddle. Just kidding Mama! (Incidentally, I'm the only one using that name. She probably prefers Trinette, but I feel awkward calling her Mevrou when I'm using Afrikaans.)

Guess what's for supper? My kudu, "provided by Barry" as Trinette points out many times in front of all these manly, manly men hunters. Oh-ho-ho! Of course I'm wriggling inside. "Men are like puppies," a counselor once told us. "You must pat them on the head when they do something good, and do it often." And the kudu is uitstekend! (Come on, you can guess the translation just fine.)

At night, thanks in part to Ambien I finally get a good five hours' sleep before the writing and scheming carry on. I've realized that the trophy fee for my second kudu is equivalent to a full price bushbuck and mention my interest to Philip. Duiker and bushbuck occupy entirely different biomes, albeit shared with kudu, so we must make a plan accordingly. "Let's see what the bush provides," I decide. (See, I'm learning. And, instead of saying "I need to do such-and-such" it is becoming "We must do such-and-such" like Arthur and family say it. Maybe I can think in Afrikaans. Offal sounds bad still, but I'm ready to try Monkeygland Sauce. No, really! It is a great steak sauce. So is the HP sauce I read of in Ruark -- House of Parliament steak sauce.)

Day Six [alias "DAY OF THE BUSHBUCK (GAINED)"]

Headed back to Spitskop, loaded up with 180-grain Woodleighs we procede to look for duiker (again) and bushbuck in the rising sun. Mixed in with those we see are some impala, sure to alarm the bushbuck we have spotted skulking from bush to tree. Philip and Nceba are still doing the xHosa thing while I try to keep up, but now I'm seeing what they do (by looking at the angle of their binox and glassing the same area).

Lined up on a fence post, I'm ready to shoot as Morris starts a walk-drive down the hill towards us. He signals instead to Philip he's seen another bushbuck, and I'm doing the huff-and-puff thing following my PH back up top to look. I'm blown, and sit down to manage my breathing in time to set up over long stix. Up I go as signalled, and this time I'm forevermore locked in, holding stix and fore-end together, pushing forward at the butt, holding low in the chest of a quartering away ram in the open, ready to squeeze with head kept down, quietly praying for help. The report of my .300 H&H is immediately followed by a resounding Klap! like the sound of beating a rug. "I hit that one!" Philip hears me say, and laughs. We make sure he's ours and the hugs with thank you's follow, So grateful! Finally my teacher's words have sunk in and I'm shooting right! What a beautiful trophy, and this one has skin on it! It will go well with the impala flatskin, and I can do something different with the horns from my first bushbuck "trophy". Then it is photos and a trip to deliver my bushbuck for trophy preparation. Morris stays behind as we go to the fields of duiker for my very last animal. We find a few more females and "too small" rams, looking in and around likely spots.

"One last try" before lunch results in Philip's picking out a duiker deep in a bush ranged at 120 yards. How he sees these things I don't know, but he is able to "walk" my eyes to the target every time and then I also see through biniculars that something is indeed there. I prepare the rifle, setting the variable to 6x first before adjusting to 9x for a shot, and using a seated rest on a convenient shrub. "I see good horns!" I tell Philip, and he tells me to go ahead, "Yes!"

"Jhoo!" Philip responds to the crack of rifle and sound of a hit. "You're a biscuit!" That's good? "What a shot, man!" Now I'm not only brilliant from the 200-yard kudu shot, I am a biscuit. It must be true, because Philip says so! And, I am also done.

In the afternoon I just take things easy. Nick told me to just pack my first bushbuck trophy in my suitcase, so I get out my Leatherman and cut it down to a size I can cushion with a few socks and my hunting sweater on the way home. Yes, I actually have a trophy from my Blaauwkrantz hunt already on my wall. Photos are vital, but you can't do much more than wait for you actual trophies.

Mama Trinette saves me and Philip a few steps on tomorrow's shopping, showing me some jewelry she has on consignment from her stallietje that works out just fine. The girls are very pleased! Supper was up at "the big house" where we had a quiet visit and chatted about family, how I met Greg Rodriquez, that it all started with a raccoon in my ceiling and a guy named Mark Wills who told me about an outfit called Mabelingwane where Pamela and I hunted in 2001. Nice!

Day Seven

My last day was spent going first to Humansdorp to visit with Roland Peacock of TAXIDERMY AFRICA about my trophies. We saved further shopping steps, rounding out my list with various earrings and the like right there. We had Joko Tea and some biscuits (cookies),which I thoroughly enjoyed after taking the tour. Nice place, and I like how they do shield ("European") mounts.

On to Pratensie for Trinette and Zani's kumquat trees, then to P.E. for photo development, rugby boxers (workout "shorts" I cannot find in America), cards, postcards and stamps, STEERS' Monkeygland and HP steak sauces to carry home (because y'all won't believe me otherwise) and a writing tablet to get this whole trip[ written up in airport lounges and jet airplanes headed home.

We lunched at Blue Water Cafe over Castle's and Catch-of-the-day (Cod something) which was awesome with chips and creamed spinach instead of baked potato. Yes, it was baie goed! The water at Port Elizabeth, and the people as well, are beautiful. Time to think about hearth and home.

We enjoyed a braai, including more kudu (from guess who?) along with boerwors, lamb chops and so on grilled over coals at the lodge. A fitting last supper at Blaauwkrantz before packing up for the long journey early in the morning.

At Jo'burg after checking guns and luggage through to HOU (Houston Hobby), with my last Rand, and all but three bucks left in my wallet invested in a bottle of water plus a 250-gram bag of kudu biltomg, I stuck earplugs in and began plotting out this write-up. This has been such an intense experience for me, and I am headed home happy, proud to be a biscuit. Philip Dixie, you da man!
Nceba, enkusi and hamba kakuhle. Arthur, Trinette and Zani, baie dankie en tots siens (for now).
Pamela's response to all this has been, "Well, I want a waterbuck, and a gemsbok, and ..."

My old floppy hat, purchased (because I forgot a cap) at soon-to-close Six Flags Astroworld amusement park taken along in 2001 says it all. A "put out" Tweetie up front mouths the words I inscribed on the plane ride back without a kudu (despite Pieter's best efforts) : "Ag! Waar is die koedoes!" Now the opposite side bears a "smiley face" and the reply , "O! Die koedoes bly op Spitskop en Blaauwkrantz!"

A friend from Houston Safari Club association just returned from Mabelingwane with two kudus, so it could have happened for me on my first trip, but I guess there was another plan at work for me.
Thank you Bob, Mark, Charlie and Pieter. Best wishes with Tanzania and your other hunting.

Greg R, she's talking about 2007. Momma's turn, and the kids will love Addo plus the cheetah farm. Hoo, boy! Better get my Afrikaans done for Trinette. See you next to Francois and Eardley in February, I guess.

Maybe I'll sleep on the plane...

Bushbuck #1 "trophy"


Impala

MY KUDU (frontal view)


MY KUDU (sideview)


Blesbok


Bushbuck #2


"Philip's" duiker