I hunted plains game for seven days with Vaughan Fulton, of Classic Safaris, earlier this month in Namibia. I also hunted a problem lion with Vaughan that is the subject of another post of mine on the African Hunting forum. Since that was a completely separate and focused hunt, I will report on it separately.



For now, let me say that Vaughan's plains game hunts are superb. He is an excellent hunter and thoughtful host. Besides that, he is an all around great guy who my wife and I are proud to call our friend. By the way, my wife, who did not hunt, nonetheless accompanied us on nearly every stalk, even the many times we went out after lion.



Here is the report of my plains game hunt with Vaughan. I like to record the details of my trips for future reference, so this report may be more in depth than most. But it is the only way I can do it justice.



Red Hartebeest: At Mecklenberg Ranch, a/k/a Okatjove (the Herero word for �hartebeest�), located about an hour east of Windhoek, we hunted for two days for a good red hartebeest. Near the end of our second day of hunting, we spotted several good hartebeest bulls near the crest of a gentle rise, nestled into some fairly thick brush. As we approached them, several gemsbok, who had wandered between us and the hartebeest while we were circling them and climbing the hill, saw us. The hartebeest were oblivious, but the neighboring gemsbok all turned toward us, stood stock still and stared lasers at us.



The jig was up, so we then changed direction and headed away from the mixed group of hartebeest and gemsbok, directly into the wind, glassing as we went, and hoping to find another group of the ever present hartebeest. By now it was getting rather late, and not much shooting time was left. As we crept quietly along, a fairly good bull hartebeest stepped out from a clump of brush to our left. We watched him as he grazed along to our right at a range of about 75 yards or so. He was too small, but almost immediately he was followed by a bony old bull, with a beautifully marked face and large, ringed and swept back horns with heavily broomed tips.



Vaughan whispered that this was a great, old bull, and that I should take him as soon as he cleared the brush. Matheus, Vaughan�s tracker, set up the shooting sticks. I placed my Blaser R93 in .338 Win. Mag. on the sticks, and centered the crosshairs of my scope low on the hartebeest�s shoulder. I had set the scope at four power. Worried that he would spot us and bolt, I fired my rifle just a moment or so too soon, before the animal had fully cleared the brush. I heard the bullet whack him, but saw him run off quartering away. Vaughan said, as I was tracking him through my scope, �Shoot him again!� I quickly fired two running shots at the hartebeest, but missed with both of them. Then, he obligingly stopped about 125 yards away, and turned facing away and down a slight slope to our left. I held just behind his near shoulder and fired again. He fell as if pole axed and otherwise never moved after the shot.







When we walked up on him, I saw that my first bullet had been deflected, by a twig or some other kind of brush, by more than a foot. It had struck the hartebeest high in the middle of its back. My last shot, though, had gone true and penetrated the animal�s heart and lungs. Neither of the 225 grain Trophy Bonded Bear Claws was recovered. Both penetrated completely and caused much damage along the way.



Hartmann�s Mountain Zebra: After hunting the ranch for hartebeest, we traveled up to Vaughan�s conservancy, Ehi-rovipuka, from Windhoek. On the morning of our second day of hunting, at about 8:00 a.m., as we drove slowly along a dirt road in a valley between two large koppies on each side, we saw a small group of mountain zebras grazing on the hillside to our left. They immediately spotted us and stood staring at us from a range of about three quarters of a mile. These striped horses can see very well. Vaughan told his driver to back up, which he did for about a half mile or so, at which point the zebras were out of sight.



Vaughan suggested that we wait awhile, until the zebras forgot about us, then commence our stalk. A large, scrub mopane forest stretched between us and the foot of the long, rocky koppie on which the zebras were perched. They were about halfway up the near side of the koppie, just on the leeward side of a deep cut running up the slope, calmly grazing out of the wind. And the wind was blowing a gale, at least 25-30 mph, with gusts of 40 mph or so from time to time. We started our stalk, very carefully, through the forest of mopane scrub, which had the appearance of an orchard, so regularly spaced were the stunted little trees.



We walked a mile and half through the forest to the foot of the koppie, then doubled back at about a 45 degree angle up the steep and rock-encrusted side of the hill. It was rough going, but after about another half hour we had reached a spot on the hillside that Vaughan gauged was about the same height as the zebras. We were almost directly downwind from the zebras, and with the wind howling in our ears, I thought our stalk had been excellently planned. All we now had to do was move laterally along the side of the koppie towards the zebras, as carefully as we could, until we had them in sight within range for a shot.



This took us about an hour and a half to accomplish. The topography was very difficult. At one point, we had to double back and climb higher because of the lack of cover and difficulty of the terrain. Eventually, after walking in a crouch for about a hundred yards along the side of the steep koppie, Vaughan and I were forced to crawl the last fifty yards or so, about a quarter of the way below the crest, until we saw two of the zebras down in the cut, out of the wind. We waited, with the wind gusting strongly in our faces, until the stallion grazed his way slowly up out of the cut, up onto the side opposite us, at a range of about eighty yards or so.



I used a convenient rock jutting out of the ground as a rest and held on the stallion�s ribcage, about a foot or so behind and low on his near shoulder. I wasn�t worried about the wind, since it was straight in our faces. My scope was set at six power. The zebra was quartering away, with his head pointed downhill, when I pressed the trigger and broke the shot. I heard the 225 grain, .338 caliber Trophy Bonded Bear Claw bullet thunk against the zebra�s side, and watched as he sprinted down the hill about thirty yards. He then stood still for a fraction of a second and crumpled to the ground. When we walked up on him, I found that my bullet had penetrated the zebra completely. I found the exit wound at the point of his off shoulder, more than three feet of zebra away from the entrance wound on the other side.







Kalahari Gemsbok: The next morning we were slowly cruising along a road along the flats next to a mid-sized koppie to our left when we saw a large, old bull gemsbok on the crest of the koppie, perfectly silhouetted against the morning sky. Vaughan pronounced him a good bull, so we stopped, slowly backed up the truck about a quarter of a mile or so, jumped out and began our stalk. Again, as with so many of our stalks, we were faced with a steep climb up a rocky hillside. The challenge was to walk quietly, since there were so many loose rocks in our path. Any one of them, if dislodged by a misplaced boot, might cause a cascade of gravel and stones to roll down the side of the koppie. The other challenge I faced, with the intrepid Vaughan Fulton in the lead, was to keep my breath and balance. At one point, during a brief pause we took to glass the way ahead, I asked Vaughan to remove his shirt so that I could check his back for stripes.



We got to the top of the koppie and scanned the down slope on the other side. A gemsbok broke out from some scrub mopane at the bottom of the hill and trotted away into the distance. It didn�t look like the big bull we had spotted earlier. So, we pressed on, just a few yards down the slope on this side of the crest of the koppie, and slowly approached where we thought the gemsbok had been when last we saw him. Shortly, we saw three gemsbok, a bull and two cows, about 250 yards away at the foot of the koppie. Vaughan and I moved cautiously down the hillside to a small stand of the stunted mopane trees that grew nearly everywhere around us. From here, we watched as the gemsbok milled around, always alert and watchful, but so far unaware of our presence above them.



Then, they moved directly toward us, until they were lost to view beneath a smaller foothill at the bottom of the hillside. We then watched in surprise as at least fifteen or twenty gemsbok began to emerge in single file from under the foothill right before us, at a range of about 200 yards. They were moving from our right to our left, and in the center of them was our bull. His attentions were fixed on a large cow, whom he tried repeatedly to mount as the small herd filed away to our left. Vaughan advised me in a whisper to watch a gap in the brush which the bull gemsbok would have to pass through on his march. I used the fork of a dead tree as a rest, and waited. First, the cow, the focus of our bull�s amorous interests, walked out into the gap. Then, right after her, our bull emerged. He promptly mounted her, or tried to, but she calmly walked away from him. I could have taken him in flagrante delicto, but I didn�t have the heart to do that, and passed on the shot.



Vaughan whispered that he would make a sound, to get the bull to stop, and then he uttered a low grunt and the gemsbok paused. At that instant, at a range of just over 200 yards, in a crosswind of about ten mph, I pressed the trigger and sent my bullet down range. I had my scope set at six power, and I held about three inches into the wind, low on the gemsbok�s shoulder. Just after the shot, I heard the bullet strike home. All of the gemsbok wheeled and ran away from us to our right. Vaughan and I saw the entire herd run off, but neither of us spotted our bull in the group. I was pretty sure my shot had been well-placed.



After waiting for ten or fifteen minutes or so, we all moved down the side of the koppie in the general direction of where I had shot my gemsbok. As we passed the spot where he had been standing when I shot him, I was concerned that there appeared to be no blood on the ground. We moved farther down the slope and then past the foot of the koppie and into the mopane scrub beyond. Vaughan was on my left as we canvassed the area. I saw him approach a small mopane tree and then backpedal to the left, as he called to me, �There he is! Shoot him again!� I saw the gemsbok resting on his knees, as if bedded down, just behind the tree, and looking right at us. I saw a red spot low behind his shoulder, right where I had aimed. I sidestepped rapidly to my left, raised my rifle, and fired again. My bullet struck him just an inch or so forward and slightly above the first one. But he didn�t react in the least to the shot! Vaughan shouted, �Shoot him again! In the shoulder!� So, I immediately fired again, this time directly into the gemsbok�s shoulder.



This time, the beast rolled onto his off side and roared out a deep, low bellow. I had fired three rounds of .338 Win. Mag. into him, two of them from a mere five yards, and each of them mortal wounds. But still, he was not dead. He thrashed on the ground, bellowed several more times, kicked his hind legs, and stared balefully at us. My last bullet had been fired so as to break both shoulders and penetrate his heart, and it had been a good shot. Yet this gemsbok remained alive for at least ten or twelve minutes longer. We approached him twice during that time and touched his eyeball with the muzzles of our rifles, and both times he flinched and kicked. Finally, after struggling mightily for so long, and after one last spasm of kicking, he died. These oryx are incredibly tough animals. Perhaps the toughest I have ever seen.







After using three rounds to kill my gemsbok, I had only one round left of my favorite .338 Win. Mag. ammunition, the Federal factory loaded high energy cartridges topped with 225 grain Trophy Bonded Bear Claws. I had foolishly failed to replenish my supply before leaving home. So, later that afternoon, I re-sighted my rifle for the other Federal factory loads I had brought, which were capped with 225 grain Barnes XLC Coated X-Bullets. I sighted my rifle to put them about two and one half inches high at 100 yards, which would be right on at 200.



Southern Greater Kudu: The next day, Vaughan and I finally got serious in our discussion about the possibility of going after one or the other of the two problem lions he had under permit from the Directorate of Parks and Wildlife Management of the Ministry of Environment and Tourism (the �MET�). I concluded yesterday, after a lot of thought and discussion with Vaughan, that the only other plains game animal I really wanted, and would be disappointed if I didn�t get, was a good kudu. Also, I decided that, if we were able to find and take that kudu, I would be interested in spending the rest of my time on this hunt going after one of the lions.



So, on this fine, sunny and clear, but extremely windy, morning, we headed out after a southern greater kudu. We took a route to the north we had not taken before, along some very steep koppies that were strewn with boulder-sized rocks and stones. Here we saw several kudu bulls and cows. Each time we stopped the truck and glassed the bulls, we were disappointed to see that they were immature animals with short, shallowly curled horns. We continued along our rocky path until, just ahead, Vaughan spotted a large bull kudu, alone near the top of a high, stony koppie. He looked better than any bull we had yet seen, but he was staring directly at us. At least the wind, which was gusting harder than ever, was in our favor. The kudu was on high alert, so Vaughan immediately backed the truck up about a half mile, until we were well out of sight, and killed the engine. We dismounted and planned our stalk, while giving the kudu a chance to settle down.



We approached the kudu along the foot the koppie. Above us, the side of the koppie was little more than a jagged cliff face. After about a quarter mile, we found a steep cut up the side of the koppie that finally afforded us enough solid and reachable footholds to get to the top. I re-slung my rifle diagonally over my shoulders to free up both hands and climbed up the tumbled rocks after Vaughan.



It was not easy, but after about thirty minutes of hard work, we made it up to just below the summit. Vaughan then craned his neck around a boulder to try to get a look at the kudu we were after. He turned toward me and whispered that the kudu was still there, although he had moved farther along the ledge on which he�d been standing, and turned around 180 degrees to watch his back. I crawled my way up to the same boulder and looked around it at the kudu. He appeared to be very far away, but was also completely unaware of our presence. He was feeding on leaves from a mopane tree on the ledge next to him. With my Leica LRF 800 laser range finder, I took a reading on the kudu. He was 296 yards away.



I asked Vaughan if he thought there was any way to get closer, since 300 yards was my self-imposed limit. Vaughan inched away along the face of the koppie up and to our left, where a large, flat-topped stone afforded a rested shooting position at the summit. After a few minutes, Vaughan came back to say that I could take a shot from there, but that the position was very exposed and the shot would have to be taken quickly before the kudu could spot me. He also told me there was no other way to get any closer. Since the position Vaughan had scouted off to our left was only a few yards closer to the animal than my current position, I decided to take the shot from the top of the small boulder to our right.



I wasn�t too worried about the wind, even though it was blowing very hard, since it was full in our faces. I turned the power ring on my scope to ten, its highest setting. Then I carefully moved on hands and knees behind my chosen boulder, turned my cap around backwards, and slowly raised myself into position for a shot. I was able to rest my rifle firmly across the boulder�s flat top. I tried to see the kudu through the scope, but I was instantly blinded by the sun. I turned my head away and winced. I blinked several times and repositioned my head on the comb of my rifle�s stock. It seemed forever before I could get a clear sight picture. I figured I would need about seven or eight inches of hold over on this shot, and since the kudu was quartering towards me, I held just that high on his hump above the juncture of his neck and near shoulder. I pressed the trigger and the rifle boomed and bucked.



Just as the shot broke, I heard the bullet strike and saw the kudu in my scope as he went down. He was flailing about on the ground in a cloud of dust. Vaughan instantly said, �Shoot him again!� By then I had already cycled the action, so I held a little high in the cloud of dust where I thought the kudu might be and squeezed off another round. The dust settled, but we could see no sign of the kudu anywhere.



As we rose from our hiding places and moved forward, we saw a very wide and pretty deep chasm yawning open between us and the next koppie where the kudu had been standing when I shot him. There really hadn�t been any way to get closer. So, down and up we went.



As we approached the spot where the kudu had been standing, we saw him dead on the ground about twenty yards away. The first X-bullet had struck him exactly where I had aimed it. It took out all of the main arteries above his heart and punched big holes through both lungs before exiting square on the point of the off shoulder. My second bullet had missed him completely, but had been unnecessary in any case.







Steenbok: After returning to camp with the kudu and relaxing over lunch, we headed out later that afternoon and drove down a winding dry river bed on the chance that we might find a good bull eland. We saw many gemsbok and even some kudu in and along the river bed, but soon I began to think we were in the steenbok happy hunting grounds. We hadn�t seen a single male of this species yet, but here, we saw several females along the bank at the side of the river, and then our first male. As Vaughan and I glassed him with our binoculars, he scampered off. Vaughan remarked that he was too small, that his horns didn�t extend up to the top or past his ears. He said a steenbok of three and half inches was minimum, and that four was quite good.



Before long, at the urging of Vaughan�s trackers, we stopped the truck and glassed the right bank, where they had seen still more steenbok. Vaughan and I soon saw two females and what looked to me like a big male, if that�s not a contradiction in terms, browsing under a large, bushy tree. I uncased my Blaser R93 in .25-06 Rem. and we began our stalk.



It was about 5:15 p.m. when we set out from the truck, and the mopane flies, which are actually a small kind of bee, began to cluster and swarm around our heads. Other, larger flies soon joined them. Vaughan, his tracker, Elia, and I were soon besieged by swarming hordes of these insects. They lit on our faces, including our eyelids and lips, and tried to crawl into our noses and ears. As we slowly stalked forward, in single file, toward the steenbok, I repeatedly had to fight and suppress my natural instinct to flail away at the clouds of bugs around my head.



After an agonizing stalk of about 45 minutes to an hour, we slowly came up onto the river bank. The steenbok were aware of our presence, and the male had even been looking right at us for quite a while. But they hadn�t sprinted off into the distance, as was their usual and frustrating habit.



After we had stood stock still behind Vaughan, so as to give the steenbok only one profile to look at, for several minutes, Vaughan dropped down into a crouching walk and signaled us to follow him. We moved quickly across some fairly open ground, when Vaughan stood up again. Elia and I fell in behind him as before.



Then, at a point when I had completely lost sight of the steenbok, Vaughan signaled for Elia to set up the sticks, which he did at the perfect height right in front of me. Then Vaughan said, �There he is! Shoot him! Quick, he sees us! He�s looking right at us!�



Having lost track of our quarry, I scanned the area ahead of us, but saw nothing. Then I looked quickly through my scope, but still I couldn�t see the steenbok. I asked, with some exasperation, �Where is he? I don�t see him.� To which Vaughan replied, in a hoarse whisper, �He�s right there, twenty yards in front of us!�



I had been looking at the field beyond the steenbok, at least seventy five yards away. No wonder I hadn�t seen him! I quickly spotted him in the low brush ahead, adjusted my aim to a point low on his shoulder, then pressed the trigger and fired. The rifle boomed and the steenbok literally flew backwards through the air and flopped to the ground, stone dead.



As we walked up on the dead steenbok, I saw him lying on the ground next to a large pool of blood, with what looked like a small, piece of ground red meat in the middle of it. I rolled him over on his other side, and saw a silver dollar sized exit wound low on his off shoulder. I picked up the piece of meat, and saw with some disbelief that it was his heart, which I had blown right out the side of his chest with a 115 grain Nosler Partition bullet. I looked at Vaughn, held up the steenbok�s mangled heart, and remarked that now I had figured out how to prevent him from telling me, whenever I shot anything, to �Shoot him again!�















All in all, it was a great hunt, and would have been memorable on its own without the problem lion hunt that followed. But the lion made it unforgettable.



More on that later.

Thanks for your detailed post. It's as good for us as it is for you.

I'll agree with you on the toughness of the Gemsbok. They are tenacious animals. The fringe eared oryx is like that as well. I shot mine twice and slit his throat and still getting him to die was like killing Rasputin. Pound for pound they are as tough as a buffalo.

Fantastic trophies and a great trip. You're a lucky man that your wife enjoys the safari as much as you do.

Namibia has not been on my list of places to go, but you're making me reconsider.

All the best,
Forrest

Hi,
That was a really nice report, and good pictures too. That steenbok really took a beating! Would you aim further back if you had to do it again?
BTW, my personal theory is that the spine/base of neck shot
are the best finishers for down but not out game, seems the heart/lung area takes too long on an animal pumped full of adrenaline.
Great hunting AND shooting!

Great report and excellent photos. Looking forward to more details on the lion.

Thanks, Forrest. I had a good laugh at your Rasputin reference--but I think that now I know exactly how those Russian princes felt!

As for Namibia, I think it's seriously underrated by a lot of folks. I've learned that, if it's done right, it's a great safari experience. My wife and I had a great time (and it's true, I am very lucky that she enjoys these trips with me).

Vaughan has a 440,000 acre communal conservancy that borders Etosha National Park. There were many, many Hartmann's mountain zebras, kudu, gemsbok, steenbok and springbok in evidence. Also, we saw many giraffes, some eland, a couple of klipspringers and various other animals from time to time. The ranch we hunted for red hartebeest was 21,000 acres.

And Vaughan gets elephants (although they're of the rather small-tusked, Namibian desert variety) and lions on the concession, too.

Although I am happy as a general rule with old, representative males, I found that the trophy quality of the plains game on Vaughan's concession was quite good. My kudu was 53 1/2", my gemsbok was 37 1/2", my red hartebeest was 21" (old and well-broomed) and my steenbok was 4 1/2".

Then, there was the lion, which was beyond my wildest dreams.

Namibia, and Vaughan's operation, in particular, can definitely be a great safari destination, in my opinion.

Boghossian,

Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the report and pictures.

On the steenbok, I shot the point of his shoulder because I was afraid that the hydrostatic shock from a shot farther back would blow him in half--this happens regularly with these pygmy antelope.

But I surely didn't think that my shot would blow his heart out of his chest. Interestingly, the bullet's expansion didn't begin until the heart was hit (the side of the heart that you can't see in the picture has a tiny hole in it). I'm having him full body mounted, so I hope the taxidermist can repair the damage.

I absolutely agree with you on the desirability of a spine shot for a finisher. On the gemsbok, though, I was concerned that he would get up and come at us--they have that reputation and they can do a lot of damage with those long, sharp pokers they wear on their heads. And this one was upright, resting on his knees, so a spine shot would have been a little trickier than if he had been lying on his side.

So, I shot him two more times in his vitals as fast as I could, in an effort to take him out of action quickly. But he just wouldn't die until he was damned good and ready. What a tough animal!

Thanks, Phil. I'll be working on that lion report as time permits--it's tough during the work week--and will post it ASAP.

Great report and photos. Very nice bit of writing, you might could get the story published.

very nice hunt report mrlexa,thanks for sharing.
Almost makes me feel I would be right behind you.
Congrats to the nice trophies.

sheephunter

I really like the details, the memories come flooding back

Thanks,
Dulcinea