quote:

Originally posted by Balule:
I can’t imagine that anyone on AR has escaped the craziness that has descended on the world.
Let me break the dreadful silence on the hunting reports forum with my week’s escape from the craziness with a report on a very humble hunt.

The way I understand it is that one of the leaders in the hunting industry whispered in the ministers ear that meat hunting could be seen as ‘subsistence’ hunting. The next moment regulations are promulgated that allows meat hunters to go hunting and cross provincial borders, that suddenly put a small, closed group of us back on track for our yearly pilgrimage to the Sand River north of the Soutpansberg in Limpopo.

Every year in May we usually go hunting for impala, warthog and kudu on a very large property, camping on the bank of the Sand River and having the privilege to hunt without any guides.

Like all government regulations, they are never clear and with an African police force doing the enforcing we were worried about the kids. Every hunter needs a permit to travel and cross provincial borders and we were worried about being turned back because of the kids, the youngest being my son already 11 years old and a hunter. In due course all the permits were procured for everybody and the date of departure decided upon.

We decided to help the police with decision making by crossing the provincial border at 04:00 in the morning and as we expected the road block was unmanned….



By 09:00 we were already pitching camp, basking in the warmth of the Bushveld sun, far away from the craziness that has descended on the world.





The bush was the typical grey of the African winter but with decent grass cover after all the years of drought, unexpectedly the Sand River was very dry with the usual huge pool reduced to holes in the sand dug by the game and none of the usual seeps.



Fortunately the dam on the property still had some good water.



The battery for my son and I consisted of a Ruger 77/44 in 44 Rem Mag, an old commercial M98 Musgrave in 270 Win and my recently carbinised BRNO ZKK602 in 375H&H.

On an early morning walk along a drainage line we saw kudu cows, an impala ram, waterbuck bull but the highlight was a Redbreasted Shrike. No shot opportunities arose.



Seeing that my son has already shot warthog I wanted him to shoot impala but that afternoon nature offered him a good warthog boar and I urged him to take it which he did with the 270.



The next morning he connected with a good looking impala ram with which he was very happy as his first antelope




After the shot I was hit by emotion - my dad passed away 3 years before my son was born. The 270 that I had restocked and Cerakoted was bought for me by my dad in 1979 after he got a tax return. From the grave he reaches out and touches his grandson through a rifle...

The overseer who is a Zimbabwean and does the skinning was worried about his wive when we took the impala in for skinning. She was on her way back from Beit Bridge, he explained that she walked home with a load of dried guts as food for their family. Every animal that we shot the guts was washed and dried - as he explained the poverty in Zim has no bounds.

In the light that we didn't have the proper permits to transport the warthog I wanted to gift him the warthog. A plan hatched in the back of my head. We try very hard to instill a sense of value in our children, everything is worth something. I told my son that if he buys the warthog from me, we can gift it to the skinner but then he can shoot another impala for free.

True to his one eigth Scottich ancestry the little miser struggled for 36h with the question!

We had dug open the holes dug by the game in the river and was surprised to see the next day that a proper seep had developed. The increase in surface water was quickly reflected in the amount of fresh impala sign.



As in most outdoor pursuits fire, coffee, food, cameraderie and camp life leaves a lot of memories.









While the young man was still mulling about my offer I hunted a day on my own, walking a long distance only getting to camp after dark. My reward - seeing 3 impala in the distance and bumping a sounder of warthog, just another reminder that hunting can be very frustrating.

Getting back to camp the little miser had now decided that my offer made a great deal of financial sense and was ready to go hunting again. I told him that is all good but I am going to shoot some impala before het gets a chance again.

The next day I connected with 2 impala.





I am still hunting for that monster kudu and this part of the country is known for good trophies I decided to put in a good effort the last morning and 30 minutes before first light we left in the truck for a low range of hills I thought would be worth searching for kudu.

We had perfect conditions - the wind quartering towards us, early sunlight from the side and quite cold. We sneaked along slowly searching the sunny spots for that elusive kudu bull, into the wind we heard the impala rams snorting and chasing each other. Initially I ignored them but our courses were destined to collide, we got closer and closer to each other and I started stalking them.
Suddenly the snorting was replaced by a low growl and gasping for air, it sounded as if a leopard was killing an impala. I passed the shooting sticks back to hold the 375 in both hands and carefully stalked in.

Just last year I bumped into a leopard stalking the same impala as I. The next moments horns clashed and it was silent, coming round a bush I met 2 impala rams eyeing each other 20 yards away. I think they had their horns locked and that the weaker one was gasping for breath. The bigger one met his match in the shape of a 300gr Nosler Partition.



Quietly sneaking around the dam and my son misses a shot on an impala. I force him to spend 45 minutes looking for blood, well knowing that he missed the impala as I was watching it with binoculars. With trepidation I ask him if he is finished hunting or should we try again.
My heart lifts when he says we must try again, he explains that he lifted his head after pulling the trigger to see the impact and that is why he missed.

I quietly coach him on shooting form and let him dryfire 10 times. My heart swells when he drops an impala in another 45 minutes of hunting.



A story: In the farmhouse this old rusted rifle and an action is mounted on a plank, I had seen them before but never asked what the story was.



The skinner explains that he was trimming branches when he saw something funny in a hollow inside a tree next to baobab at the farmhouse. That is where he pulled out this old rusted rifle.





To my untrained eye the action looks like a Lee-Enfield and the barreled action maybe a Mauser M96.

What would the story be: rifles hidden during the Anglo-Boer War in 1902, or during the rebellion in 1914, or maybe at a later stage when the old rifles became a legal liability due to paperwork?
How many impala has the Mauser shot next to the Sand River?

The romantic corner of our souls can always dream about the past; of wars, of hunting and protecting and providing for the love of your life.

quote:

Originally posted by fairgame:
Great report and fine shooting on behalf of your son. Thanks for posting that!