Folks,

Mike asked me to post the below report and pix.

Mark


Zimbabwe, Africa
Klipkraal Travel & Safari, Matetsi Unit 1
August, 2019


Well here it is, the last day of taking my Doxycycline, a reminder that I have not yet written to the good folks on this site about my August 2019 trip to Zimbabwe. Without further delay, what follows are my recollections of hunting Matetsi Unit 1 for Southern (Cape) Buffalo and other game. Should you continue with this story, you will read about moments of scrambling up a brush-filled hill while overfilled with extreme fear, severe pain from injury, an incredibly tough wounded animal, and the most exquisite tracking every performed by humans.

I brought only one rifle for this hunt: A Ruger Safari Magnum in .458 Lott. While I hand loaded several solids (CEB 450 grain), the only ammo I fired on this trip was hand loaded Barnes 450 grain TSX bullets using 86.0 grains of BLC-2, a maximum load that is 105% (compressed) per the Barnes #4 manual. Though the manual claims 2,322 fps, these cartridges chronograph at 2,234 fps from my 23 inch barrel and it’s 20+ inches of rifling. If anyone is interested, I will gladly reveal how I arrived at this load, including primers, brass, crimps, testing for propellant caking, etc. I tested 40 different bullet and propellant combinations, six of which were to regulate the solids to the same point of impact as the Barnes. I am supremely confident with this rifle & load combination having fired more than 2,000 rounds in testing and training over a period of three years. These loads group into less than an inch at 100 yards for five shots (as Dirty Harry would say, “One big mother’n hole!).

I mentioned practicing for three years. I fired a lot of ammo but had to send my rifle back to the factory when new after firing only one box of factory cartridges because 80% of the time the cartridges failed to fire. While at Ruger, the muzzle was damaged and they also put an eight-inch scratch in the side of the stock. Of course they would not tell me what was wrong but after I pestered them for six months they finally told me the firing pin was too short. The rifle has never failed to fire since. During all the subsequent years of range time, I partially detached my right eye retina. Yes, the .458 Lott lets you know when she goes off! I learned a lot about shooting big rifles and have advice to offer those who request it.

Why three years? I had two other buffalo hunts, 2017 and 2016, both in Mozambique that were unsuccessful. During those hunts I saw only saw two bulls, one each year. The first (2017) was a young bull that was caught in a snare and was not in a very good mood when we came upon him. He had been there for about a week and, luckily, the snare was set next to water and a lot of grass. He was so furious he broke the tree holding the snare, started to come at us but changed direction and ran off. We probably saved the lives of the poachers that day. The 2018 bull was one we chased out of a bunch of trees alongside the Zambezi and I saw him for only a few seconds in the fog at a little over 125 yards before he ran off. Though I’m not sure, I believe he was a small bull also.

I read about Matetsi at this site and decided to get in touch with Mark Young of Mark’s Exclusive Adventures. I was sure this was a good choice and this hunt proved to be everything I counted on – and more. As with the load data, if anyone wants to know more about Mark and about Gracy Travel, please let me know. I warn you up front, though, you’re going to get a glowing report and a hardy recommendation for both – I always tell the truth. I have to say this because the last time I posted the results of a good hunt, I was pounced on by many folks here who accused me of working for the outfitter! I have not posted again until recently; I don’t like being called a liar (punishable by death by my ancestors), so if you don’t want to hear about how good these folks are, please don’t ask.

I won’t bore you with accounts of all the preparations, the many chores, and activities that are now relegated to history as I’m sure they would not be news to those at this site. However, one thing happened just a bit over a week before I left on this trip: My scope broke! In all fairness, this scope had helped me fire 2,000 rounds of ammunition in this rifle and that is a lot of punishment for any scope. This was a Leupold Vari-X 6, 1-5x with Fire Dot. Some have told me the fire dot was most likely what “weakened” the scope, I’m not sure. But to have the scope give out so close to my departure was a bit of a concern, to say the least. I posted my dilemma at this site and received many good replies as to what others recommended - in a hurry. I finally settled on a Swarovski Z6-i, 1-6x24. I mounted the scope using quick-detachable rings, and couldn’t be happier (though this scope has only sent about 30 rounds out the barrel thus far).

So here I was, once again, settling into my seat aboard a jet crossing the Atlantic, en route to Africa. For months I had wondered if I would be able to go on this hunt at all as my wife, Frankie, was diagnosed with a serious illness and I did not want to leave her side. She was the reason I was able to go on this trip in the first place and I would miss her, spending my time worrying had I gone alone. Luckily, we were able to arrange a gap in her treatments so all worked out. Also, I had rotator cuff surgery a few months earlier and another surgery just a month or so prior. The reason I mention this is to let everyone know to hang in there as things usually work out. I know I’m preaching to the choir about how uncomfortably long this flight is! It was only made worse by my physical recuperations.

On arrival, my wife and I stayed at the airport hotel in Johannesburg and headed out the next morning to Victoria Falls. I don’t know how many of you have traveled via South African Airlines lately. Besides the new rules regarding firearms and ammunition, there is the “de-lousing” procedure on board the aircraft. Just prior to take-off, an announcement comes over the speakers telling you what they are going to do has been determined by the World Health Organization to be safe, etc. but if it burns you can close your eyes and don’t breathe for a little while. Yeah, who needs oxygen anyway? You can hear the spray moving the length of the cabin and back again; it does have a chemical smell and is a bit of an irritation, at least to me. Gladly, I wasn’t disappointed with what I had come all this way for: While in flight we got our usual half can of Coke and a cheese sandwich. I sure was worried about that. Love that cheese and bread (can you detect the sarcasm?). I think it’s still stuck in my throat and that’s from my first trip in 2016!

When we arrived at Victoria Falls, we were greeted by our chauffeur, a nice young man who was pursuing his degree in accounting and planning his wedding. The drive to our hunting lodge was short, passing many farms that had been “resettled” in the past few years but were now deserted wrecks and relics sitting on overgrown land. I later learned that my PH, Gary Hopkins, grew up on one of those stolen – uh, I mean, resettled – homes close to Unit 1. Matetsi is divided into six units, five of which are hunting concessions, with Unit 1 comprising 300,000 acres. The remaining unit is a photographic concession. I refuse to call this unit a photographic “safari” (how did the non-hunters and anti-hunters steal that term from us anyway?); all are managed by National parks and, therefore, a Park Ranger must accompany you on your hunt. On the road in our chauffeur pointed out a couple of spots where lions had run-ins with various people. There are a LOT of lions in this area. As a matter of fact, my PH, Gary, told me he was surprised we didn’t have difficulties with lions and my hunt was very unusual that way. I did hear them roaring some mornings, however, and while I don’t regret not having to deal with their unwanted aggression, I would have liked to have photographed of at least one of them. I have taken photos of all the rest of the Big Five in the wild but not the lion. Since I’ll never get to bag the Big Five I thought at least I could photograph them in the wild.

Very nice accommodations! You can see them on their web site. They were much nicer than the tent camps we enjoyed on previous trips. No spiders; no snakes; no mosquitoes. A friend often comments that he is fearful of only two things in Africa: Elephants and mosquitoes. At least he wouldn’t have to contend with the latter! There were five very friendly pit bulls to keep us company and to greet us on our return from hunting each evening, though one of them tried to lure my wife away from me with his charm. I think he succeeded. I can’t blame her, though; he was quite the charmer. The dogs had a fight with a leopard that got into the compound a few weeks earlier but other than some scars they had recovered well.

I must admit to a bit of pride when I fired at the target to check my rifle’s zero after travelling thousands of miles. Actually, we all know that “checking zero” is only part of the story as I believe this activity is as much for the PH to determine if the client can actually shoot the rifle! If you have trouble, he and the trackers know how much more work is cut out for them. The target was 100 yards away and, using their bench and sandbag, I put a bullet about ¼” low in the center of the 2” bullseye. I didn’t complain about the ¼ inch because I could hear them all breathing a sigh of relief! Under my breath I thanked all those at the range back home who put up with my exceedingly loud rifle for the past three years (but they always got a laugh out of watching my hat fly off at the recoil). It all paid off, many times over. I was also happy to find that my new scope still worked.

After firing that one shot and satisfying my hunting companions that my rifle, ammo, and I were one functioning unit (i.e., I could actually shoot this big rifle), a truck pulled up. Hopping down from the bed of the truck was Charity, a Ranger for the parks system, in her mid-30s. As she dismounted, dressed in her green uniform with her AK-47 slung over her shoulder, Gary met her for the first time as we were all introduced. She seemed serious and I wasn’t sure if I could tease her in any way (I like joking with everyone). I heard the unmistakable sound of her “racking” the bolt on that AK on three separate occasions during our stay. Two of these were in response to poachers we caught; the other was when a cow elephant came way too close for comfort. Charity asked me one day, “Do you think this rifle can kill a buffalo?” It was obvious she already knew the answer but smiled when I agreed. I wish now I had asked if she had done it!

I have been dreaming of hunting a buffalo since 12 years old. I grew up reading stories in various books such as Outdoor Life, Field & Stream, Sports Afield, et al. There were many authors; to name just a few: John Hunter, Robert Ruark, Ed Matunas, Jim Carmichel, and lately Kevin Robertson. Of course there was Capstick, Taylor, Selway… and others whom to name would take much too long. Fifty Four years later I found myself in Zimbabwe, Matetsi, Unit 1, on the first morning of my hunt.

Unit 1 has almost all of the water in the area, at least in 2019. Two rivers I can recall are the Matetsi and the Munyati. That means the buffalo and other animals continually move into and out of the various units but they always return, sooner or later, to Unit 1. Driving to the hunting spot, we came upon an elephant and another, and another, plus several more. We saw elephants every day. When we were close to the area where we planned on parking to begin our hunt, we saw tracks in the dirt road: Lions. Upon getting out of the pickup we could hear the lions a few hundred yards away in the direction of the area where we were headed. Several times over the next week it was obvious the buffalo herds were reacting to lions and we often used that to our advantage, getting ahead of the herd. When we reached our destination I could see water several hundred yards away and there were buffalo wandering about. Focused on them and foolishly trying to walk at the same time, I stepped into a deep hole and almost ruined my ankle. That would have been disastrous! My hunt could have been over before it began. But all was well.

We checked the wind and headed off in a 90 degree direction paralleling the buffalo with hills blocking any view of them and they of us. After walking a couple of miles we discovered the buffalo were no longer by the water as the lions had moved them. Gary and the trackers reckoned the spot where they had moved off to so we headed off in that direction and eventually found buffalo – hundreds of them. Some numbers were called out by Gary and the trackers: 750, 800, 600, etc. but I can only say there were a LOT of buffalo. A herd of that size presents several hunting challenges. First, in a herd of, say 500, there are 1,000 eyes, 1,000 nostrils leading into 500 highly developed rostrums, and 1,000 ears to avoid. Through Gary’s expertise, we successfully did that. However, when you get close to so many animals, not to mention sometimes ever-changing wind direction, two major problems exist: Finding the one you want and having him situated where you can get a shot. You can never see the entire herd but as you watch them mill around, or walk along a brush-covered trail, you get small bits of time to glass them through the openings. Hopefully you can find the one you are willing to take. Then all you have to do is hope he steps into a spot not covered by trees or bushes and that no other buffalo are close behind so you don’t mistakenly hit them if your shot passes through or misses the buffalo you do want. Such frustration at not getting a shot is the situation that came up 10 – 12 times during this hunt for buffalo during the five days we hunted. Numbers are difficult to say for sure but I estimate we dealt with 3,000 buffalo during these five days. A couple of times we could have shot bulls with horns measuring in the low 40-inch range (extreme wide spread) but, even though I wanted a 40+ bull, these bulls were too young and we called it off. Several times I was treated to the rush of fleeing animals and once had to call off the hunt as we sat on a small hill and watched a herd of about 200 only 50 yards in front of, and below, us because Charity told us it was time to knock it off (1/2 hour before sunset). I recall us driving back to the lodges one afternoon and we came upon very fresh buffalo tracks crossing the dirt road we were driving. The tracks were moving from our right to our left, at a right angle, across the road. From the spot where we first crossed the tracks until the spot where the tracks no longer appeared was a distance of ¾ of a mile. That is one big herd of buffalo!

In order to make this story shorter, I’m cutting out a lot that I’m sure many of you have experienced: the unmistakable smell of a herd of buffalo that I got so used to I could smell them long before I saw them, the long walks, watching and dealing with the wind, racing through the bush plus avoiding lots of giraffes and elephants. Speaking of elephants, we saw well over 200 on this 10 day safari (NOTE: I booked a hunt for 12 days but we cut it short a couple of days to go to Victoria Falls). I think it was day four when we stalked to within 25 yards of a herd of about 200 buffalo, found a bull I wanted to take, but there were others close behind him. We upset a herd of eight or ten elephants about 35 yards behind us. We were in the middle, between herds of animals with whom you don’t want to argue. Just about the time we decided it was a good idea to slowly back out of there, the wind swirled and my intended buffalo caught our scent. He was standing fully facing us and I’ll never forget him dipping his head lowly and swinging it to his right as I saw dust and dirt fly up around his hooves. The weight of his head and horns seemed to demand the rest of his body follow suit as his body turned almost 180 degrees in a fraction of a second and was off, the entire herd following him. The sound of a stampeding herd of buffalo is in no way muffled by the clouds of dust and debris. It sounds to me sort of like thousands of snowballs raining down on a wooden roof. The entire herd was gone in less than 30 seconds and we managed to placate the elephants with our departure. Seeing a lot of elephants almost became mundane, if one can consider these magnificent animals as such. We had one tense episode when a big cow elephant decided we didn’t belong where she was going and chose to remove us from Matetsi Unit 1. An interesting story in itself, we were caught – couldn’t go forward, couldn’t retreat. She thankfully called off her aggression at around 30 yards.

One day, as we sat in the shade of some trees waiting for a herd to cross in front of us, I asked Gary about his rifle. It was an older Ruger Safari in .416 Rigby that had none of the original bluing left. It also had a synthetic stock, which I didn’t recognize as these came stocked in wood. He told me that, years ago, he hunted a lot with Ed Matunas in this area for buffalo and on the last of these hunts, Ed turned to him saying he had grown too old to do this anymore. He handed his rifle – this rifle – to Gary as a thank you gift for their years of hunting together. Ed has since passed away. The reason for the synthetic stock was because it replaced the original that broke at the wrist when Gary fell down a rocky hillside on a hunt one day. I had many opportunities to gaze upon that rifle during our hunt and I always wished the rifle could talk. I’m sure it would tell a much better story than I can. In a way the rifle does talk, I’m sure, to anyone who read Ed’s stories over the years.

Fast forwarding to the next day, day five, upon driving to a great valley that was home to the confluence of the Matetsi and Munyati rivers, near the Unit 2 border, we could see dust about a mile distant. It looked like a large herd was heading for Unit 2 but just before heading into the unit they decided to head back in our direction. We set out to close the distance. After several miles, dictated by the changing wind directions, we came upon the herd of around 250, about 100 yards away and I saw a lone figure on a small hillside following the herd, trailing about 20 yards behind the last young cow. It was a leopard, a very big leopard. He followed for about 50 yards then broke off from the herd and leaped up to a rocky outcropping, disappearing over the top. This was the second large leopard we saw during this hunt, the first of which I managed to get a nice photograph a few days prior.

Continuing on, and cutting them off, we got close several times to the moving herd before finally being able to get within 50-75 yards of the middle of the herd and situated ourselves behind some bushes. There were only two areas where we could judge the animals as they slowly passed. One was an area approximately 10 feet wide between bushes ahead of us, the other through an opening of about 25 yards to our right. We watched through our binoculars for about 90 minutes during which time I saw several nice bulls I was willing to take but they didn’t give me the time nor were they situated properly. To our right I saw a bull which really caught my attention. I knew he was not the 40+ bull I dreamed of (let’s be honest… 50+ inches!) but he had a huge, heavy boss and his horns seemed to drop deeply. What really caught my attention, though, was the thickness of his horns. He was moving to my right and dipped his head to feed and I could hardly believe how thick and wide the middle of his horn was. He was surrounded by 20 or so other buffalo so getting a long look was not possible, let alone a shot. They slowly moved over the small hill where they were feeding as did the rest of the herd.

We ran a lot. We had to cut them off. The area was somewhat hilly with small ravines and hills ranging from 20 feet to 50 feet high. We caught up to them as they were drifting up a wide valley. We got closer. There was a bull in the rear that looked a lot like the one I was watching earlier; he was walking with two very large cows, one of which was keeping her eyes where we were concealed behind a small mopane. I can’t say for sure if this was indeed the bull I was so enamored with earlier but given his position in the herd, his size, and his horns, there is more than a very good chance he was. After asking if that was the bull I wanted, and using his range finder, Gary told me the bull was 186 yards away but there was no cover to use to get closer and that cow was already on alert. I told him I was not confident with such a long shot, that had I a bench rest I would not delay my decision but I needed to be closer for a reliable, ethical shot from the sticks. He was good with that. The herd moved, diagonally, across the far hillside and over the top.

We were running again.

When we crested the hill, the herd was spread out trailing each other in the small valley slightly below us. We did not use a range finder but I was sure the distance to the bull was about 100 yards. In all my practice with sticks at the range I reliably put three shots into a 2 – 4 inch group at 100 yards with the first shot fired within three seconds consisting of taking the safety off while mounting the rifle onto the sticks, finding the target in the scope, and firing. The bull, who was now in the rear of the herd, was walking slowly to my right with that big cow about 20 yards ahead of him. Up came the sticks and I automatically did as I had done hundreds of times in practice: I pushed the safety off as I mounted the rifle’s fore stock on top of the sticks. With the muzzle pointed in the general direction of the bull, the butt pad found my shoulder and my cheek found the comb and my finger lightly rested on the trigger as I settled in for a shot. The crosshairs with the red dot in the center quickly came to the spot as directed by Dr. Robertson in his book on shot placement. I can’t say for sure how long it took to accomplished all of this but I’m sure it was well within the three seconds I practiced. When the rifle went off, it sounded as if the shot came from somewhere else and I knew the shot was good. I saw the bull hunch forward, his front legs folding and almost collapsing, his nose hitting the dirt in front of him. His front legs unbuckled for a moment before he staggered forward while I worked the bolt for another shot. The distance he walked and the time it took were both very short, however. He stopped behind a 10 foot tall mopane (leaves at the top but not at the bottom) and, though I could not see any detail, I saw a black form that was in the process of falling down. Gary told me to put another into him – something I was already in the process of doing. I shot into the black mass behind the bush with no particular spot to aim for because of the bush. The mass was immediately transformed into a buffalo (Inyati, as they are called in this unit) bull lying on the ground. Then we heard the death bellow. All told, from the first shot to the death bellow, was 10 seconds. I know because I counted, no doubt a habit left over from all of my practice. After moving slightly to our left and forward a bit, Gary used his range finder and reported a distance of 99 yards. I must have fired at the bull from approximately 105 yards.

I immediately reloaded and we began our slight descent into the valley. When we had travelled about 50 yards, and were on level ground, I heard an agonizing but muffled scream. I looked behind us and Charity had fallen, her face a picture of twisted pain. She was being helped by one of the trackers and I had “black death” in front of me. I shifted my focus to the buffalo we were approaching from behind and called out, “Are you OK?” I faintly heard an affirmative reply.

Upon reaching the buffalo, we determined he was actually dead. Gary gave me an enthusiastic hand-shake saying, “Congratulations! You deserve it – you worked hard for him!” I looked back and saw Charity and the tracker limping toward us; she had twisted her right knee but seemed to be doing OK.

Upon closer inspection, I could see many fresh, deep scratches on the bull’s right legs, front and rear. Lions. He also had a lot of blood on his face. Because of the location of this blood, Gary and I reckoned the blood was not from him – he obviously gave as good as he got. My bullet had passed through the upper part of the heart and both lungs. For those who are curious about bullet performance, my first shot was recovered in the skinning shed from just under the hide on the far-side shoulder (arm pit). The 450 Branes TSX FB mushroomed out to 84 caliber and, after thorough cleaning, weighs 449.2 grains. No wonder Gary smiled when we first met him and he saw I was using Barnes bullets. My second shot had entered high in his back, just ahead of the second-to-last rib and traveled slightly forward but he was already in the process of collapsing when that second shot hit. I have not measured with a tape but we estimated his spread to be just over 37 inches across. The bosses are 12-13 each from front to rear; he was an old bull. Charity demonstrated to me their method of measuring: front to rear of both bosses and right and left outside curve measurements of the horns, all added together. I must remember to measure the horns when I receive them from the taxidermist. Charity said the buffalo would score rather high with that deep curl and that he weighed around 1,500 pounds.

Finding a bit of shade, Charity, Augustine, and I settled in to wait and philosophize while Gary and our other tracker, Roy, fetched the pickup, which was miles away. Our buffalo was about 20 feet away from our spot. Before I was able to talk with them about Charity’s family and Augustine’s close call with a lion attack, I had to first rid myself of a culmination of emotions and thoughts. No matter how hard I try, I cannot relay to you how I felt while looking at the buffalo I had for so long wanted. I must defer to your emotions kept deep inside each of you in order to express my feelings in such a way that you can understand. Each of us has feelings deep within us that are rarely, or not at all, shared. I can only say I didn’t feel anything was “over” or done with. I also didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, at least not to the degree I thought I would. That would come later. A few times I got up and moved to the buffalo to stroke his face and hold his heavy horns. Please don’t think me infirm, but I felt as if he was part of me and me of him.

Two things are worth mentioning; things I didn’t know. First, I must tell you about Augustine. He is a magnificent tracker, in his mid-50s and always smiling. Before dressing the animal Augustine tied a knot in the long hair of the bull’s tail. I was told that if you didn’t do this, the next buffalo you approach after shooting will kill you. Second, this same tracker, Augustine – I grew quite fond of him - approached me a day later with what appeared to be a roughly shaped arrowhead, about 2 ½ inches long, made from bone, light brown in color. This turned out to be what he called the Heart Stone. Apparently these animals have a calcium deposit in the area between the right and left ventricles of their hearts, the purpose of which is to keep that area from collapsing under the great pressures of their circulatory system.

I also planned on getting a zebra (Dube’ as they call them there. Since our trackers spoke different languages, zebra were also referred to as Tstilingomba – please don’t ask me to pronounce it!).

For those who think these animals are nothing but stripped horsies and all you have to do is shoot one from the road, you are very mistaken. They behave nothing like domestic horses and are very difficult to approach. The biggest problem I had was finding one whose hide was not scarred and ripped up by other zebras, locating them away from other plains game, and getting a clear shot. Most times the zebras we found were hanging around animals such as eland and impala – animals that spook very easily.

After a couple of days of hunting, during which time we stalked three different small herds without success, we found a herd of eland; the second such herd we found. I really wanted an eland so we glassed this herd for a while and saw a couple whose horns pushed three feet long but they were young bulls so we decided to let them go. While watching the eland, we spooked several zebra out from the eland herd and watched them run about a mile away before they stopped. There was a lot of brush for cover and the wind was right so we headed after them. After a careful stalk, we managed to get within a quarter of a mile of them where we glassed them extensively. There were several big mares but no stallions that we could see. Finally the herd moved off to our right and we saw one stud we liked. Again, carefully and quietly moving while keeping bushes between us and the zebra and watching the breeze, we got closer. The herd made a booger (got nervous) and moved off again and the process repeated itself. This time we were a lot closer but had not used the range finder to determine just how close we were. I admit that I am not the best at determining distance in Africa; there is something about it that foxes me though I am very good at it where I live in the mountains of Utah. Add to that my inadequate knowledge of the size of a zebra (I thought they were smaller than what I later discovered them to be), and estimating shot distance becomes very difficult.

The zebra I wanted was standing broadside to me, facing to my left, at what I reckoned to be about 100 yards. Up came the sticks and I rested my rifle at the right spot. The cross hairs settled on the heart area of the zebra and I pressed the trigger. I missed, the bullet obviously passing just under the forward part of the animal’s chest, startling him. The herd ran to my left, angling away from us and stopped, again with the zebra again facing to my left. I didn’t know the distance but knew it was farther than 100 yards so this time I put the cross hairs in the middle of his chest, above the armpit, and fired. I heard a resounding THUD and I knew the bullet had hit home. The herd stampeded again, vectoring to the right. After running about 30 yards, my zebra fell and lay still. The range finder, focused on the spot where he was standing when I shot him, revealed 242 yards. That’s a long way for a .458 Lott. No wonder I shot under him the first time. In my practice sessions with my rifle I found that, when zeroed at 100 yards, the shots printed 8 inches low at 200 yards.

He was a beautiful, old, unscarred zebra weighing an estimated 900 pounds. The bullet passed through the lower part of his heart – any lower and I would have merely wounded him through the meaty part of his chest. I don’t know if I would have fired having known the distance was so great.

We did not see any other eland on this trip. I was also open to harvesting a waterbuck or possibly a reed buck. We saw several waterbuck but none mature or large enough so we decided to concentrate on the reed buck.

We came within 25 yards of a nice reed buck a couple of times but both were lying in tall grass; all we could see was the top of their head and horns. On both occasions the bucks struck out like lightning, not offering a shot.

One afternoon, as we were hunting reed bucks, we decided to put the sneak on a herd of 7 or 8 that were grazing in a large grass field. We were watching them, about 100 yards distant, when one of the trackers excitedly pointed to the short grass about 25 yards to our left. We were not the only ones watching that herd. There, crouched on her belly and staring intently ahead at the herd, was a cheetah. This was the second cheetah we saw on this trip. They are off the menu (protected) in Zimbabwe but are classed as varmints across the Zambezi River in Zambia (about 30 miles away). I was amazed at how dedicated she was to her task at hand. Fully aware of our presence, she glanced in our direction a couple of times but mostly kept her eyes on the herd of reed buck grazing in her direction. Another 50-60 yards and they would be within her amazing burst of speed. I snapped several photos of her until the light faded and we moved on. I was so very glad we got to see her up close; Frankie was particularly happy.

Early the next morning Gary, the trackers, Charity, and I parked quite a distance away from the spot where we saw the herd the previous evening and began a stalk to the area. Upon cresting a small rise, Gary suddenly turned to me and asked if I was willing to take a hyena (called Impisi by our trackers; also called Kalchetete). It seems the cheetah made her kill sometime during the night and the hyena was either busy cleaning up or might have stolen the kill from the cheetah. From the look of things, it was most likely the latter.

Reed buck or hyena? Hmmm… I’ve seen lots of reed buck but never a spotted hyena… Let’s do it!

We rapidly stalked closer, a small stream between us and the marauder. Again, I didn’t know the distance but I knew it was pretty far. I later used my range finder and determined the distance when I fired to be 211 yards. The hyena was sitting, looking straight-on to us as the sticks went up and I pressed the trigger. The bullet traveled about a foot too wide, to the right, and a bit low, shattering the hyena’s left thigh. He did as grizzly bears do when shot: He growled and bit at the spot where the bullet had hit him, turning several circles as he did so. When I fired, the sticks fell down and hit the tracker in the head and he didn’t get them back up quickly. The hyena went into high gear, running to my left and angling away as I fired a couple more times, missing him. In only a couple of seconds he was zipping away through the jess.

It took a while for us to find a way across the water and when we did, we saw blood at the spot where I hit him. There was a drop or two every now and then as we began our tracking. This was about 8 a.m. The blood drops quickly became extremely sparse after only about 100 yards. My sprits lowered as I realized we were in for a long day.

They told me later that hyenas carry demons and spirits of witch doctors on their backs and this is why they are so tough and difficult to kill. Maybe. I can assure you that this was one tough animal. I don’t know how many miles we tracked him through tall grass, short grass, brush, rock, mud, and every other thing in Zimbabwe. At times the blood disappeared and my hopes almost vanished as well. During these times the trackers followed the footprints while I stood at the last spot where blood was found, as they could tell by the dragging rear foot which was the hyena’s among the hundreds of spoor left by other animals. When there was blood, there was not a lot of it. I am typing this using #12 font. If I type an “o” and cut it in half, that is the size of the blood at times that the trackers were finding about 20 yards apart, sometimes on the underside of tall grass. They were incredible.

Everyone continued to tire as the hours wore on, Charity especially. I felt horrible for wounding this animal and wanted to finish this as soon as possible. Somewhere around 1:00 in the afternoon, we jumped him. He was a flash as he jumped through the brush, not offering any kind of a shot. We kept at it.

3:00 in the afternoon and we had not yet found him. We decided that, since it was getting late, we would send one of the trackers to get the pickup and meet us at a rendezvous point. That left us in the very capable hands of Augustine.

As we were carefully creeping through a water-filled ravine, I heard sound over a small hill to my right. I couldn’t reckon it out so I crept up and peered through the bushes. Poachers – again (the second time of this trip). Two of them; they were fishing. I backed up and whispered to Gary and Charity who immediately worked the bolt of her AK-47, chambering a round. Unlike our encounter with a poacher a few days earlier, she had to let these guys go as we were searching for the hyena.

We proceeded up another ravine, filled with green, tall grass and at 4:00 we lost the track. All blood ceased and prints were non-existent. Augustine felt nearly as bad as I. Charity, Gary, and I hiked up the side of the ravine, about 10 yards, to a log and sat down as Gary sent Augustine on a wide circle of the area to see if he could locate any sign of the hyena. The plan was to wait for him there and when he returned, if he could not find any spoor, we were to call it a day and head out for the rendezvous point. Augustine was gone a little over an hour when he returned. Charity, Gary, and I stood up, talked to him about calling it quits when he said he wanted to – one more time – go back to the bottom of the ravine where he last saw blood and search again. We stood there as he went into the tall green grass. Suddenly he burst out a half scream, half yell, saying, “Ahhhhhhh!!! SHOOT! Kill it! Kill it!” We could also hear several loud, deep growls. Augustine had almost stepped on the hyena, which had been hiding there in the grass not 10 yards from us for more than an hour but now Augustine was scrambling through the grass, as fast as he could, toward us! The hyena raced up the opposite side of the ravine and I shot, hitting him in the ribs. Gary fired too, but probably missed. I fired again, hitting him in the neck. I fired again, hitting him in the back end. All told, several shots hit him and he finally went down but was still trying to get up. At about 10 feet distance, I put the last shot between his shoulder blades and through his heart.

As I write this, I’m not proud of what happened and how it ended up but at least it was over. Even though this is so difficult to write, I feel I must. The immense respect I have for this animal, I believe, requires me to pass this along to others to perhaps help prevent a wounding or, if one occurs, to offer encouragement to never give up until that animal is out of misery. I’ll not say anything else about the initial wound but he should not have lived that long and traveled that far after that first shot. Maybe black magic really travels with hyenas. Once that trigger sear disengages, you can never call that shot back. Life is full of “should-haves” and “would-haves” so I’ll just say this: If I had known the hyena was that far away, I would have declined the shot. As it was, my shot was only six to eight inches to the right but that was enough to cause nine hours of regret, frustration, and a lot of tracking. Always use a range finder!

I helped Augustine skin the animal. I vowed to never wound another animal as I marveled at how tough this hyena was. Gary wisely took up a spot about 75 yards distant where the smell wasn’t so bad. I quickly understood his aversion to the effluvium. This hyena was very old, his canine teeth having worn over 1/3 away so that there was no point to them, just a flat end to the teeth. After skinning the hyena, Augustine stripped bark off of a nearby bush to tie the rolled-up hide into a bundle for carrying. Gary walked about 30 yards ahead of us all the way out, no doubt to avoid the redolence of the hyena hide. The pickup was still about a mile away and it was getting late.

Just before we reached the dirt road where Roy would meet us a herd of six water buck stood before us, about 25 yards ahead. I really wanted a water buck and one of the bulls had horns well over 30 inches. However, I decided we all had enough of a day and I didn’t shoot.

We walked out onto the road and placed the hyena hide bundle in the grass, along with the sticks. In just a few minutes Roy came along, driving the pickup. He stopped about 20 feet from us and Gary told him, in Roy’s language, that we tracked all day but never did catch up to the hyena. Roy’s sadness was obvious as that beautiful smile disappeared from his face. Then, after making sure Augustine got something to drink and to eat, Gary told Roy to please collect the sticks and put them in the bed of the pickup so we could leave. Roy approached the sticks, did a double-take when he saw the hyena hide all rolled up, and immediately began laughing and yelling with joy. I didn’t need to be able to speak his language to be pretty sure at some of the things he was saying! Gary was laughing too, as were all of us. Gary ran up to Roy and they hugged each other for a long time, laughing and yelling. It was priceless. Gary’s concern for Augustine was as touching as it was admirable.

Because I had no camera with me during the hyena hunt, we took photos in the skinning shed when we returned to the lodges. By then it was dark. I handed my camera to Gary then assembled the trackers and a skinner for a photograph. A young skinner placed his ball cap on the hyena’s head. He laughed hard and so did the rest of them until I, very loudly and firmly, told them, “Take the hat off!” The skinner looked at me as if he was wondering why I would say that and I repeated, more quietly this time, “Take the hat off the hyena. This animal is to be respected.”

They got the message.

If you have read this far, I thank you from deep in my heart. Some of the things I wrote about are akin to what you might have experienced. I learn new things every day and I hope you have learned from my recalling this hunt. The lessons I learned on this trip are as follows:

There is no substitute for practice with your rifle and ammunition. By that I insist on meaningful practice. I am more than happy to discuss how I practiced and how I developed my loads for this hunt, if anyone should ask.

Next, using a range finder is a must when using a rifle with a rainbow trajectory. Guessing distances is tricky, especially in Africa and while hunting animals strange and new to you. Along with that, and to revisit practicing, you must know your bullet trajectory at all ranges at which you might fire.

Last, never give up. This not only applies to tracking a wounded animal but also to stalking and hunting in general. You must earn your trophy. These animals have millions of years of evolution in their genes and they are built for survival in their environment, from each other, and hunters (four and two legged). I’ve read that everything in Africa, be it animal or plant, bites, scratches, claws, pokes, or stings. I find this is true.

Of course, in the interest of time, there are a lot of things I did not write about; things such as the morning Frankie and I watched an eagle catch a francolin for his breakfast; the wildcats of different species we saw; the two elephants swimming across the Zambezi; the hippos fighting at the edge of the same river; the various jackals; etc. As I wrote, my only regret is that we didn’t see, and photograph, any lions. We did, however see two leopards and two cheetahs and got photos of them.

We cut the hunt short and decided to stay near Victoria Falls at a place named The Gorges Lodge. After visiting the falls one evening, we came back to the lodge just after nightfall and many folks were gathered around singing a welcome song intended for the guests at the lodge:

“La La La La
Welcome to Zimbabwe,
La La La La
Here is your cheese sandwich!”

At least that’s what I heard.

Each time I leave Africa my sadness is amplified with thoughts of never returning. That day in late August was no exception. Frankie was busy saying good-bye to Fiona (one of the owners of the concession) and to Charity. I walked back to our room (lodge) to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind. As I walked out toward the Gary’s idling pickup, I felt something bite my left trouser leg, just above my knee. It was my wife’s new boyfriend, Zeus the dog. I patted him on his head, telling him good-bye. When I had resumed walking, about 10 feet later, I felt his teeth very carefully close on my left hand. When I stopped and looked down at him beside me, he tugged me back toward the lodge. He was obviously trying to keep me from leaving.

My heart and soul feels tugs like this each time I think about Africa and our experiences there.

VR,

Michael S. Jackson,
Utah, USA

Great write up! Congratulations.

Thank you for sharing such a well-written, exciting story that shows your respect and appreciation for all the wonderful “other” things and events and people and wildlife on safari. Thank you for your conservation work.

Very will written report. I appreciated the details of your preparations and your dedication to enhance your shooting skills.

I also use the Barnes 450 TSX and have experienced similar performance on buffalo.

Congratulations on a memorable safari. Mark and Sadie do a great job.

Great report

Thanks for the write up.

Mark,

Thanks for sharing Mike's hunt report with us. It is a great read.

Outstanding report Mike, thank you for posting it.

I was in Unit 1 in June. I miss it.

Did Abe make you Congo pie one night? Highlight of the trip (just about) if he did!!!

Congratulations sir! A proper buffalo hunt. I appreciate you taking the time to share.

Ski+3
Whitefish, MT

Great report . You are to be commended on your prep work for this hunt it paid off on the Buff. We all have made problem shots even with extensive work up. I find that developing a load and practicing with enriches the hunt.

Mike:
Enjoyed the read.
Nice to see others feel as I do
about leaving wounded animals to
die later. Very good to hear you
"hunted that ugly stinking carrion
eater down". Bloody mess it looks like.
You'll cherish that hide.

Mark, thanks for posting this for him.

George

Thanks, all, for the replies! I know my story was long but I probably won't get to do anything like this again.
Jeff P: Congo pie? No, Abe didn't have them serve such a pie but I'd like to know what it is (unless it involves body aprts I'd really rather not eat). Fiona was going to have them prepare tripe from my buffalo, which I was looking forward to, but they didn't get to it.
I also didn't eat the bugs in Victoria Falls but would have; just didn't get around to it.
Yesterday we got a post and photos from Fiona that there were 5 lionesses and other predators near their house at the water hole. The dogs are "in lockdown."

mj

about the fourth night we were there Abe made "congo pie"....he gave us the recipe to take home. It's this weird mix of caramel and whipped cream and crust and it's simply the best thing I have ever eaten for dessert. Last week I got this random text from my 16 year old daughter who was along "I want congo pie tonight"

Mike,

Thanks for letting MEA assist. It's almost as good as being there.

Jeff,

I'm going to tell all my future Unit 1 clients to ask for Congo Pie.

Mark

We've made it at home, but it's not as good as it was over there.

Like many things, I suppose. For some reason a snifter of Amarula or a cold pilsner doesn't taste the same either....must be something to do with the smoke around the fire, right? I don't drink regular Coke in the states....but out of the lunchbox, it's divine, isn't it?

Jeff,

On safari I can drink a beer if we are in camp for lunch and feel no ill effect. here if I drink anything alcoholic at lunch all I want to do is take a nap. AND I absolutely agree on the coke. Don't drink it here hardly ever but after a few hours in the bush...............DELISH!

Mark

My memory has returned. We did have congo pie. Very, very good! I wouldn't mind having the recipe for that. We also had a stew the Fiona cooked up. Much like beef stew but with beans. I asked for the recipe but you know how it goes when you find yourself on the long flight home without everything you planned.
By the way, in my story, when Gary made Augustine drink something after the long day with the hyena, it was Coke!
Take care - mj

Very well written to include the successes and shortcomings all hunters experience. We hunted with Gary Hopkins when the Ed Matunas rifle was shiny new and safely stowed in a soft case. Gary was a very good hunter but we lost contact with him over the years.

Thanks. Gary is a good guy and I heartily recommend him. His rifle is no longer shiny and new! But then, no longer am I... mj