Day 6

Up a little later today after the big day yesterday. The croc is still sitting out where we took pictures last night and is headed to the skinning shed. Hippo’s serenaded us last night from across the river, lots of groans and bellows. Had hippo’s in the camp during the night, but they quietly eat the grass then run for cover when spooked. Saw where they had been eating, but no sign of them now. Good breakfast and out to hunt.

Each of the camps had a vegetable garden to supplement the food they had in storage. They were growing tomatoes, lettuce, broccoli, and other stuff. The guys that worked at the camps seem to enjoy the gardening and asked that I shoot any monkeys or baboons I see as they thieve the gardens relentlessly. No problem here – my kind of assignment.

This day, we decide to hunt bushbuck and sable as do Conor/Maurius and Sean/Ben. Sean and Ben spend the day after bushbuck in the dense areas along the Zambezi. Lauren goes with them and has a good time. No bushbuck, but saw lots of birds, monkeys and hippos. Conor and Ben are on a mission for sable and vow to return successful. Dean and I go for sable in a different area with an extra eye out for bushbuck.

You hunt bushbuck late and early in the day and sometimes at noon – always in dense, jungley areas. The bushbuck here are the Chobe variety, almost a caramel color with stripes. We have a pass through the thick stuff in the morning, see tracks and hear one barking (they bark like a dog), but never see one. We switch to sable and spend all day tramping up and down hills near springs hoping to see tracks. We do bump one group, four females and one young male. While on the tracks, we bump some impala, a duiker (too quick to see if male or female), and a wildcat (something not seen in the daylight as a rule).

Late in the day, we went to the river to stalk bushbuck on foot, to see what luck we would have. Unknown to me, this meant wading some of the stream channels along the river to get to cut out islands to set up and wait in small clearings. Ok, crocs like the river, they live on the islands, Sean shot one very big one and I cannot see the bottom I am wading. Is this a good idea, I ask? No problem, we splash a little and scare them off. I say, ok are you sure? No problem is the reply. Off go the shoes and socks and we jump in up to our knees and thighs. I hope crocs don’t know I am related to a croc killer. Anyway, we ford the stream ok and press on. At the first clearing we see Mommy Waterbuck and Junior who do a 180 in mid-air to get away. We press on, but no bushbuck. We see tons of new birds and I am trying to mentally draw pictures to later look them up in my book.

We start the hike off the island see Mommy Waterbuck with Junior again, then suddenly a few sisters show up as well as, you guessed it, Granddad Waterbuck, with me still thinking we just jumped the same two again. Dean says shoot about the time Granddad jumps in the bushes and I fumble my rifle. Oh well. Sean was hunting waterbuck anyway. We ford the stream again, in the near darkness. Bongoni and Clemons do not like the water and almost walk on it to get across. The Game Scout is clueless. He can’t swim, doesn’t like crocs and doesn’t like the dark. He is glad to see the truck. We pick out way through dense underbrush to get out, especially hard in the dark.

At the truck, we start back to camp and bump a bushbuck in the road, a youngster but fun to see. The day was the hottest yet, at least 90 degrees. On the way to camp and during our before dinner drink time, Dean mentioned that this area was home to the last of the truly “wild people†in this part of Africa.

Here Starts Digression Number 2 for the truly interested

This area and just west of us is an area where the “ostrich foot people†live. These are people that are very isolated and have inbred to the point where their feet are deformed to leave tracks like and ostrich. I had read about these people in one of the many safari books I have read (I am over 20 books now) to get ready for this trip. In the book, some hunters in the first half of the 1900’s ventured to the Zambezi River Valley in search of big tuskers (local name for elephants). These first hunters heard about the wild ostrich footed people that live in the hills from the locals who live along the river. Seems the river folks thought the ostrich foot people were savages, crazy and did weird things. To me, this was like the pot calling the kettle black, as I have heard of and seen a few things that would lead me to believe the river people were a bit wild, crazy and savage. More on that later via a story from Dean.

These early hunters captured on of the ostrich footed people that was stealing items at night out of their camp. The feet were described has having 2 big, splayed toes and an elongated heel. The hunters said the wild man was truly wild, dressed in nothing and was not very verbal. He was attracted to knives and small implements. Anyway, the hunters kept him for a couple of days, used him to scout for elephants and other animals, then let him go. I passed this story off as one of those things you read a safari book that the author has made up or heard about 3rd hand – I never thought the story was true until Dean mentioned the “wild peopleâ€.

Seems there is one living descendent of the ostrich foot people, a young girl living down near the river and not a wild person anymore. The deformity is noticed but she is accepted as part of the local area. Stories of “wild people†are wild to you and me, but perfectly normal to the local folks.

Dean says that there are a couple of groups of wild people that do not live in villages, farm or tend flocks that live in this area. He said they live off the scrawny squirrels they catch with snares and wild honey. Several times on our stalks we saw make-shift ladders constructed of tree branches tied up with strips of bark. These were leaning against a tree and there was usually a burned out fire at the base of the tree. When these people follow a bee-eater or find a bee hive in a hollow tree, the make a ladder, build a fire, smoke out the bees and steal the honey. We came across where someone had chopped down a big tree to get at the honey as well. Dean said he sees these people sometimes, that they are naked except for a skin or old cloth around the waist, barefooted and bedraggled looking. He has recently seen a family of four that he came across – they ran for the hills when they saw him. He said they don’t poach, just live off the land.

These guys are tougher than me. I could no more live off the land by my wits than they could drill an oil well. They are resourceful and resource-less all at the same time. I can imagine that Adam and Eve had better tools and living conditions than these wild people. Dean said the government and the locals leave them alone as they don’t do well in the villages. Apparently, someone tried to “civilize†them at one time without success.

We came across several mud huts under construction while hunting bushbuck. In summary, the local folks make a type of brick out of the local soil/sand/straw, fire the brick and stack them in a circle or square to make about a 12’ x12’ house. They use poles covered with thatch for a roof. They cook outside in an open fire or an enclose bee-hive looking oven to make lunch. Utensils are stored on a raised platform, outside, and out of the reach of dogs and other varmints. They seem to use a couple of pots, a spoon or two and other various shaped bowls and kettles. Meat is usually dried and hanging somewhere, same for fish. Nearly every group of huts and hut-owners had a patch of milo or corn nearby. Dean said the elephants and buff wreaked havoc on the locals food supply and hence there is a ready supply of PAC elephant or buff permits. PAC means “problem animal control†with these elephants given a death sentence. Any means to hunt this is ok – at night, by spotlight, during the day, whatever. If news of this ever spread to Louisiana, that would be the end of the elephant. Cajuns like to hunt, but only at night or when the season is closed. Anyway, Dean has been on many PAC hunts and the service is much needed to allow the locals to have food and yet live in peace with the wildlife.

The wildlife in Africa must pay its own way – meaning that if the animals don’t bring in money or provide for the needs of the locals in a tangible way – they are gone. For instance, if buff are eating the local’s crops and no one is hunting the buff, the locals will declare war on the buff. Sooner or later, the buff are gone. If hunting is allowed, the locals share in the meat and the money/jobs generated by hunting, the buff stays. If the buff gets into the crops, he gets shot or harassed. They learn to avoid the crops. Elephant are different. Once hooked on easy crops, they rarely leave unless shot or heavily pressured out – so the locals call for help from the hunting community when they see a months worth of food eaten up in one night. The PAC elephant gets shot, the locals get a large supply of meat, the hunter gets the hunt and maybe tusks, the economy gets permit and trophy fees – everyone wins – including the elephants that are not in the crops at night. It is like a Ronald Reagan trickle down economics theory – more business is better than high taxes as more business means more tax dollars. More elephants mean more business and more money. If the PAC animals are not managed, then the locals take out the cash crop.

Back to the Story on Day 6

Diane and Lauren floated the river after lunch and saw a lot of hippos, a few elephants and crocs along with villages along the river. The wind blows on the river and it is cooler there versus the oven we were in all day hunting. Lo took a lot of pictures with her new digital camera. They were much impressed with hippos, the wiggly ears and the snorting.

An observation on the hunting method used by PH’s. When tracking, the tracker leads following the tracks wherever they go. It is amazing what they see and what they infer about the animal being tracked. They sort out herds, individuals, old and young, male and female as we go. We made at least 50 stalks on this trip and not one time did they goof up or go wrong. We lost one set of tracks for about an hour, then found it again. Second in line is the game spotter. This guy is looking up while the tracker is looking down. The spotter is usually a very good tracker as well, but has incredibly keen eyesight and the ability to see what we mere mortals cannot. Many times, Bongoni would whistle and point at something. I would look, not see it, put up the bino’s and strain for a minute or two to see a tiny piece of an animal. He was never wrong when he pointed. I gave up trying to spot things, he was too good. Next in line is the PH, he is watching the tracker, the tracks and the spotter. They work as team with very few words and few hand signs. Many times, Dean would start off in one direction with the tracker, then Bongoni goes somewhere else out of sight, and about a mile ahead he rejoins us. Where did he go? I never figured that out. Anyway, whenever the spotter looked hard at something, I did too. The PH makes the decision on which way to go, what to follow and how far to follow. The tracker will track all day and all night if you let him. Much like my Labrador retriever will chase a ball all day, until he drops. The same with the trackers. The PH makes the call on when to keep going and when to stop.

Fourth in line is the guy funding the operation, the hunter. He dutifully follows the PH, the tracker and spotter. As I quickly learned, I was necessary baggage only. They did not need me to shoot, spot, track, or wipe butts. I was there at their pleasure. They could hunt better without me as I slowed them down, did not shoot quick enough and asked too many ignorant questions. However, seems as I had the green money, they were willing to tolerate my lack of usefulness. I also learned to stay in the back all the time except to shoot. These guys would put me on the animals; all I needed to do was be patient to let them get me there.

Last in line was the government game scout. He was an enigma to me. He served no purpose other than to be sure I did not shoot and not retrieve the animal or that I shot the right animal. He carried an AK47 and but I do not know if he had bullets. I never saw any. Sometimes they helped with loading out the animal or cutting a road to the carcass. Sometimes they spotted game. Most of the time, they kept to themselves and stayed out of the way. They were not needed, but caused me no grief. I have no opinion on them other than I expect I was paying his salary somehow.

Now, all of this changes when game is spotted. The PH moves to the front followed by the hunter/shooter with the tracker and spotter falling in behind. The game scout never gets out of last place. When a shot is to be taken, the tracker or spotter, sets the shooting sticks for the shooter, backs up and lets the PH call the shot. When the sticks go up, it is time to shoot. The PH steps to the side, coaches the shooter and plugs his ears. Hopefully the shot is true and all ends well. At least on paper, that is.

Conor and Maurius drifted into camp at dark without a sable, again. This is beginning to frustrate Con but he will persevere as Maurius is a lot of fun and will sooner or later find one. They had killed a warthog late in the day, first one on this safari and one of our prime targets. For the area, this was a dandy – had large tusks and was in good shape. Con said they bumped into it while tracking sable and that they got to about 20 steps before shooting. Con shot it but it took off, as they usually do, and made a great running/crossing shot at 30 steps in the shoulder putting the pig in the dirt for good. He was upbeat about the shot and pleased with the result. Dean said the pig was good for the area and that we not likely find better but that we had a good chance for big tusker at Lemco when we go there.

Sean and Ben come in, irritated that the bushbuck they hear cannot be seen. No bushbuck after a lot of walking, listening and hoping to see tracks. Both are quiet and tired. Ben has a look of – “bushbuck are everywhere here, what is the deal?â€.

During the mid-afternoon, Diane (who was them today) spots baboons crossing a sand river about the same time as Sean and Ben. She points them out to the Ben and Sean. Why not take a shot? The baboon did the usual “thumb your nose at the big guy†routine and Sean put a Triple Shock up his blue fanny. Not quite dead, another shot or so finished the issue. True to Murphy form, Sean “put the hurt†on a prime male baboon This is the first baboon we have taken with fangs and teeth. This guy needed no one to chew his food. He was the bull of the woods, note I say “was†the bull of the woods. Off with his head and into the truck.

Ross & Sons -4 Baboons – 2 (no mercy, this is a rout!)

A beer for Ben and two Cokes for Sean. The glow of the croc from yesterday is still on Sean.

At dinner, we all talked about what we liked the best so far – Con had heard several stories about elephant hunting and the stalking. He has decide that he wants to do that someday – maybe after he graduates from Harvard, if he gets in. Sean liked the croc, no wonder after his success on it. He is not the hunter his brother is, but has fun. I think he likes to fish too much and play on the computer. Me, I want to try leopard someday. Looks fun, not as tough as lion or elephant and requires some thinking and scheming. It helps that Di would like a leopard rug in the house.

The PH’s all like variety. Dean likes elephant but not every hunt. Ben likes everything equally and Maurius likes buffalo. Hard to get these guys to commit as they do it everyday. All agree on the challenge of hunting elephant in this terrain. Tough tracking, miles of walking and tough getting close. They like the hunting part, but not the killing part. A dead elephant is a big pile of gray death. When the elephant hits the dust, the PH’s feel sorry for the elegant foe. I think I would try paint balling the elephant, so I don’t have to kill him.

We have frogs in our tent/huts rather than bats as at Pedza. The green tree frogs are inactive due to the dry season and all sit, lined up on the back of the bathroom doors. They just sit nose to rear end on a ledge oblivious to us humans on the stool.

P.S. – A radio message from the lion hunters. No luck and no sighting yet. They set up an artificial water hole, a barrel in the ground full of water, near a bait. The lions went to the old bait and ignored the water hole bait. Go figure. I am glad I am not a lion hunter.

Day 7

Hump day, mid point in the safari mentally for me. We have had limited success on everything except buff and croc. We have not seen much plains game, the bushbuck are not being seen and we (mainly me) are beginning to wear out again. Tired of the early mornings, tired of not seeing sable or bushbuck, tired of the grind. What a pansy I am. You would think that I was tough enough to do this day in and day out – this was supposed to be fun, this was supposed to be a lifelong dream – maybe a bad dream that is. Anyway, my attitude is drooping, the boys are slightly bummed out and the girls are happy to be here. That is par for the course. Today, we decide to hunt half a day, then cruise the river in the afternoon – going to Mozambique and Zambia illegally, just to say we have been there, then to see a local village up close. At least that is the plan. Conor and I hope to find sable today as we have hunted hard and know for sure where they do not live.

Dean and I are out early trying for a spring about 20 miles from camp, an 18 mile drive, then a two mile walk over the hills and through the dale. We start on a ridge about 1 ½ miles from the spring and glass the entire valley. We see our first zebras grazing on the hillside. I can barely see them with the 7x30 bino’s while Bongoni sees them and counts them with his eyes. Amazing. We finally see some action at the spring, impala and baboons meandering around. We watch them hoping for sable, but not luck. We are seeing sable tracks, fresh ones on the hill we are glassing from. After an hour, we hike toward the spring following the tracks. Neither hide nor hair of sable yet, but lots of tracks. We circle the spring and head up the next ridge.

We bump into Conor and Maurius and make a plan to check out several areas but all agree that this is where the sable have been lately. It seems sable like certain places and stay in a given area until pushed out. Dean says that there have been no sable killed in this area this year. So, we should see some soon.

We head over the next ridge and start tracking up a long valley toward a spring when Bongoni (it is always Bongoni) whistles and points – 400 yards up ahead on the side of hill is a sable cow, barely in view. We stop, they have not seen us and we glass looking for the bull. A calf walks out along with another cow. One dark shape is in the mopane brush which Dean says is a bull. Not sure if it a good one or not. We watch and he steps out, nice bull, mature, thick horns but not too long. Deans says to move ahead and get a closer look. Apparently sable have great eyesight but the nose on them is not like a buff nose. We keep the wind at our face but get out of sight to make the approach.

We keep a line a trees between us and the sable and come to a gap in the trees about 150 yards across the valley from them. They are feeding slowly and unconcerned. The bull is in the trees but his buddies are in the open. Dean sets the sticks, I put my rifle up and we wait for the bull to step out, broadside in the clear. We wait at least an hour, more like 5 minutes, but seems longer. All the time the conversations go like this –

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean- “It is a bull, not bad.â€

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “No bad, a shooter maybe.â€

Me – “What do you think?’

Dean – “Definitely a shooter, should go about 37†or so. You interested?â€

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “He looks heavy and old; he is a shooter, no world record but an above average bull.â€

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “Hold on his shoulder, he is bigger than a baboon, should be easier to hit.â€

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “Lean against that tree, brace the sticks, can you see him clearly? I got him at 150 meters or soâ€.

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “Shoot when he steps out and is broadside. Aim for the shoulder about half way or up or less, the bullet will drop a few inches.â€

Me – “What do you think?â€

Dean – “Shoooooot when ready.â€

Me – Squeeze and doof! The uninjured parties scatter in all directions. The sable lurches up at the shot on his rear legs and noses over straight down the hill on his knees with back legs working to run. We see him drop. Clemons and Bongoni walk up all smiles telling me that he is down and dead. Ben is smiling and I am smiling. No furious scramble to shoot more times as on the buff, just one shot, seemingly on target and down he went.

We approach the fallen old man and he gets up on his back legs trying to go forward, down the hill he goes half tumbling half bear crawling. I shoot again at the spine and hit it between the shoulders from about 15 steps. He lurches forward and I follow the Murphy Shooting Rule – keep shooting until it quits moving, no matter the circumstances. I shoot again into the shoulder and the heart. He is finished.



His trip down the hill on his knees damaged the cape and the face, but not too bad. He is an old, old sable, with very heavy horns and broomed tips. He carried a number of scars on his sides and face as well. Dean guessed that he was due to move on. His teeth were worn and he was pot bellied. The shots all were killing shots. The first shot broke both shoulders and penetrated the lungs. It hit where I aimed (surprise surprise!!). He was goner if we had not approached when we did. The spine shot hit the spine and paralyzed the rear legs. The shoulder shot hit the heart and what was left of the lungs.

Lots of pictures and handshakes, then the real work began. We were about 800 yards from where we move the Landcruiser. Dean decided to cut him in half and carry out the halves. The back end was easy and carried by 2 guys using a pole. The front was heavy, at least 200 – 300 lbs. We cut a pole and took turns carrying it. Bongoni got the heavy end and did a Samson-like move to carry it. We had to go down into a sand river and up a steep bank. We made it but were bushed when we got to the truck. Cokes and water for the survivors!!

Great hunt and great stalk on sable. I am enthralled with sable and want to hunt these again. They displaced the buff in the number one spot for me.

We went in to camp to meet up with everyone to make the river trip. Conor and Maurius struck out again but saw a lot of fresh tracks. Naturally, they were jealous of our “easy†success as they have been at this for several days and lot more miles than we were. They had a story to tell about running into a group of poachers. They had picked up snares everyday in this area but had not seen poachers. Today, they bumped a group of three carrying spears that quickly ran into the bush. The game scout came to life at this point as this is one of his jobs – shoot at or shoot poachers. The game scout and Maurius/Conor split up to try and catch them by “cutting them off a the passâ€, around the corner of the hill they were circling. The poachers disappeared but another one appeared a few hundred yards way heading up the side of a hill with his dog and carrying his shoes. Seems the poachers use dogs to chase the animals into snares or to follow wounded animals. The safari companies give rewards to shot dogs and captured poachers.

The game scout fired at the dog with no effect and Maurius carefully squeezed off a .375 H&H solid just in front of the poacher. This caused the desired reaction as the poacher dropped is shoes, and went into hyper-drive to climb through the rocks and thorns as fast as he could. Conor says the guy ran at least a 4.4 second 40 yard dash getting over the hill.

This all kind of put the picture together that poaching is a big problem. On the edges of the Dande concession, there are villages. Anywhere near the edges of the concession, there was very little if any game – mostly poached out. Two ways to cure this – hire the poachers to help in the safari business, shoot the poachers. Our guys said the best way is to hire them to help police the area and to work for the safari companies. Due to the drought and the deteriorating economic conditions in Zimbabwe, poaching is what sustains some of the locals. All the more reason to not turn away completely from Zimbabwe as a hunting destination.

I was worried about Conor being in this situation but Maurius handled it well and all of our guys had guns. I just hope the poachers don’t or are as poor of shots as the local boys seem to be. The PH’s never admitted to actually shooting poachers but told several stories about tracking them to their villages or camps, and hauling them to the local jail. Bush meat and especially sable meat is in high demand. These guys make a significant amount of money if they can get the meat to a market. Even in the bush, the law of supply and demand is in effect. The government does not ignore poaching as they realize that the animals draw the hunters and the hunters bring hard currency. I believe, based on what I saw and heard that the Mugabe regime at least understands the role hunters play in his economy.

Once back to camp, Dean took us on a speed boat ride to Mozambique (downriver from the camp) then to Zambia. We jumped off the boat in Mozambique, took a picture and jumped back on. We saw several other camps and villages all along the river. There was one very nice looking hotel that was shut down due to lack of customers. This was on the Mozambique-Zimbabwe border.

We then ran upriver to Zambia, across from the camp and put out at a village where the PH’s occasionally buy fish from the locals. We had a little excitement here. We put ashore and scrambled up the steep shore slope to a group of huts and kids. Di was in the front of the boat and the first ashore. Dean came off last. While were talking to the locals, a family of a wife and about 7 little kids, Sean noticed the boat drifting out into the current. Thinking the boat was tied off, Dean and I watched for second then realized it wasn’t. Dean jumped in, over his head to grab the rope and I scrambled to pull him out of the water before the crocs heard we were in the area. We came within a few seconds of seeing the boat float down the river and us in Zambia. Dean’s quick jump forestalled a diplomatic disaster. The locals got a big laugh out of this as we looked like fools.

They use a type of dugout canoe that looks brutal to move through the water. They fish and gather up whatever to eat along the river. We saw one guy paddling against the current and noticed he had huge muscles rippling off his back. He almost looked hunch backed due to the muscles. He was an amazing physical specimen.

We got an up close look at the local huts. These were temporary as they lived right on the river bank. When the river floods or when the wet season arrives, this is all underwater. We saw several groups of huts on the river bank that we made entirely of reeds or whatever. Again, all temporary due to the wet season. The huts were extremely basic – one small room of about 10’ x 10’, one rope bed for 5 to 8 people. They had a few chickens and a small chicken house to protect the birds at night, a bee-hive type oven and a few utensils on the raised platform. No Nintendo, no TV’s, no nothing but the clothes on their backs and a couple of pots. The kids were small, friendly and curious. They did not speak the same language as the folks in Zimbabwe, so we never did get much conversation. I was amazed that the kids played so close to the river with crocs. The camp boss’s sister in our current camp was eaten by a croc two years ago. Many people are eaten every year according to the PH’s, yet the people live right down on the water. That is like letting your kids play on the interstate, sooner or later you will get whacked.

As we motored up river, we saw hippos, we saw fish eagles, and we saw beautiful colors on the rocky hillsides that were on both sides of the river. If was truly a beautiful place – a deadly kind of beauty as the crocs were there as well. In the river itself are Tigerfish, a striped bass size fish with very big, sharp teeth. We saw a mounted specimen and pictures. I hope to have time to fish for these. To catch them, you use fresh, bloody meat on a hook and drift fish for them. Sounds like piranhas to me, but the PH’s said they are fighters and fun to catch. There are some large catfish and large bream in the river as well. The bream go to 10 lbs and the cats go to 150 lbs. I was impressed.



We caught up with Ben and Maurius on the party barge, tied up and drifted back down the river. They brought adult beverages and soft drinks. We saw elephants, impala, kudu and baboons along the river. The baboons were nonchalant as they must have realized I left my rifle in camp. We laughed about the day, retold the sable story, laughed at Dean’s swim for the boat, enjoyed the colors of the sunset and the easy of pace as we drifted back toward the camp.

After drying out a little, we headed back up stream. We saw a Western Banded Snake Eagle carrying a green snake. Dean said that this was one of the rarest birds to be seen in Zimbabwe and that he not seen very many. We also flushed a Pel’s Fish Owl off his roost. I did not see it, but Dean did and made the ID. Again, this is a rare sighting and Dean was proud.

At dinner, I quizzed the PH’s about the different concessions and what the hunting was like in other areas in Zimbabwe. They each hunt in several well known places – Chirisa, Omay, Chete, Lemco, Huange, Victoria Falls Area, Matetsi. Each has its strong and weak points. In summary, they said the Dande is the best for seeing large numbers of buffalo and a good place for cats and elephant. Chirisa was very rough but good buff as well as elephant. Omay was not strong and they did not advise hunting there. In the past it was a good place, but has been over hunted and poached. Chete was a good place but not as good as Dande for buff or Chirisa for elephant and leopard. They said Lemco was great for plains game due to the way it is managed. Huange National Park is not good now due to poaching and over hunting. They said the areas varied from year to year on quality and quantity of game. The best to learn about the areas and is to talk to the PH’s themselves at the shows in the winter. In general, the said that PH’s will tell you the straight story on the areas and not over sell the quality of the hunt. They warned that the salesmen and sometimes dishonest agents will paint too good of a picture of the areas to sell the hunt and get the commission. Among Zimbabwe PH’s, they have an unwritten honor system about misleading hunters. They just don’t do it, they said.

Later, in Lemco, we watched a lot of hunting videos in the hunting lodge. These PH’s knew many of the PH’s or safari companies in the videos. They commented many times that – “this guy is ok, he is honest and a good hunter†or “that guy is good on elephant, I would hunt with him anytime.†They were not impressed nor did they think Mark Sullivan was an ethical hunter. They thought he gave PH’s a bad name due to his videos and the way he marketed himself. In summary, our PH’s were focused on being ethical and honest with the client, something I appreciated on this hunt.

The camp boss was a guy named John, the guy whose sister was eaten by a croc. He made his own guitar out of a Castrol one gallon oil can and wood. He used fishing line for strings. He played for us and was very good. Conor is learning to play the guitar and was quite impressed with this guy’s music. He wrote his own songs and said he plays in a local band. I would love to see a local band – in the middle of nowhere in rural Zimbabwe. He was talented and very humble. We took several pictures of the guitar.

Diane connected with one of the camp helpers, Godfrey, and found out he was Christian and gave him her Bible. He spoke relatively good English and enjoyed visiting with Di about Christ and the church in this part of Zimbabwe. We had seen a Catholic church in the middle of one of the small villages we passed by on the way to this camp. There have been missionaries in and out of this area over the years, but none at present. There had been efforts to manage the crop growing a little better by some French aid workers. They drilled a couple of water wells, cleared some land, showed the locals how to contour the land and irrigate it for year round crops. They put up electric, solar powered fences to keep out the buff and elephants. The project was successful as long as the aid workers did the work, but when they handed the equipment over to the locals, things fell apart. Wire was taken to make snares or hinges for the houses, the water pump was not lubricated, and the contours were not maintained – all in all a good plan but not a good hand off to the locals. They still used the water well, but that was it.

P.S. – No news from the lion hunters. I doubt that had as much fun as we did this day. I am glad I am not hunting lion.

Day 8

This will be the last day in this camp. Tonight we pack up; head back to Pedza and catch the charter to Lemco tomorrow. We like this camp, but need to get back to get to plains game paradise in Lemco.

I take Lauren and we go after bushbuck, again. No luck and no sightings. We see a large flock of marabou storks fly in and land near us. They are big! I had never seen them up close and they are big and ugly – long bill, sack of skin hanging under the neck, ugly to the bone, but very graceful fliers.

Conor and Maurius hunt back to Pedza in search of sable. Sean and Ben head out early to Pedza to hunt bushbuck. Diane goes with Sean.

We come back to camp about 10 am and pack up. On the road out of camp, about a mile from the camp, Bongoni starts banging on the top of the Landcruiser. He says – “big bushbuck, look!†and hands me a rifle. From my view, all I see if orange backside and horns. Dean had said if the horns look twice the height of the ears or bigger, shoot. It took no time to see this was a dandy and I take a quick offhand shot with Dean and Lauren still in the truck. The .375 caught him in the back and knocked him down. We were all stunned. It happened so quickly. After hunting several days at different times, we stumble onto one on the way out of camp. Boy, will Sean be irritated as he has been after bushbuck for longer than we had.

Dean was surprised when he looked at the old bushbuck. This was the third animal taken and the third truly old, over the hill male. He had 17†horns, scars all over his neck and shoulders, a split nose that has healed up and lost most of the hair on his neck due to fighting. He was a warrior. Dean said that was the best bushbuck he had ever taken; I was impressed that he was impressed.

The best part was the Lauren was with me when we found him and saw a good shot. The area was dense brush and reeds with a small open area, the place where I shot him. It was a 50 yard shot, not hard, but the grass as high as his back, so the target area was small. Any way they come, I am pleased with this bushbuck.



We head the 30 miles back to Pedza camp and see a Ground Hornbill on the way. This is a turkey sized and turkey looking hornbill, the largest of the four species we see on this safari. A magnificent bird and stunning to see.

We get to camp and find Sean and Ben are out as are Conor and Maurius. We have a late lunch, nap until we hear a truck drive and Maurius’s voice. A sable at last for Conor!!! He has hiked and hunted all over the place and they finally connect while climbing the last likely hill to check for tracks or spoor. When the approach the crest of this high hill, there stands Mr. Sable at 30 yards, unaware of what is about to happen. Conor makes the shot and down he goes. This is a younger sable than mine, but with longer horns. I am amazed at these animals. They are by far, my favorite. This is Conor’s hardest earned trophy. They hunted almost 7 days for this one. Turns out, they took on the hill I glassed from the first day I hunted sable. Dean knew there was a big one in the area as he had seen the year before. This was likely the bull.



The fun began on the pack out. No way to get the truck close by, so they cut the bull in half and carried it out. Conor carried the hind quarters (about 100 lbs). The rest of them carried the horned half. They hiked about a mile, downhill, over rocks to get to the truck. When they arrived at camp, they were beat and ready to sit down for awhile. The smile for that well-earned trophy was fun for a dad to see.

Sean and Ben showed up a little later – no bushbuck, so I showed them what a bushbuck looked like. They were trying to suppress their jealousy by saying “way to go dad†but I could tell they were thinking – “that lucky stiff, we drove right by there an hour earlier and didn’t seem himâ€. Sean’s big day was yet to come.

About an hour before dusk, we all decided to ride around and see if we could get lucky again – more just wanted to drink in the sights and sounds around the Pedza camp. As we crossed another sand river, guess what, a troop of baboons were crossing about 100 yards up the river. They were in no hurry and when a large male stepped out, stopped, looked at us in disgusted, scratched his rear, then sat down – Conor smoked him with a .300. He jumped a little, took one step and did a face-plant in the sand. Yeah baby, we are baboon shooters deluxe! The rest of the troop stood around, looked at the prone dead boy and then took off. We saw the young males doing the Macarena Dance and high five-ing each other as they left. Look out ladies tonight! Again, this one had no teeth. As a matter of fact, he was short all of his upper teeth and part of his cheek – apparently lost a long time ago. Again, his girlfriends must be chewing his food for him as he had no hardware to do the job. Pictures and off with the head.

Ross & Sons – 5 Baboons – 2

Later, Lauren spots and takes her first trophy – a francolin with the .22. We have been carrying these .22’s all along but did not see much to shoot with them. Conor had taken a guinea or two and Sean had one francolin, but we finally got up on some where Lauren could shoot. She made a great shot on a walking francolin in heavy cover. I could not see it when she shot nor could I see the result. She jumped off the truck, walked over and calmly picked up her trophy – a bull, a buck, a 40 incher if there ever was one. We headed to camp with our prize and asked the chef to prepare it for dinner.



Roasted francolin was the appetizer for tonight. Never a better palate pleaser I must say.

The PH’s all depart to get to Lemco by truck before we get up. Unknown to us, it is a 12 hour drive across country. The trackers and spotters have to ride on top of the truck all the way. Fuel is short and they all are hoping to make the trip with the gas they have. I would hate to make that road trip in this country on these roads. They seemed ok with it.

P.S. – The lion hunters have lost all trace of their lion and are contemplating what to do now. They are 13+ days into the hunt at this point. We learn that the PH for them is Lance, a close friend of Dean’s. We hear that there are 3 lion permits a year in this area and that 2 or the 3 are successful, the unused permit is resold later at a discount and a third lion is taken about half the time. Dean says his best/worst lion hunt was 2 days in the daylight and at last light on day 17 of an 18 day hunt. Lions are hard and drive you batty, the PH’s say. What happened to all of those lions lying around on prairie, looking at zebras and wildebeest’s and waiting for lunch to show up? They seem easy to get up on. Maybe no one hunts those guys. We decide that it is better to hunt things that do not hunt you. I am glad I am not a lion hunter.

***This report is in 5 parts, here is a link to Part 1 which has direct links to all 5 parts.