July/Aug 2009 hunt report...yeah, yeah, I know, a bit late. I’m stuck at home for a bit with a few broken bones so I have plenty of time to peck this report out now.

Outfitters: Tholo Safaris, Botswana (10 days)
Classic Safaris, Caprivi Strip, Namibia (7 days)

Booking Agent: Wendell Reich, Hunters’ Quest

Travel Agent: Kathi Klimes, Wild Travel

Airlines: Lufthansa (Toronto to Frankfurt, return)
Air Namibia (Frankfurt to Windhoek, return, plus Windhoek to Caprivi, return)

Firearm: Blaser R93 .375 H&H, 1.8-5.5x36 Zeiss Conquest scope, 2-7x33 Leupold as backup

Ammo: Federal 300gr Vital-Shok softpoints (plains game)
Federal 300gr Barnes TSX Cape-Shok (buffalo)



I’ll skip over the initial 46-year preparation period for this hunt, which consisted mainly of daydreaming, reading, and hunting everything from groundhogs to moose with a .375H&H. When I finally decided that the time had come, I made an ill-advised and fortunately abortive attempt at booking my own safari with a well-known poster on this site, but eventually decided to call Wendell Reich to arrange my dream hunt. Wendell’s experience and assistance were invaluable...I would recommend him to anyone planning a safari. I relied heavily upon his recommendations and suggestions, and never regretted it. Similarly, I booked my air travel with Kathi Klimes (Wild Travel), removing another area of worry from my overloaded brain.

Check-in at Pearson Int’l Airport in Toronto was interesting. Apparently I was the first passenger in the history of the place who had ever attempted to travel with a firearm. I had chosen this flight itinerary to avoid the TSA hassles looming at U.S. airports, but after a bit of drama with one very prim Lufthansa analite (“...you mean you have...a GUN???....”) I wasn’t so sure. Eventually all was made well, except for the horror of discovering that in the last-minute dash out the door I had left my ammo in a securely locked box at my home, 150 kms away! Wendell Reich to the rescue. I called him from the airport to explain that, yes, I was an idiot, and could he help me with the ammo issue? He chuckled, commented that I was fortunate that I had chosen such a universal chambering, and promised to make a couple of calls and set me up. That’s one good reason for using a booking agent. I didn’t even ask him to help with the “idiot” thing.

The overnight flight to Frankfurt was smooth and comfortable, the food acceptable, and the beer very good. I hiked around Frankfurt during my layover of several hours, which then allowed me to sleep well on the Air Namibia flight to Windhoek. My guncase and duffel had been booked directly through in Toronto, so I never saw them again until arrival in Windhoek. I lit in Africa well rested and felt no effects from jet lag, and following Wendell’s directions I passed customs relatively painlessly. Here, as at every airport and border crossing for the rest of trip, including a domestic Air Namibia flight, I was asked for my ammunition so that the rounds could be counted. I have heard plenty about the difficulty encountered when travelling with ammo. Try it sometime travelling with a firearm without ammo! Nobody believes you when you tell them you have none. I fell back on my “I’m an idiot” story and was relieved (and somewhat dismayed) when it worked.

I was met at the Windhoek airport by Steven van der Merwe, who was to be my PH during my stay with Tholo Safaris. My first thought was that I had eaten food older than Steven, but he proved to be totally capable, a skilled hunter and a lot of fun as a hunting companion. Steven and I then drove to Tholo, passing through both Namibian and Botswana customs without incident except for repetitions of the ammo questions. Along the highway we passed several troops of baboons and a few warthogs, including one that was by far the biggest of the trip. I was excited...you almost never see warthogs along the road in Ontario. Several hours later we arrived at Tholo, and I was impressed. To a Canuck accustomed to northern hunt camps this was heaven. Comfortable stone-and-thatch cottages with heat ,a/c, and full bathrooms, delightful dining hall with a fully stocked bar, and a pond complete with hippos. Floodlights illuminated the waterhole to allow wildlife viewing 24 hours a day. Fantastic.

Cabin accommodations at Tholo...


We stopped at the home of Clive and Linda Eaton, Tholo’s owners, on another part of the 300,000 acre property. The garage and machine shop, heavy equipment, walk-in gun safe/armory, dog kennels and other paraphernalia testified to the amount of work and planning that goes into the operation of a property like this. The property is high-fenced, with internal low-fenced sections that restrict cattle to specific areas but allow game to move unimpeded. During my stay I saw eland, kudu, gemsbok, springbok, impala, giraffe, zebra, warthog, blesbok, hartebeest, black wildebeest, blue wildebeest, ostrich, waterbuck, white rhino, sable, steenbok, duiker, jackal, cheetah and over 100 species of birds.

Crimson-breasted Shrike...


Southern Yellow-billed Hornbill


Clive was able to supply me with some Federal 300gr Vital-Shok ammo for my .375, so we spent a bit of time at the range near camp sighting my rifle in for this loading. Afterwards a nice steak dinner (beef...obviously I had to shoot something) was followed by a pleasant sit-down around the firepit with some drinks, and then I was off to bed. With my first day in the African bush awaiting me, I believe that I may have gotten about 30 minutes of sleep that night...probably less.

Day 1: Up at 6:00, a quick breakfast and then out the door. Steven suggested that we would concentrate on eland, as it might be one of the more difficult animals on my wish list. We spent the morning looking for promising tracks, our driver Gaishe meandering along the ranch roads while our trackers Besa and Stoffel sat behind Steven and myself in the raised seats in the rear of the Toyota truck. The quantity and variety of game seen was incredible. Eventually we found a spot where a small group of eland had crossed the road, and following the track on foot we came up to them within an hour or so. The bull was disappointing, so we returned to camp for lunch (mutton...I really, really had to shoot something!) and an hour of sitting on the porch of my cabin and enjoying the birdlife attracted to the pond. Here I saw an impala which I believe was the largest of the trip.

Critical pre-hunt preparations...


After lunch we continued our tour of the the ranch roads, but found no promising sign. At one
bend in the road we startled a huge kudu bull who tore off at high speed into an incredibly thick area of thornbrush. Steven estimated him at 57 inches...all I know is that he was BIG. Steven knew that I was not interested in tape measures and record scores...I just wanted some good trophies that would make me smile in my dotage, and I insisted that we stalk everything on foot. The area that this bull had entered, and the hell-bent-for-leather speed of his retreat, suggested that we would not be seeing him again anytime soon.

Later we attempted a stalk on a small group of springbok but were foiled by a change in the wind. We also spent 2 hours unsuccessfully stalking a good kudu spotted from the truck. With dusk upon us, we headed for camp. Steven seemed rather abashed at our lack of success, and actually apologized for the unproductive day!

Imagine that! More game seen in one day than in most entire years of my life, but no game shot...the horror!

Pearl-spotted Owlet...


Day 2: On our second morning we drove a number of kilometers from camp to try a different area, with fewer open patches and somewhat denser, less patchy thornbush. We spotted a couple of small herds of eland cows, and stopped a few times while the trackers puzzled out some interesting bits of sign that they had miraculously spotted from their high perches in the back of the moving truck. Finally we came across a set of tracks belonging to a group of eland containing at least two large bulls and left the truck to follow them. We continued on the track for a couple of hours, eventually closing on the herd in a wide patch of taller brush. We could hear the snorting, rumbling stomachs and breaking foliage of the feeding herd, yet saw only an occasional flash of fawn-coloured hide or the tip of a horn. We circled twice to keep the shifting wind in our favour as the herd drifted closer to the thick surrounding thorn. Finally I was on the sticks and just waiting for a bull to take one last step and clear some brush, when one of the animals off to the side caught our scent and spooked hard, taking the rest of the herd with her. Before I could even remove the rifle from the sticks, Besa whispered something urgently and pointed to our right. Steven glanced in that direction, then said very seriously “John, shoot that gemsbok!” I swiveled on the sticks, found the animal broadside but looking directly at us at about 125 yards, and quickly squeezed off a shot. The hit sounded good and the animal jumped as it took off hard, but I knew that I had unthinkingly aimed and shot a few inches further back than I should have...three years of studying “The Perfect Shot” right down the drain!

We took off at a jog, following the track that even I could see for a change. The gemsbok had gone about 200 yards into thicker brush, and when we jumped it at close range Besa somehow managed to vanish instantly from my line of fire (I think he teleported!) but I wasn’t able to make a shot before it disappeared. Another hundred yards and we caught up to it as it staggered, fell, and lay thrashing. I quickly put in a finishing shot, then approached carefully, Steven warning me that this animal could be aggressive in such circumstances. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was walking up to my first African trophy.

My first African animal...


He was down for keeps, and he was magnificent...but he was a she! Her horns were quite straight, and this female had fooled Steven and the trackers. Besa looked uncomfortable, but as Steven began a heartfelt apology for the misidentification I actually had to laugh. I would have preferred a bull, yes, but the experience was one I would never forget or regret, and I told them not to worry...I was a happy camper.

We loaded the gemsbok and returned to camp for lunch (quiche!...what the...?), stopping once or twice to examine some tracks but not finding anything exciting. After lunch, we headed out in the same direction and drove for an hour or so before stopping at another set of tracks showing two big eland bulls in the group, perhaps the same herd we had followed earlier. We took the track and followed quickly at first, slowing after about an hour of walking as Besa indicated that we were closing. The next two hours were amazing. We got close to the herd several times, hearing them feeding and catching glimpses of big bodies, and once I had a clear but fleeting glimpse of a bull that I thought was a shooter. Twice we dropped back and circled to the side to keep the wind from blowing our stalk. I was pumped! Several times I was on the sticks, but we were forced to move each time before the shot presented itself.

By this time we were creeping forward at a snail’s pace, the animals spread before us but largely invisible. I was marvelling at the sight of a cow visible off to the side when I realized that Steven was setting up the sticks verrrry slooooowly. I got onto the gun as he whispered and pointed at a bull only about 60 yards directly in front of us, partially screened by a thick thornbush. I watched it anxiously for a minute or so before realizing that Steven was actually indicating a second bull, even closer than the first and virtually invisible to me except for the tips of its horns. This was to be my target, but try as I might I simply could not resolve him well enough to even know which way his body was positioned. I eventually picked out one or two patches of hide, but had no idea what parts I was seeing. This went on for perhaps 60 seconds, but felt like hours. I was sure that the unmoving animal was suspicious, and expected it to melt further into the brush at any moment. Finally the bull turned abruptly to leave and this motion allowed me to complete the visualization of his entire body. I was on the cocked gun, finger on trigger and I quickly fired at his momentarily clear onside shoulder as he turned away. He dropped in his tracks and we dashed forward as quickly as the intervening brush would allow, finding him struggling to regain his feet and bellowing deeply. I delivered a second shot, with Steven cautioning me to be careful to avoid the horns on the pass-through.

This was, and is, the largest animal that I have ever hunted. I was in shock at the bulk of the bull on the ground. He was what I consider a perfect trophy, ancient, his horns broomed down severely on both sides, and had a full, thick forehead ruff. My unprintable one-word comment was spoken with such feeling that the tension was broken and the trackers laughed uproariously. What a moment! That afternoon was worth the entire cost of the trip.

Eland...


Steven called for reinforcements to handle the job before us, as the sun was now setting. Another truck arrived with extra hands, and the eland was gutted (stomach was saved for tripe), halved, and loaded with difficulty. When we arrived back at camp after dark I was still grinning insanely.

Day 3: We drove to yet another area today, one that was known to be frequented by good numbers of zebra, wildebeest, and springbok. Concentrating on zebra, an object of fascination for me since childhood, we found several herds and made three stalks of varying duration, each one spoiled by the omnipresent blue wildebeest. I was becoming unfortunately accustomed to the loud snort of unseen wildebeest, signalling the imminent end of another stalk. Our problem was that there were so many animals around that no amount of monitoring the wind did much good...something was almost always downwind!

It was definitely great fun! Finally we returned to the truck to move a bit further along, and as we clambered aboard we spotted a small herd of springbok on the other side of a cattle fence that bordered the lane on which we were parked, perhaps 400 yards from our location. Steven liked the buck among them, so we dismounted and ran crouched along the road, keeping below the thin strip of low, thick brush bordering the fence. This took us diagonally toward the springbok, who were in the middle of an expanse of short grass with no cover. We hoped to gain a position directly opposite the herd, which would put them at roughly 100 yards, but halfway to our goal, with the muscles in our backs burning (at least my back was burning!) we paused to assess our progress. We cautiously poked our heads over the brush for a look, only to find the females drifting away and the buck standing straight-on and glaring directly at us from 200 yards. It was obvious that he was ready to break and run, so Steven threw up the sticks and I aimed carefully, moving to shoot through a window in the thin brush and over the cattle fence wires. I waited for a break in the gusting breeze, willing him to stay a moment longer, then squeezed off a shot. The springbok collapsed as if all four legs had been yanked in different directions, never twitching. I thought to myself “That was pretty” but Steven was more enthusiastic: “Where did THAT come from!!??” he enthused.

L to R: driver Gaishe, trackers Besa and Stoffel, with springbok...


I ran to the fence to cross, but Gaishe the driver had watched the entire incident and was already roaring up the road toward us. Steven and I piled in and the truck raced to the next cattle gate and through, then back to the springbok, arriving before Besa who had gone over the fence like a squirrel and run to the animal. We rushed to take photos before the dorsal crest had collapsed, the pictures clearly showing the bulge visible in the rear ham where the bullet came to rest after entering the chest and traversing the length of the graceful little animal.

After lunch (gemsbok...my days of domestic meat on this trip were over) we went out again to see what we could see. We observed several specimens of an unusual blue x black wildebeest hybrid that I found quite interesting, and had a bit of excitement while visiting an archery blind located near a waterhole. I enjoy bowhunting deer back home, but I couldn’t imagine travelling to Africa and then crouching in one of these dank little caverns all day long staring at a waterhole. As I inspected the blind, Steven was examining and working the action on my rifle.
Suddenly he loaded the gun and stepped forward a few paces, levelled the barrel and fired. Unbeknownst to me, an old and surly dugga-boy dove had slipped in close to the water, and Steven had noticed him just as the cantankerous old bird began its charge. Whether the bull-dove had been wounded by a poacher’s bullet, a snare, or had simply been expelled from his flock by younger males we’ll never know, but there is no doubt that Steven’s lightning reflexes and keenly honed survival skills saved us from certain disaster. I was extremely grateful that he was there!

A close call.... my intrepid PH Steven, with the truculent dugga-boy dove and my .375...


Day 4: We changed the routine a bit on this day by packing a box lunch and driving to another, somewhat smaller (~180,000 acres!) property nearby, looking mostly for kudu and zebra. We had barely begun to tour the ranch when we came across a kudu cow limping along with a broken rear leg. We were given permission by radio to put her down, and I did so from the high seat of the truck at about 120 yards. We stashed the carcass under a tree for retrieval by the property owners.

We then began a low, slow stalk on a large zebra herd spotted at distance from the truck. After spending a couple of hours, but covering only a very few kilometers, we closed to within 150 yards of a stallion that Steven had selected. I was up on the sticks, waiting for him to step clear, when once again the herd was mildly spooked by a group of unseen blue wildebeest. I was really growing to hate those critters! We watched the herd canter a short distance in a wide arc that took them back to about the same distance from us, this time with the chosen stallion standing off to the side of the main group. I quickly put a shot into his left shoulder and he took off with the herd, but travelled only a short distance before he stopped. We jogged forward a bit and I put another bullet into his shoulder, this time on his right side. Both hits felt and sounded good, but once again he galloped off apparently unaffected. As we pursued the herd, he began to lag behind the others and soon stopped. As I maneuvered to clear some brush for another shot, he slowly staggered three steps in reverse, reared up on his hind legs and came crashing over backwards, a spectacular sight. As we ran forward, he lifted his head and I put a shot down into his spine from above. The first two shots had created two parallel wound channels barely an inch apart through his heart, going in opposite directions, and his shoulders were totally destroyed. I was astonished...what a gladiator he was!

One tough zebra...


After the trackers cleaned and prepared the animal and the photos were done, they dug a small pit and positioned the carcass over it for gutting so that all blood and entrails dropped into the depression, keeping the beautiful skin clean. As Besa tugged on the animal’s tail, moving it just so, he slipped and fell, and the zebra’s head plopped into the offal-filled hole with a resounding splash. Besa stood, disgusted, with hands on hips, and recalling my comment on the eland he softly intoned “My F#%&!!!” We all laughed to the verge of tears.

It was still early enough that we returned to Tholo for lunch and for the remainder of the day’s hunting. Shortly after leaving camp in the afternoon, we came across one of Tholo’s white rhinos, a big old male that Steven said would have to be removed from the ranch soon due to conflict with up-and-coming younger replacements. I didn’t bother attempting to negotiate a trophy fee!

I enjoyed meeting this cute little guy...


We crept to within 40 yards of the behemoth and spent some time photographing and enjoying him. Steven’s grunts agitated the bull somewhat, and we left him before he became too excited. It is one of my favourite memories of the trip.

We made a long stalk on an exceptional male impala, and I was on sticks twice but simply not fast enough to shoot. Eventually the herd took off for good, thanks again to the ever-present blue wildebeest.

Then, while heading in for the evening, our driver Gaishe spotted a herd of impala far across an open plain devoid of any cover except for a couple of scattered, tiny bushes. How he saw them, while the four of us high above failed to do so, mystifies me. We drove past and out of sight, then piled out and returned on foot. By walking single file and in line with first one small bush and then another, we were able to close the distance to 225 yards. The herd was visible on-and-off among the brush at the far side of the clearing, and when the chosen male stepped clear I was ready on the sticks. The shot hit him low on the shoulder and put him down in his tracks, and we ran forward. Before we had even halved the distance he arose and ran weakly towards the brush, so I fired again and he fell again, this time traversed from left hip to right chest. Picture taking was hurried and not terribly successful, as darkness was falling rapidly.

Impala taken at sunset...


Day 5: I had been thinking about the hybrid wildebeest since I had seen them, and finally decided to try to take one in lieu of the black wildebeest I had originally planned on. Accordingly, we returned to the area where we had seen the herd and searched for tracks, finding both the tracks and the animals themselves without great difficulty. The herd was feeding along slowly, spread out over a few acres of ground and containing more animals than I had noticed earlier in the week. We set up and moved, set up and moved, set up and moved again, following one particular bull that Steven had chosen. At one point a miscommunication almost resulted in my shooting the wrong animal, but eventually the bull stepped clear for a moment and I placed a shot onto his shoulder from about 80 yards. The bull dropped and was done by the time we walked up to him.

This was a unique critter, its size, colouration, and horn configuration falling midway between the two parent species. A raised crest of stiff hair ran crossways over its snout, rather than lengthways as in a pure black wildebeest, and it had beautiful golden highlights in its mane and tail. Looking back a year later, I am somewhat sorry that I did not take the black wildebeest as I had originally planned, especially after all the reading I have done in the interim about manmade beasts and designer versions of game animals. These crosses had apparently occurred naturally on the ranch, something that the native distribution of the species would have prevented otherwise. What’s done is done, and I’m satisfied.

Hybrid Blue Wildebeest X Black Wildebeest...


We then drove around a bit, visited and repaired a waterhole pump, drove past a Bushman compound, met some workers who had just seen a leopard, observed numerous game animals...just another day in Africa.

After lunch we drove to and entered the area of the ranch occupied by cattle. Almost immediately we spotted a jackal and a tree full of vultures, and Besa pointed to a smudged spot in the dust of the road which he explained (through Steven’s translation) had been made by three cheetahs pursuing a female ostrich. By now, having watched these guys for a few days, I should have known better, but I thought “Yeah, right...” As we followed the track through the grass, Besa indicated where they had zigged and zagged, where they had hit her once here, and then again there, where they had latched on and been dragged by her, and further on where she had been pulled down and dragged by them, and then finally...there she lay. I gaped at the still-warm, partially eaten carcass of the hen ostrich. The trail had looked to me as if made by a running man dribbling a basketball. The detail that they extracted from it was overwhelming.

Stoffel collected the plumes from the bird’s body and we carried on. We walked to a small, natural waterhole to check for tracks, and then spotted two big kudu bulls trotting away as we returned to the truck. They appeared to have been spooked by a group of cattle, so we took their track which showed that they soon slowed to a walk. We slowed as well, and then Besa motioned us to crouch in place. We did so, and three kudu bulls strode casually from the brush into a small clearing and stood peering at our suspicious-looking hunched forms. They seemed magnificent to me, but Steven microscopically shook his head “no” to my questioning look. They were not the quality of animal he felt we should be able to locate. Despite the fact that kudu were one of the most numerous game species on the property, the truly big ones were not easily found and I had difficulty distinguishing between good and very good.

The impasse held for several minutes, and then the three bulls, along with two more unseen ones off to the left, became nervous and trotted off. The closest had been within 15 yards of our location. We walked away from one of the most satisfying stalks I have ever experienced.

Young Leopard Tortoise...


Dinner tonight was followed by some behind-the-bar experimentation. Steven had celebratory drinks of his own concoction to commemorate successful hunts on most species, but he had never before taken a specimen of the hybrid that we had come to call the “Tholo” wildebeest. We eventually perfected an unusual multi-layered mixture that was quite delicious, but the exhaustive R&D process resulted in my not being able to recall what was in it.

Day 6: For whatever reason I was finding kudu to be probably the most difficult animal to judge. Steven must have gotten quite weary of hearing “Is he a shooter?” from me whenever a bull appeared...and we saw a lot of kudu. It eventually got to the point where a kudu bull would be spotted and he would immediately say “No” to head off the inevitable question. On this day, we headed back to the adjacent property specifically to look for a good bull, and after seeing and briefly tracking a couple, he snapped his binoculars to his eyes and stated flatly “That’s a big kudu”, pointing at the south end of a rapidly north-bound kudu bull. He had my immediate attention...Steven rarely speaks without a smile or mischievous twinkle, and hearing him so totally deadpan serious I knew a stalk was imminent. We took up the tracks and had slowly followed them for perhaps a half hour through some heavy brush when Steven frantically motioned to me and pointed. Besa had already set up the sticks...there was no doubt in his mind. Even I had spotted the animal (with my gradually-improving African game eyes) at about the same time as they had. There were actually two bulls, angling toward us behind a screen of thin brush at roughly 50 yards. I waited calmly (well, okay...reasonably calmly) for the obviously larger one to step clear, and carefully shot him on the shoulder as he stood quartering toward us and staring intently in our direction. He mule-kicked and ran back on the path by which he had come. When we approached we found no blood, but we knew that he was down nearby. Following the tracks for only 60 or so yards, Steven stopped and pointed at the most beautiful sight imaginable: a lovely horn spiralling up out of the grass in a small clearing. I wish that I had photographed it just as I saw it then.

The horn just got bigger and bigger as I approached. After checking the animal with my rifle barrel, I commented to Steven that the bull looked just as big now as the first time we saw him. Out of curiosity, I asked him if he had heard of the term “ground shrinkage”. He grinned broadly and announced “I never have any!” We all roared.

This was a gorgeous animal, without extremely deep curls but with wonderful length and just the sort of medium spread that I find most attractive in this species. Steven later measured this one, and was totally nonplussed when I told him that I didn’t want or need to know the number. He pestered me obliquely for several days, finally blurting it out near the end of the week. He seemed as happy as I was...and I was pretty darned happy. The kudu was probably the first species of plains game that I had set my childhood sights on decades earlier, and here it finally was.

Kudu, one of the highest points of my safari...


We dressed and loaded the kudu, then met up with a truck belonging to this property and transferred the carcass. We then continued on to a smallish natural waterhole, where we found a comfortable shady spot and set up a couple of folding stools to eat our box lunch and watch for warthogs. Everyone seemed to accept that this was the way warthogs were typically hunted, so I went along with it, and quite enjoyed it. I have since read that shooting near or over water is frowned upon in Africa, but I must say that I didn’t feel bad about ambushing a pig that way.

Not that we did ambush one...we sat for a couple of hours, until the wind did a 180-degree turn and spoiled our position, but never saw a hog the entire time. I saw numerous new bird species (I am an avid birder, and consider my list of new species to be a sort of secondary trophy of the trip) as well as my first and only African snake, a blind, pink wormlike burrowing species which we found while arranging our seating. Steven was adamant that I not touch it, and for his sake I didn’t, but I actually like snakes and had hoped to see more during my trip. Oh, well...

We headed for home, and spent some time cruising around Tholo looking for a hog. We did see one big old bruiser who unfortunately had only one tusk, and tracked another for a couple of klicks but lost the trail on hard rock. We also detoured past a smallish (I believe Steven said it was only a few hundred acres) high-fenced pasture which contained Clive Eaton’s small herd of sable. We were fortunate to get a look at the herd in the densely overgrown enclosure, including a new calf that had never been seen before. We also stopped and briefly played with another white rhino bull, smaller than the oldster we had seen earlier but still not exactly petite.

On terrain this flat, any little bit of elevation helps while scanning for game...


We shared a fine supper of wildebeest with Clive and Linda, as well as another hunter who was overnighting at Tholo while transferring from one hunting area to another. This gentleman was accompanied by a videographer who showed us some impressive footage they had just taken of a leopard charging their hunting car (!) during a hound hunt.

Day 7: Today we continued to search for a big boar. Warthog had been high on my wish list, and we had seen them every day and even stalked several. None turned out to be shooters, and Steven had told me that realistically the area was not known for monster hogs. A shooter pig was now my primary goal.

The plan was to sit over a natural waterhole, a pond of less than an acre that contained water year round. We sat in the shade of a large tree on top of a bank perhaps 3 yards above, and 50 yards from, the water. I enjoyed the spectacle of birdlife attracted to the water, but saw little game. Twice warthogs in small groups approached and drank, both times coming from a somewhat unexpected direction and watering at a smallish puddle off to our right, visible through a small gap in the brush. Steven seemed concerned because I had actually spotted some of these hogs before he did, and he knew that the badgering would be relentless. We debated moving, but chose to remain where we were because of the shooting lane this window in the thorn provided. Sure enough, after several hours of comfortable waiting, Steven adopted that serious tone that signalled action. “John, we’re going to shoot this pig” he murmured urgently. I turned and saw a boar approaching from behind us, sporting the largest pair of tusks I had seen so far in Botswana. I waited for his approach to be screened by brush, then swivelled 90 degrees, resting my elbow on my knee. The hog reappeared in the gap at perhaps 75 yards, and almost immediately presented a perfect broadside target, dropping to the shot without a quiver. We jogged over and admired him, as the trackers approached from where they had waited at the truck several hundred yards away. He was just as ugly and just as beautiful as I had imagined, his almost hairless body literally crawling with lice and other external parasites. He was also, along with the kudu and zebra, the third of my childhood triumvirate of dream animals...another milestone.

Wartie...


Lunch was springbok stew with homebaked bread, and then we headed out again. I had not intended to shoot a blue wildebeest, but now I had time to do so, and I had developed a grudge against these critters as they had blown more stalks for me than all other species combined. They were everywhere, and they seemed to feel that it was their mission in life to complicate my hunting. I decided that one would pay the price.

We saw them in large numbers, as we had every day, but now we looked at them in a different light. Steven tried to explain the criteria used to determine trophy quality, and I dutifully tried to assist in the judging, but by the end of the day our conversation began to display a repetitive trend.

“Is he a good one?”

“No.”

“How ‘bout that one?”

“No.”

“That one looks good.”

“No.”

“There’s a big one.”

“No.”

“What about this guy?”

“No.”

“That one’s got to be a shooter.”

“No.”

“There...that one!”

“No.”

“Can I shoot this one? I really, really want to...”

“No.”

What an obtuse young man! (Just kidding, Steven!) Then, finally, came that magical change in his tone that I had been awaiting: “Okay, John, there...that one in back...that’s a shooter all week long!”

I examined the indicated bull critically, then said “I don’t know, Steven...I’m not sure I like the looks of that one!” At that moment I was glad that Steven did not carry a rifle while we hunted!

This animal had been spotted as we stood near the truck, parked at the edge of yet another vast open grassy expanse with little cover. We grabbed our gear and took off, covering several hundred yards, much of it crawling, to bring us within range. The wind was fitful and inconsistent, and the herd, though not actually spooked, seemed nervous. Most of the time I could not see them as we crawled through the waist-high brown grass, and when we finally got into a good position that allowed us to carefully stand and survey the herd, we were unable to locate the good bull. The herd had apparently split off into at least two smaller groups, and we had chased the wrong group.

It was late in the day, so we returned to camp and enjoyed a typically delicious supper, then a few drinks around the fire. I returned to my cottage after full dark, as I had most evenings, and as I had on these other occasions I remained alert to the possibility of encountering one of the Tholo hippos on the path. My cottage was the furthest one from the fire-pit/dining hall, the last building on that side of the camp, and probably had the best view of the pond. I approached the last 50-yard stretch of the path, which ran through a brushy patch and then to the open area in front of my porch. The pond was immediately to my left, and perhaps 150 yards to my right lay the quarters of the camp staff. I could hear some casual talking and laughter from that direction, and the sound of running footsteps as someone ran a late errand.

Suddenly a deep, loud, resonant grunt sounded immediately to the side of the path, and was followed by a series of explosive huffing snorts. I instantly achieved a muzzle velocity of .220Swift magnitude, launching myself across the clearing, over the stone wall surrounding my porch and through the door in .051 seconds. At some point during my trajectory I became aware of a high-pitched, maniacal cackling emanating from the brush. It sounded suspiciously like Steven’s laughter. The nature of the running footsteps I had heard became more clear.

Steven rode me mercilessly for the rest of the week regarding my “ostrich steps” as I charged into the cottage, flashlight swinging wildly in time with my bounding strides. I tried several times to explain to him that I was aware of the subterfuge, but had gone along with the gag in the interests of camp morale. He seemed slow to understand...possibly too much Bovril as a child...

What’s he up to now?...


Day 8: We headed out early to continue our search for a good wildebeest. I counted my shells and decided that I probably shouldn’t expend one to shoot Steven, so I held my fire and off we went. This would prove to be prophetic.

We returned to the same grassy area we had left the previous day and cruised along, scanning in the distance for wildebeest. It did not take long to find some, and we spotted, examined, and then passed on many bulls. After a couple of hours we spotted a group containing several bulls which had Steven interested. We approached by crawling again, but by the time we had gotten within 300 yards Steven decided there were no shooters in this group. We continued on, planning to meet the truck at the next ranch road a kilometer or so further on. Before reaching this, we came upon more tracks and followed them, soon spotting another group of wildebeest, again with at least 2 shooters and mixed in with a few zebra as well. We crawled and scurried forward to within roughly 125 yards, then carefully stood behind a tiny bush without alarming the animals and put up the sticks. It took a bit of whispering back and forth to make certain that I was on the right animal as they fed in a fairly tight group, and eventually the correct bull stepped slightly clear and presented an almost face-on shot, his body angled very slightly to the left. The shot took him slightly left of dead center on the chest, and he bucked wildly, spun about and galloped away, almost broadside now and racing to my left.

I then proceeded to empty my gun, firing the remaining three rounds in the magazine as quickly as I could cycle the action and aim. In truth, aiming was superfluous, as I succeeded in missing the fleeing animal cleanly with all three shots. Totally disgusted, I clawed at my pocket for additional ammo to continue the barrage, only to discover to my horror that I had apparently left the remainder of my shells at the truck. Just as Besa was about to leave to find the truck and resupply me for another assault, the wildebeest slowed, stopped, staggered and then inelegantly plopped over on its back. By the time we trotted over to him he was finished, which precluded the necessity of either watching him suffer while we waited for more ammo, or attempting to administer the coup de grace with a pocketknife.

Near disastrous Blue Wildebeest...


Steven was very happy with the trophy, whereas I was just happy that things had worked out as well as possible under the circumstances. It had provided one of the best stalks of the hunt, marred only by my foolish stunt with the ammo, a real beginner’s mistake.

We went in for lunch, and then spent the afternoon sitting over a large, permanent waterhole located in the photo-safari area of the Tholo ranch. Esconced in comfortable chairs under a large, spreading tree, we were treated to close-up views of just about every game species on the ranch as they came in to water. We also stopped at Clive’s home to pick up a shotgun for a bit of dove shooting the next day, as my game list was now more than full.

Waterbuck...


Day 9: We visited a waterhole this morning for some dove shooting. I am not much of a birdshooter, but had a great time blazing away ineffectually at cape turtle doves and their supercharged cousins, the Namaqua doves. After a few boxes of shells, and only a few birds, we returned for lunch.

In the afternoon we headed for a different waterhole to terrify a few more doves as well as a couple of guinea fowl. We had just stopped the truck at a cattle gate, and Steven was in the process of jumping down from the rear bed. He was literally in mid-air when he and I both realized that only 5 or 6 steps from the truck a large spotted cat was regarding us balefully from its crouched position under a nearby shrub. As Steven landed, the cat turned and bolted, disappearing almost immediately into low but thick brush. Thankfully, it had been a cheetah rather than a leopard, which Steven later admitted had been his initial fear. Everyone laughed sheepishly and we continued.

This waterhole was larger and far more productive than the earlier one, with much more open ground and longer sightlines in almost every direction. I pulled off some truly spectacular misses...a lesser man might have been forced to hit many of those easy birds. I was quite proud of myself. A few unfortunate birds did hit the ground, and the afternoon was a lot of fun. My only regret was that sandgrouse, abundant in the area, were out of season...I would have enjoyed missing a few of those as well.

Some really unlucky birds...


Supper was excellent, especially the grilled dove breasts, wrapped with a jalapeno in a strip of bacon and cooked outdoors. Life was good.

Day 10: After a leisurely and late breakfast, we drove to the nearby village of Ghanzi to buy a few souvenirs and snap some photos, then visited a nearby animal rescue/rehab facility that specialized in lions. I was also interested in the pack of African wild hunting dogs that resided in a large and thickly forested pasture, and we watched these for a bit before returning to Tholo.

We drove around a bit, doing some birding and picture-taking. At one point, where we were parked at the edge of one of the large open grassy expanses observing a herd of black wildebeest (I’m still wishing that I had popped one) I waited for Steven to lean back and begin to snooze on the raised seat in the back of the truck. He awoke to find a yard-long piece of garden hose, coiled, carved and coloured to resemble a snake, reposing on his chest. The response was underwhelming. He calmly picked it up, examined it, flipped it onto the ground and explained that he was not afraid of snakes...his concern when we had found the earlier one had been professional, not phobic. My thirst for revenge went unslaked. Unfortunately, poor old Gaishe, our driver, had wandered off into the brush and missed this episode. When he returned from his mission, he caught sight of the discarded mock mamba and just about turned inside-out. I felt bad for him, as he had not been the intended target. It’s a good thing that he had just answered the call of nature...he would probably have soiled himself otherwise.

African sunsets are always beautiful...African moonrises, not so much...


Thus ended my plains game hunt. The next morning Steven drove me back to Windhoek, to the Safari Court hotel for an overnight stay before I flew to the Caprivi for my buffalo hunt. The plains game portion of my trip had been very successful and enjoyable, something that I needed to do to make my African experience complete. Clive’s Tholo operation is a well-oiled, thoroughly tested and fully-broken-in efficient machine, and these folks know what they are doing and how to keep a customer happy. I would give anyone my whole-hearted recommendation to come here on a plains game hunt, and if I ever return to Africa with grand-daughter in tow, which seems like a good possibility, I’ll be going to Tholo.

My buffalo hunt with Classic Safaris is covered in a separate post. Thanks to anyone still with me at this point.

John

Thank you very much for taking the time (finally!) to write this outstanding report, filled with humour and the emotions typical for a first time African hunt, I recall the mood and how it all felt. I enjoyed reading it tremendously and I congratulate you on your fine trophies.

Great report. I read it yesterday and tried to comment on it but the post disappeared and my reply wouldn't post.

John, I really like your report. It was worth the wait.

BTW, how many broken bones ya got?


Mad Dog

Very nice!

Great report. Clive really does have a great operation, hope to be there this summer.

Beautiful eland! I hope to get a chance at one like that myself.

Great report, I was there a couple months before you and had a great time. Besa was the best!

Nice report! Ugly white ass! LOL!

If I could please make one small correction to your report. The tracker on the far right is Morretwa(sp?) and he is one of the finest bushmen trackers I have been around. We took him from Clives place to KD2(far west as you can go in Bots) and he was unbelievable tracking leopard in the Kalahari desert proper...smoked guys 1/2 his age. We were on the leopard track on the second day and he said he knew the leopard and had hunted the same one two years before. He thought he knew a bush he like to bed down in so we sent him with a couple guys ahead in a vehicle 7 or 8k to the bush...bingo. He jumped and ran and we didn't get him that day but the next day we caught up to him nailed him. Guy's amazing.

I hunted Clives place for a particular eland and after a week of walking gave up. Love the place and great report. Makes me miss it.

Thanks for all the kind words, gents.

Frank, my apologies for the disappearing/reappearing thread. This is my first time posting photos, and I screwed it up so badly that it just seemed easier to delete and start over.

Mad Dog, my truck and I lost an argument with a tree. I wound up with a broken clavicle, broken sternum and a couple of cracked ribs and contusions. My truck didn't survive the encounter. The tree hardly has a mark on it! I'm better now (this happened a few weeks ago) but for awhile there I could barely smile without pain.

UEG, just to avoid confusion, that ugly white ass is Steven's, not my decidedly bonier one.

DawnRoar, I assume you mean the tracker on the right in the springbok photo? Believe me, those three fellows were with me all day for each of my 10 days at Tholo, and that one was introduced to me, and referred to by everyone else, as Stoffel (I'm guessing at spelling). Maybe you're thinking of a near look-alike? Stoffel was a bit standoff-ish compared to the very friendly Besa and Gaishe, and he almost always had a toothpick or weed stem clenched in his teeth. I actually thought that Besa was the superior tracker, but that's about the equivalent of a 10-year-old finger-painter making a comparative judgment between Monet and Renoir.

John

What a great hunt. Thanks for sharing your story and pictures.

Fantastic adventure, thank you for sharing!

Great report. Thanks for sharing with us.

Heckuva Eland!!!!!!


.

I've never seen a hybrid Black/Blue Wildebeest.....very cool!!

Welcome to Africa. Great report and some excellent trophies there.

I was there one month later. Yes, Steven is quite the character. He guided the one other hunter in camp; we always had lots of laughs around the fire at night.

Besa was my tracker also. Amazing skill set....still scratch my head today as to how they do that. He also is quite a character...always had to keep on eye on him for some practical joke. Great guy...he noted my interest in the San ways and made special efforts to try to teach me how they dig for roots and tubors.

Thanks for refreshing memories.

Worth the wait a great read and very nice photos.

Mike

Thanks for taking the time to post your nice report.

I recognize the two guys on the right as being part of my leopard tracking team back in 1999. I've aged a whole lot more than they have!!!

WOW!!! Great report. The excitement and fun you show in your report makes it really difficult for me not to book my first african adventure. Hope mine is half as enjoyable when I get the opportunity to go.

Great report--well written and supported with good pictures. At last another birder. Some of my PHs through the years have moaned in pain and disgust when they found out that they were going to have to not only shoot animals but identify a few of birds as well. How many did you add to your life list?

R. Gunn

Thank you for sharing. great story!

Thank you for posting! Nice Kudu!

lechwe: Don't beat around the bush! My only regret is that I didn't go years ago!

R.Gunn: I expected some negative reaction to my birding, but not only did I receive none, I was actually quite surprised at how much knowledge both PH's displayed. Young Steven van der Merwe was very competent at bird ID, and I had to resist the temptation to simply take his word for many of the species we saw. I won't count a bird unless I can personally see and confirm the necessary field marks and characteristics.

Fred Bezuidenhout told me that he had done some guiding of naturalist/birding groups in the past. He had a fine eye for the beauty of birds and other animals.

In any case, birding was secondary to hunting. Most of my bird observation was done in and around the two camps, or while driving. The two camps were so different (one in the Kalahari, the other in the moist Caprivi) that they yielded very different species lists. I saw just over 100 species at Tholo, another 100+ in the Caprivi, a few more near Windhoek, and a couple in Frankfurt. I totalled 231 species for the trip as a whole.

John

Very enjoyable report...what a wit!!!! Nice Trophies too!!! Can't wait to hear about the buffalo hunt.

Regards, D. Nelson

D.Nelson, thanks...the second half is a bit further down the page.