Day 4

Diane and Lauren should arrive today after a trip to Rome and Florence. They will come in by charter that same way we did. Hope the pilot is a little older on this flight.

Today, we see a spectacular sunrise – just perfect for tired buff hunters. We get a slightly later start today and had a less hectic start to the day. Conor goes for sable, again with Maurius after checking hyena baits. Sean goes for kudu and bushbuck or whatever is suicidal. Dean and I are doggedly after buff. He tells me that he has never failed to get one down in this area. Great, now I am jinxed! When you hear the “g†word (guarantee, slam dunk, in the bag, done-deal), I am a dead man. I am always the one that should have been here yesterday, the one that missed the lottery winner by one stinking number, missed the free car by being the 1,000,001st customer through the Best Buy door. I might as well head back to Oklahoma now, I will have the same success as Bob Stoops has had the last two years in the national championship football game or as well as the England rugby team has had against the All Blacks.

We head out as usual looking for tracks. Today, tracks are scattered and old. We head to an area about 30 kms from camp called Broken Bridge and start there. We try a few tracks and make a couple of stalks on herds but swirling wind and lack of seeing a hard bossed bull makes the effort in vain. We check an old water hole and see tracks, follow them for a couple of miles, get up on them, they spook and split up. We climb a high ridge that turns into a cliff over looking a valley. For once, we have the upper hand in being able to see them. We see a couple of groups as if we were in a hot air balloon. No big bulls is the problem. We send one of the trackers on a long loop to bust a group out of some thick stuff. He pushes them toward our vantage point and we see a lot of black but no hard bossed bulls. What a pisser. Get in position, then no bull amongst the herd.

We head back to the spring/waterhole for lunch. While sitting, eating, sweating, thinking – me thinks we hear baboons in a sand river bed near us. Looking over the bank, lo and behold, there is an unsuspecting troop sitting around on the rocks picking each others rear ends. We sneak up, spy the bull of the bunch. They see us, get nervous, give us the finger and start hooting and hollering. The old guy just sits behind a tree and peers out from time to time. We decide to see if he gets curious and we just sit, moving a little to keep them looking at us. Finally, a little one starts bouncing around. The big guy gets pissed or curious and wanders out from behind the tree. Big mistake – one shot from 200 yards catches him in the short hairs – he runs about 30 yards and disappears. The rest run, jump, hoot – the younger males are high fiving each other singing – “the king is dead, long live the king†and start out after the better looking girl baboons. There will be a hot time in the trees tonight.

The old guy is dead and again, has no teeth. Dean, Bongoni and Clemons all say that they have not seen three old toothless baboons before. They said they have a guy come in from Dallas every year and he shoots 10 to 20 baboons. I like this guy, I need to meet this guy. He must have had a bad experience with monkeys or told that Darwin’s theory was a fact and that he actual was an ape at one time. Maybe someone else, but not me. No monkey’s uncle, I am, as Yoda would say. Anyway – off with the head, pictures with Bongoni and Clemons and back to the hunt.

Ross & Sons 3 Baboons – 1



We find two herds this afternoon and spot on 40†+ monster in the midst of 60 or so buff. They are in the open, under some trees, just standing around. Wind is right, we are in good cover and have a path to stalk. We get within 100 yards, the bull moves to the back of the herd, then steps out for an open shot. We debate – shoot, don’t shoot, shoot , don’t shoot. With my baboon kills, my shooting is proven, so no worries there. Dean just thinks, wait, a better shot will present itself. We sit for 30 minutes. All is well, the buff are milling around looking bored. Then the wind shifts – busted – off they go, out of sight and out of range. The big guy in the middle. We conclude that it was best to wait for the shot, but, darn it, he was the best bull we had seen. We stalk them at least 10 times, getting busted each time in the dense mopane brush. On the final “busting†we are both ready to spike our guns in the ground and charge the herd yelling obscene curses. The swirling wind is our downfall. Being seen is not the issue, being smelled is. We use dust, we use ashes, we use every flanking movement we know to get around the herd. We do this every time and the wind swirls, noses go up and then the race begins. We figure we have about 10 to 15 seconds when we get close before we get busted. That is a short time to sort out a bunch of heads looking at you.

We take the long trip to camp. The only redemption this day is that Diane and Lauren should be in camp with smiles and stories about Italians. I need someone else to criticize today – Italians will do just fine.

Saw lots of birds today – at least we are getting a “limit†of new birds. I find that Dean has a dream to see an Angolan Pitta, a small, short tailed very colorful little bird that stays in dense brush all the time. It only lives in the Zambezi Valley in this area. There is even a bird watching safari company named for it that organizes expeditions for 10 days just to this bird. I am a birder not quite that consumed with it. Dean says he will, one day, spy one. With my luck, we will probably see one of these before we slay the mighty nyati.

Get to camp, the girls made it in – loads of stories, especially about a pick pocket trying to get into Di’s money bag in the Vatican City. Caught red-handed, the Arab woman nearly got her head bashed in by my red headed wife. Caught, surprised and about to be “Sadaam’dâ€, the woman took off into the crowd. Di and Lauren had great fun in Rome, went to Florence on the train, shopped, had fun at the Coliseum and other old stuff in Rome. Did not get to see the pope, but, for Methodists, that was no big deal. By the way, they had an older pilot that seemed to be as old as me (50 but feel like 30 or 70 depending on the day).

Di hits it off very well with Trisha, the wife of the camp boss. They are an interesting couple, native Zimbabweans, raised a family on the family farm, then lost the farm to Mugabe’s henchmen. They are doing the camp boss gig as they bide time to see what happens to the Zimbabwe economy. Right now, the economy is in free fall with inflation ranging from 125% to 600% per year depending on the day. The official exchange rate is $9,000 Zim to $1 USD. On the street you can get $25,000 Zim. Currency trading is illegal but flourishing. Apparently, Mugabe appropriated all of the foreign currency bank accounts exchanging them for worthless Zimbabwe dollars that deflated as quickly as they went into the accounts. Trisha is a naturally upbeat, optimistic person; she was fun to talk to, to learn about Zimbabwe politics, the old Zimbabwe/Rhodesia and what colonial life was like. They have nothing now, farm gone, bank accounts stolen – just waiting on the day Mugabe dies or is exiled and hopefully the rule of law returns to this rich country.

Conor came in with a miniature impala. Smallest one we have seen, not sure what he and Maurius were thinking but I think they got bored and the impala got in the way. No trophy, but fun and the boys like impala liver. Said they walked another 100 miles today looking for sable, but just found old tracks. They believe they have narrowed the area down to a place they “have†to be in.

Lauren decides that Maurius is very handsome and seems to be a bit taken by him. He is funny and a good guy, just too old (30) to suit me for a 19 year old daughter. I warn Maurius that I am a lousy shot and that I would likely wound him badly if any reason came up for a shooting war. He laughs, sort of.

That night, at dinner, a herd of buff visit the camp water hole. Lots of glowing eyes in the lights and lots of grunts and slurps. Di is a little spooked by this but gets up her courage to have a look and is impressed. We hear a leopard in the distance.

After much discussion, we decide to move camp to the Masau or River Camp about 30 miles north of us right on the Zambezi River. There is more plains game nearby and buff, should I not get one the next day. Croc is the target up here along with fishing if we have time. Besides, Trish said that the camp was prettier and there was more for the girls to see and do. We decided to hunt our way up there, with the girls going up with Sean and Ben. They would hunt croc that day with the girls. Fine by me.

At bedtime, I warn Di about the bats in the belfry. She is non-plussed and is not concerned about bats as they don’t eat people. Lions do and it seems the lions ran past the camp last night, according to Jimmy and Trisha. This was not the right thing to tell Di. With no windows and only a mosquito net to keep lions at bay, she was a bit worried about being eaten. I assured her that lions are afraid of people and do not go to camps on purpose. I think I even believed that for a minute, then remembered some of Capstick’s stories about lions eating his friends as they slept. Oh well. She also seems a little paranoid about malaria and mosquitoes. I assure her that I have not been bitten nor seen a mosquito. She reminded me that my lasik enhanced vision is not so good and that mosquitoes are very small and I likely would not see the little devil before being bitten. She snuggled under the nets, put on a ton of Avon Skin So Soft, then got under the sheets completely – in 80 degree heat. Oh well.

Di is also showing signs of a rash related, she thinks to the malaria med (Larium). Trisha tells her to switch to a different kind, Deltaprim. Trisha has a few extra pills, so Di makes the change. We are all a little loony, but I am not sure the Larium is the reason. Deltaprim does not have the side affects that Larium has, but is not as potent either. Oh well.

Lauren bunked up with her brothers and they had a great time talking and laughing.

P. S. – The lion hunters are down. The lions left the area and have not been on the baits. The guys are tracking them but apparently, the lions walk long distances. Maybe I should send Di over to help them. Glad I am not a lion hunter.

Day 5

Up early for breakfast, bats were busy last night as evidenced by the “guano†on the floor. No big deal just a little different than the “doggie puddles†we get at home with our dog – Stupid. I usually never eat breakfast, but here – I need the energy. We are averaging 6 hours of walking a day. I am not sure of the miles, but we are on our feet a lot. Thanks goodness, I trained for this trip by walking one to two miles everyday for several months before the trip. This helped a lot as did the practice shooting we did to get ready.

Side Bar for those bored of the hunting routine

As the guns were put together (I did not have any big calibers nor a good .300 Win Mag), we started practicing with them. I had bought my daughter a Model 70 in a .300 Win Mag. for Christmas (am a I good dad or what?! Every 19 year old girl in college wants a rifle for Christmas, right? Well, maybe not, but it sure kept the boys talking to her as she is the only girl at Oklahoma University with a .300). I bought the boys each a .375 H&H in a Model 70. I bought myself a .416 Rem Mag in a Model 70 as well. All were fitted out with Leupold 1.75 x 6 scopes. The .300 was topped with a 3.5 x 10 all in VX III’s. We started shooting them at the local gun club and found the .375’s to be very accurate. Conversely, the .416 kicked the snot out of me and I shelved that bad boy and started looking for another .375. Luckily, I found one and another .300 Win Mag in the Guns for Sale section of the AR website. I hesitantly bought the guns from a guy in California over the internet, blindly sending money to someone I did not know in a state far, far away. All went well, the guns showed up and I posted a “Good Guy†report on the website. I did the same thing in buying some binoculars and a Model 9422 in a .22 win mag. The “members†on the AR website are a self policing bunch and do not seem to tolerate any trolls or bad guys on the website.

Back to practice – I had all of the rifles set with 3 lbs. trigger pull and chose the same bullets for each caliber. I chose Federal factory loads with a 300 grain Trophy Bonded Bearclaw for the soft bullet and the 300 grain Trophy Bonded Sledgehammer for the solid. For the .300 Win Mag, I started with 180 grain Nosler Partition’s but later switched to Barnes Triple Shock in the Federal Factory loads. They gave better groups off the bench. After sighting in with the hunting loads, I switched to Federal 300 grain VitolShok ammo for practice. This was strictly an economic decision as the hunting loads cost $55 per box and the practice loads were $25 per box. I bought 500 rounds from Midway and Cabela’s and went to work. After about 200 rounds, the boys got bored with the practice as we could only handle about 20 rounds each during the practice sessions. Someone, likely from the AR website, suggested practicing with the .22’s, just to get used to shooting. Good idea, and a lot cheaper.

So, I outfitted the lever action .22 mags, one with a scope and one without. We had a silhouette range at our club, so I put the boys on a mission to be able to hit all of the iron targets with either gun out to 100 yds. That did the trick. They burned through the ammo and wanted to shoot more. When we switched back to the big guns, they were deadly accurate with them. When college was out and my daughter came home, I did the same thing with her. She then worked up with her .300 win mag to be a darn good shot – hitting an 8†target at 100 yards shooting totally offhand standing. From any rest, she was good to 3â€. Watch out boys if you piss her off.

Practice was a key to our shooting success. We maybe lost one animal, a baboon. My suggestion is make it fun if at all possible to keep everyone’s interest.

I eventually picked up a .375 at Gene Sears Supply in El Reno, OK, the biggest gun store I have ever seen. If it exists, these guys can get it. Any part, any scope, any bullet, anything. It blew me away. The prices were well under what I have seen anywhere.

My gunsmith was McCool’s Gun Shop in Tulsa. Dave is a master gunsmith and gun builder specializing in target pistols and machine guns. He is a stock maker and a perfectionist. He took every gun apart, checked everything and tuned them up. I never had a malfunction and never cleaned the guns while in Zimbabwe. We discussed on several occasions the merits of a “pre-64†model 70, the new model 70 and the Dakota rifle. He brought out each, laid them out, showed me the “issues†with each. In the end, with a new Model 70, tweaked correctly by a knowledgeable gunsmith, there is no real difference between the models. After having been in Zimbabwe, seen the beating my rifles took, especially from my sons, I would not take an expensive rifle over there, especially since my tuned up rifles are shot 1 1/2'†groups or less. One of the .300’s shot ½†groups.

I chose Leupold scopes for the same reasons. I like Swarovski and use Swaro binoculars, but could not justify the cost/benefit of going to a $1500 scope versus a $500 scope. My laser enhanced eyes could not see the difference in scopes. Also, we never shot in low light situations, so the benefits of the Swarovski’s was not truly needed. I would love to have Swaro’s on my guns, but not at the price.

An interesting side note to go with the side notes above has to do with slings. I tried a couple of types of slings as the big guns were heavy at about 10 lbs or more. I liked the Uncle Mike’s Alaskan Magnum as it stretched a little as you walk – sort of bounced with you while you walked. The PH’s did not use slings but carried the guns by the barrels over their shoulders. When close to buff, the guns were in a ready position in their hands/arms. I would go sling less if I had no scope, but the scope is in the way to carry the rifle on your shoulder. I personally like a sling, but no big deal if you don’t like them or use them.

For bino’s, I have three pair of Swarovski’s – 7x30, 8x30 and 10x42. I used a shoulder harness type strap on each. The best idea I had. The harness makes carrying bino’s easy and they stay out of the way. The 10x42’s were too heavy to carry, so I stayed with the 7x30’s and let my son’s carry the others. The 10x42’s were best in looking at birds. Great bino’s and I have used these for years. Would not use any other. The harness I bought from Cabela’s was not good and not well made. I had to adjust it and use a better tie to the bino than was provided. Next time, I will get a better harness.

Back to the Story on Day 5

Dean and I went back to the place we lost Mr. Big yesterday and picked up the track. We caught up with them, got busted and the herd split again. We think we have them when they start to cross a sand river and we are set up behind a log about 40 yards from the crossing point. Some of them cross, never winding us. The rest get into the river bed just out of sight and start across with Mr. Big in the group. Wind is right, we are covered. An old, saggy butted cow walks out, stops in the river, looks around, sniffs – gets no wind of us – but just stands, turns and goes back. The rest follow her. No mad run off, no stampede. She just takes the bunch and Mr. Big with her in another direction. Dean and I look at each other in amazement. Just bad luck for us, and good for Mr. Big.

We stalk this group four more times and still are on the group led by Mr. Big and Mrs. Saggy Butt. As we follow, (this goes on for a couple of hours), the trackers say the herd split again and Mr. Big went “that awayâ€. Dean is not sure but they have not missed a track yet, so we follow. Finally, the wind picks up, is in our face as we close on the group. We are flanking them and Mr. Big shows his backside as we work through the less thick mopane brush. He steps out and we see him, no shot, but we are close. We flank again and are close to him as he and his comrades try to merge into a larger herd just ahead. We had not seen the bigger herd ahead and this is a problem. The wind is right, we are close and there is a bigger herd ahead. If they merge, we lose. Much like when Exxon bought Mobil – the Mobil guys got hosed. Same for us. Mr. Big would get in the herd and ……. Adios!

We are tiptoeing along, Dean in the lead, me following, Clemons and Bongoni behind us as we did not need their eyes to track. I suddenly don’t hear footsteps behind me. What’s up? Those guys are on point looking immediately to our left into a dense mopane thicket. Dean senses something, stops, looks at Clemons. I look at Clemons and he points to this thicket. All I see is black shade – then a couple of legs.

Dean whips up the bino’s looks for a minute or two. I ease up to him and he says – “There is a bull in there, maybe twoâ€.

Another minute, no movement, breeze in our favor, Dean says- “He is good one, see the one horn?â€.

I see it finally, at 30 steps you would think I could see anything, but not here. I make out a rough shape.

Dean says –“Take him, he is a good one, can you see where to shoot?â€

I say- “I see him, but only part of the horn, is he facing us?â€

Dean – “Yes, almost full frontal, slightly quartering to our rightâ€.

Me – “Are you sure? I see two legs and a dark patch down and to the left of the hornâ€.

Dean – “Yes, I am sure. Shoot the dark patch.â€

Me – “Are you sure? He isn’t moving and all I see is a black patch.â€

Dean – “Shooooootâ€. Fingers go in the ears. End of discussion. What is hard to express here is the tone and pitch of our voices. Dean’s stayed steady, almost monotone. Mine jumped an octave with every sentence until I sounded a bit like Tinker Bell.

I shoot and the fun begins. At the shot, the bull lurches forward in warp speed. His buddy and he decide to run away, but they got confused on which way is “away†and came directly toward us. There are several more buff behind these guys but they take an exit to the rear and we do not see them. I quickly fired a second shot (I shoot very fast when excited) taking him in the lungs behind the shoulder. His buddy and he turn slightly away toward a gentle sloping termite mound about 20’ in diameter by 8’ high. His buddy is close to us, but not looking at us. He pivots away from the termite mound toward us, then sees us and pivots back to pass between us and the mound about 10 steps away. The shot buff turns at my second shot and starts up the termite mound crashing through 1†and 2†diameter trees then turns toward us. At this, Dean and I shoot – bang bang with Dean hitting him in the face just below the eyes. At the collision of buff and .458 Lott solid, he does a Superman impression, front legs go back, back legs collapse and he goes head first to the ground skidding about 3 or 4 feet with his legs outstretched behind him. My shot hit him just above the spine about 1/3 of the way back on his back. Dean’s shot turns out the lights. He groans, bellows and dies. I shoot one more in the spine. All of this took maybe 2 or 3 seconds. He landed 7 steps from us.



Clemons and Bongoni never moved, never flinched. Just stood and watched me wet my britches and their boss calmly put one in the head of the buff.

Now I can breathe again. We shake hands and Dean says – “A little too close to suit me, good shootingâ€. I agree. I don’t need to be that close to have a good time. We retraced the bulls steps and see that the first shot was into the lungs grazing the heart. He was coughing blood before he ran, lots of blood every step of the way, he plowed through trees and ground like a D5 Cat He piled up quickly and was dead quickly from the brain/spine shot of Dean’s. My first two shots were killing shots, and he would have succumbed in a matter of minutes, but we did not have minutes when he started in our general direction. This was no charge by a mad buff, just a mad dash by a shot buff inadvertently directly at the hunter, who was me.

Lots of pictures and several instant replays of the engagement. Bongoni and Clemons were animated and enjoyed telling the story as they were spectators up front on the 50 yard line. Upon dissection of the buff, the shots were good – bullets all passed through except the finishing shot. Lots of interior damage. The first shot took out one entire lung, then deflected out through the diaphragm. I was impressed with the muscle and the skeletal structure of the beast. The ribs are over lapping and impressive. I can see why a solid bullet is needed as a back up. The soft is good first choice, but does not break the bones up like a solid.

Oh, the horns – heavily polished hard bosses – 14†or so with a 38†to 39†spread, deep curl, classic cape buffalo. Sean’s buff had bigger bosses, but the spread on this one was bit wider. Great trophy by any measure, hard earned and much appreciated.

Was he Mr. Big? No, according to Dean. Mr. Big got away, but this buff was a dandy in terms of the polished boss and the deep curl of the old horns. No issue with me – this is or was the Mr. Big I was after.

We cut him in two, loaded him on the Landcruiser and headed to the barn. I was stunned at the volume of the stomach and the contents – massive amount of grasses and whatever, at least a half a barrel of stuff. The guys kept the stomach, heart and liver for dinner.

We had this done by about 10am with a trip to old camp at Pedza then a drive to the new camp at the Zambezi (Masau). Dropped the buff at the skinning shed and started north.

Stopped at an ancient baobab tree that was at least 80’ tall, 150’ in circumference with a large cavity in the trunk that would fit my Chevy Suburban. What a tree – massive, colossal, monstrous. Took pictures and tried to burn into my memory. Dean said that these trees live 5,000 years but have no rings. No argument here, looks old by any standard. He also said that you never see young or small baobabs as the young ones look like every other tree. They turn into the upside down looking thing we see when they mature – maybe when they are 500 years old or something. How knows. Anyway, we saw a lot of these trees and noticed that many had scars on the trunks. Dean said that elephants dig at the trunk with their tucks to get moisture or food. We saw several trees with a lot of damage. Apparently, these big trees can absorb a lot of damage and live on.

Drove through several villages, one school and saw locals up close for the first time. Saw the huts, the fires, the clothes, the smells, the children, the sullen moms. Dean says AIDS is taking a mighty toll on these people – something like 50% have it and will die of it soon. What happens to the kids? Small patches of crops, a water well, a little meat drying, lots of poor people at the edge of this concession that is a national park.

Bongoni waved to many of the people we drove past, he knows them and has an eye for the girls. I hope he knows about AIDS.

We drive to the river camp, drop our gear, look around and see that Sean/Ben and Maurius/Conor are out hunting and Diane and Lauren are with someone, I hope. The river is stunning – wide, blue-black, swift. We are in a range of hills with Zambia to the north and Mozambique to the east. A solid breeze blows off the river to cool us. The weather has been hot, at least in the 80’s and I have sweated off a lot of weight. The breeze is great and keeps the bugs down. Bugs to date have not been too bad. The tsetse flies are armor plated and hard to kill, but they are few and far between. No mosquitoes. Just the darn mopane sweat bees – these are tiny bees about the size of a gnat that irritate rather than bite. Conor was swarmed by them and I was as well. The Avon Skin So Soft worked sort of – needed constant application to keep the tsetse flies away, but you end up smelling awfully sweet by the end of the day. After several days, I quit using it.

My biggest nemesis were the “wait-a-bit†thorn bushes. I blundered into them regularly and my legs showed the wounds. I am not sure about hunting in shorts, but they were cool and easy to walk in. I wore standard Columbia style, cargo pocket shorts at mid-thigh. I had two pairs and they were fine. Shirts were light cotton short sleeved with one being long sleeved in case of bugs or too much sun. Travel light and don’t bring expensive clothes. The bush wears hard on clothes.

Dean and I headed to hills to look for sable and bushbuck. Driving along the river in the reeds and brush, we saw tons of birds and a host of other animals – bushbuck, vervets, spring hare, squirrels. Most of the birds were water oriented birds that Dean could identify. I had a great book and dog-eared most of the pages noting the birds for later recording in my life list. I am up to about 60 birds now. We saw marabou storks for the first time – huge, ugly carrion eaters with big bills and wide wing spans. Someone left a croc carcass out and the birds were enjoying a feast.

We tour the country side and are in a different type of terrain. This is more hilly, more rocky, more open. We see a herd of buff headed up a step hill after coming to the river to drink. They are moving slowly but steadily up a steep slope. We see baboons again and I try to get a shot, no luck as they must have heard of my reputation.

Ross & Sons – 3 Baboons – 2 (I am being generous with the baboons)

We look high and low for sable and bushbuck. No tracks, no sign. We scout a couple of areas Dean knows and will come back tomorrow for sable. Conor and Maurius are out there somewhere looking for sable also. Conor is getting frustrated with sable as I was with buff.

We head to camp and see a bunch of excitement.

Sean connected on a 168†crocodile. A monster, toothy, huge and fat! Was he ever excited. He was hopping around in his brace and talking faster than I can listen. Seems he and Ben along with Diane, Lauren and the others took a boat ride on the river scouting for crocs. They saw several on an island lying in the sun. They saw what they hoped was a 12 footer and decided to make a stalk along the bank. The tied up about a mile from the crocs, picked their way along the shore, bellied up to a bank about 60 yards from the crocs. Sean slowly steadied the .300 and drilled Mr. Croc in the brain. He never moved and never got up any farther than getting his back legs up. A second shot in the spine locked him down for good. No baiting, no blind building, just a great stalk on a sleeping/sunbathing croc followed with a great shot. Now the work began to get the beast into the boat (a party barge in our Okie vernacular) and to get to camp. Lots of help and they made to camp as we drove up. Diane and Lauren were beside themselves riding to camp with a 14’ dinosaur on the boat. Lots of pics and one mishap. Sean tried to get a picture with his head in the mouth (not a good idea) and he let go of the upper jaw snagging a finger in the process. He left a little DNA material on the croc’s tooth and needed a good cleaning and butterfly strip to hold the skin on. He has a history of this as he stabbed himself while gutting a deer at age 12. Anyway, a monster, a colossus, a real big croc. Ben said this was the second largest he has ever taken and the biggest in years at this camp. Dean said the same.

Now to the skinning shed. How do you skin a croc?



Conor and Maurius come in, beat, tired and thirsty. No sable, but have found tracks. They encountered the first significant signs of poachers and poaching – lots of snares. They picked up about 20 or 30 wire snares and brought them. Later, they will encounter some poachers.

Maurius is the life of the party and tells plenty of stories about hunters, poachers and his one year trip bumming across the USA. He was a bouncer, a dishwasher, a ski shop salesman and other jobs as he traveled the US. He liked Aspen the best as he likes to ski. He has invented a machine that makes a sausage shaped food out of mealies, the food of choice to the locals in Zimbabwe. If this method of packaging works, then he gets rich and the locals get a good way to save food. It is still in process. He also started a hunting videography service whereby hunters hire his guys to video the hunt. This is successful but not too profitable yet.

Ben is the quiet one, he doesn’t say a lot but is funny when he does. He does not talk much about his background. Dean is from a farming family and has hunted his entire life. Like most other white Zimbabweans, the farm was taken from his family by war veterans. He has a wife and young daughter with another child on the way. The lifestyle of a PH is hard – gone a lot, out of contact with family, hard work with sometimes hard to get along with clients, in a dangerous situation, expected to produce game for lazy hunters, expected to know everything about everything with regards to hunting and must be a psychotherapist to coach hunters on how to cope with failure. They told us that only about 10% of the guys trying to become a licensed PH actually make it. It is hard and the Zimbabwean PH Society is hard to join.

This camp doubles as a fishing camp with two types of cottages. One is a fixed cottage with beds, bath and toilet, thatched roof, concrete floors. The others are large canvas tents on concrete pads and a “half concrete†wall around the tents for protection. They had showers and toilets. We selected the tents as they were cooler and “neater†as the kids say. Everywhere we have stayed has electricity by generator and hot water by means of stove to heat the water. We had no shortage of either. Very comfortable and very nice.

We celebrate big time tonight – croc and buff in one day. I am now ready to stay in Zimbabwe and not go back to the Sooner Nation just yet. The food in this camp is a cut above the Pedza camp. Must be the different cook. Plenty of Zimbabwe beer to try, several wines and lots of Coke and Fanta for the kids. It is amazing how a little success affects the attitudes.

We hear hippos on the river and understand they wander into camp for grass but are not very brave.

P. S. No news from the lion hunters, but no lion yet according to the new camp boss. Seems the lions are playing hide and seek as they were seen close to the Pedza camp, with tracks in the road, but not coming to the baits. The hunters are tracking for miles now. 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.