28 January 2012, 17:21
JBrownCameroon "trip" report: Anti-Poaching with a bit of hunting
-Disclaimer #1: Cam and I set this up as more of an anti poaching trip than a hunt. We were hoping that we could sweep the poachers out of the area at the start of the hunting season. Cam's normal hunts DO NOT involve anti-poaching. I tried to focus on the important points and ended up with a small book. Trip: “Self guided” anti-poaching/hunting foot safari in Northern Cameroon with Cam Greig's outfit(Booth 1854 at SCI this year)
Dates: Dec 23rd-Jan 6th
Rifles: Cam’s Weatherby Mk-V in 375H&H and another client’s open sighted 375 H&H
Ammo: My custom handloads that I developed for Cam’s 375: 270gr Barnes-X @ 2500fps
Target animals: Roan, Hartebeest, Bushbuck, Warthog, Kob, Red river hog, Waterbuck, reedbuck…
Animals taken: Harnessed Bushbuck, Sing-Sing Waterbuck, Warthog, Baboon and three meat animals.
Getting there:
The trip from home to camp was quite and adventure. I will give you the condensed version: Canceled flight, followed by two long international flights, arrived in Yaoundé Cameroon in the dark, crashed for the night, next day took a few wild cab rides(passing three wide on a two lane roads. Yikes!) around Yaoundé picking up supplies for thee weeks in the bush, a bumpy 16 hour overnight train ride from Yaoundé to Garoundere, waited nine hours to take a six hour bus ride North(third world bus=legs jammed against the seat in front of you, squished against the guy next to you), sat and waited for an hour inhaling diesel fumes while Daniel arranged a bush taxi to for the three hour drive to the Mayo Rey, bounced my kidneys out in the bush taxi, wade across the Mayo Rey at midnight with the assurance that the hippos and crocs are only in the deep pools during this time of year, meet Cam's guys who take us(via motorcycle) to a dive in the town of Rey Bouba to sleep for the night(too many elephants near camp to chance riding in on motorcycles during the night), up at dawn to pack luggage onto motorcycles for the 15km ride to camp, arrive at camp and collapse on bed for six or seven hours.
Highlights of the trip to camp:
Yaoundé’s airport is not nearly as horrible as Cam makes it sound in his client prep literature(I was expecting to have to fight off at least one Nigerian style kidnapping attempt). The airport personnel and porters were professional and I was not asked for any money, or pressured for services. Some official was even checking our baggage claim tickets to make sure that no one snuck out with someone else’s luggage. The customs people just waved me through.
While waiting for my luggage a white guy came up to me and introduced himself as one of Cam’s missionary friends. He was there to pick-up his son who was on my flight. He had seen Cam’s right hand man(Daniel Sodea) outside and wanted to let me know that he was waiting for me. Most of the missionaries in Cameroon seem to be close friends with Cam, and they are always happy to help out his clients.
The train ride was not the relaxing clickety-clack-clickety-clack that I was expecting after my many trips on the Tanzania/Zambia(Tazara) train. On the positive side: unlike the Tazara train, the Camrail train was clean, well staffed, secure and on time. The downside, the train was very bouncy. Several times I awoke to find my entire body bouncing off the bed.
Another real pleasant aspect of our train ride was the extra attention our stewardess paid to yours truly(must have been my dopey brown eyes, or my unruly mop of hair). Unfortunately while we were exchanging furtive glances my French skills failed me and I ordered a sardine Omelet for breakfast. I would regret that meal for the next several days. Luckily, a steady diet of plain rice nursed me back to health.
The bush taxi that took us to the Mayo Rey was probably the most dangerous part of the trip. The driver was an aspiring rally car driver. Unfortunately he has a long way to go as he put his Toyota Starlet into nearly every pothole on the three hour drive. We changed flat tires twice and ran off the road several times. Cam recommends that his clients insist on the bush-taxi drivers driving safely, but after inhaling diesel exhaust and gasoline fumes for several hours the sardine omelet had taken full control and I welcomed the prospect of a fiery death. Luckily, when we finally did crash(it was inevitable) no one was hurt and we were in within walking distance of our destination, the Mayo Rey river.
As we rode towards camp in a three motorcycle convoy the locals ran from their huts and cheered and waved. They must be fans of The Wild One as they yelled “Brando” when they saw my white skin. Well, I hope that is what they were yelling.
Each bike carried the rider + about 250 pounds (second rider and luggage)
Roaring down the roads of Rey Bouba
The 15 KM trail to camp(this was the good part)
Arrival in camp:
Well words(and even photos) can’t describe the beauty of Cam’s camp. Even jet lagged and sick I was floored by what I saw and heard as we arrived. Camp is your usual collection of thatched huts(all ensuite), but from there things get special. Camp is set under a canopy of large shade trees on the bank of an exceptionally beautiful stretch of the Mayo Rey river. Camp is at the bottom of several hundred yards of tumbling, gurgling waterfalls that have cut unbelievable geometric shapes and patterns in the quartz laden bedrock. Between the waterfalls are fishing holes that hold several species of game fish, including tigerfish, capitan(Nile perch), catfish, regular perch, and a hard fighting carp-like fish that has teeth like a monkey. Downstream of camp the river is peaceful and bordered by golden sandy beaches.
The Mayo Rey in front of camp
Being lulled to sleep by the sound of the river was a real bonus of my nights in camp.
Cold beer from Cam’s propane powered refrigerator is pretty nice also….
Game densities:
Cam makes it clear that game is sparse in Zone 10. He told me this before I left and has repeated it in our conversations since I returned. From what I saw I would have to disagree with his assessment. This is a wild area and no one would confuse it with a game ranch, but I was amazed with the amount of game I saw. Mature trophy males were very wary, but I saw several trophies of different species every day.
When I got there the grass was not yet burned in most areas. The poachers had burned some areas and the game was there in force.
One odd thing about this area of Cameroon is the fact that the bush fires only burn about 90% of the grass stalks. This means that the burned areas offer good visibility, but any shot you get will require you shoot through a screen of 10 foot tall grass. This did not seem to present a problem as most shots were less than 100 yards.
As far as the game I saw(or did not see):
Harnessed Bushbuck: they were wary, but were moving through the burned areas at dawn and dusk. I took a nice one(well over RW minimum), but there were some real huge trophy males in the area. Shot opportunities average one per day of dedicated bushbuck hunting. Outstanding area for this species. I had underestimated bushbuck hunting, I look forward to hunting them again.
Sing-sing Waterbuck: the herds of females and young are a real nuisance and seem to screw-up many approaches on other animals. They are everywhere. Trophy males are a challenge, but I had shots at about half a dozen real beauties. Unfortunately I had already shot a small(but mature) trophy early in my hunt. In truth this was one of my most exciting and memorable hunts due to the circumstances of the stalk and the weapon used.
Western Hartebeest: I had no luck on these bastards. I saw a couple of young males, but that was it. A missionary pal of Cam’s showed me a mount of a real beast that he had shot in this hunting block. I understand that they are much easier later in the year. They must have heard that I was in town and headed for greener pastures.
Reedbuck: These guys are wary and I saw many, but they were hard to see, much less get a shot at. We did make a great stalk on a large group near the end of my hunt, but they took off just as we came into range.
Warthog: I only saw two, but I shot them both. One was a great trophy male and the other was a huge non-trophy animal taken for meat for the staff. It was piglet birthing season, so I have a feeling the females were holed-up awaiting their new broods. They are a very common animal in Zone 10, but I must have been there too early in the season. Cam said they don’t grow big tusks in this area. Again, he was underselling things as I shot a real beauty with 11.25” tusks. Body-wise these are the largest warthog I have ever seen.
Kob: These guys were my nemesis. Another hunter was in camp for four days and shot a real beauty at spear-chucking distance. I walked a couple of hundred miles over two plus weeks and never saw anything but females and young. And only a few of those… Like everything else, much easier later in the season when the grass is burned and the water is concentrated along the Mayo Rey. I really wanted one, but it was not to be.
Roan: This was my number one animal, but they proved to be better than me. We saw a few young males and got close to a few big guys, but they are not your average animal. From what I learned they move to and from water and feed at night and head for the thickest, most impenetrable stuff to sleep off the day. If you are tracking roan and for several hours and start to pass through the most noisy, dry, thorn choked paths, be ready because after several more miles of painstaking stalking you will be hearing a roan bolt from about 15 feet. You will be lucky to get a glimpse as he will be in the only stand of unburned grass to be found in the area. I hear they are easy later in the year…….
Buffalo: they are not supposed to be found in Zone 10, but we tracked a lone male on two different occasions. I am guessing it was the same animal and he was lost.
Elephant: I hunted elephant in Makuti Zimbabwe in 2003 and I saw elephant there every day, but I have never seen as much sign as I saw in Zone 10. I saw fresh elephant tracks and dung every single day. The odd thing, I did not see a single elephant in Zone 10. Some of the dung I say was literally a couple of hours old(green juice still seeping into the sand at dawn), but the elephant were no where to be seen. The other hunters in camp did run into a group of elephants on their first day. I also saw the dung of a huge bull. Until the moment I left I expected to be stomped to death at any moment. Luckily, it never happened.
Primates: The stupid little monkeys did all they could to screw up our stalks. They were usually several hundred yards off and voicing their displeasure. They even invaded camp once when we were out on patrol. On the other hand, the long tailed Columbus monkeys were a real treat. I loved watching them fly from tree to tree guided by their long tails. The baboons, well I always have reservations about killing them, but they seem to do their best to make me hate them. Next time I am taking an AK….
Red-river hog: Due to the peer pressure here on AR I would take a Bongo or LDE before I would take a Red-river hog. But if not for that peer pressure I would drop the hammer on the red-river hog before I would take a LDE. If the bongo and RRH were standing side by side I would have to think for a second before deciding which to take. To say the least, these guys are on my bucket list. I did see sign, but never saw one of these beautiful pigs. One day, one day.
Duikers: we saw many and I could have shot several, but I have no urge to kill such wonderful little creatures. I enjoyed seeing them though.
We also saw evidence of golden cat and several smaller cats(some right in camp).
Oh yeah, “porky-pigs” were there also. Porky-pig how the French word for porcupine is pronounced in Cameroon. It is spelled “porc-epic” but it sounds like “porky-pig” which I though was pretty cool.
In the bush:
I went out the first morning and saw a few young animals. We also saw some very fresh elephant sign. That night I fished but did not have any luck. I was using a lure that never did get any action. This was the only fishing expedition that was not successful.
The second day we got word that the other group would be arriving today after a ten day forest hunt. We also heard that they had taken a forest sitatunga. Being that the forest sititunga is universally regarded as the most difficult animal to get in Cameroon, and the fact that it was their number one goal, we expected them to arrive in camp flying high.
We waited around until the afternoon only to find out that their hunt had been a disaster. Due to a combination of hunter fatigue, miscommunication and an odd twist of fate the hunter had not delivered the kill shot.
I was later to find that the stress that this new group exhibited was compounded by the fact that the hunter was a very accomplished trophy collector and he was here in Cameroon to collect two spiral horns that he needed to get an SCI lifetime achievement award.
I had many preconceived notions about what these SCI awards turn hunting into. Sharing camp with this very well respected SCI inner circle member strengthened my resolve to never enter my name into any record book.
I hope I get a chance to meet the observer(a cultured and delightful gentleman) again in the future.
I was set to go out on a poacher patrol the next morning, but the other hunter had a scope problem and I decided to stick around to make sure it was resolved. He opted to go with the his rifle’s iron sights(which he had never sighted in with before).
I offered to let the hunter use Cam’s scoped rifle(which was the rifle I was using) but he declined because he believed his iron sights would get the job done. I left with three of Cam’s guys for a three day patrol.
Manque de Pue(near miss)
We headed east for several hours on game trails through the high grass and over worm mounds. Walking on worm mounds is often compared to walking on golf balls. A more correct description would be walking on a combination of golf balls and ping pong balls. Some of the mounds will hold your weight(the golf balls) while others collapse once your full weight is on them. To add variety, some of the solid golf balls will stay in place while others will come loose and roll. Walking on these worm mounds is pure torture on the feet and ankles.
After the game trails took us as far as we could go we turned south and bushwhacked through the tall grass down to the Mayo Rey river. Most of the time visibility was about three feet due to the tall grass and I was sure that I would be nailed by a snake at any moment. According to my GPS we covered a mile before making it to the river. I held my breath the whole way.
Once we made it to the river we found a great campsite under some trees just a few feet from the banks of the Mayo Rey. Our campsite was set in a small depression and further hidden from view by a thick stand of low growing trees. As the guys cleared the undergrowth and started boiling rice for lunch I found a freshly fired 12 gauge hull. The brass at the base of the case was expanded to nearly the same diameter as the rim-obviously it was fired in a blacksmith built shotgun. It felt odd to think that a poacher had recently passed right over the same ground that we were now building our campsite on.
The river below camp.
Puffed up shotgun shell(is this gun safe?)
I ate lunch while the guys waited for their rice to cook and debated camp politics. Our plan was to eat lunch then finish setting up camp before setting out too look for signs of poaching in the area. The mood was relaxed and all of us had removed our shoes after the seven mile march into camp.
I felt content sitting there in our little camp, wondering what the next two weeks of hunting would bring. I knew that the trophies would come as I could already see that the area held large numbers of game, but what I really wondered about was how our anti-poaching would pan out.
It was at that very moment that I looked out through the trees and saw three men with packs on their heads marching along the sandbar on the far side of the river. It took a second to convince myself that this was not an illusion. I blurted out my newest French word; “Braconniers!(poachers!)”
The guys snapped into action I uttered another French phrase that I had not used before: “Des Armes!(guns!)”
The poachers were marching side by side about a hundred yards away and almost directly across the river from us. The poacher closest to the river was carrying a muzzleloader. It looked to be about 6 feet long.
We waited until the poachers had passed on the far side of a stand of grass, then we bailed down the embankment and crossed the river. Unfortunately the river crossing was more treacherous than it looked and by the time we were across the poachers were a hundred yards further upriver.
We split into two groups and ran after them on opposite sides of a large sandbar. We had to cross several river channels as the river was broken up by many sandbars. Enis(my partner) and I did our best to stay out of sight close to the vegetation on the sandbars. In our haste to catch-up with the poachers Enis had grabbed my boots as we crossed the river below camp. Pumped full of adrenalin I had ignored the apple sized rocks and charged upriver bare-foot.
Each time we crossed a channel(slipping and falling in waist deep water) I noticed that the poachers were further away. Seeing that they were never in water more than knee deep, it was clear that they knew this strip of the river well. We would have done better following their tracks up the river but we had to try to keep cover between ourselves and them, so we found ourselves traveling the worst routes several different times.
As the poachers neared a bend in the river I noticed that the guy with the muzzleloader had split off and was on the other side of a small channel. As he disappeared behind the grass on a sandbar one of the other two looked back and turned speak to his pal as they edged towards the tree-line. They were on to us. We had gotten spread out and the poachers were now a couple of hundred yards upriver. Seeing our chances fading I raised the 375 and fired a shot over their heads and yelled, “Arret!”
The poachers dropped their gear and ran.
We gave chase and I watched Enis slip and fall into the river with my boots in hand. As he stood up and pored water from my boots I wished that I had them on my feet at that moment. Seeing Enis slip and fall made me feel much better when I slipped and fell into the river a couple of seconds later.
The guys chased the poachers around the bend and into the growth above the river and I assessed the packs that they had dropped. From what I could see they had dropped everything, meat, spears, camping gear and even their shoes.
I stood on the sandbar and realized that I had no idea where my three guys were. They had chased the poachers into the trees and I stood there listening for any sign of a struggle, or for someone calling for help. All I heard was the sound of locusts in the distance.
After about five minutes one guy, Isa, returned. He and I headed across the channel to the sandbar where we had last seen the poacher with the muzzleloader. Isa followed the poacher’s tracks and he turned to me and flashed a big smile when the tracks turned sharply toward the foliage growing in the middle of the sandbar.
I swung wide with rifle at the ready, expecting the armed poacher to shoot one of us or break across the sandbar when he realized that we had found his hiding spot. Isa confidently followed the tracks into the grass. He returned seconds later carrying the poacher‘s pack of meat and camping gear. He knew the poacher was long gone and had recognized that the tracks doubling back on themselves signaled that the poacher was looking to quickly hide his loot.
We continued to follow the poachers tracks back out of the grass and found that after tossing his pack into the grass he had continued across the sandbar on a path that kept the stand of grass between him and us covering his retreat. About 30 yards from the grass he had dropped his shoes and broken into a run across the remaining channel. This must have been where he was when I fired my shot.
Here we made a mistake that we were to repeat later in the hunt. Knowing that the poachers had given us the slip we immediately moved on to stage two: heading back to camp and assessing our spoils instead of attempting to follow up the poachers and ambush them.
Now, I will plead ignorance and point out that I am an elementary school teacher and not a military man, but common sense should have been enough to make me realize that the poacher with the muzzleloader had crossed the river back into the hunting zone and he would have to re-cross the river to get home. After returning to the US I was able to use Google Earth to find out that these poachers were headed to a major foot path that led from the river to a major village(more of a town really). If the armed poacher had any training he would have waited until dark to cross back over the river and head home. But being that he was a simple villager I would be willing to bet that he crossed the river and headed home within an hour of our encounter, especially since he did not know if we had shot or arrested one or both of his pals.
So what would I have done differently? Well, immediately after the poachers gave us the slip they would have been running for their lives. The two unarmed guys most likely would not have stopped until they reached their village three miles away. The guy with the muzzleloader would have been running also, but at some point the would have to decide where to cross the river to head for the trail that would lead back home. This would have been the time to set-up surveillance on the village side of the river and spread out to watch for him to cross. I really think we could have nailed him as he would most likely had wanted to cross the river near the footpath so as to minimize his exposure in the open riverbed. Shortly after I would find out that the three guys I was with had not been working for Cam for very long and they were still pretty green as game guards.
Instead we headed back to our little fly camp, looked through the poachers loot, started dinner and finished setting up camp. In addition to the shoes and spears the poachers dropped, we found that their packs held about 40 pound of smoked meat plus jackets, cooking pots, knives, mosquito nets, a large fishing net, some traditional herbs that are burned and inhaled to ensure a fruitful and safe hunt, and about two dozen snares.
The guys wanted to head back to the main camp to report our encounter, but as it was late afternoon we would camp for the night then do a patrol in the morning before heading back to the main camp. I was worried about the guys having to carry the poachers gear in addition to their own packs over the seven miles of rough ground between here and camp. I found that the guys planned to do their best to lighten their loads by eating as much of the poacher’s meat as they could that night.
As we sat around camp reliving our adventure the adrenaline began to wear off and I realized that I had really mangled my right foot. Both feet were sore from all the barefoot running over rocks, but for some reason my right foot had sustained several different cuts and bumps and bruises while the left looked unmarked. I had one particularly ugly looking knot on the rear of my fifth metatarsal(the part that sticks out halfway down the outside of your foot). It would bother me for the rest of the hunt and as I write this a month later it is still swollen.
While I doctored my foot with iodine I let out a very feminine scream that must have surprised the guys(hell it surprised me) because I found them all staring at me. I tried to explain that it was the iodine, but they looked skeptical. Enis pointed to his foot and asked if he could have some of my “pharmacie” for a cut on his foot. I was more than happy to oblige as I wanted the guys to see that the iodine really does hurt. I placed a drop of iodine on his finger and he rubbed it into the cut on his foot. Everyone held their breath awaiting his reaction. Enis just shrugged. I began to realize what a candy-ass I really am when a scream cut through the air. I looked up to see Enis kicking his foot like it was on fire. Isa and Mohamed rolled with laughter.
I had not brought extra clothes on this patrol and, as my clothes were still wet from falling into the river, I had an interesting night in my Hennessey Hammock. In December the nights are still very cold in central Cameroon. I was unprepared with only a light fleece sleeping bag. Violent shivering fits woke me up about every fifteen minutes.
When I got up at dawn I put my damp clothes on and warmed myself near the fire. As haggard as I felt after nearly freezing my ass off(literally) I looked to be in better shape than my three campmates who had eaten about ten pounds of smoked meat apiece.
We headed out and found several poacher’s campsites, but all were old. After several hours the morning chill was gone and it was really heating up. By the time we collected our gear and began the trek back to camp the sun was directly over head and the and the air was hot and dry.
Me, Isa and Nana with one of the poacher's kit
Crossing back to camp with all of the poachers' kit
Digging through the poachers' gear
Poachers snares(made from brake cables)
After returning to camp we found out that the other hunter had not gotten his bushbuck yet. He said he had a shot at one that would have been a chip shot with a scope, but he had passed-up the shot as it was too far for open sights. Again, I offered the use of Cam’s scoped 375, but the hunter declined. I decided not to mention it again.
The camp manager, Remy, dressed the guys down for letting the poachers get away. He told them that they should not have given chase if they could not catch them and that they should have sent for back-up. As we were seven miles from camp and the poachers were half a mile from being safely out of the zone I think Remy was wrong, but I agree that we had not done much except muck things up.
That evening I went fishing about a hundred yards upriver from camp and had my best fishing outing in decades. I caught seven fish and lost about twice as many. Among my take were several tiger fish and capitan. According to the scale in camp my two best fish, a tiger and a capitan, were seven pounds apiece. I fished past dusk and with darkness setting in I attempted to land my best fish of the day without a net. The 8+ pound Capitan broke my line and swam away. Adding insult to injury he took with him my most productive lure: a 6 inch, three treble hook slim minnow.
Capitan(Nile perch)
Regular(?) perch
Tigerfish
Tigerfish
Does anyone know the name of this fish?
Christmas
The next morning had a promising start. Just before sunrise the other hunter left and we heard a shot close to camp. I smiled at the observer and said, “Looks like we’re having bushbuck for Christmas dinner!” He smiled back and said, “Oh, I hope so.”
We expected to hear Remy and the hunter return any moment. The minutes stretched into and hour and I realized that they were not going to be coming back with a bushbuck just yet.
When the hunter did return late in the morning he told us that they had missed a bushbuck at close range just outside of camp. I would later find out that the shot was at under 30 yards. When we rejoined for lunch the observer told me that they would like to take me up on my offer of Cam’s scoped 375.
Dec 26th
The next morning I headed out with Cam’s head tracker, Daniel, and the other hunter’s open sighted 375. For me this was a real treat as Daniel is quite a tracker having worked for both Cam and Reinald von Meurers(the author of Elephant, Buffalo and Bongo) not to mention AR’s own Richard “Scruffy” Powell. This would be his only chance to hunt with me as he would be taking the other hunter back to Yaoundé the next day then returning home to spend what was left of the holidays with his family. Enis, Daniel’s uncle, would be join us as our porter/water carrier.
Daniel mentioned that Cam had instructed them to make sure that they got me a mature roan and that he wanted to be them one to guide me to it. I was excited as this was my first day of dedicated hunting, but I was also quite concerned that I was using an open sighted rifle that I had never fired. To add to my concerns, I was using some ammo that I had found in Cam’s safe, and the rifle had missed an animal at close range the day before.
After a couple of hours of hard marching we arrived at a couple of small mountains near the center of the concession. Roan had been found here a number of times in the last couple of years. Daniel led me up the mountain and while the views were impressive, we did not find any roan. We spotted a reedbuck in the distance and decided to stalk him. During the stalk I spotted a large waterbuck and he bolted just as I found him in my binos.
We bailed down the mountain but we never did catch up to the reedbuck. Daniel asked me about the waterbuck that I had seen, and I realized that he had not understood that it had been a trophy sized male. We headed out over plain in a seemingly directionless route. Daniel had a interesting habit of pausing every so often to listen and stare off into the bush. I would later come to believe that he was not stopping because of something he heard or saw, but rather because of something he “sensed”.
After about an hour of “wondering” Daniel stopped suddenly and said, “Two waterbucks. Large males.” And there, just 80 yards away were two waterbucks engaged in a heated sparring session. I motioned for Daniel and Enis to stay put as I dropped my rucksack, hat and binos. I moved forward trying to find a clear shooting lane. The ground between the waterbuck and I was partially burned. The waterbuck were fighting in a small arena that was surrounded by a stand of unburned grass.
As the waterbuck fought I would advance. When they would stop to rest I would stop and wait for them to resume their battle. As I got closer I began to think of the borrowed rifle I was using and the fact that I did not really know where the open sights shot. I wanted to get close and I reminded myself to make darn sure to look the front sight down into the notch of the rear sight.
Without realizing it I had advanced to within 25 yards of the waterbuck. There was still a screen of grass between the us that partially obscured my view. I decided the time was ripe to choose which animal I would shoot. As they fought I had no real was to tell which was the better trophy. Suddenly the waterbuck on the left froze facing me and looked right in my direction, ready to bolt. The male on the left stood broadside. As he turned his attention from his adversary and swung his head in my direction I raised the rifle and fired at shot at his heart.
The sights moved out of my view as the rifle recoiled and I watched the waterbuck absorb the shot then bolt. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. I now know exactly why so many guys prefer to hunt with open sights.
As I absorbed the scene Daniel and Enis came running up with my gear. Daniel asked, “did you shoot him?” Confidently I boasted, “I hit him right where I was aiming, he won’t go far.” The words had barely left my mouth before I was overcome with doubt. Had I really seen the hole in the waterbuck’s shoulder as he ran? Daniel pointed at the ground where several drops of blood proved that I had hit the waterbuck.
Daniel took up the tracks and we followed him into the unburned grass. Every ten yards or so Daniel would point towards blood that had sprayed on onto both sides of the trail. We followed the tracks through the tall grass for what felt like hundreds of yards. It was only a waterbuck, but following it through the grass knowing that I held the only gun was a memorable experience. At one point a something bolted from only 10 yards. Due to the grass I never saw what it was, but I found the rifle up and swinging towards the sound. I’m pretty sure it was a reedbuck.
We followed the blood trail down into a ravine and up the other side. I was beginning to sweat as we had gone a long ways and the waterbuck was still able to run uphill. At the top of the incline Daniel turned and gave me a high five. He pointed to the ground and there was my waterbuck.
Daniel(the master) and I.
As we butchered the animal we found that the heart and both lungs had been hit by the bullet. A asked Daniel how he could go that far with so much damage. Daniel shot me an confused look and said, “It only went 80 meters.” Well it sure seemed a lot further than that……
Back at camp we found that the hunter still had not gotten his bushbuck. He had had two more chances, but was never able to get a shot off due to not being able to see the bushbuck sufficiently.
We had Waterbuck for dinner and we all found it to be very edible.
Dec 27th
The other hunter in camp wanted to get one last hunt in as they would be leaving this morning at 9am. He was still using Cam’s rifle and had asked for his back the night before(he needed to pack it up for the trip home).
I was stuck without a firearm, so I waited in camp hoping to see the other hunter come in with a last minute bushbuck. He and Remy came in at 9:30. They had seen bushbuck, but again it was not meant to be. The hunter was in such a hurry that he didn’t have time to shake hands or say goodbye. As he walked past me he said to Remy, “Oh, you can give him back the rifle now” and then jumped into the Toyota. He had put in a great effort and I believe not getting his prize had really put a damper on his spirit. All of us were disappointed, but no one more than Remy. Remy was really despondent having failed to connect the client with his bushbuck.
I was sad to see Daniel leave to escort the clients back to Yaoundé, but I was relieved to finally have Remy to lead the anti poaching crew. Wanting to put the bushbuck debacle behind him, Remy immediately ordered the crew to get ready to head out for a couple of days.
Dec 27th&28th
We covered a bunch of ground doing anti poaching. We found quite a bunch of older sign, mostly old campsites. The poachers campsites are very easy to recognize because of the “Cameroonian campfire” that is to be found at each one. These campfires consist of three rocks that are partially buried to provide a stable surface for a cooking pot. Even after the wood and ash are gone the cook-site is still obvious.
We did find fresh poacher tracks every day. These tracks would meander through the bush and then head for one of the waterholes that could be found along the dry watercourses. One of the problems with following these tracks is the fact that they would cover a huge amount of ground and then would suddenly head straight for the border of the concession. Several times we wasted more half a day following these track only to find that the poachers had, most likely, left the concession before we had found the tracks.
On the 28th we headed out early hoping to find fresh poacher’s tracks. We had not gone far when we spotted a warthog running through the grass. Knowing the guys were almost out of meat I threw up the rifle and fired a shot as the warthog ran through a screen of grass 80 yards away. Just as I fired I noticed that I could see some ivory in spite of the fact that he was mostly obscured by the grass. He fell to the shot then struggled up and limped directly away. I didn’t need shoot, but I sent a shot through the South end of the North bound hog. I was later glad I took the second shot even though it was not necessary because this provided me with the only Barnes-X bullet we were able to recover. Those bullets were amazing. Something like 11 out of 12 had exited and the performance was outstanding.
When we got up to our “meat hog” we found that he had beautiful tusks. Cam had told me that this area did not hold good trophy sized warthogs. This warthogs tusks were good for any area, but what really shocked me was the body size. This was my 7th warthog and none of my previous hogs were anywhere near as heavy as this bruiser. I think this warthog proves that the area does hold some real monster hogs.
I'm the one in back
Big bodied hog with rifle for reference.
At the end of what turned out to be a long, long day the guys were happy to take the meat back to the main camp that night. I am going to be happy to bring the trophy home to put on the wall.
Snakes, Witches & Whirlwinds
The day of December 28th had started with an early and easy warthog kill, but it would turn out to be a very, very long day. After killing the warthog they guys butchered it into about 7 pieces and hung it in a tree. We continued on and cut a path directly to the north looking for signs of poachers. After about five hours we began to veer towards the main road that leads to camp.
The sun was directly overhead and it had become a foot slogging march. As we neared a knoll a huge whirlwind kicked up about two hundred yards away. Because the area had been recently burned all the trees had dropped their leaves. I watched in awe as the whirlwind was carried the leaves hundreds of feet into the air.
The small tornado gained strength and spun past us only 50 yards away. I looked over to the other guys in wide-eyed amazement. I can only describe the look of distress on Enis’s face as being pure dread.
I asked Remy what the problem was. He said there are a lot of “beliefs” in their culture surrounding whirlwinds. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate and I didn’t push it. It was clear that Enis regarded it as a bad omen.
I quietly fell in line behind Remy and we marched off with Enis in the rear. They were in a hurry to leave the scene and I was thinking how silly superstitions can be. We had walked about 50 yards over the freshly burned worm-mounds when something just off the trail caught my eye.
I hit full idiot mode as I swung wide, pointing and exclaiming, “Ehh! Ehh! Ehh! Enis looked in the direction I was pointing then looked at me as though I had gone mad. He must have still had some faith left in me because he swung even wider and got behind me.
We could both now see the slender, tan colored snake coiled just two yards off the trail. His head was raised and he was frozen at the base of a small tree. In his position we could not see him from the trail until we had walked past the tree.
Standing there on the scorched earth looking at this snake, thinking of all the hours I had spent stumbling through grass so thick that I couldn’t see anything below my knees, I felt as though a ghost had kissed me on the neck.
I asked if the snake was poisonous and from about 15 feet behind me Remy assured me that it was. I asked if we should kill it and Remy and Enis nodded emphatically, but Remy said that he was worried that his rice loaded shotgun might not be up to the task. I told them that I could shoot it with the 375. I was surprised when Remy asked me if I could really kill it with the rifle. Hadn’t I been impressing these guys with my fine shooting for the past week?
Enis and Remy stood well behind me ready to run. I took aim(really, really careful aim) at the top of the top coil as I figured the bullet would hit about half an inch low at the distance(10 yards). I fired and the snake bounced and writhed nearly shot in half.
As we moved in the snake turned and began to bite on the tail side of the wound(I remember his mouth was pink). After a minute the front half of the snake turned belly up and I got out my camera. I half jokingly asked if anyone wanted to grab the tail to stretch the snake out for a photo.
Enis(the guy who when sissy at the sight of the whirlwind) marched right in and grabbed the tail that sat motionless about 4 inches away from the head. As soon as he grabbed the tail the dead snake came back to life and the front half turned right side up and started to slither. Who says snakes aren’t sneaky?
At this point I was ready to give up on the photo-op and run away like a schoolgirl. Luckily Remy picked up a small, flimsy stick and moved in for the kill. I began to unpack my two(yes, two) snakebite kits. After about a dozen swings Remy was able to get his willow branch to come down on the head just right and we had a dead snake.
I took three quick photos and we got the hell out of there.
I didn’t see any more snakes for the rest of the trip, but for the remainder of that day my mind placed a snake at the base of every single tree I walked past. Talk about a long day!
I told Remy and Enis that I felt guilty for breaking my “live and let live” snake policy, but they were sure that we had done a good deed as that snake was sure to populate the entire countryside with vicious killer snakes. Through research after returning home I have found that the snake I killed was a Jameson’s Mamba.
Dec 29th- Dec 30th
In the morning we took a different route towards the area on the Mayo Rey where we had encountered the three poachers. I hoped that we would have better luck as Remy was leading the effort and he had far more experience than any of the other crew members.
Remy led us through some of the most uninviting thorn brush that I encountered while in Zone 10. Remy assured us that we were passing through an area that the poachers would be using. We saw several poacher’s campsites and we were continually marching through fresh elephant sign.
When we got to the area that had the freshest elephant sign Remy announced that this would be our campsite. I am not exaggerating when I say that the place smelled like a circus. I was really unsure about this site as it was located right on a game trail.
We dropped our gear and took a lunch break. A male baboon sat in a tree 300 yards across the river and roared at us. I have to admit that I was a bit unnerved. I just don’t like sitting and ignoring a challenge and I asked if I could shoot him. Remy reminded me that we were here to find poachers. I grudgingly agreed, but man I wanted to shoot that rude bastard.
After lunch we left Isa to watch over everything while we headed away from the river looking for poacher sign. Before we left he had cut down a small tree and had began to whittle it into a cassava stirring stick using the same dagger that he used for butchering game(and everything else).
Out on patrol we found some old snare sites, with the snares removed and not much else. When we got back to camp I found that Isa had carved a beautiful utensil from the tree he had cut down. I think he could tell that I was impressed because he later carved three for me to take home to give to my “women”. They will be cherished mementos.
Dinner that night was Mountain House freeze dried. I did try the guy’s cassava and I am the type who always loves tradition African dishes(Pap, Nshima, etc.). Cam has stated that “whites” usually find cassava disgusting, so I was sure that I would be one of the few that would love it. I was wrong, that stuff is disgusting!
I got into my hammock early and fell right to sleep. At about 2am I awoke to a gunshot that sounded as though it was about 300 yards away. It was the boom of a shotgun or a muzzleloader. I heard the guys talking quietly and I listened for a few minutes then, having not heard anything else, fell right to sleep. The fact that I could sleep amazed the hell out of me as I am the type of guy who can’t sleep in the woods if anything goes “bump” in the night, and here I was sleeping while poachers were shooting around us.
As soon as the darkness had begun to fade we were heading away from the river looking for our night poacher. We headed in a straight line for quite a while before finding very fresh tracks. We marched on the tracks which headed North West. After about two and a half hours of very careful tracking we began to feel that we were close.
We crossed several open areas and expected to run into the poacher at any moment. We approached an unburned area and things started to get interesting. We entered the grass and began to slowly follow the tracks. We had not gone far when we heard a brushfire cracking. Our immediate thought was that the fire had just been set as we had not seen or heard any sign of it until just then.
We made a beeline toward the fire. When we got to it we found that it was not as fresh as we thought, but due to the morning breeze we could pinpoint the source. Once at the source the guys quickly found one set of tracks headed straight toward the river.
Over the next three hours I would see some of the best instinctive tracking that I have ever seen. I would also surprise myself a time or two by finding the track myself after we had lost it. Many times we lost the track and instead of going back to the last place we had seen it, Remy would cast forward searching for what he felt would be the route. I did not agree with this method, but Remy proved that he could relocate the track each time.
After about two hours into the tracking we began to become fatigued and discouraged as it did not look like we were gaining on the track. Then Enis found the skin of a young kob. Clearly it had been skinned and was now semi dry. We now knew that we were on the track of a “real” poacher and he had most likely dropped the skin because he was heavily laden, or he knew we were on his trail and was hurrying to get away with his loot.
With a new shot of energy we tracked on at a near jog. Within an hour we had followed the tracks in a straight line and were back to the river. The poacher’s tracks turned and ran parallel the river and we slowed knowing that we might be very close.
If I went back I would just have to do the elephant hunt ... Perhaps lucky for me that I already have shot my jumbo .. 
Bravo !
