Made it home last night. Will be at work today if anyone who has that addy wants to email me there. Great trip. Took everything I went for and made new friends to last a lifetime. Only trouble is that now I need to raise a ceiling or add on another room just to fit the kudu....

I'll try to figure out how to post photos, otherwise I can email them to anyone who wants to see.

Who did you hunt with?

Mssgn,

Congratulations on your hunt.

Email me your pictures and I will post them for you (Send no more than 6 at a time, as I'm on a dial up connection and it takes forever to download).

Regards,

Terry

Africa at last -

My brother in law John and I are both avid deer hunters and ravenous readers who devour every scrap of hunting literature that falls into our hands. Hemingway, Hunter, and Capstick fed our minds tales of hunting African game until we ached for the experience ourselves. We made a compact to go together in the distant future, when we could afford it. I thought perhaps if I saved my pennies for 20 years, I would be able to go to celebrate my fiftieth birthday, or perhaps when I retired. Six months later John walked away from a head on auto collision. He decided that he would wait no longer. Dreams were meant to be lived not longed for. So he and my sister Sheila went to Namibia after plains game. They had such a fantastic trip that he convinced me to make my dream a reality the following year. I was just a little (17 years) ahead of schedule.

Daring to dream we booked a flight leaving NYC's JFK on 9/11/2002 one year after the attack on the World Trade Centers. We put our lives in God’s hands and he proceeded to not only bring us safely home again, but to exceed my wildest dreams.

Fourteen hours after take off our PH Siegfried Jeske (Ziggy) met us at the gate of Windhoek, Namibia’s airport with his 13 year old son Erwin. Erwin proved to have the most amazing eyes for spotting game that I have ever seen. These two would be our near constant companions when afield for the next 10 days. We loaded into Ziggy's van for a short drive over paved roads to the Safari Hotel. I was beat but the consensus was for a drink before retiring for bed and that pattern would serve us in good stead for the remaining 10 days. I balked a bit at the $8 price of an Amarula cream (made from the fruit of the Marula tree into a sweet cream liquor similar to Baily's Irish Cream). Then I realized that the price was in Namibian dollars which made it about 80 US cents. We would live like aristocracy for the remainder of our stay.

My room was on par with US motels, except that the television and radio played in Afrikaans. There was neither enough English in the language, or enough memory of German to let me follow a story line, so after my first international call home and a shower, I went to bed. The night passed without incident except for my first sight of the Southern Cross Constellation and the southern hemisphere moon which seemed strangely tipped on its side.

Breakfast was an elaborate all you could eat buffet (eggs, sausage, toast, fruit, yogurt, juices, coffee, tea, and more) that we made good use of before setting out for the long drive to Ziggy's ranch and home. En route we picked up provisions for the week at the local butcher and
grocer. We left pavement at the city limits of Omaruru and continued to Ziggy's ranch 30 km beyond.

With 10 KM remaining I saw my first kudu bull. Moose sized, standing broadside 100 yards from the road his curling spiral horns spread wide at the tips forming a yard high V pointing down to help locate him. I couldn’t believe that we didn’t unload the rifles right there. “Oh yah” Ziggy drawled “a small one. He’s a last day kudu.” Good heavens, if that one was only good enough to take on the last day, what would a good one look like? I would find out that very night.

The first evening we moved our things into our rooms and from his long experience Ziggy knew that we would rather hunt, than unpack. We sighted in our rifles and with scarcely an hour of daylight remaining loaded up his Toyota pick up. John and I took the seat nearest the cab. Sheila and Erwin behind on the two remaining bench seats in the back. We began to drive in the bottom of a dry river bed winding away from the house. Within minutes we had seen a herd of kudu cows and calves and just a short distance away a bull. Not just a bull, but a huge bull with three full spirals in his horns towering more than four feet above his head. He had ghosted away through the brush leaving me with the memory of my cross hairs following his dark shape behind a brush filled screen and those fantastic horns in the clear, towering above the 7 foot shrubbery until he went out of sight. It went like that all weekend.

We had 3 days of no shot opportunity and skiddish critters due to unusually windy conditions. The kudu were staying under cover and were very nervous because the wind kept setting off their defense system. Those big mule deer like ears were never quite sure if the sound was a leopard
creeping up on them, or just the rustle of grass in the wind.... They took no chances and ran at the first hint of danger. We had seen both Oryx and Kudu every day, but always under cover and only for mere seconds.

Monday we drove the same river bed we had the first evening. As the truck rounded a thick patch of brush my rifle was in my hands and the chamber filled when a huge bull materialized on the river bank. He was incredible. Three full twists and out turned ivory horn tips were suddenly at our elbow. I believe it was the same bull I had seen the first night. He was less than 40 yards away, his knees at eye level as I looked up from the back of the moving truck. Ziggy stopped, but we had already gone past him.

I turned in my seat, twisting to face what had been over my left shoulder. The kudu seemed frozen in an instant of time while I brought the rifle to my shoulder and the scope to play. At least I thought he was. In reality, he was already moving, sinking into a crouch from which he would bound away into the thorns. I saw his body in the scope, and swung over his flank and up toward his shoulder. Suddenly, I couldn't see him. His entire heart/shoulder area was covered by a tree 20 inches in diameter. I debated a neck shot for a fraction instant until I saw him start to move. I thought "When he steps forward, his chest will be in the clear." My finger tightened on the trigger as he threw his head away from me and leapt (not stepped) 20 feet directly away. I fired and I thought the shot was good. Time began again as the bull crashed away out of sight in the brush.

We climbed off the truck and began to track. I could not believe that we didn't see blood where he stood. Thirty minutes later, I STILL couldn't believe that we couldn't see blood! I quit following the bull's tracks and returned to the river's edge. The tracking had been for nothing. The evidence was clear. A thumb sized branch at the height of the bull's shoulder was shot off between us. A tree that had been behind the bull was fully penetrated a foot higher. Somehow, the intervening stick had deflected my shot (already a bit high) too high and the bull had escaped unharmed.

The next morning we decided to let the area we had been hunting cool off and drove 26 km to a farm owned by Louis Anderson. Mr. Anderson owns a successful trucking company in Namibia. He graciously allowed us to hunt on his property in exchange for a share of the PH's trophy fee and for the meat from any game collected there. Considering that we couldn't import the meat home to the US anyway, it wasn't a bad deal for trophy hunters.

It was cool for Namibia when we left before dawn and bundled into the back of the truck. I had brought a light jacket for just such a morning, but by the time we reached Mr. Anderson's property, I wondered why I hadn't brought a full parka!

Turning onto Anderson’s private lane, Ziggy stopped the truck and told me to load the rifle - just in case. We had driven perhaps half the 8 km from the public highway to the ranch house (Mr. Anderson owns 15,000 acres on this ranch) when Ziggy's 13 year old son Erwin called out "Kudu! Mooi bull” pointing with out stretched arm. I have no idea how he saw them with the naked eye from a speeding truck, but I eventually found them in the scope. A PAIR of old bulls at
150 yards were rapidly putting thorn brush between us!

I held my Winchester M70 topped with a Leupold 3-9x scope (on 3x power). The chamber was filled with my handloaded 300 grain Swift A-frame projectiles over 67.9 grains of Alliant's Reloader 15 powder in a 375 H&H Federal classic case.

The bulls slipped away at a trot. Ziggy spun the truck to the next opening in the brush and in a moment I saw a bull! He was passing in and out of sight in the 7 foot high thorn brush 200 yards away. With that much distance between us he slowed from a trot to a walk but there was too thick a screen of limbs between us for a certain shot. Almost without realizing it I said out loud "I can't get a clear shot!" Erwin stepped close behind me, checked the angle my rifle was pointing and pointed with his open hand ten degrees to the right of my aim. In his Afrikaner accent the boy said "He is there!" And he was!

The larger bull, unseen by me, was moving away at 250 yards. His front shoulders higher than his haunches gave him the appearance of walking away up hill. From this angle I could put a bullet into the back of his ribs, through his lungs and into the off shoulder. I squeezed the
trigger.

I left the empty cartridge case in the chamber until my feet hit the ground. I then cycled the action, put a live cartridge in the chamber and without realizing it, pocketed the warm case as I set off behind Ziggy into the bush. He had been unable to see the bull when I fired so was unsure of the exact location. But Erwin had seen and raced ahead. He passed me about 200 yards from the truck, turned and smiled pointing with outstretched arm "There he lies." Coming up to him I could see the bull 50 yards beyond us. He lay on his chest where he had dropped with a clipped spine and a 300 grain bullet lodged in his shoulder. Stepping close I shot him behind the near shoulder, unloaded the rifle and leaned it against a bush. Then I took the old bull's massive horns in my hands and raised his nose from the dust it had furrowed when he fell. I held his head as he breathed his last. There was no fear in him. He was king here, and he was king as his breathing slowed, his heart stopped, and his eyes saw his kingdom no more.

Afterwards:

Ziggy said that he was an old bull, past his prime. The reference books tell me that a very old kudu may live to be 14. Ziggy said that this bull was 10 years old. He had begun to drop weight and his horn ridges had been worn smooth by a lifetime of breaking thorny branches to bring tender leaves within reach to browse.

We loaded the bull on the truck and delivered him to the butchering shed at Anderson's. In two hours the skin and horns were packed, the quartered meat hung in a screened shed, the internal organs had been stripped, cleaned and divided by the staff for their evening meal, and the floor of the shed washed clean.

My kudu's horns measure 52 inches on one side and 54 on the other around the curl. They tell me that it qualifies him for SCI record book, but that doesn't matter. He is my first African animal, a truly worthy trophy to remember, and the realization of a dream come true.

[ 10-02-2002, 22:40: Message edited by: Mssgn ]

Great story Mssgn!
Congratulations on teh Kudu!
I don't feel as bad about my arrow eating tree on a Nyala after hearing of the bullet eating one

I can't wait to hear the stories of the rest of your trip.
Thanks

Mssgn,

Here are your pictures. Why are you always looking away from the camera? Is there a warrant out for your arrest?









[ 09-27-2002, 18:52: Message edited by: T.Carr ]

Thanks for trying Terry!

We'll just have to give them "word pictures."

Part 2:

I was absolutely thrilled with taking my kudu but it was 7:30 in the morning and we hadn't even made it to the ranch house yet. I had thought to myself. If I can take a nice Kudu, Oryx, or Impala, my trip will be a good one. If I can take any two it will be GREAT. I couldn't let myself dream of taking all three animals. With the kudu bull on the ground I was a happy man, and figured that I had more than I could expect from my first African hunt already. We winched the big kudu up on the truck and continued to the ranch house. About 5 minutes after we arrived the staff was on hand for butchering in their spotless blue coveralls. The truck backed up to the Anderson's butchering shed and off loaded directly onto the clean cement floor of the butchering area. In minutes the men were caping my kudu (oh Lord, he's going to look great in my living room!) and the truck was hosed clean. A quick drink and we were off again with a farm Employee and his helper aboard. Willam and 11 year old Elliot were members of the Okavango tribe and represented Mr. Anderson while we hunted on his land.

By 8 AM the golden sun was well up and the day already 80 degrees. Jackets came off and sun screen went on along with lip balm to protect our lips from drying and cracking in the hot dry air. It seemed strange to have no dew on the ground as the bush came alive with the sounds of small birds and animals. By nine we had seen Ostrich and Steinbok, even a pair of young Hartebeest bulls that John passed on. But not the trophy quality bull hartebeest or a really massive kudu to better those John had taken the previous year or the Oryx and Impala we both hoped for.

I don't know why the impala appeals to me so much. They have such graceful beauty and those lyre shaped horns - oh what reading room with flickering fire could be complete without an impala mount testifying of hunts far afield in exotic lands? I have wanted an impala shoulder mount since I was a small child. I can vividly remember coming across a lyre shaped set of forked twigs when I was 5 or 6 years old. I proudly treasured my play trophy was on the verge of tears when my older brother carelessly snapped them apart one bored afternoon! All this in a family of non-hunters who had never been outside of the US. Some things defy logic.

Suddenly there they were. Ablaze in the morning sun, dappled with the shadow of budding Acacia thorn, a herd of nearly 20 impala stood appraising us +/- 100 yards to our right. It took a minute to sort them out. But yes there was herd ram. Good heavens he was gorgeous. Tall spires in the classic lyre shape. My trigger finger ached - but I reached for the camera. It was John's turn to shoot.

The herd milled, the ram walked among his harem of a dozen or more females and their young. In and out of shadow, a light dry breeze gusting the bunches of long dry grass sprouting from dry sand. First one way then swirling, swirling...to the herd.

With flicking tails and a skipping trot, they were away and out of sight into the bush. Our scent had reached them. John and Ziggy left the truck to begin a stalk, but Willam halted them. 200 yards behind us, a female impala crossed the open road! We waited. A second, a third, a fourth female crossed. Someone said "He is coming. The ram." I steadied my camera and watched the empty road. I saw him leave the brush, enter the center of my lens, and pass beyond. At my elbow, John lowered the rifle. The ram had been too quick.

The herd topped a low rise 400 yards away, halted briefly and began to walk (not run) away. Ziggy, John, and Willam took up the stalk and left the rest of us behind. They returned 40 minutes later to tell the same story of shifting wind giving away their position when they had crept close, but this time the herd did not halt. They could only be pushed so much. We returned to the truck.

At noon we took a lunch of cold sandwiches, boiled eggs and Namibian bottled soda pop back at the ranch house. After an hour's leisure we were back out. The impala herd was not to be found. But Willam guided us to another part of the 15,000 acre property where he thought we might find more impala. On the way we saw Oryx and zebra dash away at the sight of us. Neither showed any sign of slowing as they went out of sight so we continued to a series of low swelling rises in the sandy ground. Dry river beds ox bowed here between banks of trees and bushes that were actually green (something we saw only rarely in Namibia). It took less than an hour for Elliot to throw out his arm and whisper something in Okavango. Willam translated in a whisper "Shhhhh-shhhhh-shhhhhh - impala, 2 ram."

Oh my goodness. It was still John's turn to shoot, but here were two. One for each of us!

(Hey I don't want to bore you guys, and btw: I really am supposed to be working - so more later!).

Willam and Elliot


[ 09-28-2002, 06:24: Message edited by: T.Carr ]

Mssgn,

quote:

---

Thanks for trying Terry!

We'll just have to give them "word pictures."

---

Can't you see the pictures? I can see them.

Regards,

Terry

P.S.
Send me some more pictures and I'll post them.

[ 09-28-2002, 06:12: Message edited by: T.Carr ]

I can now, Thanks a lot!

part 3.

Willam, our Okavango guide/tracker pointed into the thorns and we caught a glimpse of two lone impala rams. Their golden coats flickered between sun and shadow as they trotted away. They were a pair of old rams. “Brothers” Willam called them. Who past their prime, had left or been driven away from the herd of females and young and spent their days only in one another’s companionship.

They were beautiful as they ran into the thickets. Ziggy put us back in motion wheeling the truck around the thickest of thorn bush, anticipating their path of flight and bringing us ahead of them. He stopped the truck where a lane opened between two thickets. We had seen the rams go into the far side of the thicket that was now on our right. I watched eager to see them emerge into the shooting lane. My camera, all but forgotten swung on its strap. Even though it was John’s turn to shoot, there were two rams. If he dropped the first to step out, the second would be mine.

We waited with scopes glued to the shooting lane. In a moment we saw movement, not to the right of the lane, but on the left! Could the impala have crossed the lane before we reached it and now were circling back? I don’t know if that was the case, or if another ram had fatally blundered into our ambush, but when he stepped clear of the bush broadside to us and stopped an instant in surprise at the sight of us, John’s 35 Whelan spoke.

I saw the ram flinch, then he was off. A single leap carried him across the shooting lane and back into the thickets. I kept my sights glued to the shooting lane, but no second ram crossed. So after a few moments we went down to collect John’s ram. Eighty yards from where he had been hit, the ram lay with a bullet through both front shoulders.

He was gorgeous. Thick bases and big ridges on his curving black horns contrasted against his red/gold coat. He was a beautiful old ram. Like my kudu, Ziggy estimated that he was 10 years old. A fine old ram for John. We hunted the rest of the day and I’ll tell elsewhere about John and I doubling on fine Oryx bulls a half hour apart, but first let me finish talking about Impalas.

We hunted the rest of the day and all of the next day too without sighting another single impala. But my hopes were high for bringing home one of my own in the week of hunting that remained. Two days after John collected his ram, we returned to hunt the same area. We knew that there was at least one solitary old ram, and the herd ram we had seen before. It was about 8 AM when my sister Sheila spotted the impala herd on a low rise some 200 yards from us. Ziggy, Willam and I left the truck and bending low to keep ourselves screened with brush we stalked 50 then 75 yards closer to the herd. Here the brush opened up. There was no cover for 30 yards before the bush resumed. Beyond that growth and within sight because they were elevated five or six feet on a swell in the sandy ground, the herd mingled. The wind was perfect, straight toward us from them. The sun was to our backs. I could not have asked God for a better shot opportunity.

By standing almost to my full height I brought the Steyr 30-06 that John had given me for Christmas two years before to bear on the ram. My Simmons Prohunter scope picked him up beautifully. The 2.5 magnification (its lowest power setting) showed me the ram chewing, blinking, tossing his head at a fly that settled on his eyelashes. I could see him and those gorgeous lyre shaped horns perfectly…from the neck up. A female impala stood squarely in front of him.

She faced the opposite direction. On the far side of him, a second member of his harem casually browsed along. I could not risk a pass through with the 30-06. Federal’s factory loaded 180 grain Nosler partition rested in my rifle’s chamber and I was confident that it would pass completely through the ram at 125 yards. Slowly, ever so slowly the female behind the ram stepped ahead of him. The ram reached out and nipped off a leaf from a low hanging bough. At my elbow, Ziggy hissed “Wait for him to move.” I waited. The impala between us dipped her head, switched her tail, and stepped ahead, baring the front half of the ram’s body to me. Should I let her go one step more? The ram started to turn away to follow the female who had passed behind him and to the far side of a bushy thorn tree. I couldn’t wait. If the wind shifted, they would be gone.

I pulled the trigger, and heard the bullet slap into him. Coming out of recoil I chambered a second round, and saw the ram stumble forward to complete his turn and stagger a few steps out of sight into the thorn. I was quietly pleased and smiled to myself as I thumbed the rifle’s safety on. There was no need to hurry. Like John’s ram, he would take a few steps and fall down. I walked up slowly to where he had stood.

The herd had scattered. Tracks were everywhere, but walking to where I had seen the ram disappear I looked confidently and found blood. Now we would just trail him to where he lay. I was wrong. The tracks and the blood continued straight away for a quarter mile. We cast about walking circles on the bare, hard packed sand at one point until John found the trail again 20 yards from where it had been lost. I thought I saw a flicker of white across a gully and sure enough the tracks eventually lead us there and beyond to a dry riverbed. Occasionally we would find a place where he had stood watching us while we relentlessly pursued. On drier ground the blood would have pooled but here the dry sand acted as a blotter soaking every bit of moisture at impact. The trail went on into the thickest thorn for miles. Finally, at the edge of a dry riverbed, Ziggy halted on one knee and pointed. Coming up beside him, I sank down and through a tunnel in the leaves and thorn I could see the front shoulder of an impala standing immobile. It could be no other. In an instant I had sent a second Nosler through the ram’s shoulders bringing him to earth.

He was the last African animal on my wish list for this hunt, and though he is the smallest I took I think he is the trophy dearest to me. An estimated seven years old, in the prime of his health with 22 inches of horn length on each side he still takes my breath away to look at him, even in photographs.

As a side note, I can’t help but think that the second old ram (the lone remaining member of the pair that escaped us the first day) might go back and re-assert dominance over the herd. That old ram was probably driven away by mine when he reached the peak of his strength and had been forced to live on the fringes with his old partner who had been taken from him. Had I not taken the herd ram, the oldster’s life would have become one of solitude. But now he has the chance to take up leadership of the heard and live out his remaining days in glory. There is a balance in things and blessing in every situation if you look for it in the right way. I know that I feel blessed to have taken the trip of a lifetime and brought home every animal I had hoped for. Now the question remains…how long until we do it again?








[ 10-01-2002, 05:19: Message edited by: T.Carr ]

Mssgn-
Thanks for part 3! You make it feel like we are looking over your shoulder.

Great job MSSGN. Ahhhh, I can almost say I was there too. Thanks for the mental picture as well as the real ones.

-Pals.

Nice description of a great trip. Wish I were there. I also wish I knew how to post pictures, I'm sure this won't work.

Twang

[IMG]C:\Documents and Settings\administrator\Desktop\Africa\dongola view.JPG[/IMG]

Twang,

Here is a link that may help re: posting pictures.

http://www.serveroptions.com/ubb/ultimatebb.php?ubb=get_topic;f=2;t=002524

Regards,

Terry

posting picture test:

[img] www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid36/p9dbd1930bb77a912e4aecbaaadfa4a5c/fd26d0ae.jpg [/img]

[img]www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid36/p9dbd1930bb77a912e4aecbaaadfa4a5c/fd26d0ae.jpg [/img]

http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid36/p9dbd1930bb77a912e4aecbaaadfa4a5c/fd26d0 ae.jpg

[URL=http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid36/p9dbd1930bb77a912e4aecbaaadfa4a5c/fd26d0ae.jpg]www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid36/p9dbd1930bb77a912e4aecbaaadfa4a5c/fd26d0ae.jpg[ /URL]

[ 11-02-2002, 05:56: Message edited by: Mssgn ]

what am I doing wrong guys?

Mssgn,

Are you using the 'image' button in the 'instant UBB code' field when posting? That's the easiest way to insert a photo into a post.

You need to make sure that you include the:

code:

---

http://

---

:string before the 'www'.

The code to do it by hand is:

code:

---

---

Hope that helps,

-Steve

[ 11-02-2002, 08:56: Message edited by: Steve ]

Steve:
still don't know what I did different, but it WORKED!

Thanks.









[ 11-03-2002, 07:17: Message edited by: Mssgn ]