The next morning, again a 4am wakeup and off to the buffalo country.
Morning found us checking for tracks on a chunk of 2 track that ran along the super thick river cover
When the trackers started talking and pointing, no buff but instead a bush pig caught in a snare.

Can anyone say porkchops?

Terry asked me to put the animal down and after we made a small circle thru the brush and found 2 more.
One of which was heavy enough and set to catch buffalo.
These were the only snares we found during the entire hunt thou a wildebeest and the 1st buff
I killed, had old snare scars.

We found some buffalo and tracked and played hide & seek with them throughout the rest of the morning,
Not coming up with a good bull in the 2 groups we approached.
I thrived on the chase and marveled at some of the looks on my wife’s face when the first group caught us moving and got curious and came to us.
Closing the gap to 30 yds, noses held high trying to get our wind, they stared at us over the top of the brush.
Kasi is no stranger to adrenaline, being a thrill seeker in her own genre’s of whitewater, ice hockey and back country skiing but 30 Cape Buffalo at 30 yds in tall “over her head” brush, caused involuntary responses. She later coined the new phrase of “typewriter leg” to describe the malady.
The rest of us know it as “buck fever” and when the buffalo had their fill of us and crashed away
The look on her face was one of slack jawed, laser pointed focus, intensified by the being so completely
out of her element and reading the serious attitudes of the rest of us.
I really wasn’t all that surprised to see the beaming smile appear on her face and I have to say quite proud of my girl when she said “That’s fun! Lets do it again!”

Another moment the “face” appeared was when we were in the super thick and had just busted a group of buffalo without seeing them, again.
Seconds later an elephant trumpets 60 or 70 yds to our right and 60 yds later the tracker turns to Terry and whispers “The buffalo are agitated this morning” When asked why Willie replied that there were lions in here chasing them around also!
THIS is exactly what I thought it was going to be like, I revel in the mix, EXACTLY as I dreamed!!

From a professional standpoint it may have been a little too busy in the buffalo woods, tight heavy cover and very little visibility mixed with 3 of the “Big 5”, we soon exited.

(Remember this is my first safari and it would be easy for me to misread the reason for leaving the buff for another day, no slight intended just a newbie’s observations.)

Getting back to the cruiser we started back to camp and hadn’t gone far when a solo wildebeest bull is spotted. We drove past several 100 yds. when Terry snapped his fingers a single time. The vehicle instantly stopped and the trackers bailed out,
Terry climbed down telling me to grab my rifle, that we needed meat for the crew
and the property manager.
Willie and Bongaai go into “hunt mode” (it doesn’t matter where you go in the world and wild country,
When you are in the presence of a “hunter” it’s easy to recognize and when they “switch on” an absolute joy
to be part of)
We ease back up the road cutting the corner as we near the “lane.” The pace slows and all eyes search
I hear Terry say, “Damn he’s buggered off”, at the same moment I spot his midsection between 2 trees,
“There” I point and everyone freezes. Terry grabs the sticks and we are moving, 3 steps and we clear the tree, at the same time the bull turns to face us. The sticks go up and I’m settled in, 7 power, 160 yds.
I dump the safety and paint the crosshairs on the wildebeest’s forehead. Telling Terry the same he says shoot him in the chest. ”Can’t see it” I reply “ Limb in the way, I’m gonna bust his head”
He calls me off and I kneel as low as possible spreading the bog pod legs, I can just see “color”
over the top of the grass below the limb and relay this to Terry. “Kill him” The crosshairs steady and
the 375 thumps back into my shoulder. The beast collapses and I’m off and running, closing on him I stuff another thru his chest and he is ours.
A grand old bull wildebeest, certainly in his golden yrs, 2 old snare scars mark his neck and the boss of his horns, the nerve canals exposed in 5 of his incisors and the flattened areas on the outside curve of his horns show the age.
Maybe just a wildebeest to you ole’ African salts, to me he is the “right” wildebeest. The first I had ever been this close to, I took the time to examine every “part and parcel” before taking some photos.

Later the skinners recover the Barnes slug from his ham, easily 3.5 plus feet of penetration.

Returning to camp I sat and watched the skinners at work and kept their knives sharp while they disassembled the carcass.
Had it not been the different language being spoken, it could have been a “group of guides” in any of the many camps I’ve spent time in. Laughing & joking and I assume poking fun at one another.
Hell, for all I know they were poking fun at me but I didn’t care. I enjoyed my time at the skinning tree.

After the work was finished another comatose inducing lunch was served thou I resisted this “drug” long enough to have a cold water outdoor shower, never mind the towel.

That evening we hunted buffalo by paralleling the river hoping to catch any Inyati exiting the thick cover for an evening drink.
“It” nearly happens a short time later when the brush pops and crashes a mere 10yds away. The scope is already at the lowest setting and I spot several cows thru fist-sized holes in the green wall.
I dump the safety as the Winchester is mounted, just as a hard bossed bull shoulders his way to the forefront of the group.
Terry whispers “On the right”, I’ve seen him too and am staring a ¼ “ over the top of the scope waiting for his “go ahead”
Now the view is thru the scope, center on the heart, trigger finger tightening without thinking.
A millimeter and a microsecond away from the unfelt recoil when the entire bunch is in motion.
Release Pressure! I’ve lost my window. Too many people too close to too many buffalo for a foolish
shot, inches made the difference and I have no regrets. It wasn’t meant to be.
Shooting this buffalo wouldn’t have enhanced the thrill at this moment; I’ve never enjoyed a missed opportunity more. No feelings of Damn! or If only. Or did I think of the experience, as failed.
My hunger is just as strong but there have been snacks to curb the knawing.

Later when the African twilight faded and the red burning sun had set, we returned to camp
An evening cocktail around the 3 log fire, dinner announced by the hulking Shona cook, Cosmos.
With a physic more fitting a lumberjack or heavyweight boxer his deep rumbling voice describes the evening menu of taste bud teasing flavors that would grace any table, of any restaurant, anywhere.
The man is an absolute genius of gourmet. Using simple tools, Iron grate, pots pans and campfire heat.
His smile flashes in the firelight when I tease him that he is making my “spare” 6’ 3” 150Lb frame, Fat.

Great story so far.

My wife had the same reaction to the buffalo. She could not believe that we got that close without seeing them. Even after they busted us and ran we never saw them.Unbelievable amount of noise when the run.

I would say your soul is now corrupted, great read, waiting for the next segment.

Great pictures!

Great right-up. I hunted Masapas with Terry earlier this year, only a couple days after he was moved off of the Savuli. Terry and his staff run a great tented camp (which I thought ended up being a better experience than the permanent camp) and delivered a great game filled hunt under trying circumstances. I'm glad to hear that others have had the same experience. Looking forward to the rest of the hunt!

I keep coming back to this for more. Hurry up man as I leave for a hunt tomorrow.

Good so far. Please post the next installment.

Cannot get enough of this hunt report!!!!

Enjoy the read, keep it coming. Very nice photos.

Mike

Great reports so far...as Mike said, keep it coming.