Back from a short trip to Zim. It was more a relaxed getaway from a hectic world to visit friends prior the holidays than a hunt.



But it surely was a continuous story from my previous stay there, since we got a few days and slip away up to Doma to do some relaxed snack hunting.

I was staying in the same chalet (Fish eagle) as last time with only difference that my lizard house dog was replaced by a 3 foot crocodile. I loved that guy – it was there all the time. During the day it was sunbathing on the lowest step to the lake and during the night an orange reflectioned eye under my torch would revealed his omni presence.



Everything was so different than last time. Weather was following the usual circle from fresh, blinding clear sharp days followed by rising humidity that could be clearly seen in build up of singular white clouds that were slowly but surely increasing in numbers, becoming bigger, higher, with darkening flat bottoms until the breaking point was reached and they let it go in a form from refreshing drizzle to deafening thunder storms with heaps of water that would flush the area virgin new.



Tree striked by lightning

Mainly we would just drove, walk or climb the area and observe the beautiful sights, inhaling a dense smell of boiling nature arising from a humid red earth in a form of exploding green foliage that was bursting out to get some sun.



I have seen what I was lacking in April – that thick tall grass was mostly all burned and the new one was knee high – giving us a beautiful sights of a green golf course.



Managed to see small guys like duiker and oribi in good numbers, as well as some more impala, waterbuck and above all a mighty sable.







Nevertheless we were looking for buffalo – and they were there. In 4 days we managed to get on them 2 times – the first one was a group.

We found tracks crossing the road – dung at this time of the year was different – dark (spinach) green. We hit the tracks and in less than ½ an hour caught up with them. They were in a gully on their way uphill. Wind was mostly at our backs so we circled right, lower on the slope then up, that brought us parallel and level with them. We were stacked in the last scrub before open forest some 100m away from the herd. Herd was stretched over 60m in width and we started to glass them. There were 2 niiice bulls there – one was just coming in front of the herd from our right to left. It would be a reasonably comfy 100m shot with a scoped rifle and if that would be what I was after I would get my buff the very first day. However peeking over open sights one could only speculate the outcome of the shot on a black patch between trees backed by a deep black background of the rest of the herd. While I was glassing the bull – he was pitched black, mature, already hard bossed guy with a nice drop, ~38” spread with beautifully pointed points sweeping backwards when looking from side - the Sun was beating down heavily and the wind began to shift. To make it even denser a strange buzzing sound began to evolve from the top of the near tree in a form of wild bees beginning their swarm – luckily over us and beyond. So we backed some to get to the ridge behind us that was rising up the slope and well hidden behind it made a swift climb that brought us above the herd. Trackers were put in bay and we descented on our knees and hands closer. We managed to get within 30m or so to the nearest animal (herd was now just behind a shallow ridge beneath us), that was according to heavy swaying bush, a bull that have just began to have his boss style made. Anyway, just as buffalo doctor ordered there was a beautiful snowy white storm tower cloud beginning to form right behind the herd – the huge lifting mass of the humid air began to inhale a decent amount of neighbouring air in a form of a gentle swirl licking our necks.

Deep “Mooourgh”, subdued duba-dum, duba-damn announced a swift, tho not far (maybe 30m) retreat of a whole heard that suddenly came to a dead still truce. Mr Sullivan would say: “We were listening for them and they were listening for us.” It didn't last long – suddenly another whirl send a false message to our quarry that we are somewhere else and they repeated the duba-duba thing with only a slight difference in amount of 180 degrees of their course – aka our way. Weee – I have underestimated the size of the herd – optimistic expectation of maybe 12-15 animals was revealed in a huge black single body mass of 40 strong running blindly in front of us – luckily leaning into a right handed corner – we made a hasty sprint along as fast as we could to get to the ridge and see if they would like to stop and check their trail – they didn't. With some wicked sense of humour based on a common sense and experience they took the very same trail (exactly the same to be honest) as they did ½ a year ago – toward the Park. We followed them as long as it was clear that a constant downwind course won't grow a fruit of any kind.



The second time we (Gordon and yours truly), were enjoying our midday siesta – resting in a truck parked in a deep acacia tree shade, having a go at a yummy lasagna that our cook provided us with in the morning, waiting for the trackers that were debarked a couple of kliks ago to check the last gully, under the last dam on the very last day. I was already packing my stuff in my mind trying to remember where I have put my passport and wondering if yesterdays laundry would be washed and dry to be packed. The long wait (every time those last much, much longer then expected) was interrupted by a smiling figures of our trackers appearing behind the truck. They have found a fresh spoor of a single dagga boy just around the corner.

Well so much about a last day peaceful sunny afternoon...It was 13.15 PM when we jumped the track. It was coming from an ancient, long forgotten and overgrown pasture that could be recognised solely by a couple of remaining poles of former fence, descending along the slope just to make a left hand turn over the ridge. There it meander along some rocks on the exposed ridges, passing them, descending again – keeping a left hand curve to a hidden mud hole on a bank of a vlei. Track was still not fresh – one could see baboon tracks over the one of the buffalo – meaning that track was from morning – yet we followed, certain that buff would have to bed down sooner or later with a proviso that we would encounter it bedded down. There was something strange tho – there wasn't a single dung along track so far. Anyway, tracking became bit easier since one could see drops of a mud that buffalo was leaving behind after the mud bath. Now the track was crossing the slope, keeping the height for some time when suddenly it dropped to the right, nearing a waste thicket in the valley.

All this time I was butchering myself whit a thought – how is all this going to end – already low, 3 PM sun shining on our backs on a very last day – I could nearly see a gut hit buff disappearing in the dusky bush - BTW, I have a plane to catch morrow...hullo!?

Tho I bumped all that nonsense out my head for at least two reason I was able to remember at the time – Gordon looked pretty calm and we were nearing the thicket. For one reason or the other the buff suddenly backtracked and continued along the thicket – I guess it was looking for a good downwind course to enter the thicket to eliminate a possibility of being sneaked upon from its track. Entering and backtracking thing repeated a couple of times until we ended in a but high patches of shiny green bushes.

There we could smell it, damn it must be very, very close. Sit got tense – whites of trackers eyes became even whiter therefore bigger – rifle was resting in my hands for some time, tho it got slippery and unusually light. Thumb of my hand that was embracing the pistol grip slipped to the bumpy edge of a safety, applying a tiny push ready to squeeze it all the way.

Another backtrack and a short right turn - when - all of the sudden – “duba-duba” thing...all I could see was buff's hindquarters disappearing through bushes not 5 m away. RUN – I remember sprinting, trying to catch the Gordon in a swift pursuit through the thick stuff for some 30 m to the edge of the thicket, where he suddenly stopped.

Through branches of the last remaining bush I have picked up a massive – half mud caked sturdy body of a buff, standing broadside at 50m looking our way – rifle was in a single swing coming up – shiny red front bead already insight was climbing up front leg and The finger was beginning to slip on the trigger, when Gordon whispered in a hurry, “Don't shoot – it's a cow...”

Eish at that time I have moved my attention from the buff's “Bermuda triangle” to its head – damn, indeed hairy boss-less space between horns on a light head revealed that we've been pulled by a big foot, big bodied “dugga mama”. How or why it ended alone still remains a mystery – the only thing that we could came up was that it was probably looking for a place to give birth or something...anyway it gave us all there is possible to expect from a great Nyati hunt...

A cig, couple of water sips and we were back to where we have started – slow, relaxed ascent toward setting sun that was spreading its last beams through a blistery green grass.

Sounds like another enjoyable hunt, even if only for a short stay.

beats a day at the office anytime

mouse, neat pix, thanks

NP - my pleasure - on the side it is quite an experience to be a part of hunt preparation - getting supplies, fuel…here is a part of load we were taking along:



And a pic of some scouts – wild creatures you don’t want to mess with – tho very loyal and trained, when reporting they always performed the old British Army salute. They appear to be of great help – patrolling the area on daily bases they are a good source of information on tracks, bate hits…we were either stopping by their dwelling or they would leave a written report in the certain house of a village. Armed with shotguns or old rifles they are quite a sight to be seen.



One day we visited the only remaining white farmer in the area that cultivate tobacco –the farm’s fence is locked with dogs on loose and an armed guard at the gate – here is the guy you can not fail to observe.

Nice pics, what is the story with the lion cub?

There is a neat lion park just outside Harare where you can drive through with your car - under proviso that windows are shut tight - no fence between you and lions.






Next to it is a small zoo. Guard let me enter the cage with cubs - there were 3 of them - 2 older ones and the one on the pic that was bit younger.

Mouse: Your killing me! Did not make the trip this year: just finished an email with Gordon to set up something for next year before the soccer games. Looks like Gordon has a new vehicle?

Eish - his driver crashed his HiLux last month (nobody was badly hurt) - tho with all the "goodies" in PH's life it is a last thing one needs. Not new - the vehicle is his Nissan that served the cause atm.

Continues - Part 3