This is a repeat of my narrative of my May 2002 hunt with Chappie Scott (Scott of Africa) whose US representative is Jeff Sellers (1-888-346-4868)

When I hunted with Chappie Scott (Scott of Africa) last year, my ph told me about the hunts down on the coast for several of the animals that I wanted to add to my collection. I spoke with Chappie before I left, and contacted his agent, Jeff Sellers here, and set up the coastal hunt. This is a package which Chappie offers on an on going basis. The hunt included wild pig, caracal, and bushbuck. I believe the cost was around $4500 for seven days and the mentioned animals. As it turned out, it was more than enough! I added grysbok and nyala to the bag.

We hunted five different animals in four different locations. We hunt the bushbuck on the coast on a large working farm that is part of a nature conservancy for oribi. We hunted the bushpig on a game farm near Grahamstown owned by an American and managed by South Africans. This was a huge holding over 10,000ha. More importantly, it was the thickest bush I have ever seen. The dogs’ tails were bloodied from chasing the pig through this stuff. The caracal and blue duiker were hunted with hounds at Kikuyu Lodge operated by Harry Fourie. This was an even more beautiful farm of similar or larger size. We did not stay at the lodge, but saw the buildings and I understand that it is first class. The Nyala was taken on a farm owned by Irvin Tam. It was over 36,000acres. Beautiful place.

The hunt on the coast was the most beautiful I have experienced in Africa. The western coast of the Cape Province looks like northern California. The farm sits astride the coastal highway, and we hunted both sides of the farm. We scored on the ocean side. It was like hunting on Pebble Beach. I am not exaggerating in the least. I have never hunted in such a scenic place. Ashley King, my ph, and Walter, the owner, spotted my animal first. He was one of two bushbucks that had squared off to have a fight. Both were puffed up, and they were oblivious to our presence. I got in position and fired at the larger animal as he was moving away from us. Because of the range (and resetting my sights) I hit him low in the hind leg. Immediately the concern was that he would head for the deep brush which covers the dunes along the sea. We ran to cut him off, and Walter and George our tracker stayed in place to drive him towards Ashley and I. They started their drive while Ashley and I waited below, along a wide opening separating the bush he had entered from the dunes. He flushed right in front of us, and just as bushbucks always do, used every twig for cover as he made his dash for safety. He passed me at about 25 yards at his best three-legged speed. The 250gr Ballistic Tip from my 9.3x62 hit him amidships and knocked him down. His momentum carried him forward better than five yards, and he was finished before George and Walter got to us. I was lucky, but the 9.3 performed perfectly. The exit wound is on the side of the animal shown in the pictures. The 250BT is a tough bullet.

The next day, we left at zero-dark-thirty to hunt the bushpig. This was to be a long day and Ashley’s cure for jet lag. We reached the farm of Roy Hess at about 9:00am. Paul Martin and Dave Mills were already ready with their pack of dogs and handlers. We motored over to the backside of the farm, which is some of the roughest bush I have seen in RSA.

Bushpig is hunted with hounds that pursue the pig through the bush, and you attempt to shoot it when it crosses a road. There is no sexing. There is no selection or culling because of the dogs. What they chase is what you get.

The roads are one lane, dirt tracks. Range is anywhere from point blank to 200 yds. Let me tell you that trying to get a sight on one of these rascals at 175yds is more luck than skill. My first try, I hardly even saw the pig much less got a shot. The second time, it was delayed by going under the fence. But not much! I managed to get off a shot that was declared a miss.

I had been told that when the dogs bayed the pig, it was imperative that we get there before the pig started to hurt the dogs. Shortly after my shot, the pig turned and made its stand. We started to run to the sound of the dogs.

Did I mention that I don’t have an ACL in my right leg? We ran down a track into the gully where the pig had stopped. This run was about 100 yds. Then we had to negotiate about thirty-five yards of the nastiest brush you can imagine. The one thing I left this trip was my bird hunting jeans. Never leave home without them. Past arcadia trees and briars and arcadia trees, finally we neared the sound of the dogs and the pig. Paul was carrying my rifle (thank goodness), and as he handed it to me to shoot, I stepped forward, tripped and fell on my arse right behind the dogs, almost in the middle of the fray. I handed the gun to Paul, extended my hand to George, took the rifle back from Paul, turned and fired. End of the hunt. My first reaction was relief. My second was to hand the rifle to Paul and start pulling the thorns out of my derriere. All of this, mind you, was captured in living color by Ashley (Cecile B.).

On examination, we found I had hit the pig in the front leg, which is why it turned to fight so soon afterward. The 9.3 at close range again settled the issue. My pig was a young one without the warts the older ones get. However, it was an exciting experience and it is going on my wall as a half mount.

We returned to the Lodge building, which was very nice but much unused. George cleaned and skinned the animal and we had some lunch packed by Ashley’s mother-in-law. After a delicious lunch, we drove back to the coast stopping in Bathhursts (there is no thirst like Bathhurst) where we had a few Castles. We got home sometime later, and I took a nap. That evening, we left for a different farm owned by Walter’s brother, to hunt for grysbok.

Grysbok are nocturnal and hunted at night. The trick is getting to them, sexing them, and determining if they are a good trophy. It is quite an operation. There were times when I wished I were back running through the bush when we were slipping and sliding around the hills at alarming angles. I won’t even mention the times we were hung up on boulders hidden in the tall grass, or when we were slipping backwards down the slope wheels spinning. We saw a great number of animals, but no grysbok on the first three farms we visited. On the fourth, we found one shortly after we arrived, unfortunately, right behind the farmer’s house. Although I speak no Afrikaans, he was more than mildly concerned from the tone of his voice. Our guide called his wife who in turn called the farmer or his wife and the lights were soon out again in the farmhouse.

You may remember my pre-hunt concerns about tearing up small antelope with hi-vel bullets. My 9.3x62 performed exactly as I had hoped. I had to shoot the grysbok going away from me at a very slight angle. The bullet entered just above and just forward of his right hip traveling forward and exiting inside the front legs. His skin was torn in the area of the exit wound, but not blown away. The tear was along the approximate path one would use to skin the animal. Therefore, we were able to save the hide.

We got home in time for a Glenfiddich and then it was bedtime. The next day was Sunday, and no hunting had been arranged. It was essentially a day of rest, and for the first time in six trips I was able to attend church. The RSA Anglican service is similar to the US Episcopal service and the Roman Catholic service. It was nice. We had a nice lunch, took the ph’s kids to the beach in the pm, and ate out that night. Lovely day.

The next day, we were off for caracal and blue duiker at Harry Fourie’s Kiyuku Lodge. This is in the vicinity of Grahamstown also. These two animals are also hunted with hounds, in this case, with Harry’s. We arrived early, and were on the hunt by about 9:00 or 9:30. The dogs were cast out in areas where the handlers had an idea that a caracal might be. We moved through several different areas following the handlers and dogs.

Again, the hunter must get to the cat when it is treed. Therefore, you stay on the ridges while the dogs and handlers move through the bottoms. This is demanding work. It was about 11:00 when they got the first strike. The dogs took off, but they soon determined it was an old spore. Then, they were off again, and it seemed like no time at all before they had treed the cat. When the chase got hot, they called for us to close up on their position, and we drove over about one ridge. When it was treed, we bailed out. “Bailed out” is an appropriate term because the sides of the gully or gorge were extremely steep. We slid most of the way down. It seemed our descents were slowed only by briars and thorn bushes. When we got to the bottom, we had to cross through the thickest stuff I’d seen yet which required a lot of running (walking real fast) bent way over and crawling, and then we ascended the other side a short distance.

I had been warned that the major problem of arriving late was that the cat might jump out of the tree. This could result in one of two things: 1) the dogs would attack and kill it, or 2) it would escape and the chase would be one again and this time we would follow it from below. As we reached the treed cat, I was carrying the shotgun, loaded but broken. I had to crawl under a deadfall while the whole time Ashley was urging me on saying, “Hurry, he is about to jump.” I could see the cat. George was ahead of me, I am crawling on my hands and knees and praying, “Please don’t let that cat jump down here between George and I.” That would have been truly ugly and reminded me of the Jerry Clower story which ends, “Go ahead and shoot. One of the other of us needs some relief.”

Fortunately, the cat stayed treed, and one barrel was sufficient to settle the issue. However, just as I had been warned, as it hit the ground the dogs were all over it, and the handlers and George were there to keep them away from the cat. It would have been dogs, George, the cat and I in a large fur ball if that sucker had bailed into us. George earned his end of hunt gratuity with his work that day.

We went back to the main farm area where George skinned the cat, no pun intended, and we got some lunch. After lunch, we started out after the blue duiker. The blue duiker is the smallest of the antelopes. It is not much bigger than one of those French rabbits, but one heck of a lot faster. It too is hunted with dogs, this time, Jack Russells. We drove out to an area, which was a large bowl-shaped ravine with extremely thick brush. (Do you see a pattern developing here?) The dogs were turned loose and went down into the bowl. I was assigned a stretch of road where in previously hunts the duiker had crossed. I was told to be alert because they were really quick. Duikers all have horns and there is no sexing them.

Fortunately, the dogs hit a scent quickly. More fortunately, Ashley and I saw the little bugger boiling up out of the underbrush before he got to the road. As luck would have it, he headed right at me at about three yards. I would have spread him all over RSA had I shot; however, he turned at Ashley’s shouting, and headed away from us. I fired my first barrel and hit his rear leg. He turned and headed up the slope off the road. My second barrel was low, but perfect. It hit his heart, but missed his head. He was DRT.

When Ashley pulled him out of the bush, Ashley started whooping. This was a “monster.” It is hard to get excited by an animal that has two-inch horns, but this is blue duiker heaven as I learned. It was a wonderful trophy, and extremely successful hunt up until this point. We returned to the coast, packed, and headed inland that afternoon to Chappie’s place near Taarkastad in the Winterbergs. This is the third time that I have hunted with Chappie at Taarkastad, and the third time that I have brought snow with me. It was really astounding, but wonderful to be with the Scotts at Swallow’s Nest. If they can stand the snow, I’ll be back.

The next day, the front that brought in the snow caused winds in the area that kept the animals from moving around. We drove to Irvin Tam’s for Nyala; however, the animals were not cooperative. We hunted hard, but the high spot of the day was lunch at the Tams with Chappie and Marilyn Scott. I did not get dessert because Ashley was hot to get back on the trail, but what a beautiful home and wonderful food. In the end, the Nyala and weather won and we went home empty handed.

The next day, we changed trucks so that Ashley could take more help from Chappie's. The intent was to drive the Nyala up out of the bottoms and possibly get a shot at them. However, we had hardly entered the hunting area when an Nyala was spotted. In less than 15 minutes we were taking pictures of my trophy. When we got home, Marilyn said to me, “Well, only 15 minutes to get your Nyala!” My response was, “No, it took a day and 15 minutes.”

An interesting point about this trophy is that the bullet did not fly true. It struck some distance from the point of aim, but still was a killing shot. I was using my 30-338, and I think the bullet, a 180gr 30-caliber partition, hit a stick/branch on the way in. This changed its path and possibly caused it to prematurely expand. The nyala’s death was the answer to a prayer. The Nyala was field measured at 24 inches. There are better trophies, but this one was luck and more luck.

We spent the remainder of the day and the last day of the hunt working around Chappie’s getting ready for the Winterberg Mt. Reedbuck Challenge which was on the up coming weekend. It was wonderful to meet and work with many of the farmers in the valley as they finished up their preparations for this annual South African event.

Some random thoughts in summary: bird jeans are the best things for the briars and bottoms. Prayer works. Go sooner not later. I cannot tell you how many wonderful people I met, everyone from the dog owners to the local Presbyterian minister, and how much fun we had . South Africans are our kind of people. If you sit around Chappie’s long enough you’ll probably meet just about everybody in RSA.

This experience, the third I have had with Chappie, shows that you get what you pay for, and really much more so. As I said sometime back, we’ve taken 20 animals in three trips with him; everything we’ve booked, we’ve shot; and every animal, but one, made the SCI book. That is a pretty good record for hunting, and the equipment, the accommodations, the food and the drink have been equally as memorable. If you want to break the ice in Africa or have been and have an unusual animal you want to bag, give my friend Chappie Scott a chance to meet your needs. You’ll be just like me, a repeat customer and a good friend.

I hope this hasn't bored you. I'd like to thank Ashley for the wonderful photos which he set up and took, and George who tracked, skinned, and always had a smile. I'd also like to thank the wonderful people who enabled my hunt with their dogs, Dave, Paul and Harry, their dog handlers, Ashley's mother and father-in-law who looked after us ain their home, and Marilyn Scott and her staff who looked after us at Swallow's Nest. I hope the Winterberg Challenge was a success. Sorry I wasn't there. Ku-dude

[ 08-07-2002, 07:53: Message edited by: Ku-dude ]