Trophy Ewe?

Deep Breaths.

Come on now.

Deep Breaths.

Deep Breaths.

I kept saying the words in my head but my heart rate seemed to get faster.

Am I ever going to catch my breath?

I started doubting my fitness as I was trying to recover from the arduous leopard crawl which we had just made over the rocky terrain. The stalk had gone as planned up until this point, and we managed to find cover behind one of only three trees on the barren mountain top. The blesbuck were still unaware of our presence, allowing us a moment to regain our senses. It was a relatively hot afternoon for this time of the year, and crawling over the blackened, burnt veld seemed to raise the temperature even more.

Thami, my guide, was edging forward to me, ready to set up the sticks. I shook my head at him, using the tree as a rest would avoid attracting unnecessary attention I thought. After some deft crawling, the blesbuck herd were now a mere hundred metres away.

I picked up my binoculars and kept scanning the herd trying to pick out my quarry. The blesbuck were bunched up, as they tend to be at the most inconvenient of times, and I could make out only one female that was standing alone. She was about ten metres away to the right of the herd, the naked eye revealed a loner, but with the binoculars I could clearly see two pairs of smaller legs behind her. Calf. She did not know it, but she had just scratched herself off my list.

There were some rocks approximately 50m in front of the herd, which had given us sufficient cover to leopard crawl to the tree which we were now sitting behind. These rocks were obscuring the bodies of the remaining herd when looking from a sitting position. I needed elevation. I gradually got up, trying to simultaneously look through the binoculars without scratching my arm against the burnt tree trunk. I could see that there were more females mixed in amongst a few rams standing on the left side of the herd, their heads were down feeding and they were bunched together with a few calves milling around the mothers. I ever so slowly got back onto my haunches, motioning to Thami to hand me my rifle. I had the idea that I would try and get comfortable with the rifle and see if an opportunity would present itself.

Up against the trunk of the tree, I could feel the gusting wind sway the tree. At least I hoped it was, but with my heart still thumping I could not be sure. I didn’t feel very comfortable looking through the scope. One look however confirmed what I had expected and the rocks were now providing cover for the blesbuck. Thank goodness I thought. A shot hitting the intended aiming mark would have been a difficult proposition for me at the time. I sat down again, my heavy breathing not subsiding.
From behind the tree I looked around to see what options we had. There were two more trees on this rocky mountain top. They were about fifty to sixty metres to the left of our position and still about one hundred metres from the herd. I hoped that from there we would be able to have a clearer view of the herd. Two young impala rams were feeding under the second tree, which seemed to be on the downside of a ridge. New plan, get to the first tree. Great, another leopard crawl through rocky burnt veld.

This leopard crawling business could have been well avoided earlier in the day and with it being a slow process, it gave me sufficient time to reflect about my mishap. We were hunting on the Kameelkop Reserve, which is a community owned property in Wasbank, KwaZulu-Natal. The reserve is run in a joint operation by the local community, who are the landowners and as well as the KwaZulu-Natal Hunters and Conservation Association. The day had started with us leaving the vehicle about a kilometre from a flat open area where the blesbuck are known to congregate throughout the night and usually feed in the early mornings. Thami was confident that we would quickly and efficiently find a nice female blesbuck for the pot. Safety checked we slowly started our walk to the open field. It was good to be in the bushveld again.

The sun was slow to get up, greeting us with a sharp glare as we emerged from the bush and onto the edge of the open field. The grass was relatively tall considering how dry the last two years had been. I glassed and saw ant mounds morph into herds of blesbuck feeding comfortably on a ridge to the south, across the valley and above a dried out river bed. They were still about five hundred or so metres away. Checking the wind and with no cover to speak of I whispered and motioned to Thami that we should circle around through the bush, approaching from the north-eastern side, using the grass in the river bed and its bank as cover. He smiled, nodded his head in an agreeable manner and without hesitation proceeded to walk in a westerly direction across the open field. I looked around, hoping to find an audience to bear witness to what had just happened. As the newbie on the property and with no chance of stopping him, I decided to follow. You never know, maybe approaching the animals head on and at a steady pace works. Fifty paces later, while still shaking my head in a non-agreeable matter, thirty or so relaxed bodies with heads in the grass became thirty or so pairs of beady eyes focused on the only two animals walking around on their hind legs in the bush.

The alarm snorts pierced the morning calmness, followed by the sight of blesbuck getting into a canter rhythm, moving effortlessly across the open plain in a neat single file. We stood still. Fifty paces from where we had discussed our plan of attack. Thami started talking to himself. He was shaking his head. I was shaking my head. From a distance we must have looked like we were trying to imitate the blesbuck and lure them in. I was still trying to make sense of what had just transpired. The blesbuck continued running for about seven to eight hundred metres when they eventually stopped. I told Thami that we should go back from where we had come, to give them a chance to settle again. I repeated myself four times. Thami repeated what I had said four times. We were set.

Once behind some cover I explained in no uncertain terms of how we were going to hunt. Walking out in the open towards the quarry was not going to work. Thami repeated what I said a few times. I was starting to have doubts about the sanity of my guide.

The river bed, which was more of a donga, was deep and had patches of tall grass in it. This provided good cover and we would be able to narrow the gap between us and the now extremely alert blesbuck, much quicker than anticipated. Thami was still talking to himself planning the rest of the stalk when I stopped and walked up the sides of the bank to see what the blesbuck were up to. From about four hundred metres out I could see that they were calmer, and starting to feed again. We continued snaking along the river bed which had given us excellent cover. It however ended rather abruptly, leaving us with a big decision to make about our stalk. I edged up to the top of the bank and ranged the herd at two hundred and fifty metres. The grass was too tall to try and take a sitting or prone shot, and standing up would give our position away, forcing me to make a rushed shot. This was not what I was prepared to do. We looked at our options and decided to start leopard crawling to a lone paperbark thorn tree that was one hundred and seven metres from us, more importantly though, between us and the herd of blesbuck. The herd was now double the size of the original one we had flagged our arrival to. The grass was tall enough to give us sufficient cover as we edged forward on our stomachs. We stopped every ten or so metres to observe the herd and ensure that they had not spotted the two warthogs with shiny sticks coming towards them. Closing in on the tree we stopped one last time. My hands were not used to having cold, hard grass pierce them, so the frequent breaks did me good. I looked back to Thami. He wasn’t talking to himself. Things were looking up. I started the last of the crawl to the paperbark. Reaching the tree would leave me a shot of not more than one hundred and fifty metres. “Clank!” the very distinctive sound of aluminium shooting sticks hitting each other brought our forward movement to a halt. I lifted my gaze and felt unduly exposed. The encore to the alarm snort was monotonous, with the herd of blesbuck taking flight efficiently. We lay there for a moment watching them run up the side of the hill and soon, disappear as they crested.

We brushed ourselves off and started the walk back to the car. Thami, who was talking to me and not to himself anymore, was of the opinion that we would get them up on the mountain side. To do this we would have to approach from the other side, as there were only two passes, one of which the blesbuck had taken. Two hours later we had made our way up the hillside and eased the vehicle under a tree. We walked for a bit when we encountered a herd of roughly twenty blesbuck. They were standing in a large burnt grass bowl feeding in and amongst some red hartebeest, springbuck and impala. Checking the wind, we planned our approach and proceeded to use some unburnt grass and trees as cover. We were walking slowly through the tall grass, blinded by its height and oblivious to what was ahead of us when we heard the familiar snort. A slight swirl in the wind had given us away, and three blesbuck were standing shaking their heads less than fifteen metres from us. They started trotting, making their way across to the rest of the herd. We sat for a couple of minutes to minimise the disturbance we had created. Thami started talking himself again.

We retreated and approached again, this time from the other side. Fresh shoots in a burnt area attracts game much like bees to honey, and with this many eyes watching we had to tread cautiously with each step. We settled in and amongst the tall grass in the shade of the treeline to try and figure out which way we could approach these animals best. The scene in front of us was like a picture book of the African wilderness, with abundant game feeding on the new shoots in this burnt out bowl. I hunt with electronic ear muffs, and having the noise amplified, I could hear a very loud rustling noise coming towards us. Moments later, with the wind in our faces, nine impala walked past our left flank, blissfully unaware of our presence. I wonder how many non-hunters take the time to get as close to nature as hunters do. Sure they will go on walks after elephant and rhino, but something as ordinary and common as an impala? I think not. Much easier racing past them in Kruger looking to get to that leopard barricaded up the tree. Sitting in the shade and looking out at the burnt bowl filled with game, I could not think of any place I would have rather been at that point on a Wednesday morning.

We sat for thirty or so minutes observing the animals in front of us, when we decided on a strategy. Starting slowly, we had made about twenty paces when we flushed a common reedbuck ram. He had been sitting in the tall grass right under our nose all this time. We sat down again. The red hartebeest seemed unfazed, the blesbuck however immediately start trotting and made their way across the burnt area away to our left. I ranged a gap, where, if a suitable ewe were to stop, I would be able to take a comfortable two hundred meter shot. They didn’t stop. Two rams did stop. Typical. I was not hunting a ram, at least not until I had successfully hunted a ewe. The herd continued another fifty or so metres, and then promptly turned around and ran back to where they had been grazing. They settled again, allowing us to continue our stalk. We leopard crawled through some terrible terrain and managed to get to an ant mound that we would use as cover to look for a suitable animal to take. The wind swirled again and the blesbuck, sans snort this time, ran up the hill and behind a koppie out of sight.

We sat at the ant mound contemplating our options. With the vehicle quite a distance from our position, we would give it one last attempt to get around the koppie in the hope that the blesbuck would still be there. The KwaZulu-Natal battlefields area, as beautiful as it is, must be home to one of the highest populations of rocks in South Africa. Traversing slopes in this terrain is not easy, and once we had walked around the koppie, I had convinced myself through my tired mind that it was a wasted effort, the blesbuck would not be there and I would have been better off eating brunch in camp by now. I was salivating at the thought of bacon, when that smoked goodness was replaced with the shaking of a head just ahead of us. Blesbuck head that is, not Thami. Thami had in fact not seen the herd of blesbuck congregating under a tree up ahead. I made clicking sound to grab his attention, and with minimal cover, it was back to the leopard crawl. We got to within eighty metres, from a kneeling position on the sticks I had the herd in my sights. They were tightly bunched and I wasn’t able to make a shot without risk of wounding another animal. I stayed on a ewe that didn’t have a calf with her, waiting for the animals behind her to clear. The wait did not seem to end, and one of the other blesbuck must have spotted the glistening sweat on my forearms as all the blesbuck started milling around in an uncomfortable manner. I managed to keep my attention on the ewe the whole time. The animals behind her cleared, giving me an opening and pushing the de-cocker forward I got ready to take the shot. Gently squeezing the trigger, she made a sudden movement. As if in slow motion I did not stop myself from taking the shot. I knew it immediately. Missed. The herd ran forty metres to our left. I cycled the action and followed the ewe through the scope. They mingled about for a few moments and then ran up and over the mountain side. Thami was shaking his head. I was shaking my head. We were both talking to ourselves. We looked for blood that was not there, and both came to the conclusion from the ewe’s reaction after the shot and the very familiar sound of a shot not hitting a solid target, that it was a definite miss. Eighty metres. Eight Zero. That’s it. And I missed. It was a long hot walk back to the car. The taste of bacon was totally lost on me.

A missed shot at eighty metres definitely leaves one pondering about how it is possible when one is leopard crawling, again, over rocks and thorns and burnt veld. After lunch we parked the vehicle in the same spot we had earlier in the day, but now walked up to the top of the mountain side. At a fast speed and with the incline the walk was strenuous, my heart rate picking up considerably. I could hear Thami breathing heavily. Reaching the top and stopping to glass, we found quite a few impala grazing on the burnt areas. We continued to walk along the edge using the sparse trees as cover. We had covered about two hundred metres on the top of the mountainside when we saw the dark brown bodies in the distance. We descended a few metres, using the contour and treeline to our advantage circling around the highest point. We frequently took a few steps up the incline to keep track of the blesbucks movements. The wind had picked up after lunch and was blowing across us. We had just walked around the highest point, when we noticed a herd of impala making their way across the open flat section back down the mountain. We sat on the outcrop waiting for ten minutes. I was not in the mood to rush anything after the botched efforts earlier in the day. Climbing up the highest point and using the rocks as cover, I ranged the herd of blesbuck at three hundred odd metres away. In a gusting wind, this was too far for me, especially after a missed shot at eighty metres three hours earlier. Eighty metres. We managed to get closer, covering ground fairly quickly in a crouched position. We still found ourselves two hundred metres out, and with blesbuck behind rocks and no real shot being presented, we commenced with part one of our leopard crawl.

Crawling on your stomach over rocky burnt veld, gives you as a hunter significant time to reflect on a missed shot at eighty metres earlier in the day as well. Eighty meters. Eight Zero. My negative mind set was quickly interrupted by a snorting sound again. This time however it was the two young impala rams that had been left behind by the rest of the herd and were under the furthest tree. They skipped across the open veld and made their way down the hillside. Blinded by the rocks that were giving both predator and prey cover, we waited with our heads down in the black ash. Camo in burnt veld is not really a necessity, as one extended leopard crawl should leave you sufficiently blackened to blend in naturally. The blesbuck seemed unalarmed at the impala’s escapades. We slowly continued to our destination. The rocks not subsiding, I kept questioning my choice in rifle and the decision to not bring a synthetic stocked rifle. My Buka Mina showpiece was slowing me down. My heart rate had dropped to a controlled level. Maybe this sluggish leopard crawling wasn’t such a bad thing. Upon reaching the tree I got into a sitting position and handed the rifle to Thami. I observed the herd closely. They were relaxed and feeding. From the sitting position I could see the top thirds of the blesbucks bodies, I would however have to take a standing shot. I saw a few females on the left side. None of them had calves that I could see. I waited a few moments to regain my composure and make sure my breathing was under control when I looked through the scope this time around. I got up gently, at the same time beckoning to Thami to pass me the rifle. Using the tree as cover I lent up against the trunk, and with the scope zoomed in on 10x, ensured that no calf was with the ewe that I had singled out to the left of the herd. The cross hair settled and despite the gusting wind, did not move as I squeezed the trigger. The ‘Kugelschlag’ was definitely there this time around. The herd ran sixty metres to the left. The ewe was clearly hit. The herd, still unaware of my position did an about turn and ran back to where they had been feeding. The ewe was left behind and I put a second shot in, which dropped her. The herd, still confused, trotted another twenty metres further to the right, only dispersing once we emerged from behind the tree that we had used as cover.

Reaching the ewe I felt a sense of elation. To most people, hunting a blesbuck ewe is unexciting and without much fanfare. It certainly does not grab the consideration that a successful hunt on a kudu or nyala bull would. More often than not, they are harvested or diesel stalked. Not exactly fair chase in my view, but to each his own I guess. Before we started the hunt, I purposefully went out to try and hunt a ewe and not a ram. I don’t know who said it first, but it is often quoted that the kill is just the full stop or the exclamation mark at the end of a sentence, with the hunt being the rest. For myself, this hunt was a paragraph; mostly due to miscommunication between guide and hunter, and of course poor shooting on my part as the hunter. My chosen quarry, with its herd habits, provided its own challenges and put to bed any ideas about being an unintelligent animal that is easy to hunt. There were a few moments of profuse cursing in my head, a lot of ‘what if’s’ and even more ‘Eighty Metres?’

So what makes a trophy?

And why is so much emphasis always placed on what did it measure?

You almost can’t send a picture of a hunted animal without getting asked, how big is he?

You definitely can’t send pictures of females without getting side-splitting looks.

A trophy is there to remind us of an achievement, it is something tangible that we can look back at in years gone by to remind us of a successful hunt. In essence, it is something personal. The idea that it should be used to bolster the hunters standing amongst his peers is where we as hunters have unfortunately gone wrong. The tape measure hunts with a win at all cost approach are doing our image as hunters more harm than good. To me, this blesbuck ewe is a trophy. It does not bother me that I cannot measure it or enter it into a book. I had an enthralling hunt, and would choose to hunt another blesbuck ewe in the same manner, sans the missed shot, over any ‘trophy’ animal which is not pursued in the spirit of the fair chase.



My Trophy Blesbuck Ewe. I think Thami was happier than me that this leopard crawling business was over. Note the subtle pink camo.

We didn't only hunt this one blesbuck ewe.



An old ram I hunted the next day after some more leopard crawling. My Buka Mina wooden stock doing what its good for: Look pretty for the Camera



No better place to be. Bushveld Television.



An Impala Ram I hunted on the last afternoon.



Room with a view



I'm telling you Chad, that Eland would've dressed out at 400kg.

Great story, thanks for sharing.

.

Very good.

Great story

A hunt is a hunt and almost always enjoyable, even most of the unsuccessful ones!

I wish someone would write like this about some small game hunting.

Thank you sir!

Lovely account of the day, most evocative.

And another Blaser user...smart man! :-)

Well written piece. Hunting is hunting and the most enjoyable of pursuits IMHO. Thank you!

Great story and photos.
Thanks for sharing.

JCHB