22 August 2009, 02:36
jetdrvrTen day buff with Luke Samaras in Kitiangare...
Location: Simanjiro/Kitiangare, (Maasailand), TanzaniaOutfitter: Luke Samaras
Booking agent: Wendell Reich
Professional Hunter: Francois (Franco) Loubser
Rifle: Late production Mod. 70 Winchester Safari Express in .375 H&H
Optics: Leupold 1.5-5x20 w/ German #4 reticle
Ammunition: Remington factory loaded 300 grain Swift A Frame
Game hunted: Cape buffalo, zebra, Coke's Hartebeest, Grant's gazelle, East African impala, warthog, and white bearded wildebeest
Animals hunted but not taken: warthog; wildebeest.
Hunt Dates booked: July 23rd to July 13th.
Travel agent: Shawn Kennedy and Debbie Gracy of Gracy Travel
Days hunted: me, July 23rd/August 1st
This will be a work in progress, but I'll post some pics, which everyone always seems to like, and give a loose narrative of how it went and why.
I was the guest of my friend Ed and his wife, Sandra.
Ed hails from El Salvador and he and I go back a long way. Sandra is a beautiful and gentle lady from a small South Carolina town, and a nicer person I've never met.
Ed was hunting with Paddy Curtis on a 21 day and I'll try to post some pics from his hunt later on when I get them.
This hunt was two years in the planning stage, cancelled and rebooked a couple of times, including the week prior to scheduled departure, and came off in spite of some adversity and the worst drought in Tanzania in anyone's memory. We had a great time, nevermind the rabid honey badger that attacked my tent in the middle of the night on the second day in camp. More on that later.
We met up in Amsterdam, Ed and Sandra flying in from Mexico City on KLM and my venturing forth on Northworst to Amsterdam from Orlando via Detroit Metro. They arrived in Amsterdam a day ahead of me and we all boarded the KLM 777 for the flight to Kilimnajiro on the 19th, which was uneventful and on time.
We overnighted at the Mt. Meru Game Lodge, which was adequate, and in the morning were met by Johanna of Bushbuck Tours who drove us up to the Lake Manyara Serena Lodge where we had a good lunch and then onward to the Serena Crater Lodge on the rim of Ngorongoro for a two day stay to do the tourist thing, try to catch up on our sleep, and lose a bit of jet lag, which, at age 66, hammers me into the ground.
This is the front of the wooden portion of the Serena, the stairs leading up to the office.
The majority of the structure is composed of native volcanic rock. It sits in a beautiful location on the crater's rim...
This is a shot of the balconies looking toward the office and dining area.
And here's a shot of the crater from my balcony. You can see the opposite rim through the haze...
While walking along the wooden catwalk connecting the rooms with the restaurant, I came upon this big fella neck deep in browse. If there was ever a happy Cape buffalo, he is it...
Our tour of the crater the next day was interesting, spotting a wide variety of game, although in fewer numbers than I had anticipated. The place was overrun with photo safaris, so we shot some photos and cut it short.
We encountered this elephant on our way out...
We spent the next day in the hotel relaxing. The Serena is a nice place to stay, Good service, good rooms, and adequate food. The bartender's name is Simon Gadi, a hell of a nice guy, and if anyone knows where he can get some hearing aids for his 13 year old nephew, please PM me. The kid's having a lot of problems at school and is a good student.
Anyway, on the evening of the 21st, I went to bed after taking a double dose of Restoril to overcome the jet lag. The Serena's elevation is around 8000 feet above sea level and, since I have a mild case of emphysema, I estimated my physiological altitude to be at least 12,000 feet. About 3:00 AM, I awoke with a sudden urge to use the facilities and did so. On the way back to the bed, I felt very lightheaded and queasy and decided that a good drink of water would improve my condition. I picked up the water bottle off the table and the next thing I knew my head was bouncing off the rock floor. I was down and didn't remember getting there.
I got to my feet and looked in the mirror and discovered I had obtained a two inch gash over my right eye, which was bleeding a bit.
I laid down and called Ed. He came immediately and informed me that I had a bad gash that would require stitches.
A doctor was called and she arrived forthwith and packed the cut with a betadine cream and dressed it and told me to go to the hospital in Arusha.
We met Johana at about 8:00 AM and headed down the mountain. The fog was thick as mud, but we made it to the Lutheran Hospital without incident. On the drive into town, we saw a nice sized elephant herd walking along beside the road, in search of whatever elephants search for.
Simon, the Bushbuck manager, a very sharp Maasai gentleman, met us at the hospital and expedited matters and a very capable doctor stitched me up. Nobody thought to check for a concussion. BTW, I highly recommend Bushbuck Tours if you're going to do the crater or the Serengeti. Out driver, Johana, is a great guy and an excellent driver.
Manase, Luke's driver, met us at the hospital and we drove to the Hotel Arusha where we met up with some other AR members who were just ending their hunt. Richard Nichol, his father Dick, and his younger brother James were there, along with Paddy. We had lunch at the hotel, listened to the Nichols hunting stories with great anticipation, as they had done very well, and headed for camp, stopping along the way for some supplies. It's a three hour ball-buster down what passes for a road to camp and we were glad to finally arrive, where a welcome fire and sundowners were waiting.
L to R: Paddy (Blood Nut) Curtis, Francois (Franco) Loubser, yours truly, Ed and the lovely Sandra.
We met the camp manager and my PH, Franco Loubser and had an enjoyable dinner and were shown to our tents.
The camp facilities were adequate, with the exception of the showers, which were a prime example of African engineering. They gave us fits the entire hunt, with a trickle of water emanating from the telephone shower heads lashed to the overhead. The tents were the standard double fly safari tent with great ventilation and flushing toilets.
We had plenty of blankets that kept us warm against the chill. The camp elevation is 4500 feet above mean sea level, so if you contemplate booking with Samaras for Maasailand, take warm clothing.
The dining hall was the only permenent structure on the premises. Many a satisfying meal of Tommy, kudu, Grant's, impala, various soups and delicious avocado and tomato salads were consumed here. The cottage pie was superior and a wide variety of fresh vegetables were always served.
You might also notice the bird bath in the foreground. With water so scarce, this and one other bird bath were always occupied by dozens of beautiful tropical birds enjoying themselves. A couple of opportunistic sparrow hawks also worked the area, picking off an unlucky bather almost daily.
The variety of birds was phenominal. Among the most notable were the love birds. I spent hours just sitting quietly in the chow hall watching birds. After about two weeks, I managed to get this shot of the love birds congregated on the other bird bath...
The camp staff was fantastic. Truly remarkable. We couldn't lift a hand the entire time we were there. The only way for a new applicant to get a job at Kitiangare Camp is for someone to die. The guys are back every season, taking excellent care of their guests in a superior fashion. The kitchen is immaculate and fresh baked bread and delicious food graciously served at every meal goes a long way toward making clients feel right at home.
The first morning, we headed out to check zero and all rifles were pretty well on the mark. I shot my .375 and it was right on at an inch and a half high at a hundred meters. Ed checked his Sauer .458 Win and his great old Browning FN Safari Classic .375. All had retained zero. After the gratifying range session, we returned to camp for lunch.
That afternoon, Franco and I headed out to hunt Grant's. We came on a herd or two but didn't see a shooter, so we called it a day.
During this time, I was having dizzy spells and a headache, but I didn't give it much thought.
The next morning we were up before the sun and had a quick breakfast. Ed, Sandra and Paddy and their crew went one way and Franco and I and the guys went another in search of Grant's.
We got on a good herd and Franco put me on a shooter. I was having trouble concentrating and my three position safety got me in trouble. We were a hundred yards or less from the target and I set my safety on half-safe and laid the rifle on the sticks. My animal walked clear and I squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. I had stupidly forgotten to move the safety to fire. I did so, fired too quickly and hit the animal very high, but knocked him down. Franco said he was going to get up but I fired again, angry at myself for screwing the pooch the first real day out, and missed. As Franco said he would, the gazelle finally stood and I put one through his heart and ended the affair. Chagrin is a mild description of what I felt. Humiliated would be more like it.
The hapless Grant's, Franco on the left.
More to come...
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The Third Day, from my journal...
"Then, on the 25th, I awoke feeling really good for the first time since I took the fall. Had a good breakfast and we headed to Kitiangare to hunt buffalo.
The bush is very thick and dense. A hill, forested and covered in thorn thickets, leads up from the korongo. We were on buffalo from the start. As Franco says, these buffalo would just as soon come as go, so we were on high alert.
Franco is hunting a beautiful old .458 Win Mag with a 22 inch Douglas barrel on a Husqvarna action and a very nice piece of walnut. He loads his own and loads them hot.
We tracked a group of four or five, having spotted them higher up the hill. Visibility was only a few feet on occasion, so we tried to be very quiet. The wind wasn't helping much, but we managed to get ahead of the group. We moved into a small clearing and the tracker, Mamadi, set the sticks up in front of a bush, and just then the biggest, blackest buffalo I had ever seen walked out of the bush to my right, less than fifteen yards away.
I didn't want to shoot through the bush in front of me with the A Frame so I held fire for a couple of minutes, waiting for him to graze past a clump of tall grass. That's when Franco moved the sticks to the left to clear the field of fire and the bull spotted us. He raised his head and glared straight at me with a look of pure hatred.
I was holding high on his neck getting settled into the crotch and as I lowered my point of aim to his chest, he ran. We were busted.
Franco apologised for having moved the sticks, but he was understandably concerned the wind would suddenly shift again and he wanted me to take a quick shot, but things happened too fast.
So we quietly returned to the Cruiser and drove back to camp for lunch. We had a good meal and a quick nap and started out again for Kitiangare, "the place that is always green" in Swahili.
It is tremendously exciting to stalk buffalo in Kitiangare. One of the biggest thrills I've ever had. Ever.
We started up the hill again, working the thorn thickets. We found four ninjas downhill from us, but none were shooters. We worked in very slowly and tried to be quiet, but it is so terribly dry that it was like walking on corn flakes. We were stepping into each others' footprints on small bare spots, Mamadi in the lead, Franco next, me, and our game scout Sai Toto.
Mamadi and Franco began glassing a very thick bunch of trees and thorn. I couldn't see a thing, but I followed them very carefully and as quietly as I could. We communicated with hand signals and nobody coughed or spoke.
Suddenly, off to our left and slightly uphill, a buffalo cow started coughing every ten or fifteen seconds. That helped cover the sounds of our movement. We continued to advance.
Then, I saw the bull, facing completely away from us just slightly above us.
Mamadi set up the sticks and I set up for the shot. Franco told me to take him behind the left shoulder. He grazed ever so slowly turning left very gradually and when I got about a 25 degree angle on him, I fired.
He bucked hard with the shot and I knew I had hit him hard with the 300 grain A Frame. He took off to our left and swapped ends instantly behind some thick stuff. I chambered a round and started around the sticks and about then Franco fired a solid from his .458 through the bush and the bull went down hard.
I held my scope on him and Franco had chambered another solid, but the two shots were enough. We stood there for a few seconds looking at him and he let out two mournful death bellows and died.
The tension during the stalk, which lasted thirty to forty minutes, was palpable. Franco and I spontaneously looked at each other, began laughing and shook hands. It had been a memorable hunt.
Upon examination, the "necropsy" showed my bullet had blown a fist sized hole through the top of his heart. When he disappeared to my left and swapped ends, he was looking for us so he could charge. Franco absolutely did the right thing by smacking him in the spine and stopping the impending charge. He was no more than ten or twelve yards away at the shot.
He was a wonderful old warrior twelve years old who died a quick and clean death, not to be dragged down by lions in his dotage and eaten alive. I felt a great sense of sadness, elation and gratitude, all at the same time.
I am still humbled by the experience, one of my life's highlights. Hunting the buffalo in the thickets of Kitiangare is a true challenge and success there is exhilirating."
The Kitiangare dagga boy..
The heart of the matter...
Franco an I inaugurated the Official Geriatric Kitiangare Buffalo Shooter's Society, both of us being over age 62.
................................................So how do you follow a hunt like that? Because of the paucity of buffalo, and after carefully considering the situation, the intense drought, the total absence of herd buffalo, and other factors best not mentioned here, I decided to forego the second buffalo I had on license. Looking back, I regret the decision, because one never knows when that last buffalo hunt will occur, and at 66, I don't have very many left in me. But I made the decision and stuck with it. Hopefully, the hunters who followed us to Simanjiro had luck with buffalo among the few that remained.
So we hunted plains game.
My buddy Ed had shot a white bearded wildebeest on his second day out at over two hundred yards with his .458 while the wildebeest was running away. A Texas heart shot on a running wildebeest, or anything else at that range, for that matter, with a 500 grain A Frame is a noteworthy accomplishment, and I toasted him at dinner for it. I would not have been so generous, however, had I known that his was the very last wildebeest in the entire concession, and one of the very few animals I had on a ten day license. We looked and looked and drove all over the place and neither we nor Ed's party ever saw another one. Ever.
Which left me with zebra, Coke's hartebeest, impala, and warthog as possibilities, and I still had seven days left.
When I booked the hunt, bushpig and baboon were listed as animals available on a ten day license. Much to my chagrin, after we arrived I was told that no way were either on a ten day and maybe once had been but certainly not now. That was a hell of a note, because at one point two big bushpigs ran out in front of the truck while we were stopped and getting one would have been a distinct possibility, and I would love to have one in the bag. That's when I found out what the score really was. I wasn't all that hot for baboon, but I wanted a bushpig. Sometimes communication between a booking agent and an outfitter isn't a high point when booking a safari.
So next, we went for zebra.
Plenty of zebra remained in the area, hanging out near a place known as Garry's farm. They grazed in the forest during the day and walked out into the open farm field at evening time to be able to keep an eye out for predators, so getting near them wasn't a problem. We drove into the trees, circled around them casually working in closer and closer and stopped the truck. We got out and set up the sticks and Franco picked out a decent stallion trailing the herd and I shot him walking at a hundred yards or so. Shot him a bit far back, but I stopped my swing as I squeezed it off. He was down and quickly out.
During our travels, we were always scouting for the invisible wildebeest, impala, warthogs and hartebeest. We saw exactly three warthogs during the ten day period and none of them was a shooter. They were just not there.
Franco had promised to show me the mother of all baobab trees, so we headed over to an open area with a bunch of acacia spotted around and there it was. If there is a bigger babob tree anywhere, I'd like to see it, because this one was very impressive.
Here's a wide shot...
And here's some perspective...
And a better perspective...
We had been frustrated on impala, also. I have always dreamed of getting a 27 inch impala, and all it will ever be is a dream, most likely. I don't take a tape measure on a hunt, but it's a nice fantasy, anyway. We saw a lot of impala, but one thing Franco Loubser can do well is judge trophies. Nothing we saw for days made the cut. Not that there were plenty of them, but we saw several small herds, both ewes and rams.
I love impala. To me, an impala ram running at full tilt is one of the most beautiful and impressive and graceful sights in all of Africa. One night after a frustrating day looking for hartebeest and impala, we were driving back to camp. Out of the darkness and into the glare of the headlights, three good rams went running and leaping across the road ahead of us. One big buck made an impressive leap and sailed across the road about five feet in the air, his horns swept back, head up, heading for cover. I don't know if we spooked them, but it appeared more likely that predators were in the area scouting them and they were making tracks. The sight of that big ram, floating through the light, will remain with me forever.
Herds of Maasai cattle by the thousands were all over the place. As many of you know, several hundred thousand head of Maasai cattle have been driven into northern Tanzania in search of water, and there is very little to be had.
Driving down any road in the concession, we would often encounter herds of cattle and goats, sometimes numbering a thousand head or so.
Several times both we and Ed's party saw dead cattle laying about. And it will get worse, although Kathi posted a weather forecast that says that El Nino will have an ususual effect on East Africa, bringing rain to the area in September. This is, of course, unseasonal rain, but it is desperately needed if the game outside Tarangire Park is to survive.
Franco and Paddy are trucking in water for the buffalo that remain in a desperate effort to save them. I hope it works.
One morning late in the hunt, we awoke to discover we were fog-shrouded. After breakfast we headed out to look and learn, but the visibility was down such that driving became unsafe, so what to do? It was very cool and damp, of course, so we decided to stop and build a fire. Franco pulled over and a couple of the guys collected some firewood, as the sun shone through the mist...
I walked around with my camera and noticed these flowers blooming in the midst of the drought.
Simanjiro's beauty comes at you from different directions. Acacia thorn of various species abound, and here are these fragile blooms adding their beauty to the rugged landscape.
The guys got the kindling going and a wisp of smoke arose...
Shortly thereafter, we had a roaring fire warming us against the morning chill. L to R, Sai Toto, Mamadi, and Rama, with Franco walking away...
Time was running out. We had seen game, but none shootable. The decision to forego the second buffalo was weighing heavily on me and and I was getting frustrated. The drought was a killer.
On the 30th of July at dinner, Paddy reported spotting a good herd of impala rams nearby, so on the morning of the 31st, we headed out at sunrise. In an hour or so, we found them, at least twenty bachelors grouped together and several good head among them.
Franco carefully glassed the herd and I was staring with my one working eye through my Leica. They all looked the same to me, but they weren't. He pointed one out and said, "Let's take that one."
We were about a 125 yards out, so we slowly exited the vehicle, Mamadi set up the sticks, and Franco called the animal in question. I fired and he fell.
When we walked up to him, I was amazed at his beauty. He is a typical East African impala with flaring horns that I will mount and hang above my bed. We loaded him up and dropped him off at the skinner's shed and were back out looking for hartebeest by 8:15 AM.
Hartebeest...
I have had people who should know tell me that hartebeest are stupid creatures and easy to hunt. I thought so, too.
When I was in the Selous in 2006, Lichtenstein's hartebeest were everywhere in K4 and the surrounding blocks. They'd stand there looking at you from forty yards, waiting for you to shoot them, so I never did.
The Coke's hartebeest of Maasailand are a different story. Franco called them the eight hundred yard antelope. Get within eight hundred yards of them and the bulls leave the cows and head for Zambia. We were snake bit on hartebeest.
We hunted them as a matter of course throughout the entire period. During our travels, which also included inspecting the dry water holes and dams and checking Paddy and Ed's cat baits, we would occasionally see them in the distance. With decent cover, we would leave the vehicle and begin a stalk, only to have an alert cow give the alarm and off would go the bulls. Busted, busted, and busted again. The hartebeest frustration meter was pegged in the red zone.
So the morning of the impala, we went out looking. I had essentially given up. Only once before had I been this frustrated by an African animal and that was hunting Nyassa wildebeest in the Selous. That worked out after two days of intense spot and stalk at 300 yards. This hartebeest thing was a reprise.
So we came upon a herd in the distance with some decent cover between us and them and we started a stalk. We lurked and crept and bent over in a line, Mamadi, Franco, me, and Sai Toto, getting closer.
Suddenly, Sai Toto, the game scout with eagle's eyes, pointed out a cow barely visible behind a big patch of thorn a hundred yards or so ahead and to the left a bit. Franco figured where there's a cow, there's a bull. So we lurked and crept some more and got to a spot where we could see clearly between two big thorn patches and there he was, a big, fat monster bull just standing there out in the open at some distance. Mamadi set the sticks, I set the rifle, swung into him, a bit right and then back and fired. The A Frame made a loud and very satisfying thwack! and down he went.
I must say taking that bull was almost as satisfying as taking the buff. We worked hard for both and the hartebeest was just at the maximum practical range for my load. After the poor shooting display at the beginning of the hunt, taking down the kongoni was like closing a book after enthusiastically reading the last page.
This and the impala on the next to the last day of the hunt, both in the salt before lunch. The frustration evaporated and that finished the hunt.
We headed out to Garry's farm the next morning in a futile attempt to find a warthog, but our hearts weren't really into it. We were satisfied with the outcome and were really winding down. We ran into Raoul and Jan Ramoni, the owners of Tanzania Big Game, at the corner of the concession with clients looking for zebra, and since they were snakebit on zebra, I didn't feel so bad about the easy kill I'd made on mine. Something in this hunt had to have been easy, after all.
A note on the head injury...
I couldn't figure out why my judgement and concentration were so bad during the first days of the hunt. I had a clear head on the buffalo, but the two previous days were horrible.
So I contacted my guy at the VA clinic in Orlando upon return and told him the story. He told me that I obviously had suffered a concussion, probably was still suffering from it and sent me immediately to the emergency room at my local hospital to get a CAT scan for a subdural hematoma. Nothing showed up, or instead of writing this I would be parked in a hospital bed waiting for the hole in my skull to heal.
I shot over 700 photos on this hunt. There was always a lot more goings on than I have described here so far, so as I process the pics, I will post more that might be of interest to some of you.
Simanjiro is a harsh and very beautiful place. It is difficult to spend some weeks there and then return to the mundane and the ordinary.
Africa is in my blood and has been since I first arrived in 1987. I simply cannot get enough of it, no matter how often I visit. So if I began to bore you with this report, please do not hesitate to warn me. I will speak of Africa to anyone who will listen.
The honey badger...
I mentioned early on about the Attack of the Rabid Honey Badger...
On the second night I was awakened about midnight by something ferociously snarling and hissing just outside my tent. I initially thought it was an angry hyena, but it sounded too low to the ground.
I turned on the light and jumped out of bed, grabbed my rifle and chambered a round and also grabbed my little Eagle Tac flashlight and lit it up. It puts out 290 lumens, so I was ready to light up anything that made it in.
The thing circled my tent for about ten minutes, sanrling and hissing, looking for a way in. I yelled over to Ed to stay in his tent and zip up, but got no reply. I stood there in the middle of the room following the sounds with the muzzle until it finally lost interest and snarled off into the night, heading west bound away from camp. I figured the excitement was over, so I went back to sleep.
Turns out it came back and attacked a staff tent where Rama, one of my trackers, and another guy were sleeping. This time, it got in and started attacking the occupants. Rama grabbed it by the neck and he and his tent mate were yelling and screaming and about that time, the tent collapsed.
Other staff members were awakened by the chaos and one guy grabbed a panga and found his way into the tent and killed it. Franco also let off a round from his rifle.
I slept through all this, being some distance from the center of camp and didn't even hear the shot.
Turned out it was a honey badger, said to be, pound for pound, the most ferocious animal alive, and it was obviously rabid.
The guys got some first aid and someone cut the head off the honey badger and they took the head with them into town to the vet while they went to the hospital to start the series of rabies shots.
Rama was off the job for a couple of days until his bites began to heal. It was quite an eventful night.
Had I known the badger would return to camp, I would have screamed loudly enough to wake someone and warn the camp, but the last I heard of him he was heading in the opposite direction. I certainly had no intention of sticking my head out to find out what was attacking my tent.
We were just lucky that more people weren't injured.
I first arrived in Africa about December 10, 1987, in Nairobi enroute to Asmara, Ethiopia, (now Eritrea), to fly relief during the famine that was world famous at the time. Little did I realize that I would still be vising Africa many years after retirement. I did a lot of flying there over the years, mostly in various disturbed areas. I had a few good times in Africa, but the misery quotient was quite high at all of our destinations and there was little enjoyment involved. The really good times didn't begin until just a few years ago when I did my first hunt. And they continue.
The first sight I saw upon arrival while peering out of the window of the British Air 747 into the Kenyan sunrise was an acacia tree. I love acacias and the mere picture of one brings back a flood of memories.
So naturally, while driving around, I shot some photos of notable acacias. Here's one that was in first bloom. The acacia means Africa to me. They seem to survive war, drought, famine, pestilence and death, unscathed except by elephants, and continue to decorate the country side with their sturdy, graceful beauty.
