It is 19:30 on a Friday night and all the kit is sorted out; inflatable rafts, food, camping kit and safety gear. Tomorrow at 03:30 a mate and I would be leaving with his 2 sons and mine for 4 days of paddling down a remote and untravelled river.

By 20:30 everything was cancelled, the weather service had issued a warning of more than 2 inches of rain in 24h over vast areas of the country. We discussed the risks and bailed out; none of the kids have any paddling experience, we are explorers rather than whitewater junkies and the area is so remote it could easily entail walking out for 20km through the mountains with no roads or tracks. We have experienced the river's rage before and fighting with a boiling, brown and angry current through the mountains is not worth the risk.

My son doesn't complain, he is quiet but the disappointment is written in capital letters in his eyes. I send a message to another mate of mine: “can we come and shoot a warthog”. Dian has shot dassie and vervet monkey but no hooved animal yet. I go to bed knowing the message has to wend it’s way halfway across the world via satellite to be delivered to the Wifi hotspot on Vygeboomspoort.

My phone's Whatsapp beep wakes me at 05:30. “You’re welcome, I am waiting for you”. I wake Dian and tell him to remove the waterproof bag from his pack, quickly repack and to get his kit on the Hilux. As we drive up I am evasive when he questions me about the rifles.

I had already messaged that Sammy, Chris Troskie Safaris’s tracker must be ready. He has superb skill and simply exudes enthusiasm for any hunting, I always enjoy hunting with him. Chris is neighbours with my mate and his farm forms part of the concession they jointly formed.

As we drive in Sammy is waiting by the road and flags me down, the secret is out as he asks my son whether he is ready to go hunting for warthog. The joy at this prospect also gets written in capital letters on his small face.

After a quick discussion it is decided that we can shoot a male blesbuck or mountain reedbuck and any warthog that we can find. Less than a quarter inch of rain has fallen this rainy season, it is terribly dry and the warthogs are overrunning the irrigated grazing for the sheep down in the valley.

Seeing that it is already almost afternoon the plan of action is to hunt the mountains in the heat of the day and the flood plain and lands late afternoon. It is a hot and muggy walk, unproductive untill we find some dassies. I am reluctant to shoot as we don’t have express permission but Sammy quickly silences me. I exchange the hollowpoint in the Ruger 77/44 for a solid and we are given a great educational opportunity. Wait for a clear shot, wait for the right presentation, wait for a dassie to stop moving.... Eventually I give the go ahead, broadside 35m.... my heart is in my throat, hoping for success. In a cloud of dust the dassie vanishes from sight and Dian is sent in to recover his dassie.

His successful and perfect shot will come back to hant us. It was his first shot ever without ear protection and the report gave him quite a fright.



We hunt our way down the mountains to the flood plain late afternoon and there is a lot of warthog but nothing within range of my 60 yard shot limit.

Shortly after first light we are back at the flood plain, a crisp, damp morning after a heavy thunderstorm during the night. Muddling around for 2 hours or so we couldn’t get a shot at a mature pig and abandon the flood plain. I ask Dian what he wants to do, he is not interested in hunting the mountains and is adamant he wants a warthog and nothing else. Privately I suspect he is not interested in the hard walking required in the mountains.

That afternoon we set ourself up in chairs under a leadwood to wait for pigs coming down to the floodplain. Five minutes later we hear an express train of air rushing down the mountain and we are buffeted by an enormous windstorm. Quickly we abandon the hunt and rush back home just escaping a thunderstorm that delivers nearly an inch of rain.

Monday morning finds us back on the floodplain. There is a shootable warthog but it is far, should we attemp a stalk the wind would barely be in our favour. At conclusion of the stalk the pig is slightly quartering to at 40m, we get Dian on the sticks and I tell him to shoot.

As the shot echoes away, a flood of tears start running down his face and the pig runs away unscathed. My first emotion is irritation, but I catch myself and calm down before uttering something stupid. Fortunately he is a clever bloke and says straight out the report of the gun scares him and he flinched. Sammy instructs me to drive to his home, he has got a supply of earplugs.

Fortunately the failure spurns a determination into life and Dian says we are going to the mountain and we must find something, we can't entertain failure.

We drive up the mountain and on disembarking I get him on the sticks and let him dryfire 20 times. I describe the 'bubble' to him; block out everything and every emotion, only two things exist: the red Trijicon triangle and the trigger. Forget about the heat, the tiredness, your parents, your fear of failure: you must be in the ‘bubble’.

The day passes in a tumble of rocks, boiling sunshine, sweat, thirst and frustration. We see lots of game but no opportunity presents despite all our efforts. I am surprised by the toughness of a thin pair of legs and young mind.

Sammy's plan is to be back on the floodplain at 15:00 so that we can settle in our chairs and allow the resident waterbuck and wildebeest to settle. I warn Dian to take along a book as it can become a very long afternoon, he quips back that there is a lot of antelope to look at.

At 16:30 a warthog sow appears on the opposite end, 220m away, with all the antelope grazing we have no option but to wait. By 17:00 Dian is fidgeting, the young man is bored beyond comprehension and is drawing the attention of the waterbuck. I quietly reprimand him and pass him the rangefinder to occupy him. When 18:00 comes the pig is still grazing but 130m away. The waterbuck is by now 50 m away and watching us with beady eyes, we sit deathly still and they move off.

Suddenly the pig trots closer and resumes feeding at 90m, we get Dian on the sticks and I instruct him to take a look and shoot if he is comfortable. He settles behind the rifle and says it still is too far. I reassure him that it is fine, hunting is about patience and choosing the moment.

The pig trots closer to us and stops at 58m, the wildebeest is suddenly interested in the pig and starts walking to her. I see the shot opportunity vanishing and tell him to shoot. At 18:30 the 44 barks and the pig drops squirming. We get up and move closer, I can see the pig is still breathing strongly. I drop onto my knees to allow him to fire a final shot over my shoulder into the chest to finish the pig.

A small face lights up with the surprise and joy of success, my heart beats with joy at the patience and perseverance of my boy to succeed.













I have hunted some wonderful trophies in wonderful places, but my son’s first warthog hunt is one of the most satisfying hunts I have experienced!

Proper and well done that lad.

Nice work ! And your reward is PORK CHOPS !

Good job. Congrats to you and your boy.
Bruce

Way to go, young hunter!

Made my day. Great story, well told. Congratulations to that young hunter.

Awesome. Very proud Dad...and young hunter. Growing up the right way.

Well done Dian- following in Dad and Mums footsteps!

I hope you don't let him fire a gun again without protection. I can't hear very well because I didn't know to use it while shooting 1,000 rounds a month of .22s as a young father. Now in my late 60s I need hearing aids. It was a good tell of a good first Warty. What a great father. Packy

A great story!
Thank you for sharing and well done to the young man.

JCHB

One of the best hunt reports I’ve read this season.
Thanks.

Mooi gedaan Dok. jy kan trots wees.

A great story! It brings back a lot of memories for me trying to get my son and daughter their first harvest and my father with me. I hope you and your son have many more days spent in the bush together. Cheers.

Thank you, for all the kind comments!

You should be both proud and thankful for that very special day with your son.

Poat like this always make me wonder how many people grew up hunting left the sport and became anti antihunters.

Thank you for helping introduce a young person into the most human of activities hunting.

Knap gedaan! {Well done!}

IMHO the personal guidance of your own son on his first real, and successful, hunt is an absolutely awesome experience. But the good news, for which you may have a bit of a long wait, is that guiding your grandson on his first real hunt is even better!

Congratulations, really nice to see!