10 July 2013, 06:19
AcerBuffalo and Tuskless with Charlton McCallum, June 14-18, 2013
Dates: July 14 – 28, 2013Location: Dande Concession, Mururu Camp, Charlton McCallum Safaris, Zimbabwe http://www.cmsafaris.com/
Hunter and Observer: David Maple and Darla Maple
PH: Alan Shearing
Firearm and Ammunition: CZ 550 American in .404 Jeffery, 400 grain TSX and 400 grain Woodleigh solid handloads.
Hunting Method: Tracking
Animals Observed: Elephant, Cape Buffalo, Impala, Kudu, Common Duiker, Grysbok, Scrub Hare, Warthog, Bushbuck, Klipspringer, African Wild Dog, Hyrax, Baboon, Vervet Monkey, Helmeted Guinea Fowl, Crested Guinea Fowl, Double Banded Sand Grouse, Cape Laughing Dove
Game Hunted and Taken: bull Cape Buffalo, tuskless cow elephant
Game Hunted and MISSED: Bushbuck
Travel Arrangements: Shawn at Gracey Travel
It had been 3 long years since we last touched down in Harare and began our drive to the Dande Safari Area in northern Zimbabwe. Long enough for the memory of the 7-hour long, pot-holed, dusty drive to fade into a distant memory. But like the experience of childbirth, it didn’t take us long to wonder why we had ever consented to undertake this painful undertaking again without drugs!
Our PH was Alan Shearing, and the drive provided us the opportunity to start to get to know each other. Darla and I immediately slid into comfortable conversation with him - asking a thousand questions about a thousand subjects. Alan answered them all in his quiet professional way - and as the kilometers passed, we could feel the tug of work, air travel, passports, bills, and obligations gently fade away into the night. For dessert, we were treated to the sight of 3 wild dogs as we drew near to the camp.
We endured, and arrived at Maruru Camp just after dark, with supper waiting. Ahh, blessed Maruru Camp. Comfortable thatch roofed chalets under the towering Natal mahogany trees on the banks of the nearly dry Manyemu River. It was as if we had left only last week, everything in the same place - meticulously cared for, awaiting our return. There were new faces, but enough of the original cast remained to complete the fantasy: smiling Goodfun, lord and master of the skinning shed; Muno, Camp Manager who makes things run with precision; even Simba - skinny as a rail and sporting his trademark almost-smile, whose cheery "Good Morning" and light knock at the door softly announced each day in paradise.
We exchanged pleasantries with PH Buzz Charlton and Giovanni, a hunter from Toronto, ate a sumptuous meal, nursed a nightcap by the cozy fire, and then said a sleepy goodnight to our hosts and new friends. Hyenas sang an African bush lullaby as we faded off in a fitful slumber.
The Buffalo Hunt
We slept soundly until the soft knock at the door awakened us at 5:00. Breakfast was hastily gobbled down, and we were searching the sandy roads for new messages by the time it was just light enough to see. It took us a bit longer to find fresh elephant tracks this day, but we finally located hot spoor at about 7:40 and began to follow. By 9:30 the swirling winds had foiled our approach for the morning (one of the few times we were unable to close with the herd), and we were back to the truck to resume our search for fresh sign.
As we drove, Alan mentioned that we weren’t far from where we had seen buffalo tracks cross the road two days previous, and that there was a nearby spring we should check for sign. We quickly made our way to the waterhole and the trackers surveyed the perimeter, returning with news that a herd had already had their drink that morning. As it was getting close to lunch time, Alan suggested we find a shade tree and have a bite to eat - then attempt to locate the herd as they took an afternoon siesta.
We had chicken, sandwiches, and cookies next to a termite mound under the sparse shade of a tree growing from its base. As delicious as the meal was, time slowed to a crawl as I anticipated the buffalo hunt. It reminded me of the last class of the day in Elementary School - watching each second tick away. We made our way through the meal, and then methodically packed up the chairs, table and leftovers - and climbed into the truck for the short ride back to the spring.
The drive took but a few minutes, and we began our preparations quickly after arriving. I loaded up the .404 with a single 400 grain TSX bullet over 3 solids. The trackers began their magic, and we spectators followed along. The spring had been a regular drinking spot for buffalo, and the new sign mingled with the old, complicating tracking somewhat. I had no idea how many animals were in the herd - at times is seemed like we were following a small band and at other times I could see dozens of meandering trails through the grass. The trackers kept the trail well, and we closed with the herd at about 3:30 after about 2 hours of steady walking. The sharp eyes of the trackers and Alan soon caught sight of the herd in a large grassy area next to a narrow creek - bedded down in the wide open thanks to the cool cloudy weather.
Alan checked the herd over through binoculars and said there were several good old bulls along with several nice young bulls. He checked the terrain and elected to backtrack out of sight, cross the creek, and make our approach from the rocky area above the floodplain. The topography hid our movements well, and the leaf litter was sparse enough that our approach was relatively quiet. Before long we were within 100 yards of the black shapes on a high point right at the edge of the thatch grass plain with a commanding view of the herd. We were well hidden in the camouflage and shade of the shrubs and trees, and were able to take our time assessing the trophy potential of each animal. Alan set up the sticks and I rested the rifle on them, pointed in the general direction of a couple of bulls while we waited. About 20 buffalo were plainly visible but the 10' tall grass obscured the majority of the resting herd. We could plainly see a mature bull with an open wound forward of his left hip from a recent lion encounter. Several other bulls were momentarily visible as they repositioned themselves or were uncovered by the movements of others. Through binoculars it was plain that there were many more animals lying partially hidden in the grass than I had first thought. Alan later hazarded a guess that there were probably about 100 in the herd.
The buffalo were in no hurry to end their mid-day rest, giving us ample time to look over the herd. Alan and I exchanged information about the relative merits of each bull - width and hardness of boss, length of horn, drop, age, and location. The animals were quite comfortable in their location and unaware of our presence as we watched and waited for the 3/4 of an hour. The wind held perfectly - blowing lightly and constantly quartering from the buffalo towards us. At one time a cow and 2 calves meandered from the herd to within 30 yards of our hiding place, and had they continued their path, it would have taken them into our scent cone. We held our breaths as we waited for the old gal to sound the alarm, but Lady Luck was with us and the cow veered off to make another lap around the grassy bowl.
The bull with the lion wound continued to try to find a more comfortable position, as his tail swished away the tick birds trying to glean insects from his sore. He stood broadside for the majority of our watch, inviting a bullet. He was a shootable bull, but was not in the same class as several others we had seen.
After a 45 minute wait, we began to see signs that the siesta was nearly over as several cows struggled to their feet. At almost the same time, two impressive bulls arose from the grass. Alan and I had a quick discussion regarding the merits of each and he told me to decide and make ready to shoot. I deferred to his judgment and experience - and he told me to take the bull on the left. I aimed in and centered the crosshairs on the bull's shoulder and waited for the cow between us to clear.
In my peripheral vision I noticed Alan plug his ears as I engaged the set trigger and begin the trigger squeeze. The .404 roared, sending the 400 grain copper hollow point on its way - and rocking me back on my heels. I knew the shot was good, and I watched in what felt like slow motion through the small window in the vegetation to see the bull waver and stagger away with the rest of the herd.
Alan and Maplan confirmed that it was a good hit, and the waiting began. We didn’t see him fall, and we hadn't heard a death bellow - so providing him time to die seemed the prudent thing to do. In times like this, I wished I smoked. At least Alan and Maplan had something to focus their attention on while the seconds ticked away, while all I could do was finger the cartridges on my belt and replay the shot over and over again in my mind. I replaced the spent shell in the magazine - and replaced the quick disconnect scope with a peep sight in case we had a meeting engagement at close range.
Alan is cautious - as professional hunters who have gone 10 rounds with buffalo tend to be. I was glad. Without a death bellow I wasn't eager to head into the long grass to take a look see. But finally he snuffed out his cigarette and gave me a "saddle up" look - and we began our descent into the grass.
The walking was easy along the shoulder-width mashed-down path through the grass. We covered the length of a football field without incident at an un-hurried pace, and breathed a collective sigh of relief when we broke out into ankle high vegetation where the herd had bedded.
We checked any place big enough to hide an angry buffalo as we tiptoed into the opening. Alan and Maplan began searching for spoor and located an area awash in blood in a crescent shaped spray from the bull's nostrils. We moved forward and, curiously, didn't find the next drops.
As we searched for the next clue, a sound drew my attention - something like a whistle yet not quite a whistle. Something like someone who wanted to call your attention to something, yet not draw attention from something. As I turned I saw: 1) the Game Scout hustling my wife out of the small clearing and pointing at something; followed by 2) a monstrous black bull reclining under a combretum shrub a mere 13 steps to our 8 o'clock!
Having a real gift for stating the obvious, I said (to no one in particular), "there's the bull." Having a gift for reacting to auditory stimulation, the bull responded, rocketing to his feet. Having an innate fear response towards big hairy angry things, I pointed the .404 muzzle roughly towards the center-of-front-half-of-buffalo and fired.
I was vaguely aware of the sound of gunfire coming from Alan's direction as I worked the bolt and fired again - luckily at the bull's lion-chewed butt instead of his substantial head. The bull headed into the grass. That 10 foot tall dense mat of grass... I could hear Capstick quietly whispering in my subconscious.
Thank God for the sharp eyes of trackers! Maplan visually dissected the scene in front of us and picked out a patch of black among the sea of green. He put the sticks up and Alan said "put a bullet in it." I asked what I was shooting at and Alan said "it doesn't matter - shoot it." Sage advice if I have ever heard it. I shot - and the bull stumbled forward and fell. We could no longer see the bull, and rather than charge into the grass to assess the situation, Alan led the hunting party uphill into the rocks to gain a better view from a safe vantage point. We could see the bull plainly from there, and I administered 2 additional 400 grain pills to end the excitement.
He was a beautiful bull - everything you would order if there were a catalogue. Dual horns in XL with the optional boss upgrade package. Genuine leather with custom lion etching. He was definitely an HD model on a 3/4 ton frame. The only factory defect we noted was the tail - missing a portion of its length due to a previous test drive by a lion.
The crew cut a recovery road in, and we loaded the bull by the pale light of the crescent moon - whole. Even with the 2 Game Scouts, 2 trackers, the driver, the PH, and a fat old client, it was challenging - but we finally got her done. The Toyota creaked and groaned at every steep incline and boulder field, but we finally pulled into the skinning shed by a little after 8:00. Goodfun, the skinner, flashed his trademark smile and began work immediately. By the time we had finished our braised kudu, squash, and chocolate mousse - the buffalo had been reduced to cape, skull, backskin (destined for the taxidermist) and nyama (the "guest of honor" at a celebration at the nearby Angwa village).
I slept well that night as visions of dugga boys kept the malarone dreams at bay.
The Tuskless Elephant
We found fresh tracks from a big herd of elephants between the Usanga Usanga Camp and the Main Road. Rather than take up the trail immediately, Alan elected to cruise down the Main Road for a bit to see if the herd had crossed and possibly quickly cut the distance at the outset of the pursuit. No such luck - so we returned to the tracks and took up the trail at about 7:20. Spoor was pretty obvious initially, then the herd broke into smaller groups and the sign became fainter. The trackers persisted and we closed to within a hundred yards or so - observing the herd from the vantage of the rocky escarpment above. The herd contained several cows, including a big tuskless. The wind was already dicey, and the puff of ash from Maplan's bottle seemed to swirl and dance in every direction. The elephants couldn't pinpoint our location, but knew we were close - and we noticed them curl their trunks to test the breeze, curtail their feeding, and begin to slip away. We were able to loop downwind of them and we closed to within 40 yards of a big tusked cow.
The intensity of the entire crew picked up a notch, as we homed in on our intended quarry. We had finally reached the point in the hunt where we were no longer practicing catch and release - without discussing it we had each reached the crossroads where we fully intended to seal the deal - and the big tuskless became the focus of our collective attention. The herd was in an area that was fairly open, and the grass underfoot provided quiet stalking. For a few brief moments, the wind calmed and we were able to quietly slip in close to the herd. A big tusked cow and her calf were close, and the tuskless was just beyond. If we could just continue to ease closer, this would all come together.
The closest cow half raised her trunk, and we could see she was uneasy. Focused on her, we rounded a line of shrubs, and Alan slammed to a halt. "Here it is" I thought - and watched the PH expecting him to motion me forward for the shot. But instead, he made a face and whispered "guineas!" Of all things - target sighted, final approach, wind cooperating, and quiet stalking - and we ran into a line of guinea fowl exactly perpendicular to our intended route!
We waited. Held our breaths and crossed our fingers. And they flushed.
The elephants moved out at flank speed, leaving great green wet piles of steaming dung in their wake as if to punctuate the moment. We fell in behind at a quick pace and continued to shadow the herd for another hour and a half before almost bumping into them. But the wind betrayed us again as we tried to bounce around and get ahead of them. They redoubled their speed, and we couldn't catch them. No joy.
Physically tired and mentally drained, we broke off our pursuit, took a quick break, and downed some much-needed water. Alan set a course to intersect the road where we hoped to find the truck waiting. It was, and as we resumed our motorized recon Alan suggested we look for a nice shade tree and have lunch. As we cruised down the road, we realized that the area we were in had no suitably large shade trees - and Alan finally pulled the cruiser to a stop in a spot where scrubby trees arched over the 2 track to create a sparse shady awning. With practiced efficiency, the field table, chairs, drinks and chop box were arranged and the frustrations of the morning hunt began to gradually disappear as we recharged our stomachs and spirits with good food and conversation.
We were about half done with lunch when we heard the single trumpet of an irritated elephant. Alan remarked that she sounded angry. We paid no heed to the temporary interruption - at first. But as lunch went on, the shrill insistent trumpet sounded again and again - loud, angry sounds coming from about a quarter mile away. The sounds continued unabated through our meal, and once our dessert wafers were finished we decided it might be prudent to pack up our kit and wander that direction to see what all the commotion was about. Darla said her blisters were aggravated by the morning hike, and elected to stay behind while we reconnoitered.
We didn't have tracks to follow, so Maplan and Alan set off in the direction of the last noise, with me and the rest of the band close behind. We wove our way through the jesse towards the occasional elephant sounds until we arrived at a bowl cleft from the surrounding shrubland, with a spring in the gently sloping bottom. From our vantage above the bowl, Maplan and Alan both broke into wide grins and Alan flashed a quick "thumbs up" gesture as he whispered "finally - two tuskless - both legal!" He urged me forward to the edge of the brink and reiterated that both were mature tuskless cows - and though one had a calf - it was easily old enough not to be dependent. Alan said "shoot the one closest - mind the calf now."
The old cow was facing left at a distance of about 30 yards, obviously expressing her frustration with her half-grown offspring who was intent on displacing her at the drinking hole bored into the sandy bank. I centered the red florescent dot in the ghost ring, aimed in between the eye and ear hole, and tugged the trigger.
The results were immediate. The old cow fell to her knees as if the rug had been pulled out from under her. As I worked the bolt I couldn't help but notice her tail gyrating round and round in rapid circles though the rest of the body stood still. "Shoot again," the PH said - and I launched another Woodleigh, holding slightly higher on the insurance shot to adjust for the downhill angle.
Alan was all smiles - after a series of frustrating fruitless hunts marked by uncharacteristic swirling winds, he seemed genuinely relieved that Lady Luck had finally smiled.
We began our descent into the bowl, and Alan had me put another "just in case" shot into the brain. By the time we got to her, all movement had stopped. It was only then that I realized what an unusual final resting place she was in. Rather than drink from the murky green pool of stagnant water, she had excavated a deep hole into the seeping sands and had been drawing water from the spring. She was fairly wedged into a crevasse she and others had dug to drink, and had simply sunk straight down to her knees at the shot. I was pleased at the pose - as to me photos of elephants reinforce my opinion that nothing looks a dead as a dead elephant. She actually looked like an elephant should!
Mrs. Acer arrived within a few minutes - summoned by the excited trackers who had quickly returned to the truck to collect her. She was a bit chagrined that she hadn't been there for the kill and kidded us good naturedly about waiting until she wasn't present to get serious about the hunt. All kidding aside, she was as pleased as I was about the events of the afternoon. Of all the miles we had walked (at least 70 over the previous 12 days as witnessed by my GPS), all the hills we climbed, the sandy river beds we had slogged, and rocky outcrops we negotiated - when the final act played out, Darla was 300 yards away resting her piggys! I hated that she wasn't there, but in the end I believe it was ordained that way. Witnessing the death of the Grand Dame would have been emotionally trying - and was not necessary for her to complete her experience. All-in-all, I believe it worked out just as it should have.
We began to take the requisite photos, and decided that a fallen mopane tree over her head required removal of a substantial limb. Much to the trackers' and Game Scouts' delight, the hive of a species of stingerless bees was found in the log. BONUS!!! The crew's attention was immediately refocused on harvesting the bittersweet dark amber liquid, and after about 15 minutes of steady axe work, Bernie began dipping the sweet sticky honey out by the handfuls into an empty plastic lunch container. An elephant AND honey - broad grins were present everywhere as handfuls of honeycomb disappeared behind them.
We took pictures and more pictures - a fitting tribute to such a magnificent creature. We explored the skin, hair, toenails, trunk, eyelashes and overall conformation of the great beast. Alan pointed out the soles of her feet - heels slick from years and miles of traveling the Zambezi Valley. Darla and I were amazed and awed by the size and feel of this most ancient of species.
She was old - one of the older cows in the area dating from before the beginning of tuskless hunting according to the PH. Later during collection of ovaries and uterus for scientific study, we discovered that though she showed the characteristic signs of pregnancy, no embryo could be found.
Epilogue
Before our trip, I had a discussion with friend and taxidermist Jerry Huffaker. We talked about elephant hunting and killing an elephant. I told him that I wanted to experience hunting elephants - but I didn't have an overwhelming desire to kill an elephant. And I knew that to truly experience hunting an elephant, the kill was an integral part of the experience. He assured me he understood. That was a revelation to me - as I had thought the feelings were mine alone. As I stood beside the still gray beast, I wondered if the experience had led me to a better understanding - some kind of reconciliation - or rejection - of these conflicting thoughts.
No. I'm afraid the same incongruous thoughts still occupy my mind. Am I proud to have taken this largest of land animals? You bet. Will I embark on another quest for elephants? I don't know. I had hoped that the experience would somehow solidify my conviction - one way or another. But the same contradiction exists for me. Sometimes I wish things were more black and white.
We spent 12 days looking for a tuskless elephant. Not because we hadn’t found any – to the contrary, of the over 100 elephants we had encountered, 9 were tuskless. And not because we hadn’t had any opportunities to bag our quarry – we deliberately turned down 2 or 3 opportunities early in the hunt because I wanted to continue the experience of elephant hunting. I enjoyed slipping in close to the 3 ton behemoths and watching them. One protective mama almost made our decision for us – as she made a mock charge that ended within about 15 yards. Her calf was borderline though – almost old enough to be independent, but close enough we didn’t want to risk orphaning a dependent calf.
We enjoyed watching the trackers work their magic through a variety of habitat types – from the sandy river bottoms to the tops of rocky hills – and were amazed at their ability to see and interpret what we could not.
We enjoyed the non-hunting side of the trip – seeing and hearing the birds and beasts, the colorful orange, pink, and blue flowers, and the water carved beauty of the sandstone rocks bordering the rivers and creeks. We enjoying the vistas and unspoiled natural beauty of Zimbabwe.
We enjoyed every minute of our time with PH Alan Shearing. He took the time to show us a different side of Africa - treating us to a taste of mopane bee honey (who knew the annoying little sweat bees could make honey?), grilling delicious skewers of elephant kebabs over hot coals in the field, and truly, genuinely celebrating our success with us. He is the consummate professional. I joked with him that I hoped his run-in with the buffalo had slowed him down enough that I could keep up – but that was wishful thinking. He is very fit, very knowledgeable, and a pleasure to share the field with. My thanks to him - and to all the staff at Charlton McCallum - for making our trip pleasant and successful.
...
