Zimbabwe Hunt Report July 17-31, 2010

Outfitter: Chifuti Safaris – PH: Ian Gibson
Trackers: Robert, Tiki and Mundoka Game Scout: Richard (Little Richard)

Chewore South Safari Area- Zambezi Valley- Zimbabwe

Camps: Tafika Fishing Camp, Kachoe Hunting Camp

Guns, Ammo, Optics: Ruger Hawkeye 375 Ruger, Trijicon Accupoint 3-9x40mm (Camp Gun)

Misc Gear: Texas Hunt CO gaiters, Trader Keith Backup Belt

Travel: Air Canada, Virgin Atlantic, Comair all booked through Visa Travel Rewards

Animals Hunted (not necessarily taken): Cape Buffalo, Hyena, Impala, Bushbuck

Animals Taken: Buffalo, Impala, Baboon, Warthog, Civet

Animals Seen: elephant, buffalo, hippo, waterbuck, lion, kudu, bushbuck, civet, impala, zebra, duiker, baboon, grysbok, klipspringer, honey badger, hyena, crocodile, warthog, roan, jackal, eland

OK, ok, I've been back for a couple of weeks now and thought I should do my thread. The wife is next door having tea and the baby is sleeping so here goes...

We left Canada on July 15th from Calgary. Our routing took us from Calgary through London Heathrow through O.R. Tambo in Johannesburg, and on to Harare. From Harare we chartered into the Zambezi Valley. A brief thought on air travel. If I were doing it again, I would go to JFK and fly direct to Johannesburg with South African Airways. The flight is about 13 hours on a Boeing 777 which beats the backside off 9 hours to London, 8 hrs on the ground there and 11 hours to Jo'burg on the Airbus A330 and A340. You know your air travel is suspect when the Air Canada portion (Calgary to London) was the best leg. We flew with Virgin Atlantic from London to Jo'burg and, let me assure you, I am no longer a Virgin virgin. In fact, I'd rather have a sore backside than fly with them again. I'm not an overly wide-arsed fellow, but the seats on the A340 were so narrow that if I didn't hold onto the seatbelt and it slipped between my hips and the seat I would have to stand up in order to fish it out. Worse than that, when I did sit down with my butt as far back in the seat as it would go, my knees still touched the back of the seat in front of me. The only thing that kept me from a total embolism was the fact that the flight attendant moved me to a bulkhead row. Then it was only my arse that was squeezed.

We were met on the gate side of immigration in Harare by our pilot Sully of Safari Air Services. He got us through Immigration (complete with a $75 USD rogering for a visitor visa) and customs. In under 40 minutes we were flying out of Harare in a shiny Cessna 206 headed for the Tafika fishing camp on the Zambezi River.

Best idea ever. Two days of fishing and casual pontoon boating was the ticket for getting over the jet lag. Or, in theory. Word to the wise - drink lots of water and wear your damned hat! You don't want heat exhaustion like I got. 12 hours of firehose poops and the shivers is no fun. Plus I missed supper which was home-made fish and chips. But I was 75% in 14 hours and back to right in 24 hours. We met our PH, Ian Gibson, when he picked us up from Tafika and drove us to Chifuti Safari's Kachoe camp. The camp consisted of three tents with two beds each on the bank of the Kachoe River. The dining area was outside but under cover. Beautiful fire pit and a view of the animals as they wandered through the clearing and river bed.



The hunting started off rather slow. There were late rains this year and still a lot of water in the rivers and pans. As a result the buffalo weren't moving as much and didn't have to cross the road as often. Worse still, Chewore South is very grassy so when you did happen onto a Dagga Boy track, you lost it within a couple of hundred yards of the road. Very frustrating.

What we saw a lot of in the first three days were warthogs. We must have seen 6 big warthogs but they all managed to give us the slip. Until day 3, that is. I saw him out the left side of the truck and was nearly out of the truck before it stopped. I could see his tusks were big even as we drove. Gibbo and I stalked to where we had last seen him but there was no sign of him, despite being in a fairly large clearing. Then, without warning, he jumped up out of a patch of long grass the size of a billiard table and trotted away at a 45 degree angle. Gibbo just pointed with the sticks and I threw the rifle up. This is a situation where the lighted post on the reticle of the Trijicon scope paid it's dues. As the amber triangle crossed Pumba's shoulder I squeezed off the shot. We ran to where the pig had stood and I saw the tree. A 3" Mopane tree had nearly been chopped in half by the 300gr Hornady DGX bullet. I felt a sense of relief and thought "good, I hit the tree so it should be a clean miss". No such luck. Blood. Dammit. So the tracking began. The blood was very sporadic at first but then turned heavier after a couple hundred yards. Then some watery blood with stomach contents in it. Expletive Deleted. but there was still a fairly heavy blood trail so I started to feel optimistic. We tracked some more and suddenly up jumped the warthog. Gibbo snapped off a shot from his 458 and the pig bolted for the hills. On arrival at where he had stood we found a good pool of blood indicating that he had laid up and was hurt badly. So off we tracked some more. This went on for almost 3 hours. Gibbo and I walked to the right of the trackers in case we saw the pig and could get a shot at him. I looked over at the trackers and saw that my brother was walking about 7 yards to their left. I raged. I told that dumb little sh*t to stay with us. Then he threw up his 30-06 and ripped off a shot, startling the trackers and PH. Turns out the warthog had been lying off to the left and stood up as we approached. Matt drove a 180 grain Ballistic Silvertip through him behind the shoulders and off he went. "Sorry guys, no time for a warning". A short follow up later and another 300gr DGX through the shoulders and it was all over. A monster pig, estimated at 14" of tusk. Gibbo reckoned it was the second biggest he'd ever shot with a client. He was old and in poor condition, having lost a lot of the meat from his front quarters. Perfect pig to shoot. I doubt I'll ever see a bigger one, let alone shoot one. We let the guts out of him and carried him back to the truck - a significant jaunt.



About 5PM that day we found fresh tracks and spoor of a herd of buffalo. Likely from the morning trip to water, it was too late in the day to set off after them, but we planned to go after them the following morning. And at 6:45 AM we left the truck to see where these buffalo had gone. We hiked and hiked and eventually found where they had spent the night. We continued and the spoor got fresher and fresher. As we tracked we came upon a small herd of elephant at about 50 yards. We circled down wind and tried to go around, only to bump into another herd, this time a cow-calf herd. Bad business. We circled downwind again and thought we were clear. Wrong. More cows and calves downwind of us. They smelled us and were coming to investigate. "Run". All I needed to hear from the PH. Until my brother stopped for a leak. We'll be teasing him about that for a long time. So by this time we'd seriously lost the trail so the three trackers and one game scout split up to search out the spoor. Knowing our limitations, Gibbo, Matt and myself sat down to rest and wait for news. Well, sitting in the warm sun and relaxing is a dead certain recipe for one thing - snoozing. As I was dozing off I became aware of a diesel-engine rumbling in the distance. Funny, I thought, we're on the west side of the concession...shouldn't be anyone here. I looked at Gibbo about the same time he heard it - "ELEPHANTS". We jumped up to see Robert, the tracker, hightailing towards us. "Elephants" he told us. I looked past Robert to see an elephant coming out of the bush 25 yards away. "Holy f--k, there he is!" I said as I pointed, as though a 12,000 lb animal that is sauntering inbound at 25 yards needs pointing out. Off went 49 year old Robert like a shot, and me glued to his fleeing backside. Down through a dry river and up the hill on the far side. He stopped, and so did I. The thought occurred to me that we certainly hadn't run far enough from these damned elephants, but Gibbo and my not-so-fleet-afoot brother joined up with us in short order. No sign of the elephants. But as luck would have it, as we regrouped and got out affairs in order, we were back on the spoor. Thank you, damned elephants. As we got sorted out, the damned buffalo stood up from the long grass 35 yards from us. We all sank down and Gibbo scanned what he could see of the herd. The buff decided that they weren't enamored of the bush and off they went, crossing onto a plateau slightly above us. We circled downwind and climbed through a narrow riverbed with steep sides to get to a position to glass the herd. I just stayed low - I know enough to know when I should be glassing and when I should have my rifle ready to get into action. Gibbo glassed for a long while, then set up the sticks and beckoned me up. He pointed out the bull to me and I looked him over. Very nice bull, likely no more than 35" wide and his tips were still high. I looked at him for a long while and when Gibbo asked me if I wanted him I told him No, that I was hoping for something older and with more drop to his horns. We watched them for a little while and the herd moved off. I wondered if I might regret turning this one down as the spoor had been so hard to find up til this point. I figured that we were done with that herd but to my surprise Gibbo led me up to the edge of the plateau to see the herd feeding down the hill. Gibbo glassed the herd a bit more and then, after about a half hour, he set up the sticks and beckoned me onto them. "There are three bulls. These two and the one behind the tree. The one behind the tree has great bosses but is likely only 35" wide". I watched the two smaller bulls, the one I turned down earlier and another similar one. I could see the bigger bull behind the tree and resolved to wait for him. Eventually, after about 5 minutes, the bull emerged from the shelter of the tree and walked out, stopping in front of a calf. I held my fire as we waited for him to turn clear and come broadside. The bull eventually stepped clear but turned face-on to us. "If you're comfortable, take him" Gibbo told me. I didn't like the frontal shot, even though I was dead solid. I had the 3-9x scope cranked all the way up to 4x which looked great as the amber triangle floated on the bull's chest. After a minute or two the bull turned to the right and started to walk away, slowly. "That's it, whack him" urged my PH. I watched the amber aimpoint settle into Kevin Robertson't "Vital Triangle", nice and low on the shoulder. The rifle went off almost without my conscious thought, as though I willed it to fire. As I rocked back in recoil I cycled the bolt with authority, driving the backup round from the magazine into a full jam. I quickly cleared the jam and slammed the round home. I later found that whatever had caused the jam had driven the bullet back into the case to the point that it was resting on the powder charge and able to be pulled back and forth in the case. But I digress. The freshly reloaded rifle came back to my shoulder as the herd ran up the opposite hill. I couldn't see where my bull was and felt a moment of panic. Then I heard that sound. Not everyone hears it, but it sounded like a guttural bovine sigh of relief to me. Gibbo and I charged down the hill and were quickly joined by the incredibly swift Robert. We found the buffalo quickly, down no more than 20 yards from where I shot him. He was in the last throes, twitching a bit and expired within a minute of our arrival on scene. I didn't even get to, or have to, fire a second shot. There he was. my buffalo. I had always resolved that I would never touch a buffalo horn until it was my buffalo horn. I ran my hands over the knurled boss and deep, thick, hooks of the horns. My shot had impacted perfectly through the shoulder and not exited. As we rolled him into a position for a few quick pics, I checked my pedometer to see how far it said we'd walked. 15 miles. I'm not sure that I've ever walked that far in my life. Then the happy news - we had to walk back to the truck. Off we set at Gibbo 5.6km/h standard walking speed. 3 miles later we were quenching our thirst at the truck and headed for a nearby recovery road that lead within 40 yards of the buffalo's final resting place. Photos were taken before the great beast was loaded whole into the truck for the trek back to camp. When we got back there the kitchen foreman, my mom's adopted favourite, radioed her and the camp manager to tell them of our success, prompting them to abandon their supply run to the Chenji Camp and return to celebrate.







So with my Buffalo in the salt, a stout warthog taken care of and a jackal bagged by my brother, the hunt took on a very relaxed feel. Sure, we still got up every morning at 4:30 and were in the blind by 5 trying to get a hyena for Matt, but we were on Day 5 and just looking for the "nice to have" beasties.

But let me tell you, at 4:45 AM, it is some kind of dark. Add in a cloudy sky and it makes for a very dark walk into the hyena blind. Add walking barefoot and the constant threat of lions or elephant lurking in the darkness and it makes for more excitement than I've ever had that early in the morning.

Now that we had the buffalo down Mom decided to rejoin the expedition. The prospect of a long buffalo walk was too much for her but everything else would likely entail short walks from the truck or Gibbo would send one of the trackers to move the truck to a point where we would rejoin them later on. Now, I should mention that as I had said that I wanted a bushbuck we spent a lot of time walking rivers. The rivers were generally dry with some water in places. Nothing deep, but enough to turn it from walking in dry sand to walking in very wet sand. When we set out down the Maura River we started by dodging the wet spots by climbing the flat rock around them. This got old quickly. So we abandoned our shoes and walked the river barefoot. Much better. Aside from having a hard time getting the sand off my feet before I put my socks and boots back on it was the best way to walk the rivers. We walked several rivers and, while we didn't find bushbuck, we were nearly run over by kudu on one river. No big boy, but it was fun to see them that close. Here we are coming to the end of a fairly gruelling river walk, before heading to Mana Angwa for lunch.

Matt had been talking about shooting a baboon for a while. He decided to take the afternoon off the day after I shot my buffalo (a chafing related injury) so Gibbo and I tooled around looking for the next opportunity. We set out after a troop of baboons and spent nearly an hour going uphill and down dale chasing them. When we finally got to the point that I could get a shot they were a bit far off for my liking. There were lots of baboons and some real big dogs, but I wasn't 100% convinced that I wanted one so I passed. The next day Matt got his wish and set off after some baboons with Gibbo. We waited for quite a while and were finally rewarded with a shot. The trackers and I hotfooted down the road and found Matt and Gibbo with a stout dog baboon. Apparently he had been sitting there and looked over his shoulder at the hunters as they approached. He gave them a look up and down and snorted, turning away and resumed siting on his duff watching the other baboons, likely waiting to sidle up to a likely female. Well wait no longer. 300 grains of Hornady goodness through the armpits and he just sat there, teetered for a moment, then fell over. Lekker. And look at the teeth on this bugger!


At that point, I decided I wanted one too. As luck would have it, I didn't have to wait too long. The next morning we were out looking for an Impala for Matt and maybe a baboon for me. As we drove a road near the Kachoe River we saw both targets milling about further down the river. So we set out, Gibbo, Matt and I, leaving Mom and the trackers at the truck. As we got closer Gibbo slid down into the river and up towards a dead tree lying in the river. He turned and pointed, I was certain at Matt, and beckoned him forward. I handed Matt the 375 and waited for him to clobber an Impala. Mmmm...Tasty Impala. As Matt slid down into the river and approached, it became clear that it wasn't Impala that we were going to shoot. Gibbo beckoned me forward. I snuck, as only a 6'5" 240 lb man can sneak, up to the tree and took the 375 from my brother. I got on the Dog that Gibbo was pointing out. The bugger was walking to my left and I didn't want to chance a shot at a moving animal. Yes, I know that I shot my buffalo while he was walking, but his boiler room was much bigger than a baboon's! Well this dog didn't stop until he was behind a tree. No big deal, in these troops there's always another dog just a moment away. I could see one a couple hundred yards off on the far side of the river. No good way to get to him though. Then guess who pops up from a patch of grass? That's right, bachelor number 3. On 9x this was going to be a chip shot. I settled the infernal amber triangle high in his back, figuring to knock his plumbing loose. I settled in and squeezed off the shot. Perfect...except the damned chamber was empty. "Click" instead of "Bang" is some loud. I got the rifle loaded and stinkeyed my brother (though it may well have been my fault initially) and settled back in on the still ambivalent baboon. I squeezed off the shot and it was pandemonium. Chacmas everywhere going this way and that. My guy went down like he was hit by lightning. When things settled down a female came over to my guy and gave him a look before walking up the bank and sitting down. When we were sure that everything was done we approached. It was then that I came to realize that the baboon hasn't got much of a neck and that "high back" can turn into "back of the toque" with just a little crosshair creep. I hit him in the back of the neck, exiting right around the medulla oblongata. After the fact we found a few puzzle pieces that used to form part of his skull but thankfully the skull remained largely intact. Besides, a skull with the back blown out will likely come in handy when some 16 year old comes around to take my daughter out some day! This bugger was big, feeling like he weighed around 100 lbs or a hair more. Serious character too... he had obviously been in a fight some years ago and had a nasty cut from about 2" up his snout (clear into his nostril) down through his lip. Nasty. Hopefully it shows up in the pics.


Later that afternoon Matt headed off with Gibbo after some Impala we had seen crossing the road. After what seemed like a long time we heard the shot and headed to the scene. No impala there but there was some blood. I started feeling pretty bad because we had run out of softpoints the day before and Matt waded into this job unaware that he had a solid up the spout. Fortunately we only followed blood for a couple of hundred yards when we saw him lying under a tree, stone dead. Matt was crestfallen, thinking that he had shot a small one as the horn tips tilted in rather that straight up or splaying out. Boy was he wrong. As we dragged him out and got looking at him we knew that we had finally found a stud Impala, rather than the 18"-18" guppies we had been seeing. When all was said and done they measured him at 24 1/2". Skookum by anyone's definition and big enough to qualify for the Rowland Ward book, should Matt care to enter him.


As the hunt wore down things were very casual. We tried for Hyena some more but after a disastrous morning where Matt shot and wounded two hyena within an hour our luck at getting them in dried up. But we spent a lot of time in pursuit of bushbuck or kudu, which I told Gibbo that I'd shoot if we found a really big one. And I had thought about taking an Impala, despite shooting one in RSA three years ago. We had stalked dozens of groups of Impala but never had a shot at a decent one. But with hunting, persistence often pays off. On the last day of our hunt some Impala crossed the road as only Impala can cross a road - at a flat gallop and flying through the air like birds as they jumped. We set off after them and thus started a stalk where we saw them three times, the last one with the herd heading over a ridge ahead of us. We sprinted up the hill and all I could think was that when we got to the top I wasn't sure that I'd have my wind back in time to make the shot. As we came to the top of the ridge the Impala started to file out. Ewe after ewe came out in front of us and finally the ram came out, turned away, stopped and looked back at us. As I centered the reticle on him, I willed him to turn, to show me some shoulder or something that I could shoot him through, rather than his backside. Gibbo whispered to me "Whack him" and all I could think was "in the ass?" But I did what anyone should do, I centered the reticle in line with where his important bits should be and squeezed off the shot. He folded up like any animal I'd spine shot before. It looked like his legs lifted up before he fell to the ground. We approached and after looking him over and a futile attempt to shout to the waiting car, Gibbo left me there to go retrieve the trackers and Matt and Mom. As I sat on the top of that rocky hill with my hand on my beautiful Impala ram and looking out at the vast beauty of the Chewore Safari area I couldn't help but feel that it couldn't get any better. My only regret was that my father, the man who introduced me to hunting and the outdoors, wasn't there to share it with me. As I was joined for photos by my mom and brother I turned to Matt and said "Well, I think we're done". What a way to end a safari. Tell me I'm wrong.



But you know what they say…hunters plan, and God laughs.

We were out cruising, just around dark, looking for a baboon for Matt's buddy, Baboon. Yes, I gave him that nickname and there's a story there. Anyhow, I took a shot at a baboon and winged him. We waded into the ever darkening bush trying to follow the blood but eventually ran out of light and blood. Not a good way to end a hunt. As we walked back to the truck, fairly casually, Gibbo waved me up. It was 6:10PM and damn near dark. But Robert had spotted a Civet Cat on the sand 40 yards away. Gibbo asked Richard, our Game Scout, if there was enough light and if it was still legal. Little Richard gave us the go ahead and I jumped onto the sticks. I hadn't ever intended to shoot a Civet, but this was oneAlright You Buggers, Here It Is - Back from Zimbabwe of those times that the sound you hear is opportunity knocking. OPEN THE DAMN DOOR! The amber triangle settled just so (and this was one of those shots that would have been impossible with a non-lighted reticle) and I squeezed off the shot. I saw the Civet turn to flee as I cycled the action and rammed off another shot at him as he headed up the bank. We ran and jumped the water in the river to get to where we'd last seen the Civet. I saw the ditch dug by the 300 grain DGS bullet. As we got to the bank Gibbo spied the Civet, stone dead. I didn't get a good look to see if I hit him with the second shot, but the first did it's job. Gibbo said that he hadn't shot one with a client in almost three years and it wwas only the second one he'd ever taken with a client. From a guy that's been a PH for 20-odd years, that makes it even more special. What an amazing trophy to end the hunt.



So there it is. Hope you all have enjoyed.

Congrats. great hunt, great report, and sounds like a great time was had by all!

What a toad of a warthog! Congrats!!!

Sounds like a very fun and rewarding safari!

Congrats again!!!

Really good hunt report, and nice pics. Congrats on that monster pig! Looks like you had a ton of fun, and made even more special because of your family being there too.

We loved our time in Chewore South, and are hoping for a return next year.

Great story and pics! Congratulations on some great trophies!

Oink, oink. Nice pig.

By all reports, Gibbo is a really good guy. Looks like y'all had fun.

quote:

Originally posted by Use Enough Gun:
Great story and pics! Congratulations on some great trophies!

+1

Great hunt and report. Congratulations!

Congratulations on a great hunt. Great warthog. And the civet is very cool. Ian's one of a kind.

DAMN fine Warthog!!

Congrats on a good hunt. I hunted with Ian two years ago and had the time of my life.

Great Report!!!!!!! That is a hell of a warthog.

Thanks for posting and congrats on the hunt! I like that picture of walking the dry river bed.

And, you are not ugly. Gibson, well....

Great report and some fine photos. Thanks for sharing with us. (Now, if I could only shake off the massive jealousy I feel about your warthog – that thing looks pre-historic.)

I shot a civit at the urging of my Ph on my first safari. It by far gets the most comments on any animal I have mounted. What a cool cat.

Well I suppose enough said on the warthog and a Civet well done. . will be tough to repeat that.Youre a lucky Bugger
Dave

Thanks for posting your story. Great hunt!