G'day lads,

After a month of long service leave, I'm back in bright-and-sunny Arnhemland with tales of African adventures to tell! It's going to be tough getting my head back into teaching again! Actually, funny story: I haven't yet hit the classroom, been too busy catching-up with things at home. My girlfriend has just told me that the community staff are worried I might've brought Ebola back with me, so just to calm people down, my boss wants me to wander up to the clinic to get a special Ebola Band-Aid to put minds at rest.

Anyway, a good mate from K-town, Paddy, started humbugging me earlier in the year about brewing an African adventure, and after looking around a bit we decided to give Kanana Safaris in the Kalahari Desert of Botswana a red-hot go. It proved to be a brilliant choice. I loved my first trip to the Eastern Cape in South Africa - it was awesome. But this Kalahari trip was ten-times-awesome! Ever since seeing those "The Gods Must Be Crazy" movies as a kid, I wanted to go there.

Our PH was Jason Bridger. He's a bloody top bloke. He's been-there-done-that with all the fun stuff in Mozambique, Zim, Bots and Zambia, and three years ago he and his lovely wife, Claire, with some guidance from Kevin "Doctari" Robertson, began the task of setting-up the property for hunting safaris after it wasn't paying its way with photographic safaris. Jason's a funny bastard (in a good way) and he always has a few beers close-by should the need arise. He's also a gun-nut with impeccable taste: .416 Rigby and .500NE.

Jason's trackers are Morlen (from Zim) and Martin (a local Bushman). It is almost impossible for these guys to lose tracks, and the only thing that stops them tracking any animal to its demise are the soft white fellows who can't walk forever like they can. It was a real privilege to experience tracking game with a Bushman in the Kalahari.

The chef is a bloke from Zim named Jet, and he would put any K-town or Darwin chef to absolute shame - and he has no formal training, just learned on the job from other guys. You don't lose any weight, despite traipsing around the desert sands. Jet prepared the game that we shot, and it was exquisite.

For the first five days, Paddy and I had the run of the place. Then for the last three days some French-Mauritian-Tanzanian-Zimbabwean folks came to do a nice family hunt - Thierry Labat and his folks. One of the highlights was listening to the amazing, funny stories told by the four PHs in camp - Jason and his two guys, Richard and JP, and Thierry. All top blokes with wonderful tales of African adventure and misadventure.

The property is massive, even for a bloke used-to Top End cattle stations. I don't begrudge the smaller operations because they are an important part of conservation, but for me it is important to have my adventures on bloody big places. And this was perfect. Game was abundant but challenging to hunt. I was unable to close the deal on a warthog boar and a zebra. And to me that is perfect, just how I like it. The animals are super switched-on. There are leopards and cheetahs on the property, and about once a year some naughty elephants will smash through the fences. Occasionally a lion might wander in, too.

I took my Sako 85 Kodiak .375H&H with a Swarovski 3-9x36mm scope. That scope was purchased and dialled-in just before we left Australia, after the Zeiss that I had on it wouldn't play the game. For the small animals, I had Woodleigh 270 grain PPSNs going nice and slow. And for the giraffe that I hoped to kill I had Woodleigh 300 grain Hydros, also going nice and slow. By nice and slow I mean recommended starting loads (or just below because of powder-space issues with those long Hydros) using my favourite cereal topping: 2209. It really was the perfect set-up for this hunt. After getting my arse kicked by the long shooting distances in the Eastern Cape a couple of years ago, I told Jason that I can't shoot for shit and that I need to stalk close. And that's what we did. And I am pleased to say that I am very proud of my shooting on this trip.

I'll mostly let the photos do the talking, but I'll try to write a little here and there.

Hope you mob enjoy!

Cheers,

Ben

I'll start with the sunrises and sunsets. In the Kalahari, they are incredible. The build-up is on over there, too, and we experienced the heat as well as the cold following a Kalahari rainstorm one night. Lightning was crashing all around, and in the early morning we could still see the lightning flickering along the horizon.

Blue wildebeest

These animals are abundant, run like crazy, and super cheap to hunt: culls are $150 and trophies are $400. I got a cull and Paddy got a trophy. My cull was an old bull with small horns and a small body. At ninety metres, I couldn't see him at all, despite Jason's best efforts to point him out. He was hidden in shadows. So we stalked to about seventy metres, and I could see his head. He was looking toward us. His chest was obscured by grass, and I took a risk. I estimated where his chest was, and let one fly. He took-off, and I feared the worst. The thorn and grass were so thick, and yet Martin took us straight to the dead animal, just fifty metres from where I'd hit him. A perfect heart-shot. Paddy's blue was a big bodied fellow with good horns, but no record-breaker. He made a hell of a shot at one-hundred-and-fifty metres. Another perfect heart shot.







This last picture shows Paddy trying to line-up on a blue that proved too smart for him - no shot opportunity. Shooting off the sticks isn't easy for us Aussies who are more used-to shooting off a tree. But Jason gave us one little hint that made all the difference. He said to rest the rifle on the sticks as close to the trigger guard as possible, and hang onto it there. That was heaps better than resting the fore-end on the sticks.

Gemsbok

Another abundant, cheap animal to hunt. A cull costs $150 and a trophy costs $500. These guys remind me of painted Apaches running their horses at top speed. They're switched-on and when they depart they go like stink. At first it seemed we'd never be able to get close. But with persistence we did. After a rough day with zebra, Paddy made a great stalk to about eighty metres from a mob of good bulls. They carefully selected the biggest, and Paddy made two perfect heart-shots on a 40.5" bull! Not too many people will ever shoot a gemsbok that big! My first gemsbok was an old cull cow. We were actually stalking zebra, and had already passed-up a reasonable warthog boar along the way. We found this old cow facing away from us into the wind, and knowing how hard it was to sneak up on them, we decided to give her a go. There were too many thorns initially, and she was about one-hundred-and-thirty metres away. We changed the angle a bit to clear the thorns, but she was still one-hundred-and-twenty metres away, and quartering severely. Trusting my rifle's ability, I settled the crosshair in front of her hip. At the shot, she ran toward us not knowing what had happened and not knowing where the noise had come from. She pulled-up broadside about seventy metres away, and another shot put her down. My second gemsbok was a trophy bull, and was my last kill for the trip. They disappeared as soon as they saw us, and Martin got on their tracks. They weren't too spooked, as it was evening, and after about a kilometre we started to catch-up. With careful stalking we got into position and this good bull stepped into a clearing about eighty metres away. I made an error in rushing my shot (by this stage I was weary), and instead of hitting him straight up his shoulder, I punched through the back of his lungs. He made two-hundred metres and went down. When we saw him, I got on the sticks, but he'd already seen us and got back to his feet. I rushed again and missed. He was off like a rocket. We tracked him for another three-hundred metres before I found him almost under our feet, and quickly shot him again to make sure. So, on a double lung hit, this guy did five-hundred metres and had me worried.

Zebra

As mentioned, Paddy had a rough day on zebra. But he got his rug. They were the most switched-on animal there. I hardly got a look at one, even though they were around and there are many of them. Anyway, in regards to Paddy's zebra, I will quote a line from one of "The Gods Must Be Crazy" movies: "I don't want to talk about it."

Impala

Impala are one of my favourite African animals. They are beautiful, delicious, abundant and challenging. I don't think I could ever tire of hunting them. The impala that I killed on my first trip was an embarrassment to my shooting ability, even though I killed him with one bullet in a matter of seconds. So I was really keen to come to grips with them again, and try to do better. And I did. We'd seen a good blue wildebeest and a mob of impala rams crossing the track ahead, so both Paddy and I stalked over with Jason and Martin. At that stage, I was after impala and Paddy was chasing a blue. After some time we slowly caught-up with the impala, catching glimpses of them feeding through the thorn. Paddy and Martin dropped back, and Jason and I continued the stalk. We found a great ram eventually that was facing away from us, about eighty metres away. He was obscured by some thorn close behind him, but again I trusted my rifle's ability to reach through that stuff and then reach his vitals, and that is exactly what happened. He was done-for, and I finished him off. I was so pleased with the quality of this ram, even though I have no idea what his numbers are.

Warthog

Another animal that I don't think I could ever tire of hunting, even though I killed my first and only so far this trip! They are also great value at this place, only $160, whereas elsewhere they can be $650! Anyway, we drove past this lone pig that looked pretty good one evening, and we kept driving for half a kilometre or so. Then we stalked back. We were sneaking through some thick grass and thorn, and Jason told me to be ready to shoot from the shoulder, as there would likely be no time to set-up on the sticks when we found the pig. And suddenly there it was, about fifty metres away. I stepped around a thorn tree, brought the rifle to my shoulder, and dropped the pig dead on the spot. The pig was standing and feeding at such an angle that my bullet punched a neat hole through the left ear, entered the neck just behind the skull, and exited just behind the right shoulder. It was a big, old sow, and I was over the moon! I never did manage to find a good boar, but they are out there. They just outsmarted us a few times! The day Paddy killed his boar we were actually looking for giraffe, and so the rifle was loaded with the heavier Hydros and scope adjusted accordingly. Paddy's first shot was severely quartering-on, and the pig ran about eighty metres before laying down. I caught-up to them as they walked up to it, and was congratulating Paddy on a job well done when the boar jumped-up and Paddy popped another Hydro through his chest by looking down the barrel instead of the scope.

Kudu

Everybody in my community has a "dreaming" animal, and when the little kids asked me what mine was, I didn't hesitate: Kudu. Of course, they had no idea what a kudu was, but the whole school does now! These animals are so special to me, and will hopefully keep me returning to Africa many times. Dreaming about kudu, and chasing those dreams, has helped me put one foot in front of the other through some rough times. Now, some kids here can eat / shoot their dreaming; others can't or wouldn't want to (mosquito dreaming, for instance). I haven't been able to understand why some people can eat their dreaming and others can't. For me, I sure as hell can hunt and eat my dreaming!







The night before I got my kudu, it rained. The cloud lingered the next morning, and the wind blew terribly cold. Paddy took refuge in the cab of the Toyota with Jason, and I froze my arse off up the back with the trackers. I got a blanket and wrapped that around me as best I could. When the guys spotted some horn tips through the thorns miles away, and deemed it to be a good one, I couldn't see what they were talking about because I was shivering too much. It was really hard to get off the ute and straighten my legs out for a hunt. I prayed that we wouldn't find the kudu too soon, because there was no way I could control my shakes. I needed time to thaw out. And slowly I did, as we stalked through the bush at a snail's pace. Martin and Jason knew what they were doing, and I just concentrated on trying to walk quietly just behind. Eventually the guys started getting more and more alert. They knew the bull was close. And I was starting to warm-up. We were so close that Martin stopped and Jason and I continued. Although Jason had the sticks, he whispered to me that we would be unable to set-up on them. By this stage we were crouched and duck-walking through the thorns. As we edged around some thorns we caught a glimpse of horns ahead, and as I eased around I could see that mystical shape, head and horns tilted back as he browsed on the leaves above. I eased a little bit more around some scrub, and kneeling I raised the rifle to my shoulder and shot him through the heart at a range of fifty metres. He made thirty metres before piling-up dead, and I felt quite overwhelmed by the magic of that one perfect experience and animal that really drew me to Africa. I spent some quiet, reverent time with the dead bull while Martin and Jason went to bush-bash the Toyota through the thick scrub. We loaded the kudu and set him up for photos out in the open at a nearby pan.



Paddy's kudu had a massive body. He stalked through some horribly thick thorn scrub, and from a distance of about one-hundred-and-twenty metres, all he could see was the huge neck and headgear. He tried for a neck shot. None of us know what went wrong, but the kudu dropped, pretty much dead, and when they made their way over to him they found a bullet hole in the ham. The bull had been facing away from them. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.

A quick word about the photography: Some of the closer, nicer photos of live game are obviously taken at waterholes from blinds. There are numerous bowhunting blinds set-up on the property at pans. We spent some lazy afternoons taking photos and waiting for warthogs. We would've been happy to shoot a good warthog under these circumstances (twice we made thorn brush hides a bit further back, instead of sitting in the bowhunting blinds; it seemed more traditional); but as it turned-out, we never got the chance, as they cut our wind. So the warthogs that we got were killed by spot-and-stalk. My preference is to walk for my game, and under no circumstances will I shoot from the vehicle, no matter how big the animal (although I do shoot small buffalo from the vehicle here on meat runs to win hearts and minds, but that's shopping, not hunting). However, the blinds would be a great opportunity for older or less physically-able people to have a great time hunting, so I'm not against it. I just prefer not to hunt from them at this stage.

Giraffe

These animals are beautiful, majestic... and had me rattled! I was nervous. I knew that their vital anatomy was different to standard animals, and everything I'd read and been told indicated that if you f___ed-up, you'd be in for a tough time - a rodeo as the PHs call it - or even a really sad, expensive time. Jason said that giraffe hunts are either really straight-forward or really shit. It depends on accurate bullet placement and good bullet performance. To make matters worse, the literature about giraffe hunting show diagrams with varying locations for heart and lungs. I was beginning to overthink things. Because of the logistics involved in processing a successful giraffe hunt, Jason chose a day later in our hunt when more staff would be available. When that day arrived, we set-off into the bush at the north of the property to look for a particular black, old stink-bull that Jason knew was hanging-out up there. Actually, now would be a good time to say how pleased I am with my new Swarovski scope. At the "rifle range" out here in Arnhemland, I knew that my Hydros were printing about two inches lower than my lighter softs at one-hundred metres. So when the day arrived to hunt giraffe, I asked to go to their range first to adjust the scope for the Hydros. Once we got there, I decided to take a mathematical gamble and adjust eight clicks up. And it worked perfectly. A nice bull's-eye with my one and only target shot. We were ready to go. We searched most of the morning, and that was when Paddy lucked onto that vlakvark (warty). Close to midday I spotted that lone bull, and Jason accidentally hit the horn as he got out to have a look! Anyway, the bull was clever and decided to depart. The guys knew that he'd been shot at and missed by another client some weeks before, but nevertheless we took the tracks in the hope that he might relax and make a mistake. He did not. We tracked for a couple of hours and then backed-off in the heat. We hooked an acacia behind the Toyota and spent time dragging the tracks so that we could pick him up later, hopefully, after he'd had a chance to settle down. That afternoon, after lunch, we were back, and we did about ten kilometres on his trail. On evening his tracks had led us to the boundary, and we were about to give-up when Martin spotted him perving on some cows on the neighbour's station. It looked like he wanted to bust through and try to get a leg over. He was walking down the sandy boundary fence, lusting after these hot lady giraffes, and Jason and I were nearly jogging to try to keep up to his slow amble. It was hard-going in that sand. We already knew that it wasn't a good time to shoot a giraffe with night approaching, but we had to try our luck. We would never have gotten close enough had the bull not stopped. Then he turned and started walking back toward us. He hadn't seen us, and our outline was broken by the bush behind us. I got on the sticks and tried to settle-in for a shot at about one-hundred-and-twenty metres. I knew where to aim in the middle of that huge chest, between the shoulder lumps. But after the hike and the exertion through that sand I could not get steady enough with my breathing and my racing heart. So I chose not to shoot, and soon the bull saw us and got the hell out of there in that slow-looking gallop that eats the distance. It was a wise choice. A wounded giraffe would've been terrible, and even if I had made a good shot, the processing job would've been nasty at night. Or the hit bull might've busted through the fence. So that was the first day of giraffe hunting. The next day, I was sore. I'd slept like a log and hurt my shoulders. I took some tablets and felt good enough to try for a less intelligent bull. So that big, black stink-bull is still out there for somebody else. Thierry's crew radioed that they'd found a mob of giraffe near where they were hunting kudu, and so after waiting for them to finish their kudu hunt we approached and found the mob. There was a good bull among them, and they were moving through the camel thorn about six-hundred metres away. Jason, Martin and I climbed off the ute, and Morlen and Paddy drove away. We then began following the mob obliquely. They knew we were there. Sometimes we were in view of each other and sometimes we weren't. We were trying to give them the impression that we weren't interested in them. At one stage we had a really cool experience: From a hole in the ground at our feet, this little head poked up and looked at us for a few seconds before it took off like a rocket - an aardwolf! We kept trying to ease closer to the mob we were following without appearing to do-so. And it worked. We made it to one-hundred-and-twenty metres or so, and I asked Jason to set-up the sticks so I could just see how things looked through the scope, and how I felt about the distance and the shot. The bull was moving slowly from my left to right, and everything felt good so I squeezed a bullet away. Giraffe fled in every direction, but I kept my eyes glued to the bull and sent another bullet into him as he ran. And when he was almost out of sight, we saw him stop. That huge neck began to sway, and then he disappeared. Jason knew that was a good sign. We found the downed bull, and I shot into the underside of his chest, aiming to send the bullet through his heart just to make sure. That Hydro was the only one we recovered. It was slightly bent and the nose had started to flatten out. It had hit some heavy bone and gone through the heart, stopping up in the neck. It had travelled over two metres. Killing the giraffe was also an overwhelming experience, with the size and grace and majesty of the animal combined with the stress involved in doing everything to the best of my ability. I was pretty quiet as I took it all in and studied my bull up close. An awesome creature, as heavy as two of our biggest buffalo combined. My shot was further back than I had wanted it to be, going through both lungs. My follow-up shot was just a gut shot. I know I didn't lead the bull on that first shot, and their movement is deceptively slow. The process of setting the bull up for photographs and then butchering the meat was quite interesting. The guys sure know what they're doing, even though they've only killed about eight giraffe there in the last three years since opening hunting. A lot of people can cope with the idea of killing a warthog or an impala, but many cannot handle the idea that I've killed a giraffe (not here in my community, though; they're very happy for me!). However, that old bull had done most of his breeding, and earned lots of money to help keep paying for the protection of his kind and of the other animals. Because there are hordes of people out there ready to snare and shoot the shit out of every single animal as soon as the protection afforded by selective hunting is removed. He also fed the families of the forty-or-so workers on the station. And we ate him, too. He was delicious! But the eland that Thierry's friend, Pierre, shot that day was even nicer.



Here are a few photos of the guys processing him:











Later that day, before I killed my final gemsbok, I stalked another mob of giraffe with the camera. They know when they're in trouble or not. I easily approached to a comfortable double rifle range. Maybe someday...

Well, that's about the end of the hunting yarn. I'll post some photos of other game that we saw, and then I'll start telling about being a tourist up in the Okavango and having the shit scared out of me by elephant.

We got two of these in the eight days we were there, and that's about normal:



A picture of the accommodation there:



The deacon:



A jackal:



Outnumbered twenty-to-one, we watched in horror at the Okavango River Lodge bar as these bastards beat our guys:

Anyway, after eight great days in the bush, we drove back up to Maun and spent a couple of days at the Okavango River Lodge before flying back to Jo'burg. We did a cruise up the river and also did some shopping. We felt very safe in Botswana, although the traffic is chaotic (but the drivers are all very patient and courteous). The beer from Namibia is bloody good.

So we did about sixty kilometres out into the Okavango Delta. Paddy and I were the only tourists on board, and our guide was JB - an absolutely top bloke, but also a rogue with a story suitable for campfires only, not the internet. We saw heaps of elephant, and got super close to them, which was fine in the boat (mostly). However, I must admit that getting too close, on land, was too much excitement for me without a rifle present. I wouldn't want to do that again, especially with my girlfriend or son or my Dad. Too close. Too much of a worry.

Anyway, here's an ele taking a dump:



JB and Paddy:



I really liked this old bull with busted teeth:







Here we are at a baobab (boab):



Here's JB entertaining Paddy with the age-old instruction of how to not waste toilet paper by using only one sheet and your finger:



And a hippo:

Actually, I was too much of a dumbarse to be scared by this ele at the time, but after the event, when I thought about it, I realised it wasn't a good thing. See, we coasted into the reeds just ten metres from this fellow, and I stood on the front of the boat for a photo as he flicked his ears about and shook his head. He was in the water, but still... If JB had gunned that boat backward at the wrong time, it would've been awkward for me.



Fish eagle:

Lunchtime was an awesome experience, but it also scared the shit out of me. JB probably deliberately chooses this particular spot for lunches because he knows there is a good trail that ele like to use, and a good chance at a close (too close?) encounter. So, we were enjoying our lunch when we spied an ele working his way toward us through the thick bush. JB told us to stay very quiet and still, so we did. At about twenty metres, JB quietly spoke the ele, apologising for being in the way. The ele went around, and I felt quite relieved. The boat was about thirty metres away, but even if we had got to it, it isn't much of an obstacle for an ele. Not long after, I was displeased to spy another bull following along on the same trail. This bull was leaking stuff out of his head, which was concerning. This bull had a good look at us as JB asked him politely to go around, again at recurve bow range. He went around, and I was pleased when lunch was over and we could get back in the boat. Next time I'm that close to ele on land, I want a couple of heavy hitters present, including my double.

Paddy apprehensively watches the first bull - he has two bung knees and was considering his rather limited options:



The first bull goes around:



The second ele before he saw us:



After he saw us (he walked around that ant hill and had a closer look, but I wasn't taking photos by then):



I'd kicked my boots off - but I don't like to think what my chances would've been:



Is he sadistic or relieved or both?



Paddy is just pure happy to be alive!

No more dramas, just nice photos:

And, last of all, the highlight of my leave... I got to see my boy. I'm a long-distance Dad, which is hard, but we had a great time together and he learned a little bit more about hunting, wilderness and wildlife.

wow what a great report congratulations

Congrats on a great trip and report. Jason and Claire are tops in our book, and the hunting at Kanana has been outstanding for all of our friends and family that have gone there.

Great trophies and report. Fantastic photos. Thanks for sharing. AIU

Thanks for sharing. Everyone comes back from Kanana with stellar reviews. They certainly have affordable rates - those cull prices on Wildebeest and Gemsbok are unbeatable.

By the way, what are your taxidermy plans for the giraffe?

Thanks, fellows. The plan for the giraffe is a skull mount and a flatskin. Perhaps I'll make the skin into an oval shape, and use the offcuts for gunbags and other projects. Can't say enough good about Kanana and Jason and Claire and the team, and really look-forward to getting back there.

Congrats. Great report.
So, Thierry was there hunting, not working?
Interesting.

Great post. Yes Botswana is awesome. And the beer at the Okavango river lodge is nice...

Great report, nice style of writing. The comment with the springbuck photo got a good chuckle.

great report and thanks for sharing, im off in May so cant wait now!

Thanks Ben. Really enjoyed your report and photo's. Some fine trophies and memories for you. Cheers mate.

Ben, awesome report, some wonderful trophies too. You boys were great to share a camp with. Kanana run a fine operation indeed and you r right, Jason is so laid back he's almost standing on his back! The whole Kanana team, are first class.

PS some of your .375 bullets you left were well used on eland and zebra.

Great report! Looks like you had a fantastic time.

BenKK;

What a refreshing and enjoyable hunt report! I loved it. Your photos are fantastic.

Also, "The Gods Must be Crazy" was/is one of my favorite movies and I haven't thought about it for years. Thanks for reminding me. It was one of the first African based movies I watched after returning from my first safari in Botswana. I'm smiling just thinking about the hijinks.

Congratulations on your many successes...

Best regards, D. Nelson

Thanks for the kind words about the report, good people.

Thierry, I am very pleased to hear those rounds worked well for you mob!

Awesome report.

Jason is very cool and has this great attribute - he does not drink. Therefore, more beers for the clients.

Mike

Fine report and some first class pictures and trophies. You lads did well.

Good on you Botswana.

Very nice. Congratulations.

Ben.

You write well, your report is so full of honesty and happiness, it had me smiling from ear to ear throughout.

Obviously you're also a capable photographer and I'll bet, a great teacher.

Congratulations with the fine trophies. The prize one is the little fellow next to his Dad.

Jytte

Probably the best hunting report that I have ever read!

Thanks again for the kind words. I do try my best with the camera, although some of those gemsbok right on dusk were hard to photograph! Cheers, Ben

Well done report and some very nice trophies!

Great report. Thank you very much