KUDU BULL DESPITE THE ODDS
Buck-fever and blind luck
TH EAD MIRATIO NA large kudu bull k indles i nah unter will prevail as long as kudu exist. Market demand for yet bigger kudu bulls has led to the intensive breeding of some truly breath-taking specimens. Kudu hunts make the most amazing stories and for some hunters it remains the ultimate plains game hunt. However in most stories, success follows only after numerous experiences where the big bull with his thick bluish neck and crowning spiral horns disappears like a grey ghost, merely providing a fleeting glimpse but leaving a lasting impression.
These elusive beasts have proved a tough challenge for many a hunter. Their iconic image has been coloured in by writer hunters like Ruark, and more recently Peter Flack, and will continue to infatuate. My first ingrained impression also involved the one that got away; such experiences haunt us but at the same time keep us coming back for more, forever in the hope of finally taking the big one.
My admiration for kudu started long before I even began thinking about girls. I thought about deep curls and long horns and how it must feel to take a record-book bull. From an early age I tried to hunt one of these elusive antelope but to no avail, and eventually I made peace with the fact that one day when I don’t plan it, I will get the chance. Until then I would have to be content hunting other game.
When the opportunity to go kudu hunting finally arose, I was mildly ecstatic but knew the harsh truth about hunting kudu bulls and the familiar taste of disappointment. I was always amazed when I heard or read about someone who took a good bull as if buying a loaf of bread at a store. Where were these guys hunting? Were these bulls locked up in a camp or was the hunter just lucky? This was certainly not the kudu hunting experience I knew. However, I firmly believe that experiences such as mine lead to greater admiration and appreciation of the animals and the hunt.
ALMOST NOTHING WENT as planned on the hunt and to this day, I struggle to believe that I actually managed to shoot my first kudu bull. We succeeded through luck alone and I am grateful it worked out. This story is not about the perfect shot or about the 60-inch super bull that fell, it’s about how ‘grey ghost fever’ almost got the better of us. I am slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal but now I can smile humbly about it.
Walking in the Sekhukhune bushveld that morning, I thought how insane we were to think we could successfully hunt a kudu bull in just half a day. We were genuinely optimistic, or perhaps in deep denial. Ah well, I’d rather be walking in the bush and out
I was always amazed when I heard or read about someone who took a good bull as if buying a loaf of bread at a store
smarted by wily old kudu bulls than be sitting at home or in the office!
We had been walking for about an hour when we spotted three kudu cows leisurely browsing, completely unaware of our presence. From our elevated position we didn’t see any trace of a bull. My friend and hunting partner asked me if I was interested in taking one of them. I had no intention of hunting a cow and replied that I was here for the bull I had sought for so long. We remained on the hill while our guide walked down and took a wide semicircle approach to try and flush out any hidden bull but none emerged. I was amazed to see how far he was from the cows when they started running away. With their sharp eyesight and radardish sized ears, they had detected his presence and dissapeared way before he saw or heard them. Although disappointed, we were glad that we had at least seen kudu cows, and took it as a good sign that there were kudu in the vicinity.
AS WE WERE coming down the ridge of the mountain, we suddenly spotted three kudu bulls on the opposite hillside to our right. From this point on, everything seemed to go wrong.
It was as if a huge whirlpool of emotion swallowed me and my heart began to bounce like a jackhammer out of control in my chest. I saw the bulls were wary and knew I had to hurry. Sometimes it’s hard enough to spot these grey ghosts and they seldom stick around to give you a second glance. Big kudu bulls don’t grow big by being careless.
My hunting partner motioned for me to shoot over his shoulder. As I raised the rifle and looked through the scope, I saw that only one bull remained in the clearing, providing me with a clean shot. My hunting partner was saying, “Skiet, skiet, skiet!” obviously suffering from the same fever I was experiencing, and he wasn’t even the one holding the rifle. I was shaking as if I had Parkinson’s disease. All my previous years of hunting experience went flying out the window. I took a hasty shot and immediately realised that it was a bad hit. (It later turned out that this shot was too far back, ending up in the stomach.)
Surprisingly the bull did not run off, but turned and looked around. I asked my hunting partner how far away the bull was standing. He replied, “270 metres”. As my rifle was zeroed at 100m, I chambered another round, and took aim just above the bull’s head, to allow the bullet to drop and hit him in the neck. As the shot rang out dust flew in the air. The bull stayed in position. Now my hunting partner suddenly provided me with new insight: “It’s only about 170m. Aim at the bull’s back”. I took aim and fired again. It was a miss, and this time the bull didn’t hang around.
As we walked up to the place where the bull had stood, I knew this could become a very long day, as following a wounded kudu can be a frustrating and tiring task. I knew it was unlikely that I’d hit any vital organ, and finding a decent blood trail would be difficult.
Approaching the site, I suddenly saw a bull run over the ridge. I immediately recognised him as ‘my’ bull. I didn’t know why he was still hanging around, but I was so excited I ran to get into position for another shot from a ridge. Coming over the top, to my utter disbelief, I saw him standing about 60 metres away, facing me. I placed a bullet underneath his chin and saw him go down. I ran closer but knew it was over. I was thrilled but also hugely relieved.
Sometimes it’s hard enough to spot these grey ghosts and they seldom stick around to give you a second glance. Big kudu bulls don’t grow big by being careless
THE HUNT LEFT me with some questions: Why hadn’t the bull simply disappeared after the first shot, and why did he stop after crossing the ridge to look back? The hunt was a major learning experience, the most important lesson being that you have to take your time and make absolutely sure of the first shot. I felt embarrassed at my shooting skills, but realised that there is no better teacher than experience. Although very little went as planned, I appreciated the opportunity, enjoyed the hunt and am thankful that it ended in success. I had finally shot my first grey ghost.