DAMARALAND – a place forgotten by time
Hunting a wild springbuck ram in its natural habitat is a priceless experience.
Many hunters dream of harvesting a huge trophy springbuck ram. And to be honest it is actually quite easy – if you have the money and the right connections. There are places in South Africa where you can hop onto a 4x4, drive for about 10 minutes along a well-maintained road from your five-star lodge to an enclosure and shoot the ram your PH picked for you. This is a very “tense expedition” because you have to shoot the right one. Shooting a ram with a different-coloured ear tag might cost you more.
Most people agree that the biggest springbuck in Southern Africa are those found in Damaraland and that is where I wanted to go. Damaraland is a region in the far north-west of Namibia. It is bordered by Ovamboland to the north, the Skeleton Coast to the west and Etosha and the Kalahari Desert to the east. There are no boundary fences in Damaraland but this huge area is divided into conservancies. Each conservancy belongs to a chief and the hunting rights are leased to an outfitter. We opted for the Sesfontein Conservancy in Damaraland’s Kunene region because I know the PH who operates there well and after a long drought that region had received some rain. The freeranging springbuck would definitely be visiting to utilise the freshly-sprouted grass.
ARRIVING
After departing from different cities in South Africa, my dad and I met at the Hosea Kutako Airport outside Windhoek. Importing hunting rifles into Namibia is a user-friendly process and soon after landing we met Jif van Zyl from Mhembe Safaris, our PH for the next seven days.
It was a ten-hour drive from the airport to Sesfontein. The countryside changed from city to wooded savannah to semidesert. At Palmwag we refuelled before crossing the foot-andmouth disease fence into Damaraland and soon into our conservancy. It was dusk when we arrived at Sesfontein. Scattered houses and shops somehow resembled a small village. Just another 15km and we arrived at our camp. Comfortable tents amongst the tall mopani trees were a great luxury in a very remote and dry country. We were welcomed by our guide, Lourens Grobler, who worked with Leopards Legend Outfitters. He knew the area well and particularly the new area that they acquired recently to the north of the Sesfontein Conservancy.
DAY ONE
Our day started at 5am. This far north the winters are pleasant but the morning was a bit nippy. The first day is always a little slow – checking gear, sighting in the rifles and getting ready for the hunt. Breakfast consisted of coffee and rusks. Slowly the dry river bed next to the camp became visible in the morning light. Nearby cows’ hooves click-clacked over rocks and I could hear the call of a guineafowl. This is Africa, raw and pure – true bliss.
We left the mopani forest and drove along a low hill. When we got to its crest a world of flats and massifs opened up in front of us. A hard terrain, littered with stones, rocks and the occasional tree or bush – a spectacular landscape in its own way.
After about ten minutes we arrived at the “shooting range” – just open veld with a mountain as a backstop. I was surprised when the targets were put up at 100m. At home we usually sight in at 200m and I was really expecting some longrange shooting out here in the semi-desert. We were instructed to sight in at 100m as shooting distances would not be that far. Apparently the animals in the Sesfontein Conservancy are not used to hunters. Dad used a new custom-built 6.5x55 by Johan Morkel of Stellenbosch and I my trusty 7mm Rem Mag, built by Musgrave’s custom shop in the early 1990s.
With the sighting-in of the »
» rifles completed we headed in a north-westerly direction – from plains with no vegetation to mopani forest with giraffe and then sand dunes with grass. Even though rain fell only two weeks before our arrival the signs of drought were still very real. We did not see a lot of game but I did notice the body size as well as the length of the springbucks’ legs. They certainly were the biggest and tallest springbuck that I had ever seen. The average horns size was also superior, 15” I would say. But we were looking for better. We came for those legendary trophy bucks Damaraland is famous for.
Later in the day we entered an area with enormous sandy flats and the occasional small dune. What were very interesting though, were the concentric circles in the sand voided of any grass. The landscape was littered with them. Some believe that methane gas, escaping from the earth’s deeper rock formations and poisoning the grass, is responsible while others believe that competition amongst different types of grasses cause this phenomenon. It gave the countryside the appearance of a golf ball’s surface.
We followed a dry riverbed that cut its way through the mountains to meet up with the Hoanib River. High cliffs rose on both sides of the vehicle and in some places the “valley” was so narrow that it was just wide enough to let the vehicle through. On occasion we’d see gemsbuck standing under a tree, trying to escape the heat that was now pushing 38 ºC. After arriving at the Hoanib River, we drove along it for some distance. It was just a small stream, a lifeline cutting through an immensely thirsty ecosystem. The dry surface of the riverbed was very deceptive though, and we got stuck in the underlying mud. Fortunately two vehicles with tourists came to our rescue. Unbelievable luck in such a remote place.
MISSED OPPORTUNITY
Up until then we had covered close to 180km but had seen only 10% of the conservancy. We kept heading south and late in the afternoon bumped into three springbuck rams on a huge open plain. Our hunting package comprised of three trophy rams and two meat animals for the local village. These three rams fitted nicely into the meat category but because of the open terrain it was impossible to stalk them. The animals were skittish and offered a 240m shot.
My Leica Geovid is equipped
with a ballistic programme which I had programmed for my 7mm Rem Mag. I ranged the rams and made the necessary corrections to the scope. The springbuck were facing me which made for a difficult shot and I simply blew it, a clean miss. After a long day and missing the only opportunity we got, everybody in the vehicle was quiet as we drove back to camp.
Back at camp the fires burnt brightly and after I had a few cold beers and Dad finished a glass or two of Chardonnay I had made a year earlier, the frowns turned into smiles again. We laughed off my poor shot and hoped for better luck the next day.
TRY AGAIN
On day two we started very early and headed up the Hoanib River floodplains. We spotted some springbuck, but nothing worth pursuing. The area was dotted with big acacias and other bushes. Freshly-sprouted grass also showed in places. We visited the area where I had missed the ram but there were no springbuck. So we drove to a place Jif called the Welwitschia Plains. A herd of 600 springbuck roamed that area the previous year and Jif told us they collected four outstanding trophies from this herd. Well, no luck this time... not a springbuck in sight.
There were, however, numerous Hartmann’s mountain zebras and of course the real treat was to see the welwitschia plants. Not a couple, but thousands! They clearly thrived there. Jif and Lourens climbed a small hill to have a better look at the surrounding areas while Dad and I had a closer look at these prehistoric plants. Their leaves are firm and almost wood-like to the touch. The welwitschias have male and female plants and this was only observed when we took pictures of two plants in close proximity. Their flowers were different and the one photo revealed that the flowers were indeed seeds. While we were fussing over the plants Jif and Lourens joined us and reported that there were no springbuck to be seen. Our scout then recommended we head back north where most of the rain had fallen. We headed back for camp and after a brunch drove north through a narrow valley filled with mopani, acacia and cabbage trees.
We entered a conservancy called Otjikon davirongo that was only recently opened to hunting. We had to pick up the chief from this area to join us as our guide. The people here follow a culture of minimalism. They live in small mud huts; have a few plastic drums for carrying water and not much else. The number of cattle and goats they own determine their status and economic standing.
We lost more than an hour driving around, looking for the chief. Eventually we left a message for him and continued hunting. We headed to the northern boundary of the conservancy where the Hoarusib River is the boundary. It is a small stream that flows all year round and this area is home to a number of locals and their cattle and goats. The area is heavily overgrazed. Lourens mentioned we were not too far from a waterfall and that it would be a shame not to visit it. A waterfall in the desert? This I had to see! Forty minutes later we arrived at the amazing sight of water spilling out of a 20m-high cliff face. We spent a good hour here taking photos and drinking pure desert water.
HOPING FOR A MALE
The sun was at our backs when we headed back to camp. Lourens spotted a small herd of springbuck but when they crossed the road we saw that they were females and a single mediocre ram. There were some more animals hidden by the bushes though and as we drove past the rest of the herd we spotted a good ram. The animals disappeared over a ridge not too far away so we got out of the vehicle and hurried after them. Cresting the ridge we spotted the group in a small depression below us. I sat down and shouldered my rifle. Then Jif said: “That’s him on the right, shoot!”
The ram was facing us at an angle so I steadied the crosshair on the point of his left shoulder and pressed the trigger. The 140gr Barnes-X bullet passed clean through him and he fell in his tracks. The rest of the herd only moved on as we approached the ram. He was really nice and restored my confidence in myself and my rifle. The sun was touching the horizon so we quickly took some photos and loaded the ram. We didn’t travel far when we bumped into another herd of springbuck about 100 strong. Among them were three good rams and they were casually grazing about 100m away.
Everybody was expecting me to take a shot but I had my trophy. Time was running out and the light was bad. “Dad, this one is yours.” I passed him the 7mm Rem Mag because the 6.5x55 was in the rifle case behind me. Dad already had a good look at the rams so he quickly chambered a round and took aim.
“Do you see the ram looking to the left with the young one »
» to his immediate left?” I asked. “Yes,” Dad replied. “Well, shoot him.” The shot rang out and all of us immediately told Dad that he had missed. “No ways,” came the reply, “I can see him, he went down.”
“Then you have shot the wrong one, shoot the other one,” Jif instructed. The animals had hardly moved, so Dad lined up again and a second shot rang out. This time all of us cheered.
As it turned out, both animals were splendid trophies. One had the classic horn shape with tips turning back. Both measured well over 16”. We hastily arranged the two trophies next to each other so that we could take photos while their pronks were still open.
NOW FOR ZEBRA
Back at camp we decided to try for zebra the next day, we have seen plenty and there is nothing I like more than hunting species in their natural habitat. The next morning we again headed down to Welwitschia Plains. It didn’t take long to find a herd and I managed to bring down an ancient stallion with the 7mm Rem Mag from about 280m. The 7mm Rem Mag and its 140gr bullet at 3 050fps proved to be a deadly combination. On the way back we spotted two ostriches. Dad always wanted to shoot an ostrich so he pulled the 6.5x55 from its bag. The birds were walking away from us, so Dad picked one and the 6.5 barked. With a 140gr Swift Scirocco through his vitals the old male did not go far. We baptised the 6.5x55 there and then “the cock gun”.
Later that day we returned to the area where Dad had shot the two rams. We spotted another herd which Lourens and I followed on foot for an hour. The springbuck are not used to people and we were able to approach within 60m of them at times. We looked the group over thoroughly but there were no big rams among them. I was, however, amazed by the size of the female’s horns. What a perfect way to end a hunt.
After the hunt I had the good fortune to see and dart a blackfaced impala on Lourens van Wyk’s ranch in Kamanjab. He is the owner of Leopards Legend Safaris. We spent a day at his ranch where we also saw dik-dik.
Dad and I left Namibia in the same way as we had arrived, one plane heading for Cape Town and the other for Johannesburg, departing right after each other. As I relaxed in my seat I couldn’t help wondering when I will return to Damaraland. It felt as if I had left a part of myself behind. Only Damaraland’s dry plains can cure the uneasy, restless feeling in my soul...