A true hunting experience
Spending time in a wilderness paradise is about more than just hunting.
The sun reached its apex over Bertha Dam where I reclined into my favourite siesta spot. My trusty pre-’64 Winchester .375 H&H Magnum was safely perched on its Harris bipod and my head was cushioned atop my CamelBak backpack. I was lying on the slope of the dam wall and had a spectacular view over the water.
On the opposite side of the dam two good-sized Nile crocodiles basked in the sun and further away towards Dassiekoppies over 90 baboons were frolicking on the mud flats. I was reflecting, albeit sleepily, on the virtues of hunting in a real wilderness area. Breslau Private Nature Reserve, where I was, is such a place. It is actually more than that, it is a place where a real hunter becomes symbiotic with nature, a place that doesn’t demand of you to fire a shot to claim that you have hunted. That is what my hunt was all about; the experience, the wilderness, the carefree liberty to be wild again as mankind was before we became “civilised”. To lie down on the soil and dust of Africa not caring about appearances... that is what life is all about.
I must have dosed off because I suddenly noticed a rather strange-looking crocodile on the opposite bank, not too far from the other two giant water lizards. Strange, I thought, a croc with tail bands and a flickering tongue? I lifted the binocular slowly and focused. Golly, molly! It was the biggest water monitor I have ever seen! A beast of a lizard that would put a Ko- modo dragon to shame.
Ever heard of them being vocal? Never? Well, believe me it was uttering something like a low-frequency bellow with its muzzle wide open. Judging by the crocs this beast must have measured nothing less than two metres in length. It stood there bellowing, then dropped its head, sniffed the water and turned towards the thick bush with a gait that I can only describe as seriously windgat. Man, I would have loved to be closer but taking a stroll through Bertha’s waters could have resulted in me having a croc attached to my tail end.
HUNT WITHOUT SHOOTING
I already had two impala rams in the cold room, so there was ample time to dry hunt (to hunt without shooting). I gathered my rifle and CamelBak and once my sore feet felt a little better (I walked an average of 24km a day) I moved north to Kraalkoppies Dam where, according to Ingrid Meter (one of the directors of the reserve and my host-
ess), a herd of good rams usually hang out. This dam is one of my favourite haunts, if not for dry hunting then just for bird watching. Bateleurs, marabous and African fish eagles often visit for a drink and prime barbel.
I approached the dam from the west through good thorn tree cover which helped me to reach a secluded spot behind a stand of thick reeds. Yep, the rams were there, all 17 of them and boy, what superb animals they were. One was a two-year old knypkop with a solid body, four were four-year olds with nice horns and the rest would have all made Rowland Ward’s eyes water. My personal policy was to shoot only youngsters up to four years of age or very old males with well-worn horns. Well, looking at what was on offer, I decided to dump the bird watching for bok watching. Moving out from behind the cover I sat down and watched.
The rams were challenging each other while baboons were patrolling the area, looking for morsels of food. Suddenly I smelt a warthog... a second later I heard it grunt and then saw a sow and five tail-up piglets running past me with a “what-onearth-are-you-doing-in-our-area” attitude. The old wench must have smelt me too, the reason for her alarm grunt.
I moved west towards “the reserve”, a 500-hectare piece of unspoilt virgin bush where hunting is prohibited. The approach route to the reserve is covered with tall acacia trees and tall grass that give it an eerie feel. My nose was on high alert because Breslau harbours 66 jumbos and they generally suffer from PMS. As I traversed through the thick woodland I tested the air constantly for elephants.
The previous day in Dead Valley I had a scary encounter. That valley is a part of Breslau with a very desolate aura. I love hunting there as no one else goes there and I always pick up the scent of leopard in the drainage dungeons (hopefully I will meet it on foot one day without becoming part of Dead Valley’s aura). The day was quiet but the strong odour of elephants was all around me with piles of fresh dung and urine puddles everywhere. I crossed an embankment and walked towards a thick part of Dead Valley when loud trumpeting made me froze in my tracks. Heartbeat 160; blood pressure 180 over 120. Beat it or brace it? A second later the trees and branches 50 yards ahead parted and the extremely loud trumpeting of an elephant swamped my ears. Turning 180 degrees I bolted like never before. Only 200 yards later did I slow down and found myself amongst big trees that produced a sense of comfort. Damn! That was a nasty one! I was very alert in the sub- dued light filtering through the acacias. Heading west I cautiously looked around me. No elephant smells. I turned slightly south and peered into the woodland. Black. Black?! Jumbo! Fifteen yards ahead of me! A bull with 40-pounders. I was afraid, despite having my trusty Winchester .375 H&H with me. The jumbo must have scented me... he lifted his trunk and poked it in my direction, shook his ears twice, then slowly turned away and walked off. I thanked God for that moment, not only for not being charged, but for the absolute wonder of being so close to such a giant beast. It was hunting at its best!
GETTING LOST
The next morning was cool with thick cloud cover which makes »
» hunting more challenging. The red coat of an impala flashes up in full sunlight but in cloudy conditions these animals can be difficult to spot. Walking against the wind, I headed east. Bertha Dam was to my right with Pyramid Hill lurking in the distance. Suddenly the dense bush opened up and I found myself in an unfamiliar spot. I saw palm trees which I have never seen before on this property. That convinced me that I was on virgin soil... at least for me. I looked towards Bertha Dam but the veld looked unfamiliar.
For the first time in decades I was lost! Pyramid was in the wrong place, Bertha was not where I thought it would be and Sentinel, with its solitary rock, loomed ahead of me. Was I perhaps on the no-man’s land area of the reserve? No. I had no idea where I was! My internal gyrometer was totally astray and no matter how I tried to reorientate myself, nothing made sense. I decided to walk towards the massive wild fig trees of Bertha. At least I could see those a few hundred metres away. Suddenly I smelt impala, so I crouched low to check under the scrub. Nothing. I eased forward on all fours, my situation momentarily forgotten. A young ram appeared. It stood facing me with its nose high in the breeze. I dropped to prone position and prepared to take a shot. The rifle lay like a baby in its cradle on the Harris bipod. The reticle found the ram’s neck and when the .375 barked the antelope collapsed. The crack of Barnes TSX bullet on impala bone told me the animal had a speedy departure to heaven. I reloaded, watching the ram, but he was stone dead. When I reached the animal barely 80 metres away, I was surprised to find a Jeep close to it. The fresh tracks of a vehicle assured me that my head was lost but not my situation. After cutting the jugular to bleed the buck I followed the track to reach – to my utter surprise – the junction of the road that runs to Bertha’s dirt wall. What an idiot I felt. Lost on a nature reserve in sight of places I know like the back of my hand.
Well, I heard impala rutting towards the dam wall and cautiously stalked forward. A good old ram, with what I judged to be 22-inch horns, was nibbling at greenery under the acacia canopy close to where I encountered the elephant the previous day. I shouldered the Winchester and took the animal high in the neck from a distance of 42 yards (courtesy of a Leupold RX1200i DNA/W rangefinder). That was the first time in many years I shot an animal without using the bipod but it was so close that I had to take an offhand shot.
I walked back to camp, drove out to collect the two impala and after returning to camp again treated myself to strong filter coffee. With Ingrid and Arjen (co-owners of Breslau) and their friends Johan and Ria out on a game drive, I was alone in camp and had time to think about getting lost. Memories of Angola during my old army days fluttered into my head. I also got lost there but had always managed to find my way back to base camp by following a scent trail (that of fire and people). My nose is a blessing, but my ears are buggered from the Bush War and my eyes as poor as those of a black rhino. I should have stopped when I realised that I was lost and relied on my ability to smell, but I guess I was too dumbstruck by the fact that I got lost.
That night while preparing supper at the fire, I heard a lion roar far away. Spotted hyenas where cackling and whooping and a leopard grunted right next to camp. What a symphony of Africa! One cannot put into words the feeling of being in the wilderness; it demands your physical presence to understand what it means to the soul. We were still talking about the leopard when three elephants came into the ring of light and fed on the grass and shrubs barely ten yards away. Heaven isn’t a place, it is that moment when time stands still and you are one with the creatures of the Afri- »
Then it happened again. On the hour, two days after my first encounter with a charging jumbo. This time I was really scared.
» can wilderness. I went to bed with sore feet but a liberated soul.
A NEW DAY
Dawn broke as I approached the Limpopo’s riparian forest. It is a good but challenging place to hunt impala because the tinder dry leaves of apple-leaf trees and dried-out eragrostis grass grunt like a bushpig under my boots. I walked very slowly and flushed a beautiful bushbuck ram from the brush. A breeding herd of kudu slowly eloped deeper into the forest and one of the matriarchs barked a warning so that the entire Limpopo Valley knew I was hunting. I picked up the scent of cheetah but couldn’t find them. A little further on I heard scuttling in the grass. Something was heading my way. It was a small animal; maybe a warthog or southern grey duiker.
Two black faces appeared in the footpath. I took out my cell phone, activated the camera and waited with baited breath for the creatures to come within camera range. They were sniffing along and as I snapped them the pair of honey badgers stopped and looked up with beady eyes at the barrier in their way. They tested the air. I took another picture. The badgers were less than a rifle’s length away from me when the larger one recognised my human form and urged its mate to make a hasty retreat. I have seen lion, leopard, brown and spotted hyaena, elephant, hippo and python while hunting on foot but honey badgers were my best sighting ever. Nothing comes close to a one-on-one encounter with these brave little warriors of the African bush.
Half an hour later I bagged a good young impala ram before heading back to camp. With my impala hunting done I left camp just after three for a last walk. I wanted to walk through the acacia woodland to Alpha Dam as it always offers a mysterious experience in that dark, thick bush. A stunning waterbuck bull led his herd away from me and impala were nibbling at the water’s edge. I was on all fours looking at the water. It was very quiet. In the distance a zebra stallion was calling his mares. Movement to my right caught my eye. A sizeable bull elephant walked towards the water. It was a comfortable 40 yards away. I remained poised and spotted impala walking towards me. The jumbo was now obscured by the bush. His low rumbling spoke of pleasure and a few unseen cows also started trumpeting.
Then it happened again. On the hour, two days after my first encounter with a charging jumbo. This time I was really scared. The animal trumpeted with murderous, ear-splitting volume. I darted at least 500 yards through the acacia woodland as fast as my sore feet could carry me. My head was spinning as I heard the victorious trumpeting of the bull as if to announce his success in chasing me away. It takes a lot to achieve two elephant charges during a single hunt!
I walked back to camp slowly... my heart aching at the thought that my hunt was over and that I had to leave Breslau soon. Warthogs were peacefully digging up roots, helmeted guinea-fowl scattered as a giant martial eagle soared overhead and a fish eagle announced the end of another profoundly beautiful day in Africa. Thoughts were mulling around in my head. I managed to bag eight impala but that was only a minute part of the hunt. The jumbos, the leopard, the birdlife, the water monitor, the honey badgers and the freedom of Breslau all culminated into a real wilderness hunting experience! The 2 800 hectares of Breslau feels more like 5 000 with its diverse habitats, its koppies, its dams, its plains and the abundance of wild animals.
To think that some urban dumbass thought he could mine here, is ludicrous as Breslau is one of Africa’s secret gems. May it always stay that way... with the sun setting behind the huge old trees of the mighty Limpopo while lion patrol the boundaries and baboons keep watch from Dassiekoppies.