THE ORYX IN THE “JESSE”
DANIE GROBLER
It was exactly one year to the day since our first visit to the farm Doornstok, located about 20km north of the town of Tolwe in the central Bushveld. Like so many times before, Wikus, my old hunting companion, had joined me for another Bushveld adventure.
The previous year’s hunt was still fresh in our minds. Wikus had just recovered from a rather scary week in the ICU, but this time, although a little tired, we were firing on all cylinders. To be honest, our trip happened quite unexpectedly. During our monthly club shoot at the local range, the farm owner mentioned to me that he wanted to remove some oryx before the hunting season was in full swing. As could be expected, I booked the long weekend at the end of April without any hesitation.
THIS TIME AROUND
During our previous hunt on Doornstok my son Francois accompanied us. Now it was just Wikus and I. It was very relaxing to have the farm all to ourselves, although we missed Francois, especially his cooking and braaiing skills. We spent hours talking about the special times we had during our twentyone-year friendship, starting way back when we were still young field geologists. We recalled memories such as get ting our 4x4 trucks stuck in waterlogged uitsaksel terrain in remote areas along the Botswana border; massive rain storms causing flash floods; armed and angry landowners that had no interest in our geology “nonsense”; nerve-racking snake encounters; the excitement of finding mineralised rock and the wonder of developing inspired theories about the inner workings of our planet.
The main focus of our hunt was to complete our annual quest for oryx meat, in an effort to quench our respective families’ insatiable biltong cravings. We know from experience that hunting oryx on this property can be very exciting. The bush is normally pretty dense and the hunts close-encounter affairs. Oryx tend to favour certain vegetation types on Doornstok that are closely linked to outcrops of calcareous rocks in certain areas. I am not quite sure whether the oryx favour these areas due to a feeding preference or because the crumbling rocks serve as an early warning system – it is almost impossible for predators or hunters to move silently over these rocks. Fact is, the oryx spend large proportions of their days in these areas.
By a stroke of luck our hunt coincided with a dark moon, which hopefully meant that the oryx would be grazing throughout the day, rather than at night. This provided good hunting opportunities at much more respectable times, so we could sleep a little later in the morning. Grazers often tend to ruminate during the mornings and sometimes only start moving around again during the late afternoon, a behaviour pattern which I have often observed in cattle.
BRAVING THE COLD
The temperature on the first day of our hunt was pretty high, as could be expected at the end of April in the Bushveld. However on the second morning we were greeted by an icy cold northeasterly wind and a sun that did not try very hard to pierce through the black clouds. We each made our separate ways to different areas on the farm. The day before, during a late afternoon drive, I had noticed some fresh oryx tracks in a well-used game path running through dense vegetation in that area with its crumbling rocks. So, I decided to look for oryx there – maybe I’d find one bedded down in the tall, dry grass that was still abundant after the exceptionally good summer rains. The rather strong breeze made it somewhat easier to move unnoticed through the vegetation, where visibility ranged from 10 to 30 metres. After some intense stalking I only managed to spook a lone oryx, as well as a very large eland bull. However, the abundant fresh oryx tracks gave me hope.
At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, I decided to return to an adjacent area and eventually reached a dirt road next to the game fence in the north-western part of the property. I started walking along the fence, following oryx tracks in the loose red sand. Then I noticed a dark patch in the distance alongside the road, slightly hidden underneath a tree. It resembled a sable antelope of which there are several on the property. I continued walking slowly, while scanning the area with my binoculars.
Suddenly I realised that the animal I was looking at was an oryx grazing in the tall grass. »
» He was about 400 to 500 metres away. I was still standing in the middle of the road looking at him through my binoculars when he looked up, straight at me – I froze. Then the normal stare-down ensued; I did not dare lowering my arms. Eventually the animal turned its head away but immediately looked back in my direction... for several minutes. He was obviously unsure of the severity of the threat and after a while he disappeared behind a large tree.
I quickly moved towards the tree where the oryx had been standing. Getting closer to it I noticed a clearing, no more than 20 metres wide, penetrating the bush for about 50m. I took a few more steps and to my amazement saw the back of the oryx sticking out from behind a tree. However, he was clearly aware of me and moved into much denser cover. I stepped back a few paces and into the clearing, hoping that I might see him move through the bush. But he turned sharply and walked straight back into the clearing. The oryx spotted me as I raised my .375 H&H and instantly veered to his left giving me a difficult quartering-away shot at less than 20m. After the shot he disappeared into some dense white karee bushes while uttering a load bellow. I heard him go down and then followed an even louder bellow. Having never heard a gemsbuck bellow before, I stood dead still. It was difficult to decide whether it was a “death bellow” similar to that of a buffalo, or merely an “I-am-now-really-angry” cry.
The atmosphere was suddenly highly charged. I was hunting on my own, a huge privilege, but right then I would have preferred another pair of eyes helping me find my oryx. I fully realised the danger of the situation and that it would probably be pretty difficult for anyone to find me if I got turned into a kebab by the “angry beast” waiting somewhere in die dense bush. I replaced the spent car- tridge in the magazine and cycled the bolt, keeping the safety in the off position. Circling around the densely vegetated area I started moving towards the place from where the strange bellow emanated. Visibility was at the most 5m and I had the setting sun in my eyes.
BRACING FOR THE WORST
My thoughts momentarily turned to an old African hunting safari book I had recently read, where equally nervous hunters followed wounded buffalo into the “jesse”. They described the “jesse” in the Zambezi Valley as a combination of very dense bushes which restrict one’s visibility to only a few metres. Crawling slowly through the bush I got closer and closer to the place where I expected the oryx to be waiting. I still had no idea whether he was dead or alive. Moving really slowly, I focussed entirely on any movement or noise in front of me and suddenly longed for my old .404 Jeffery. Its quick detachable scope mounts would have enabled me to remove the scope and use the open sights as this situation dictated. With my .375 H&H’s 1.5-5x20 scope turned down to its lowest magnification, I felt at least reasonably prepared for a fast follow-up shot but also realised that it would be almost impossible to use the scope should I get charged at such close quarters. I must confess that an initial 400-grain bullet from my .404 Jeffery would have been a bit more reassuring.
After a few more seconds that felt like an eternity, I finally spotted the oryx lying on his side underneath a bush. It was a reassuring sight as these animals normally do not lie down in that position while alive. Moving forward on all fours I closed the distance and touched him gently with the rifle’s muzzle to test for any reaction... but the oryx did not move. Only then was I satisfied that the strange noise was indeed a final “death bellow”.
That night Wikus and I enjoyed a cosy campfire. While I relaxed with a fat cigar that was probably hand-rolled by some delightful Cuban maiden, and enjoyed an equally delightful single malt, Wikus told me about his hunt in the cold weather on the other side of the farm. I listened to his stories but my thoughts soon drifted back to my “angry” oryx. I had come to several definite conclusions: You do not have to hunt buffalo in the Zambezi Valley to experience the frightful grip of the dense “jesse”; a big-bore, loaded with monometal bullets is preferable for close encounters in confined spaces, and finally, an oryx will, on special occasions, utter a death bellow just like a buffalo to completely unnerve you.
This oryx hunt certainly provided a good adrenalin rush!