MOPANE BUFFALO
“… you don’t take chances with buffalo”
LATE IN THE 2006 hunting season, I lost out on a chance to hunt buffalo on a vast concession in Mozambique. Thereafter, further such opportunities, and the means to pursue them, eluded me, tho ugh I did spen dti me in preparation ont he range and otherwise. As it turned out, I had to wait 13 more years, until the end of 2018, before a suitable opportunity presented itself. I wanted a fair chase hunt, on a large property, where I had to work hard to find my bull. This time I would hunt a non-trophy bull at a very reasonable price. The venue (west of the Kruger National Park) and the outfitter had solid reputations and were well-known to a friend of mine. Also, the buffalo on the concession were free-roaming and as wild as they get.
The area consisted of dense mopane veld and the hunt was to take place in mid-summer – not the best time for any strenuous hunt, never mind for buffalo, but I had little choice regarding the date. At the time, I had been putting off major spinal surgery
Would my 13th year of waiting prove unlucky?
for more than a year due to work (and hunting) commitments, but could no longer ignore the need to have it done. January 2019 seemed an appropriate date for the hunt, as I could have the op straight after, allowing me time to recover sufficiently before the 2019 hunting season got into full swing.
ON THE FIRST day of our hunt, Christo Joubert of Chivic African Safaris, and PH, Johan Espach, showed us the lie of the land and the various dams and roads on the property. My friends Lood, Rob and Johan accompanied me – Lood would also hunt a buffalo bull. We decided to hunt together and started searching for fresh spoor. The area was still feeling the effects of a prolonged drought and grass was scarce, which made following spoor somewhat easier. Although we came within smelling distance of a herd of buffalo that day, we did not see them. Old dagha boys and bulls with a spread exceeding the 40-inch mark were off-limits; we were to hunt mature, but not trophy-standard bulls. This was fine with me, as I consider myself a hunter first and foremost, and had already decided that the experience of the hunt would be my ‘trophy’, irrespective of horn size.
The next morning, we received news that the nature conservation authorities needed help to cull two crop-raiding hippo bulls further south. For a reason-
The area consisted of dense mopane veld and the hunt was to take place in mid-summer – not the best time for any strenuous hunt
able fee, both Lood and I could hunt the bulls on a permit and keep the skulls, with the meat going to the local community. After travelling for a few hours, we took up a position high on a cliff overlooking the Komati River, scouting for the hippo. To cut a long story short, it rained so much that we never got a glimpse of the bulls and returned to our buffalo venue in the early hours of day two, wet, hungry and tired.
THE NEXT MORNING, our spirits were high; we were thankful for the welcome rain which would settle the dust and make finding fresh buff spoor easy, or so we thought. We spent most of the morning looking for tracks and eventually found the spoor of a group of bulls. Instantly the adrenaline was flowing because the tracks were fresh and the smell of buffalo dung hung in the humid air. The tracks meandered through the bush as the feeding bulls slowly moved, spattering their dung all over the spoor. After about an hour, our tracker, Luitenant, suddenly dropped to the ground and everybody followed suit. About 60m ahead, the buffalo were lying down in dense shrub next to a small stream. A bull suddenly got to his feet, staring in our direction, followed immediately by his companion beyond him. The first bull, facing us three-quarters on, matched our criteria, but the second bull was directly behind him. A light shifting breeze must have carried our scent and a few seconds later the entire herd broke through the mopane. I looked at Lood, who was to shoot first and had his .470NE on the sticks ready for the opportunity of a clear shot. We exchanged nervous smiles – exciting stuff! We followed the herd for most of the day but the swirling wind made things difficult. We bumped them at least five times, and covered many kilometres in the sweltering heat and humidity. By late afternoon we left them to settle and decided to take up the spoor the next day.
Up until this point, we had hunted as a group to share the experience, but it had become clear that we required more stealth and decided to split into two groups. I would hunt with Luitenant, backed up by Rob, a friend of some 30 years who would carry my .450NE with which he was well acquainted and had used often. Within 30 minutes of our setting off the next morning, we found fresh spoor. It was amazing to experience the sharpening of the senses when pursuing dangerous quarry. About an hour later, Luitenant’s keen eyes picked out the shape of buffalo in the dense shrub. We moved in close to look them over and identified a suitable bull, but two thick branches covered his vital area. A shot would have been irresponsible, and before he or I could move, I felt the wind blowing in the nape of my neck – the wind had shifted again. Within moments the buffalo picked up our scent, turned tail and galloped out of sight.
We took a break to give the herd a chance to settle down. Ten minutes later we cautiously took up the spoor again, concentrating in the general direction the buffalo had taken rather than just following the spoor. Our experience during the first day had indicated that the buffalo were circling every time they were disturbed. We had to make several detours to ensure we stayed downwind of them. Soon we heard them running up ahead. They were circling again, and we saw some of them running to our right. We hunched down and sought cover behind a bush. The buffalo slowed and appeared in a clearing between the mopane trees. We immediately spotted an old dagha boy, but then another non-trophy bull stopped between two saplings with his vital area exposed.
A light shifting breeze must have carried our scent and a few seconds later the entire herd broke through the mopane
I did a quick check through the binos to make sure no animal was behind him. Rob, now on my left, whispered, “He is open”. I settled the red dot of my Trijicon RMR sight on the top of the bull’s heart and squeezed the trigger. Pandemonium broke out as the herd scattered through the bush towards my right. I kept my eyes fixed on the bull as I instinctively reloaded. He made a 90-degree turn and came straight at us. Even at about 50 metres, I could see a thick stream of blood spurting from the exit wound on his shoulder. He kept on coming, and I told Rob to get ready. It was a death rush as he had no way of knowing where the shot had come from, but you do not take chances with buffalo. He was getting close, covering the distance between us with incredible speed.
As I lifted my rifle for another shot, he slowed down and collapsed sideways. Immediately he was up again and I gave him another shot in the vitals, telling Robert to shoot as well. The bull went down but was struggling to get up, so I shot him again with a solid. This time he stayed down. My hands were shaking and my heart racing. We waited a good five minutes, watching the bull for any movement before we approached cautiously. He appeared dead, but at my request, Robert gave him an insurance shot anyway. The 525gr Woodleigh soft from my .500 Jeffery had performed very well, destroying the top of the heart and lungs. It was a special and rather emotional moment to finally stand next to my own buffalo bull. The long wait had been worth it.
LOOD GOT HIS opportunity later that day but wounded his bull. We spent a couple of adrenaline-filled days looking for it in the thick stuff, but eventually gave up - a story for another day...
It was a rare privilege to hunt my first buffalo without the aid of a professional hunter. My sincerest appreciation to Christo for the confidence he had in me. It is a hunt I will cherish forever.