Cattle-killing Cats
Lions in suburban Lusaka?
light but all we saw was the rear end of one lion with its head turned to look back at us, its eyes shining like bright lights, but not presenting a clear shot. The other lion decided it did not like the light and started to slink off into the bush. Carl held the light on this one and as my cross-hairs found his shoulder, I led him a fraction and let drive. BOOM! Dust and muzzle-flash blinded us and the lions were gone before we knew what had happened.
INSTINCT TOLD ME something was not right. We grabbed our torches and looked for blood – nothing. We went back to where the lion had been moving off and found the answer to my nagging doubt – I had hit a tree! At this point if anyone wants to call us amateur lion hunters, I won’t take offence.
After consulting a PH friend, we decided to build a machan (a hide on stilts) and reposition our bait. I had wanted to build an elevated blind from the beginning, but unbeknown to me, Clinton was afraid of heights. While dating my daughter, he thought it would be a great idea to take her on a problem hyena shoot, until the machan collapsed with them in it!
The lions had become wary and lay low for a while. We were losing time. After a few days they hit the bait again, so we let them get into a feeding routine before we sat up for them again. Then the game scouts told us that the lions had
been roaring and making a commotion in the early hours of the morning. By now ten days had gone by with no reward, so we sat again; this time my son Ty joined us as the spotlight man. Our trail cam told us they were coming in early again. Dressed for the cold and with bellies full of sausage rolls, we waited. Kudu and bushbuck barked again, bushpigs came to the old bait site and chewed on bones, and then everything just went deathly quiet. At 20:00 we heard the first crunching and tearing at the bait. The lions were back, but it was so dark we could not see anything. I shook Ty’s leg to wake him up, and whispered that he must hold the light forward of our scopes so that its light didn’t reflect in the lenses to blind us. He switched on the light as he was standing up; his jacket pocket hooked the corner of the chair, causing him to shine the light straight onto the scopes, blinding us for a second before he corrected the beam. One lion had all but disappeared into the grass; the other went in the opposite direction. Dilemma! Which to swing on?
The second lion ran straight into the cattle fence, bounced back then decided to follow his mate. Ty had the torch waving all over the place, but fortunately the incident gave us enough time to aim and there was enough light. We both fired and saw the lion take the impact. As it tottered off, I gave it another shot, and then all was quiet. The whole affair had taken but seconds! Our adrenalin was pumping but we felt confident, though conscious of the deathly silence.
WE HOOKED THE spotlight up to the vehicle battery and drove into the grass where the lion had disappeared. Nothing! After flattening bushes with the truck as we searched unsuccessfully for the lion, we decided to come back in the morning. Just then Clinton spotted it lying stone dead, close to where it had been when I took my second shot. It was the same lion I’d shot at previously – it had superficial wounds on its shoulder made by bullet fragments after the projectile had disintegrated on the tree. The lion also had a fresh wire snare on its neck – probably the reason for its roaring earlier that morning as it fought to break the snare.
The second lion did not return to the bait site, so after a few days we decided to try a new area about 600m away, closer to the thicket. We relocated the machan to a spot about 75m from the new bait site. In the meantime a friend had suggested that we get a spotlight with an infrared lens. He was a bush guide and swore that the lion would completely ignore the light when we turned it on, so I sacrificed my monthly beer allocation allowance and bought one. Confident now that we had everything just right, we hung a fresh carcass and waited, and that first night we got a hit. This got us excited, but the scouts were getting impatient as they had been away from their families for nearly two months and the local government officials, Wildlife Department and tribal chiefs were pressuring us. We had to ask them to be patient, as we needed to make sure the feeding lion was relaxed and unsuspicious before we sat up again. After a couple of days, we added fresh bait then entered the blind at 16:30 and prepared ourselves.
I had been suffering with a dose of flu, as was Clinton, and as the temperature dropped the coughing started. No amount of cough mixture, lozenges, whisky from a hip flask or even half suffocating myself with a pillow could stop it. Clinton and I thought we heard something come into the bait around 19:30 but were not sure. The coughing continued, and as the lion may have heard me, I decided to give it up and give Clinton the chance otherwise I would most certainly blow it. I left the machan at 21:00 and went home, feeling a bit of a loser, but confident that if anybody could pull it off Clinton could.
At around midnight the action started. Ty was snoring so loudly that Clinton had to regularly kick him in the ribs to silence him. Then the tearing and crunching started; Clinton told Brandon, a long-time family friend, to hit the light. The cat was standing on his hind legs feeding off the bait that was hanging from the tree. It immediately ducked down and was making off into the thicket – so much for the infrared light. Clinton had a brief moment of opportunity and gave the lion a raking shot with a PMP soft-nose from his .375 before the cat disappeared into the thicket. He heard some crashing and bushes breaking and then silence. Not wanting to tempt fate, he wisely chose to return in the morning.
We were back early, not really knowing what to expect. The bush was thick and thorns scratched and pulled on our skin and clothing as we eased our way into the thicket. We hadn’t gone 30m in when Clinton shouted, “He’s down!” It
Now I know why safari outfitters require a minimum of 21 days for a lion hunt – lions don’t come easy
had been a perfect raking shot. This was the lion the scouts had wounded with buckshot, evidenced by pus oozing from numerous wounds to its legs and abdomen. However, both lions had been in good body condition, despite their ordeals.
I SHOULD ADD that this took place less than 50km from Zambia’s capital city of Lusaka. It had taken us a month to get the job done. We had learnt some valuable lessons, and now I know why safari outfitters require a minimum of 21 days for a lion hunt – lions don’t come easy.