Memorable Moments
Remembering good times
EARLY ONE MORNING I strolled down to the stream that flows into al ake near my home. Sadly, due to the long drought in the East Cape, the river had been reduced to a series of reed-choked pools. Standing on the bank I was startled by the sudden harsh ka-raak...ka-raak sound from a covey of Cape francolin as they exploded from the rushes below me. Instinctively my hands rose up, holding an imaginary shotgun, I shouted “BOOM...BOOM” and two imaginary birds cart-wheeled down to hit the grass on the opposite bank. I silently wondered how often such an incident had actually happened during the years I spent in pursuit of flying game.
Crossing the small bridge I settled down on the stump of a blue gum tree near the fence of the adjoining game reserve; I call this my thinking spot. I recalled the very first game bird I shot with a muzzle-loading shotgun. Although I had bagged many different birds with cartridge guns, the challenge of hunting with a muzzleloader had always fascinated me and I finally ordered a double-barrelled gun. This was sometime in the 1970s when replica black powder guns were beginning to arrive in South Africa.
My first outing with the Italian-made 12-bore took place on a farm I knew well in the Somerset East district. I spent the morning testing various loads and wad systems until I found the one that gave the best pattern on a paper plate at thirty yards. At last I was ready and, at 3 o’clock, I headed off for some old lands where I knew the birds scratched around during the last hours of the day. The set up was perfect – the trick was to let the birds spot you at a distance so they would scurry into the scrub surrounding the lands, then you could walk them up and get in a shot or two. Everything went to plan and once in the scrub and high grass, I could hear the low chink-chink of the fowl all around me. Suddenly there was a rush of wings as the birds erupted out of the thick cover. I swung the gun up while at the same time cocking the right barrel, chose a target, and pulled off. Through the cloud of smoke I saw a dark shape
believe that I had shot a baboon with a muzzle-loader. After that whenever they saw me they’d say, “Hier’s die Engelsman wat ’n bobbejaan met ’n voorlaaier doodgeskiet het.”
I ALSO REMEMBERED the first time out with my big 50 Sharps rifle. Since my youth I have been interested in guns of the American West and this famous rifle topped the list. I had read many stories about how the old buffalo hunters would spend a day shooting then, at night, sit around their campfire reloading empty cases for the next day. So, just like the old-timers, I loaded twelve 3¼-inch cases with black powder, card wads and paper patched bullets before putting up a target at 75 paces and taking a few practice shots. Although the result was not exactly of Bisley standard, it was good enough to hit an animal up front in the vitals and I set off to hunt. After a short ramble I spotted a herd of impala standing in the open at the edge of some thick bush that filled a deep valley. The only thing I could do was retreat and circle around to enter the bush out of sight of the animals. The bush was a tangle of thorn but I moved slowly, keeping well under cover until I figured I was near enough for a shot. Peering through the bush I saw a nice ram standing broadside about 40 yards away. Placing the long octagonal barrel on some branches, my sight settled on the ram’s shoulder. I touched the hair trigger, the gun roared and I heard the bullet hit home. In the excitement of the moment I tore myself free from the clutching thorns to discover the heavy slug had flattened the ram.
LOOKING AROUND FOR a stick to dig my pipe out, I picked up a porcupine quill and was reminded of an oldtime hunt I attended many years ago.
Our only supplies were potatoes and onions as the idea was to hunt for our meat. Luckily one of the guys shot a porcupine on the first night. I will never forget how our host and camp cook, Gert van der Westhuizen, pickled the thick skin then grilled it over thornwood coals to provide delicious crackling that went down well with our tankards of beer.
Reminiscing about that hunt sparked thoughts of my longest oldtime hunt – 26 days mostly spent in
tented camps. The two Texans I had with me were black powder enthusiasts and they wanted to experience an oldtime hunt on the East Cape frontier. They got it all... the ticks, rough living, unwashed clothes, cold nights, hot days, warm beer, no ice for their whiskey – and they loved it! Not only did we hunt in an historical way, but some of the areas we hunted were places where actual historic events had occurred. We used muzzle-loaders to bag kudu, blesbuck, springbuck, mountain reedbuck, bushbuck and warthog. We also took ducks, geese and a whole mess of doves but this was done using breechloading shotguns. I will never forget this epic trip.
I wonder how many readers have wished they could handle an old artefact displayed behind glass in a museum? On my 1999 trip to America I was introduced to a collector who allowed me to do just that. Gosh, this fellow had spent a lifetime collecting
Civil War military equipment, weapons and associated paraphernalia, and also a lot of stuff from the old west. I spent a day with him and he allowed me to touch, examine and photograph to my heart’s content – my sole regret was that I only had half a roll of film in my camera.
I touched the hair trigger, the gun roared and I heard the bullet hit home. In the excitement of the moment I tore myself free from the clutching thorns to discover the heavy slug had flattened the ram
AS A BOY I was fascinated by the smoke-belching cannons on the pirate ships captained by my swashbuckling movie hero, Errol Flynn. I had a yearning to be a gunner and got the opportunity to try when Zane Palmer invited me to a demonstration of the cannons he made. My eyes boggled at the different field pieces, mortars and ships cannon – each one beautifully made, complete with loading equipment from sponges to rammers to water buckets – and they were all miniatures you could hold in the palm of your hand! What a wonderful experience it was to fire those little guns at rows of advancing infantry made out of paper and sailing ships made of cardboard. The highlight of the day was firing a mortar that had a parachute attached to the ball. You could not see the black powder powered missile shoot up into the sky until the chute unfolded and it floated to the earth to be recovered and used again. Just another memorable moment in a life filled with wonderful surprises.