A VERY EXPENSIVE BILTONG HUNT
Impala for biltong should be an easy hunt
WWE MADE PLANS to go to the Free State to hunt springbuck, a new species for me. Due to the Covid travel ban, the trip was postponed a couple of times, but finally, with the right permits, we could cross the provincial border.
It was freezing when we stopped in front of the farm gate, the chilling wind tearing into my skin. We met with the owner and chatted about the farm, which we had found on Facebook, and wanted to know more. We were there for six springbuck, three blesbuck and some impala, if we encountered a nice ram or two. The owner told us the farm was only 250 hectares and mainly used to breed game. There was a list of animals we weren’t allowed to hunt: nyala, tsessebe, sable, eland, bontebok, reedbuck, giraffe, saddleback blesbuck, copper springbuck, black impala.
Nonetheless, we set out to make the most of our time there and visited the shooting range to check our rifles before heading out on foot to see if we could find some biltong. I have to say, it is a nice farm, not at all the wideopen Free State farm that we had expected. There was a dry riverbed with an acacia forest surrounding it, perfect for impala to disappear in. On another part of the farm, there was a spectacular koppie and massive boulders littered with rock hyraxes. The rest of the farm was covered with long, waist-length grasslands.
ON THE FIRST morning, just before lunchtime, my brother shot a nice impala ram which was standing right next to an even nicer black impala ram. Feeling more positive, we celebrated over lunch before heading out for the afternoon session. I was looking for my first springbuck ram. We were only allowed to hunt the smaller springbuck rams, and anything over fourteen inches was double the price. So, getting close and taking time to check and observe the animals was vital.
Hunting on foot wasn’t easy. The animals we were allowed to shoot knew we were looking for them. Late on the afternoon of our first day, I got lucky with the wind in my face and the sun setting behind me. We slowly and silently sneaked up on a herd of springbuck rams enjoying the last of the day’s warmth. There were about six of them, one was a copper and two were just too close to fourteen inches to shoot. While picking through the herd we spooked them and all but one ran away. He was a looker. I placed the crosshairs just in front of his shoulder as he was quartering on. The ram was still looking for the source of the disturbance when I squeezed the trigger – he went straight down. I felt very confident, probably too confident.
That night around the campfire while enjoying a couple of beers, my dad, my brother and I talked about hunting trips of old, about times gone by, and people we all wished could have
been with us on this trip. Like any hunting trip, those are the moments that memories are made of.
The next morning we were up early. Finding the bakkie’s windscreen and bonnet frozen, we decided to wait for the sun and heated up with some coffee around the fire. That was a good morning. After walking for about an hour, we got close to some springbuck and, once in a suitable position, I shot a ram. Not long after that, I shot a springbuck ewe. My Dad, always showing us how it is done, shot a blesbuck ram and a springbuck ewe. The afternoon passed without further event and, even though we didn’t fire a shot, walking in the bush and seeing the stunning trees and beautiful animals made everything right in the world.
ON THE LAST hunting day we told the guide that we wanted another impala. We climbed to a koppie with a view of almost the entire farm to look for our prey. It didn’t take us long to find the herd and plan our stalk. We started in their direction, staying in the shade while moving from tree to tree, always keeping some cover between us and the impala. From what we could see, the herd only had one ram, and it wasn’t a big ram, but it had more than enough meat on it. We got close to the herd but spooked them at the last second. They ran about three hundred metres before stopping. We moved as fast as we could, got into position, and set up for the shot. They were about 200m away, far, but still within reach of the .243. There was a ewe in front of the ram, watching us. Behind her, the ram was facing us straight on. When the ewe finally cleared away, I aimed at the ram’s chest and went for it. As soon as I squeezed the trigger, I knew it was a bad shot.
Everyone misses, I told myself, it is inevitable. We walked to where the herd had been standing and I was very happy not to find any blood. Furthermore, the ram was still in the herd, looking at us as if to say, “you missed”, before turning and running away. The guide, Johnny, confirmed the miss and we started walking back to camp.
The farm owner picked us up on the way and on our journey crossed paths with the herd. We saw the ram running at the back but then, another guide, who hadn’t accompanied us on the hunt, proclaimed that the ram appeared to be limping. The farm owner told us to go after it, as you would do with any wounded animal. At that point, I even convinced myself that I had wounded the impala. Now accompanied by two guides, we followed the herd and found them running away. We set up and waited for them to cross in front of us, ready to shoot the suffering animal. When they were about 250m away, we saw the ram at the back. I asked the guide, “Is that the ram?” He replied, “Yes, that one.” I led the shot by probably three metres with the sun behind the herd and squeezed the trigger. On any other day, with any other animal, the bullet would have missed. But it didn’t. I heard it thump, saw the animal stumble and start to go down before it passed out of sight behind some trees.
THE HERD CAME out on the other side, but the ram didn’t. I did, however, see the smaller ram still in the herd. The guides started heading towards the herd, thinking the ram was still with them. But I knew the ram I had been aiming at was still behind the trees. I convinced them to go around and have a look. Sure enough, when we passed the first tree, we found the ram lying in the grass. The shot was right on the shoulder, but a bit low. As it saw us it stood up. That is when my heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach. The ram in front of us, the one that my bullet had taken down, was as black as night. It was the one impala on the farm that was on the ‘Don’t Shoot’ list. I can’t explain the disappointment, the sheer horrible heart
break of that moment, and, I admit, I even shed a couple of soul-shattering tears right there in the grass. The impala didn’t go far after that and it gave me an easy shot to finish it off.
Understandably, the owner of the farm was very upset. Luckily, we came to an understanding that, even though it rendered me near limbless, suited both of us. The person I dreaded telling the most was my wife. Imagine making that call and explaining to her why you need to pay an obscene amount of money for one impala ram. I never even got a chance to take a photo with that beautiful impala, but I figured I should make a shoulder mount. It was the least I could do.
The real kicker came on the last morning when we went looking for the wounded impala. We saw the young ram, my intended victim, still trotting about, shamelessly wearing my stolen confidence, with the rest of the herd. His herd now, as I had removed his only competition. He was the last ram left on the farm. We left the farm hoping that one day we could all sit around a campfire again and laugh about that expensive biltong hunt.