THE KLIPSPRINGER
Diminutive king of the mountain
I WAS SEATED high on a mountain in the Waterberg, very out of breath after winding my way up via an access road and then cresting the ridge to get to the other side. The walk was a grand experience. First, a giraffe bull, unnoticed by me until he and I exchanged glances at about ten metres, took off up the mountain on the same road, his huge feet “clack-ka-clacking” over the concrete, laid down due to the steep incline. I let things settle for a few minutes and resumed my walk.
A short while later a warthog sow with three piglets came walking down the same road. I stood still and removed the small camera from my top pocket. They did not notice me until they were only a few metres away and then veered off the concrete and moved past me into the bush. As they drew parallel to me they took off at speed. More sightings followed – mountain reedbuck and many kudu. It was dead quiet, windless, and very enjoyable. Just below the crest of the mountain I was startled by a rustling noise to my left and saw a porcupine scurry away between the rocks, not two metres away.
My sole quarry, however, was a mature klipspringer ram. I’d had an opportunity to hunt one many years ago. At the time, I was recovering from torn ligaments in my ankle and one wrong step ended in agony when I seriously aggravated the injury. With no phone or radio, it took me three hours to hop and skip back to camp, and my hunt was ruined.
KLIPSPRINGER ARE FOUND throughout large parts of the Cape, Namibia and Angola, as well as a huge swathe of land extending upwards from the Mpumalanga province through the east African countries right up to Eritrea and Sudan. Eleven sub-species are recognized, but some scientists believe there are different species. They have huge pre-orbital glands, much larger, relative to their size, than those of other antelope. These glands are used by both the male and female to mark territories about once a week, which is reportedly how long the scent lasts. They wipe the glands over twigs and grass, leaving traces of a black substance.
Klipspringer are monogamous but do not mate for life, as was the common belief for many years. The scent marking also reinforces the bond between the male and female and apparently, between parents and their young. The female gives birth to a single lamb but, a few years ago I did see a male and female with two lambs
south of Skukuza on the S114 road in the KNP. After a few months, mature lambs are chased away from the parents’ territories to establish their own – the males sooner than females according to many references. They are choice prey for raptors and the cats.
As they are a TOPS species (Threatened or Protected Species), a permit is required to hunt klipspringer and they normally command a high price. Most game farms that I have hunted protect them to the n’th degree. Some have even told me that they never hunt them – rightly or wrongly… My opinion is that if klipspringer are properly managed, there should be no reason not to hunt them on a sustainable basis.
GOOD BINOCULARS AND a flatshooting rifle are essential requirements as klipspringer can be challenging and may require long shots. Their diminutive size does not require a large calibre but, if you want to ensure the skin stays intact, use a solid bullet as the exit wound with a conventional soft-nosed bullet will be large. The need for fitness is obvious, as is the need for boots suited to the rocky terrain klipspringer inhabit. Your trophy should be handled with utmost care – the hollow hairs fall out very easily and you should get it into the salt as soon as possible.
BACK TO THE hunt… I perched between two large rocks, the cliff face of the mountain falling away below me for about 50 metres. I was still catching my breath and getting the lie of the land when I heard a strange duck calling – a faint, high-pitched whêêê, whêêê sound, seemingly far off. This continued for about two minutes. I was intrigued, as I thought I knew the calls of most of our resident duck species, but could not see anything in the air. The area abounds with irrigation dams so it made sense that the sound would be coming from a duck. Standing up and craning my neck, I was trying to see what bird was making this noise when I spotted a small movement among the trees below and to my left. The penny dropped… it was not a duck, but a klipspringer’s alarm call and I could just make out the fawnish colour of one through the foliage.
I sat down immediately, amused by my own ignorance. After all, who has heard a klipspringer’s call? I waited about ten minutes and slowly stood up, scanning the last spot I saw the movement, but saw nothing. I could not go to my right – the rocks were huge and seemingly right on the cliff face. Still wearing a back brace after surgery, I was acutely aware of the dangers of my impaired movement and if I had fallen off those rocks, it would have been the end. Just thinking about it made my stomach tie into a knot. I moved left, worming my way between the trees and rocks and saw a small game path. This led me to the end of a small ridge, right on the top edge of the cliff face, previously unseen. I was in two minds whether to follow it or backtrack and find a new, safer spot to hunt.
The farmhouse and water trough were about 800m below me and to my right. While I sat for a moment contemplating my next move, two klipspringers raced out of the brush next to the house and ran to the water trough. They drank, quickly turned around and
sped up the mountain, disappearing from view. I considered backtracking the way I had come to wait for them in ambush as they climbed up the mountain to their spot. I was still busy thinking it over when I heard another klipspringer call – this time to my right. I gathered my guts and despite my acrophobia, peered over the edge. There, 80m below me, stood a klipspringer ewe in broad daylight, staring upwards towards the cliff edge.
I ducked back down, removed my cap and placed it on a rock in front of me. Quietly loading my .30-06, I set the scope to 4x magnification and inched forward. I eased the rifle forward and rested its fore-end on the cap while at the same time peering over the edge. This time I also saw the ram – a bit to the left of the ewe. One glance told me he had very respectable horns so I wasted no time. Settling the crosshairs on his back between his shoulder blades, I squeezed the trigger. He toppled off the rock and out of sight.
A problem immediately dawned on me – how on earth was I going to recover my trophy? I tried calling one of my friends on the two-way radio without any joy. After carefully memorising trees and a few large boulders, I took a piece of toilet paper, which I always carry in my back pocket, and tied it to the nearest tree to mark the position from where I had taken the shot, making sure it would be visible from below.
I HAD NO choice but to go back the way I had come and hopefully reach one of my buddies on the radio to ask for help. This had me worried; I was very far from any assistance and it would take me a few hours to get off and around the mountain to where the ‘klippie’ lay. This could potentially lead to hair-slip of the skin I so badly wanted. Another worry was the black eagles, and more importantly, leopards. Just the previous evening, we had spotted a huge tom leopard very close to where I was now. I moved as fast as I could and a few minutes later when I tried the radio again, to my relief, my brother-in-law Petrus answered. They were about 6km away and were happy to come and fetch me.
An hour later, with the aid of a 4-wheeler ATV, we were at the foot of the mountain on the side where the ram lay. I could see my piece of toilet paper blowing in the wind and the size and vertical drop of the cliff made my stomach turn again. Petrus agreed to help me recover the ram, as, at the time, I was not allowed to pick up anything heavier than 5kg.
After a difficult climb, we got to the spot where I thought the ram lay, but it was gone. We scouted the immediate area and found blood and some hair. The many hiding places between the rocks made me think of the leopard again and I mentioned this to Petrus, who raised his eyebrows. Due to the severe angle at which I had shot, the blood and hair we found was actually many metres below where the ram fell and we eventually found him between two rocks, invisible from below and higher than I thought.
Petrus helped me carry the ram down the hill through the rough terrain with much sweating, sliding, falling and cursing. It’s amazing how even a relatively small load like a klipspringer can upset your balance when walking on rocky ground like this. In terms of horn size, the ram measured just under 4½ inches which is the minimum for entry into Rowland Ward’s – a real beauty.