CAMPFIRE TALES... –

DIRK LUETHI and I were in the Khomas Hochland of South West Africa, on the game ranch Hochvels owned by the Kieckebusch family and run by professional hunter Heiner Kiekebusch, a master gunsmith trained in Germany. Beneath a star-studded sky, we were enjoying a fire with Heiner’s retired parents, Herr and Vrau Kiekebusch, who were enthralling me with tales of farming in that wild country long ago. Herr Kiekebusch’s parents had farmed in the remote northwest (now Damaraland) during German Colonial times. Elephants, rhinos and lions roamed the farm – Herr Kiekebusch’s brother was killed by a lion. His father, as a young man, was accidentally shot through the bowel by a friend with a 9mm pistol. He was transported in a wagon over bumpy roads for many hours to reach Otjiwarongo, only to find that the doctor had been called away. He died in agony several days later. His widow raised the children on her own.

Dirk Luethi’s family had also farmed in SWA since early times, and Dirk told us of an incident he’d experienced as a boy during the late 1930s.

“My uncle Willy and I were out on horseback, looking for new-born calves on the 5 500ha cattle farm. Each camp had a windmill pumping water into drinking troughs, so the cattle remained in the veld. The cows would birth their calves in the bush and then we’d drive them to the farmhouse kraal for protection. We located several cows with their freshly-born calves near the Leopardenkuppe (leopards’ koppie) but also found a blood-spoor and the remains of a calf killed by a leopard. Uncle Willy decided to set a trap for the leopard as it had previously killed some calves and if we did not kill it now, losses would become unsustainable.”

“What sort of trap?” I asked. “A gintrap,” replied Dirk, “Powerful springloaded steel jaws which snap shut when stepped on, and with teeth to grip the animal’s leg. We concealed it well, chained to a heavy log as an anchor, and we hung some bait near it. For two days we had no results, and on the third day, the gin-trap was no longer there. The leopard had triggered the jaws, but he was so powerful that he’d pulled the trap from its anchor, and gone off with it clamped to his leg. The drag marks led us to a nearby koppie where the leopard had taken refuge in a cave.” Dirk paused for a sip of his drink then continued.

“What to do? We had not brought a rifle – Uncle Willy’s 1903 Erfurt 8x57 Mauser was in for repairs at Rosenthal’s gun shop in Windhoek. I think he’d hoped to find the leopard securely held in the trap where he could kill it with a blow to the head. He could not leave it to endure agony; besides, unable to hunt, it would kill another new-born calf. We had to end this before nightfall. We rode back to the farmhouse to fetch the only other firearm Uncle Willy owned – an antiquated side-by-side rifle/shotgun combination with external hammers, for which he still had a few 11x60mm black powder cartridges.”

“Surely not the old Model 1871 Mauser cartridge?” I asked. “Did it have a recessed rim and a paper-wrapped lead bullet?” “That’s the one,” said Dirk. “What is more, as luck would have it, of Uncle Willy’s two flashlights, one was broken and the other’s batteries were almost flat. With no spare batteries, we had to resort to a petroleum hurricane lamp. We rode back and carefully approached the cave. Uncle Willy loaded both the rifle and shot barrels, cocked the hammers and stood ready while I tried to goad the leopard out by poking a long rake-handle through the entrance. All this produced was angry growls from within the cave. Dusk was approaching and Uncle Willy did not want the leopard to suffer through the night or to leave the cave in our absence. He said we have to go in. I was reluctant, but he finally persuaded me to crawl close behind him, holding the lamp aloft so that he could hold the gun in readiness.” Dirk’s story now had me shaking my head incredulously.

“At first we couldn’t see anything, as the cave took a slight bend. Crawling further, we then saw the yellow reflection from the leopard’s eyes. Immediately, Uncle Willy fired. In that confined space, the blast blew out the hurricane lamp’s flame; we were blinded by the muzzle flash and deafened by the shot; smoke and dust filled the cave and we were showered with bat droppings. Choking, Uncle Willy said, ‘Out! Back out!’ and we hastily crawled backwards out of the cave. Shakily, we waited about twenty minutes, listening for sounds from within. None came, and we assumed the leopard was dead. Dusk set in, so we rode home.

“Early next morning we returned with more man-power, some wire and hooks, and succeeded in pulling the huge and very dead leopard from the cave. Uncle Willy’s bullet had gone right between the eyes!”

Readers are invited to share true humorous or intriguing short stories via Campfire Tales. Email mail@ manmagnum.co.za for guidelines on how this works – Editor