THE SPORTING SPIRIT
Are you a sport hunter or a head hunter?
STRANGELY, trophy-hunting has a way of bringing out certain character traits in people – both good and bad. Sometimes it manifests propensities they may seldom reveal in the normal course of their lives. Ernest Hemingway’s book, The Green Hills of Africa, graphically demonstrates this. Hemingway brought his friend Karl along on this safari, who, by that most important of all factors in hunting – luck – managed consistently to bag bigger trophies than Hemingway did. For all its powerful passages and beautiful descriptions, the book manifests Hemingway’s seething jealousy and ugly competitive spirit. Its literary merit lies largely in his honesty.
Magnum contributor Terry Irwin once wrote of a client who wanted a trophy nyala. As luck would have it, they came across two mature bulls feeding together in thick bush, both magnificent trophies. Glassing them, Terry saw that one had very slightly longer horns than the other, and told his client to shoot that one. As is often the case, the client could see only one animal and, assuming it to be the one Terry was indicating, shot it. As it fell, Terry said, “Oh… you shot the wrong one.” The client said, “What! You mean there was a bigger one?” His attitude immediately turned sour with discontent. The bull he’d shot was a splendid trophy by any standard, and if Terry had said nothing, the client would have been more than happy with it. But knowing there had been one very slightly bigger made him bitter and he sulked for the rest of his stay. By his attitude he spoiled his own safari. Make no mistake, trophy hunting tests character.
In 1961, I guided Jone and Jim Codding on a week-long safari, and in that time Jim shot a good lion and a leopard. We got along splendidly and they booked to hunt with us again in 1963. This time, each wanted a goodsized tusker as their main trophy. Big
tuskers take time to find, and for this reason professional hunter Ray Palfrey joined us so that both clients could be guided on their elephant hunts at the same time in different areas. We had booked Blocks 24 and 25 in Eastern Kenya – both blocks adjoined Tsavo National Park.
Iwas guiding Jone, and we started in Block 25, which I knew pretty well, as I had spent time hunting there with the American wildcatter, Don Hopkins (the ‘H’ of the ‘OKH’ wildcat cartridges Elmer Keith often wrote of). Jone and I hunted hard for about a week but did not see any bulls bigger than 50lbs a side, though we had good Waliangulu trackers who lived in that area. I was using the well-known Govinda and his assistant and four others to scout the area in pairs.
I was becoming a little despondent, as time was passing and we’d seen no big tuskers. We were waiting near Kasigau Hill for the trackers to return with their reports. One of the young trackers soon appeared all excited and out of breath from running, and said we should immediately drive back to Kilibasi as they had come across a large herd which had one very big tusker with them. At Kilibasi we met another tracker, as the four trackers were now working together. He informed us that Govinda had stayed with the herd, which was on the move, not feeding. He estimated there might be fifty elephants in it, mainly cows and calves – not the best situation. He said the tusker was very big and we must hurry.
By going hard we cut the herd’s tracks after about an hour, and then it was a case of pushing even harder to catch up. A further half-hour had us meet up with Govinda and the other tracker. Govinda said the tusker was very big and if we were lucky we may get in a shot, but it would be at a moving animal. I hurriedly explained the situation to Jone and told her what to expect. She was excited by now, but I was a little concerned as to how she was taking the hard pace we had been setting, and must continue to set in order to catch up with the moving herd. I wondered how steady she’d be with the .425 Westley Richards she was using. Fortunately, she and I had been doing a 3-mile run late every afternoon. She was game, and said that if we managed to get a shot, she would probably take a heart-shot, and if so, I was to back her up immediately. I was very relieved – she was thinking coolly and wisely.
Now it was a question of catching up with the herd. We could see where they were moving up ahead by the dust they raised. Govinda took the lead, followed by my gun-bearer Nduyai, then me, Jone and then her gun-bearer, Juma. As Govinda turned up the speed, his fast walk had the rest of us at a trot with occasional fast walking to keep up. Suddenly Govinda leapt to one side and said loudly, “Nyoka!” (snake). As we passed, I looked down and saw a puffadder trying to move out of our way. Jone merely glanced at it.
After about 25 minutes of really fast going, we started seeing the tail-enders of the herd in the distance. There was a slight breeze crossing from the right, so we moved to the left of the herd so as to come up on them from the down-wind side. When we had gained a position opposite the front of the herd we closed in so as to get nearer to where they would come past, hoping we might be lucky to get a shot at the bull.
As they were filing past us we saw the huge bull and got fleeting glimpses of his massive ivory. Govinda said we must again try to get in front of the herd and then cut in to watch them file past, which we did. I glanced at Jone; she was keeping up without complaint and remained focussed.
We stopped again and waited, watching. They came past, and as the big bull was just about opposite us I whispered, “Get ready!” I saw Jone’s rifle come up. Just then, for some reason, the big bull lifted his tusks high in the air. They were magnificent. At that moment his left shoulder was exposed, and I said, “Take him!” I was on his shoulder with my .470, expecting the shot to come, but none came, and in seconds another elephant moved up, obscuring his shoulder. Just then a cow elephant turned towards us in an apparent charge. I got ready, then realised she was not charging but merely following the herd slightly off course. Ndunyai and Govinda shouted at her and she swerved back into the herd, giving us the eye as she passed.
Ilooked over at Jone. She was standing quite still and appeared to be mesmerised. Then she shook her head and said, “I was so astonished by those tusks raised up in the air, that by the time your words ‘take him’ had sunk in, the moment had passed.” Govinda said, “Mama came stajabu,” meaning the lady was just amazed. The trackers seemed unmoved, while the rest of us were trying to get our breath back. We all sat down for a drink of water and a smoke. Ndunyai, a wandorobo who’d been a gun-bearer for about 10 years, said it was the biggest tusker he had ever seen. Jone still seemed almost dazed by the sight of those gargantuan tusks. Then we made our way back to the hunting car and our camp.
We decided to move to Block 24 and camped next to the Galana River. This block had some heavy bush and big patches of wild sisal. Elephants love to chew the leaves of these plants and then spit out the remaining fibrous ball. Govinda had received news from the locals that a couple of good tuskers were hanging about in this thick stuff. We spent two days playing hide-andseek with these bulls in the wild sisal and a couple of times we got fairly close, only to be given away by the changing breeze.
On the afternoon of the second day, we returned to camp for a late lunch before driving to Mackinon Road Railway Station to pick up some supplies that had arrived from Mombasa. On the way back we drove on the road which ran along the Tsavo National Park boundary. We were coasting down a long slope towards the river when, way ahead, we saw some elephant crossing from the Park into the hunting area. I saw a flash of ivory but could not tell if it was of worthwhile size. Juma, who had very good eyesight, said one bull had good tusks. I switched off the engine and we coasted down the hill to where they had crossed.
We soon established that there were three bulls. With Govinda and Ndunyai in the lead, we took up the tracks. It was fairly open country so tracking was easy. After about three quarters of a mile we saw them walking slowly ahead of us. Keeping to the left and downwind, we soon closed the gap. I saw that one bull had tusks of about 65lbs a side. I figured Jone wouldn’t be satisfied with this after seeing the rugby-posts carried by the previous bull, but she gave her shy smile and said, “I’m thrilled beyond words just to have seen that other bull’s ivory; I’ll never forget it, and I have no regrets. And I am quite happy to take this bull. Let’s go shoot him.” Now that’s what I call a sporting attitude.
Getting behind a bush, we moved into position to shoot. As they were still walking very slowly, I said to Jone, “Heart shot, take him”. The .425 Westley Richards roared; the bull did a bit of a dip and then turned 180 degrees. Jone fired again. The bull went down onto his chest. She fired a third shot and it was all over. The other two bulls took off, their flight taking them across our front a mere eight yards away. As they neared us, Jone thought they were charging. Standing her ground, she raised her rifle to shoot. I took her barrel in my hand and lifted it, but could not help thinking, this is one gutsy lady. The bulls went past giving us no trouble.
Jone was still a little hyped from the whole experience, so we all stood quietly for a minute before going to check on her bull. Jone said, “Thanks for your help.” Puzzled, I replied, “I gave you no help. You killed that bull all by herself. I never fired a shot.” But I had to show her the clean barrels of my .470 before she would believe me. I had to admire her attitude – so unlike that of some egotistical men who insist that the PH must never back them up.
Back in camp, the staff gave her a good Kabubi dance. She certainly deserved it. Two days later, Jim shot an 80-pounder in the wild sisal, but that’s another story…
Just then, for some reason, the big bull lifted his tusks high in the air