A LIFELONG DREAM FULFILLED
All good things come to him who... persists
AS A BOY, my desire to hunt a big kudu bull was stirred by Percy Fitzpatrick’s immortal classic Jock of the Bushveld. I spent many hours rereading the chapter on the kudu bull and gazing at Edwin Caldwell’s illustration of Jock baying the wounded bull.
What is it about the kudu that makes him the ‘royalty’ of African antelope? Is it his regal bearing, his amazing physique, unique horns, or his ability to disappear in an instant? It is all of these, but also his compelling mystique as the ‘grey ghost’ of Africa.
After shooting my first antelope, a common duiker, on our family farm in the winter of 1963, I was hooked on hunting and spent most July school holidays in the fields searching for birds and animals. My heart was set on a bushbuck, but those crafty animals always eluded me until much later. However, the really big prize would always be a kudu.
In 1976, on returning from studying in the USA, I took up hunting with renewed enthusiasm. Fortunately, the law had been changed to permit the private ownership of game animals – these were now no longer “staats vee”. Game ranching was in its infancy, and huntable surplus animals were becoming more available. Impala cost R5, yet many people thought I was quite daft to pay to shoot an antelope. My, how times have changed!
Much of my hunting is for meat – filling the freezer remains my main reason for hunting. However, the ‘thrill of the chase’ has always been like a drug to me. With all the hunting I was doing, it
I had climbed my Mount Everest
was inevitable that, over the years, I would be fortunate to shoot some exceptional trophies – more by accident than design. My common reedbuck is still number four in the latest edition of Rowland Ward’s Records of Big Game. I have been very fortunate to hunt in most provinces of the country, as well as overseas. I enjoyed the varying challenges of the mountains, randjies, vlakte, bush and extremes of weather.
However, throughout all these adventures, there remained one animal that always fascinated me – a big kudu bull. After many trips, some to the ends of the country, when the farmers had often said, “Ons het volop kudus – kom skiet,” I generally returned disappointed… Sometimes I found no game whatsoever, sometimes very little and what there was, proved very wild. On frequently returning home emptyhanded, or with only a meat animal as consolation, I began to think that the big kudu bull would forever elude me.
Due to the Covid-19 lockdown, the 2020 hunting season was, to my mind, turning out to be a record disappointment. Finding a big kudu bull seemed highly improbable, or at best a very remote possibility. Then, with the ‘no overnight stays’ rule reintroduced in August, I was forced to cancel our annual family hunt. However, the regulations were again changed the following week, and fortunately I was able to get a booking at the same farm for the first weekend in September. Well, at least my sons Keith and David would be able to shoot some impala and warthogs to top-up a depleted freezer.
The Saturday morning proved to be a success for both Keith and David as each managed to bag an impala ram. After lunch we set out again, but the easterly wind prevalent at this time of the year was blowing strongly, so I did not hold out much hope of increasing our bag.
Some hours into the afternoon session, our tracker said, “Nango kudu!” Since I hadn’t had much exercise earlier that day, with my sons’ encouragement, I now shouldered my rifle, took my shooting sticks and went off. We closed with the herd and saw some females, then some young bulls as the group browsed slowly upwind. I repeated to the tracker in isizulu that I was not going to shoot an immature animal or a female. “No,” he said, “there is a big bull with them.” Well, I thought, how many times haven’t I heard this before? For the next hour, we carefully played hideand-seek with the kudu herd as they fed among the bushes. Fortunately, the
strong wind muffled the sounds of our stalking, so the kudu were oblivious of our presence as we silently tracked them. Then I saw him! He was huge – and just what I had so long been searching for…
He took a few quick steps through an opening before being swallowed up by the bush. Majestic! But my heart was in my mouth. Was that to be the last I would see of him, as was so often the case? Had the ‘grey ghost’ disappeared yet again? Big bulls don’t get old by being stupid.
We skirted around some bushes and followed his direction with the wind in our faces. Then, cautiously rounding a bush, the tracker set up the shooting sticks. I cradled the rifle on them as I had done so many times on the target range, and looked through the Zeiss scope.
The bull was feeding, quartering away from me, nibbling leaves high up on a small gardenia tree. All I could see through the bush was the back of his head with those magnificent horns laid back along his neck. I checked the range: 163m – quite doable with my Remington Model 700 .308 loaded with 150gr Hornady bullets. I steadied the crosshairs on the base of the skull and touched the trigger. Nothing! Take off the safety, idiot! Safety now released, rifle steady again on the sticks, crosshairs on the base of the skull, stay calm… deep breath… and touch the trigger as you have done so many times before. The rifle recoiled on the sticks and, through the scope, I saw the kudu collapse. Elation flooded through me, but then the big question arose in my mind – was he as big as he’d looked to me? Was he as big as I had so long hoped he’d be?
Quick – chamber another cartridge: it’s the dead ones that get up and run away. Keep the scope on him, watch him… No movement. Relief! Get to him, as quickly as possible, rifle at the ready. There he was, lying up against the gardenia bush he’d been feeding on. His position, and the bullet hole, showed that he’d died on his feet before dropping. I was blown away by his sheer size and regal appearance – even in death. I needed a few moments to take it all in. I had climbed my Mount Everest. I had persisted through the decades, and now it was finally achieved. This experience had to be the jewel in the crown of a lifetime of hunting.
I instructed the tracker to go back for the truck. This gave me time to reflect on the reality of what had just transpired, allowing it to sink in. Keith, Dave and the tracker came up with the truck and warmly congratulated me. They seemed to be as overcome as I was at the sheer size of the kudu bull – not only his magnificent horns but his massive body. Photo time, then the only problem remaining was to load this enormous animal. The four of us struggled to move it around. I took a rough measurement of the horns – 56" – a Rowland Ward Record Book kudu! At last – and in Natal, too!
Thank goodness for cellphones, which enabled us to call the camp for the necessary additional help to load the animal and take it back for caping, skinning and slaughtering. The dressed carcass weighed 177kg – indeed a massive bull. The neck alone weighed over 30kg – no doubt necessary for carrying those magnificent horns.
Yes, he is going to be shoulder-mounted and will take pride of place in my home to provide me with more special memories of my time in the field.