JUST A MEAT HUNTER
Pleasures of shooting for the pot
Iam not a trophy hunter – I never have been. In more than fifty years of hunting I have never had one creature I shot mounted, nor have I kept any part of it for display. I have nothing against trophy hunting; in fact, I spent many years making a living taking out clients from all over the world to hunt the animals of their dreams. I even admit to feeling a certain glow of pride when an ecstatic client pumped my hands with joy after bagging a trophy animal we had spent hours, sometimes days, pursuing. But me, I am just a meat hunter – a fella who loves being out in the bush with the intention of obtaining a fresh supply of venison while enjoying the work of the greatest artist on earth – nature.
Oftentimes I am outwitted by the wild creature I search for. On a recent outing with my friend Neil Pretorius, we spent a frustrating day in the Winterhoek Moun
tains trying to get close enough to shoot two old eland cows. It never happened and the elusive animals are still up there.
And yes, I have made mistakes. A meat hunter has to be darn sure of his target animal before he pulls the trigger. Farm owners are understandably touchy about careless shooting, and you need to be absolutely clear about what you can, or cannot, shoot. A few years back I hunted on a farm where the owner said I could shoot an impala – but on no account was it to be a trophy ram and certainly not a female. After a long and exhausting walk around, I ambushed a group of impala milling about in thick bush. I saw an animal pause in front of a dead tree about fifty paces away and knew I had only seconds to shoot. Looking down the barrel of my muzzle-loader, my old eyes were deceived by the dry branches behind the animal that looked like short horns. So I confidently pulled off a shot that dropped the impala in its tracks. Joy turned to horror when I discovered I had plugged a pregnant ewe. I have never been invited back to that farm. Serves me right.
Sometimes the instructions you get from landowners are pretty perplexing. Years ago, before taking part in a driven hunt in an area bursting with duiker and bushbuck, I asked the owner if only duiker rams should be taken. He said either sex was okay but do NOT shoot females with swollen teats. For crying out loud, shooting was difficult enough in that dense East Cape bush where you had to take snap shots with a 12-bore, but being expected to see whether a fleeing female had swollen teats was too much for me. Once the hunt was in full cry, my nerves were so on-edge I decided to ignore any duiker that flashed by and concentrate only on instantlyidentifiable bushbuck rams. None came my way. I had several opportunities to take a snap shot at duikers but did not risk it. At the end of an exciting day all I ended up with was a clean barrel.
On most farms where I hunted bushbuck, it was an unforgivable sin to shoot
a female or a young ram with horns shorter than its ears. Yet on one farm in a different district, it was acceptable to shoot bushbuck of both sexes. Both landowners made strong arguments supporting their requirements. The ‘rams only’ rule appears to be an East Cape thing because I’ve heard that in Natal, a certain percentage of females are also taken as this practice is believed to sustain a healthy population of bushbuck. The same is true of Germany where annually, the landowner is legally required to shoot a certain percentage of female roe deer to keep a healthy balance between the sexes.
Out on the open plains the rules are different. Here the landowner, usually a sheep farmer, likes to keep the number of springbuck and blesbuck down to a certain level. Animals of both sexes are shot to preserve the grass for sheep or cattle. This makes the task of a meat hunter much easier – you simply take the closest, clearest shot. The shooting is usually at long range so I preferred breech-loaders – modern or black powder, depending on available ground cover.
On one large game farm where I used to hunt, the safari operator forbade meat hunters to shoot any male kudu because it was a potential trophy, likewise adult females because each drops a calf every year. Meat hunters could shoot any young animal no longer dependant on mother’s milk. His reasoning was that removing these young animals left more food for the adults, and the culled calves would be replaced during the next breeding season anyway.
That’s the difference between a table-meat hunter and a biltong hunter who wants to shoot the biggest animal possible. You see, I have never made biltong. I always have the animals I shoot made into sausage, mince or patties with the fillets kept for grilling, and the occasional back leg of a small antelope retained for roasting.
Warthogs are relatively easy targets for a muzzle-loader. With the wind in your face and a low sun at your back you can stalk up close to a hog munching away in long grass. Thick bush requires a skilful stalk or craftily planned ambush. But again, clear it with the landowner as to the size animal he wants taken. On a farm hosting overseas hunters, you never shoot warthogs with trophy-size teeth; likewise sows nursing a bunch of piglets, but you can take one of the youngsters of eating size.
On most crop or domestic livestock farms, it’s open season on warthogs because farmers regard them as vermin. But, as a meat hunter, I take only tender young pigs – regardless of the kidding I get from my friends.
My favourite game meat is mountain reedbuck, but unfortunately it is the local animal I have least hunted. In areas where they were prolific, the hunts were usually culls where beaters drove the animals towards strategically-placed hunters. I have never been on one of those hunts and I’m not sure whether reedbuck are still hunted that way. One day in the Cathcart Mountains, I shot three reedbuck with my scoped .270 Steyr. Fortunately, I had an experienced Xhosa guide with me and we managed to carry the animals down to a road for collection by a vehicle. A few years later, while hunting in the foothills of the Somerset East Mountains, I shot my last reedbuck. By that time I had become a dedicated muzzle-loading man and did the deed with my .50 calibre Hawken rifle.
I have always loved wingshooting,
but I do not regard it as meat hunting. Wingshooting is a skill practiced by gentlemen who follow a strict set of rules, and shoots are conducted in the most ethical manner. However, I must confess that adding a few game birds to my larder is an inviting incentive to pursue feathered game. Sadly, the big flocks of guineafowl and large coveys of spurfowl once found in the Eastern Cape when seasonal rains were regular, are now a thing of the past. Also, flocks of yellow billed duck and teal, though stable, no longer fill the sky as they did in the 1960s when I first started serious wingshooting. In some areas Egyptian geese are still abundant and rock pigeons continue to flock to where their favourite fodder is grown. Sadly, two of my favourite-eating birds, the rameron pigeon and the migratory quail, I have not seen in years. Chasing after guineafowl is exhausting, but a bonus is flushing scrub hares which provide good snap shooting to keep your eye in and good eating.
I must mention a side-line enjoyed by meat hunters or anyone who loves the outdoors. A lone person silently and slowly moving through the bush will always see more animals. This enables you to take good close-up photos of the wildlife. Many years ago, before the advent of digital cameras and cellphones, I owned a small 35mm Minox spy camera not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes. I always carried it in my pocket and captured some great studies of beautiful animals big and small. When I returned home and the family asked if I’d shot anything, I’d say “plenty – with my camera!” Sadly, I lost my collection of photographs in a house fire. Today I carry a small digital camera, but all those old images remain in my memory where those wonderful moments will live on forever.