MASAILAND BUSHBUCK HUNT
When all you want is a bushbuck...
Iwas working as a freelance professional hunter in Tanzania, hunting the conservation area of Lake Natron. My client, Mike Soldmine was a middle-aged German with only plains game species on his wish list. Our hunting block was a two-hour drive from the tourist town of Arusha and we had booked ourselves into the New Arusha Hotel, with my hunting crew in local guest houses close by.
After a few weeks of hunting, bushbuck was the only antelope left on Mike’s permit. However, this entailed rugged fly camping out in the wilds and Mike, a man of comfort, had declined the offer. With his flight out of Tanzania still a week away we spent our days lazing on comfortable safari chairs in the hotel garden, sipping cold beers. One day I spotted the hotel’s pet bushbuck feeding on some flowers in the garden. It was a mature male, his head crowned with spiral horns.
“Mike, it’s beautiful! Look at the spotted body and face markings,” I said. “Ja. How big?” Came the reply. “Small.” I indicated its height. “Perfect for a full mount.” And just like that I talked him into the hunt.
With Mike on my heels, we searched the guest houses for our hunting crew, but drew a blank. We finally found them in a shebeen, beers in hand, eyes glassed over and bodies gyrating to loud music. I quickly realised getting them out of that shebeen would not be easy. It was their day off, so they refused to work. To my dismay, Mike joined in the fun and ordered them more Killies (the beer named after Mt. Kilimanjaro).
I had to come up with a plan and quickly. So, I paid their bill, bought a crate of beer and headed for the door. Fortunately the plan worked and my crew followed me. With the men drinking in the back of the Land Cruiser, we headed for the shipping container that housed my equipment. A twist of the key in the padlock opened both doors. Foul air wafted out. The crew staggered in and collapsed on mattresses. While the drunken men were snoring inside the container Mike and I toiled in the truck’s headlights, our shadows casting weird shapes. Finally, the Land Cruiser was loaded with the camping equipment and we returned to the hotel, dined in luxury and retired to our rooms.
READY TO GO
Before first light, a knock on our door woke us... it was a waiter, serving coffee. A little later my crew arrived, asking in Swahili: Are we welcome? They entered, tails between their legs. The stink of stale beer filled my nostrils. My crew consisted of Meshack, a tracker, David, the driver, and Saul, a jack-of-alltrades with the eyes of an eagle. Mike was already up and about. We loaded our rucksacks and rifles before getting into the vehicle. The crew were dressed in warm clothes to ward off the cold. I fired up the engine and the Cruiser’s lights lit our way.
The road through town was deathly quiet. A hollow-bellied dog fed on roadside garbage. The paved road headed northeast towards the Kenyan border. With dawn on the horizon, we arrived at the village Monduli Juu, a dormant volcano loomed in the background. Chickens scattered as we skidded to a stop next to a tin-roofed hut. The door opened and Patrick, the Government Game Scout emerged, dressed in his uniform. With him on board we pressed on. Slowing after a short while, we turned with a bump onto volcanic shale to follow a worn track. Clusters of dry thorn thickets loomed. The country was thirsty for rain. Later we came across groups of Masai women with babies on their backs, on their way to collect water. Their donkeys burdened by the weight of side containers. Meshack yelled a warning. The women whistled, shouted and herded the donkeys out of the way. Every so often little dik-diks bounded across the path in front of us and disappeared in low shrub.
We motored on towards The God of Mountain ( Oldoinyo le Engai) on the horizon. It is Africa’s only active volcano. Using a stick, Meshack pointed over the windshield: “Kushoto!” (left) he yelled. I turned off the main track into a stand of young whistling thorns. We arrived on a windswept grass plain where cattle mingled with zebra. In the distance we spotted countless Thompson and Grant’s gazelles, as well as some wildebeest. We drove towards a flat top acacia where a Masai warrior stood dressed in full regalia – beads, bangles and earlobes stretched down towards his shoulders. Meshack, himself a Masai, greeted the man. My crew and Mike watched with interest as he offered the warrior his water bottle. The man drained it and then pointed his spear into the distance. We continued crossing the plain with Meshack directing us and game moving out of our way.
Later, below an ancient baobab we found the cattle track the warrior had mentioned. The landscape steepened and I engaged the vehicle’s four-wheel drive. Driving through thorn bushes the going was rough, but by nightfall we found ourselves at the foot of Mt. Kitimbeni that was outlined against the dark sky. I cut the engine and the only sound was the gurgling of running water. Mike stood in the headlights’ glow, a concerned look on his face; the comforts of the hotel clearly on his mind. While the crew set up camp, Mike and I followed the cattle trail down to the stream. There we stripped buck naked and bathed in the shallows. Refreshed, we made our way back while the wind rustled the branches overhead. A dog-like bark stopped us dead in our tracks and we smiled. The Masai warrior was true to his word, bushbuck definitely roamed in the vicinity of the stream!
Back at the camp the fire was burning brightly. We collapsed onto our chairs and Da- vid served us cold beers. With our tummies grumbling we sipped from the bottles while waiting for Patrick to finish cooking supper over a bed of hot coals. Later, sated and with our rifles within easy reach, we crawled into our pup tents and fell asleep.
When dawn trickled in, low voices round the fire woke us. Meshack and Saul handed out mugs of coffee. After breakfast and with just enough light to see, we left Patrick and David in camp and set off to look for bushbuck.
ON THE HUNT
With our rifles over our shoulders, we followed Meshack and Saul down to the stream. Herds of cattle had slaked their thirst along the banks and bushbuck tracks were hard to find, forcing us to move up-stream. The terrain was choked with foliage. Ducking under low branches, the going was hard and our faces were covered in sweat. Later we found old spoor of a resident bushbuck. We hunted him for two days to no avail. Then, on the third night in camp we heard him bark in alarm. This was later followed by a period of sawing-like grunts – a leopard was on the prowl! The next morning by the water’s edge, Saul spotted a female bushbuck with a lam at her side. When the animals spotted him they bounded away in typical, lazy bushbuck leaps.
One day whilst in camp, we heard the clonking of wooden bells. Masai were on their way with livestock to the water. The air was pierced by whistles and shouts as the Masai arrived with their cattle in a cloud of dust. Meshack asked the herders if they knew the whereabouts of other bushbuck. A naked boychild, long stick in hand, stepped forward. He pointed over the stream to the opposite valley. Raising my glasses, I searched the rolling, grey thicket and a flash of white caught my eye. Unsure, I handed my glasses to Meshack. While he fiddled to focus them, Saul said, “dassies!” (rock hyraxes). He spotted their faeces splattered over a rock. The boychild smiled.
That evening we bathed as night folded around us and went to bed, the tents and vehicle painted silver by the moonlight. The leopard sawed, followed by a deadly silence except for the snipping of crickets. At dawn our hunting party left camp. Loose rounds clinked in our pockets as we leapt over the icy stream. Mike’s grizzled face shone with child-like excitement. In single file we worked our way through the thicket. The ground finally angled steeply down a gorge into a valley. In a small clearing at the bottom we found fresh bushbuck tracks moulded over old cattle spoor. We followed Saul and Meshack and, with hand-and-foot holds, climbed up the opposite slope. Lungs heaving, we finally arrived on an outcrop of rocks. A magnificent view of the Rift Valley unfolded in front of us. On the plain below were dwarfed acacias and to the north and east was Mt Gelai.
We made our way over rocky ground to the edge of a cliff and squatted down. Binoculars raised, we searched while time ticked by. A sentinel baboon began barking below us, sending his troop into a screaming frenzy – a leopard, lion or a python had been sighted. Finally the din died down and the valley hushed. Time passed. A dassie appeared and Saul and Meshack began to whisper excitedly. Raising my binoculars I saw why. A buck had appeared in an opening, his head armed with spiral horns and ivory tips. A bushbuck at last! Mike wasted no time. He folded his jacket on top of a rock and rested his 7x57 Mauser on it. The distance was over 300m. He adjusted his scope and fired. The bushbuck staggered and vanished. With the blast still ringing in my ears, I asked: “How was your shot?” He replied, “Gut” and I patted his shoulder.
Cautiously, we made our way down to the bottom of the valley and found the ram’s tracks. The leaf litter was splashed with blood. We searched the area hoping to find the animal dead, but there was nothing. We had a wounded bushbuck on our hands. Carefully we followed his spoor, but in the tight confines of the thicket the visibility was down to a few metres.
Drawn by the sound of Mike’s shot, a herd of cattle driven by the Masai, was heading in our direction. The cattle’s hooves ploughed up the ground, causing us to lose the tracks. Patrick and David joined us, and we searched as a team but could not find the bushbuck. After two days we had to give up because Mike had to return to Germany. And so my season ended.
Some time later, I returned with friends to the same stream and a Masai warrior approached us. Spear in one hand, he pointed up at the branches of a tree. “Chui!” (leopard) he said in Swahili. Then, from beneath his Roman-like toga, which was knotted on one shoulder, he pulled out bushbuck horns and we all smiled.