A “TRAGIC” COMEDY OF HUNTING AND OTHER ERRORS
DANIE GROBLER
At school, and being Afrikaans, we always joked about the literature of William Shakespeare. However, older and somewhat wiser now I realise that he might have been right all along with his “tragic comedies”, especially in the context of hunting. He was after all an accomplished hunter himself.
Hunters often make errors, especially under bushveld conditions. This typically happens when you experience a moment of irrational trigger finger action. Although an “experienced” hunter, I had what transpired into a comedy of errors during one of my Bushveld trips during 2019. To my dismay, I also learnt that it is quite possible to begin your “error show” on the shooting range.
Suffice to say that a certain chairman of the local SAHGCA branch became a member of the halfmoon club while sighting in his big-bore rifle on the afternoon prior to the annual prestigious President Shoot hosted by that specific branch. For this tiny mishap, he (yours truly) was the proud but humble recipient of an emergency kit at the prizegiving ceremony the next day!
A TOUGH FIRST DAY
OK, back to hunting. It was an early season hunt in the northern mopane bushveld of the Breslau/Pontdrift district. The area received good late rains resulting in the bush being very dense. The warm, windless weather complicated matters further. We resolved the difficult walk-and-stalk state of affairs by
keeping mostly on dirt tracks or game paths that criss-crossed the property. Four despondent hunters were sitting around the campfire on the evening of the first day. Oryx and eland were on our hunting menu due to these animals’ tasty meat. Our campfire discussion concluded that successfully hunting one of these would be very difficult and that we should resolve to the wellknown hunting maxim of “take whatever the veld offers”.
Walking very slowly along a dirt track early the next morning, I found myself quite a few paces behind the tracker. Suddenly my eyes caught movement behind some dense vegetation. It was a big kudu bull. The tracker ahead of me was unaware of the kudu and I battled to get his attention to stop him. Eventually he heard my low whisper. During this already out-of-control situation, the kudu realised something was amiss. He stopped a mere 20 yards away behind a thorn bush. It was a magnificent bull with very wide, sweeping horns.
With my .404 Jeffery at the ready all I had to do was take the shot but my bias towards oryx or eland meat made me forfeit this golden opportunity. The kudu was obviously delighted about my decision and disappeared into the mopanes as only a grey ghost can do. The tracker could not help but show his utter disappointment. Immediately ruing my decision, I tried to find those horns again, but the kudu had vanished. We continued but I kept looking back. Experience made me realise that this little mistake would come back to haunt me.
The mood around the campfire was somewhat more joyful that evening as some of the hunters had bagged very good impala rams. In my mind’s eye I saw that kudu over and over again. Not even the delicious oxtail potjie prepared by Bert, or the delightful pudding that Kallie skilfully made, could keep my mind off this kudu. With well-directed encouragement from my fellow hunters, I decided that I was going to look for this particular bull again the next day.
SEARCHING FOR THAT BULL
We were out early the next morning. There was at least a consistent crisp, light breeze in our favour as we entered the area where we expected to once again find the bull. Around nine o’clock we heard a noise close by, ahead of us. The tracker indicated that it sounded like a horn hitting a branch. Just before that, we had seen some oryx crossing the dirt track in front of us. We stood dead still for quite a while, and then moved forward very carefully. The wind was in our favour, the dense vegetation provided good cover but reduced visibility. We got close to the position where we suspected the noise had come from. I stopped and told the tracker to wait.
Scrutinising the vegetation, I started seeing parts of a spiral horn. It was about a metre above the ground, less than fifteen yards away under a big bush. I realised it was a big kudu bull lying down. As my eyes adjusted slowly to the dense vegetation the shape of the bull materialised. At that moment, the tracker moved slightly and that alerted the bull of our presence. He jumped up but stopped behind another bush two metres away from his initial position. Once again, my .404 Jeffery was up and ready. There were, however, some branches covering the bull’s vital area so I could not shoot. In hindsight, I realised I should have taken the shot! Another error! I continued making these “brilliant” splitsecond decisions of not shooting and regretting them immediately afterwards. When the bull took off, I despondently sat down. The tracker just shook his head in disbelief.
My fellow hunters provided some heartfelt encouragement during the evening around the campfire. This long-anticipated hunt was really “going very well” for me. However, in a way »
» I felt sure that I would find my oryx on the last day and conclude a successful hunt. I ignored the fact that we had not been able to get within shooting distance of a single oryx during any of the previous days. I did not sleep well that night... those two kudu bulls still haunted me, and I chastised myself for not taking the shots.
LAST CHANCE
The last hunting day dawned but I did not see a single animal during the morning session. Around twelve o’clock we spotted some oryx in the dirt road along the eastern boundary fence of the farm. They were about 800 metres away, so we decided to leave the road and approach their position through the veld. With the wind in our favour we moved forward. As we got closer, we returned to the road to check on the animals, but they had gone. I was getting pretty thirsty and tired after having covered about 12km in the heat and told the tracker to call the hunting vehicle to fetch us.
Suddenly we saw a large warthog moving towards us in the tall grass alongside the road. It was a big boar with heavy tusks, and I shot it just below the right eye. Pulling the trigger, I immediately realised that I have just repeated my earlier mistake on the shooting range. Once again, the telescope’s eyepiece hit me right between the eyes! I was evidently too relaxed and did not grip the .404 properly. As can be expected, I was really annoyed with myself for ending up with yet another bleeding forehead. The second cut was about a millimetre from the previous one, creating a perfect duplication. I have now acquired “self-inflicted upgraded status” to a halfmoon tramway on my forehead! Maybe I am getting older quicker than I thought. At least this time I had an animal to show for my error.
There was a joyful mood during lunch on that Saturday afternoon as all the other hunters were content with their bag for the week. Being the only “halfmoon tramway” club member that failed to fill his bag, I decided to call it a day. However, after a brief, restless kudu-nightmareinduced power nap I changed my mind and went out again that afternoon. We walked along the entire breadth of the farm until we reached the southern boundary fence just after four o’clock. With the sun on our backs, we followed the dirt track towards the east. After a while a large kudu bull entered the road about 500 yards ahead of us. We left the road and using the bush as cover, stalked closer. We carefully entered the road again about 150m from where we expected him to be. However, the bull was gone. Disappointed we moved slowly forward, hoping that he would still be somewhere close to the road. Suddenly he reappeared in the road and immediately spotted us. The distance was just under 100 yards.
This time, committed to action, I took a rushed shot with the open-sighted .404 Jeffery, aiming for the heart. I removed the scope during lunch for obvious reasons... I did not want to ex-tend the tramway on my forehead into a double-lane track. The kudu bull turned and galloped away along the road without any trace of being hit by the heavy bullet. Eventually he left the road and needless to say, he left no blood spoor. I was stunned speechless! The poor tracker just stood there, too polite to say anything. I realised “my woes end with the evening sun” and was for a brief moment relieved that it was the last day of the trip and I could err no more.
On the Sunday morning, I literally had to pay a hefty price for my “comedy of errors”. Fortunately the landowner has a kind heart, providing some discount but with a stern warning: “If we see vultures circling within the next few days, I am going to call you”.
Driving back home with my friend Jacobus, we ruminated on the Shakespeare quote: “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” I concluded that maybe I should not be thinking too much about the kudu and the trip. “Did they have tramways in London in those days?” Jacobus asked.
I will console myself with Charlie Chaplin’s wisdom: “Life is a tragedy when seen close up, but a comedy in the long shot.”
So, in the end at least my friends will have something to laugh about and my wife, a linguist, will be proud of me!