THE ANATOMY OF A BAD FIRST SHOT
Sometimes haste nearly makes waste...
Sometimes haste nearly makes waste... JOHAN VAN WYK
The very first hunting lesson drilled into me by my father was to never, ever take a chance, but rather to wait for one. He, in turn, was taught this very same lesson by a very experienced hunter, a man who hunted scores of buffalo, lion and other dangerous animals by his lonesome self, without incident or mishap, for many years. By and large, this advice has stood me in good stead throughout my hunting career and I’ve luckily avoided serious mishaps thus far.
In March this year, I was enjoying an early-season hunt in the beautiful mopane bush near Musina. The farm was a beautiful piece of real estate bordering the Limpopo River, swollen by good rains, with Zimbabwe on the other side of the river.
The farm held plenty of game of various species. On the second morning, we spotted a small herd of blue wildebeest from a low hill as they were slowly feeding towards a small waterhole. As wildebeest were on the list of animals that we could hunt, I was dropped some distance away on the edge of the relatively open plain on which they were feeding. Accompanying me was Lukas, a local guide with a great many years of experience.
We had to cover quite a bit of distance to reach the area where we had spotted the wildebeest, so we were walking into the slight breeze at a steady pace.
The terrain, although reasonably open except for the occasional baobab and thorn tree, was quite undulating and covered in metre-high grass. As it was still hot, I did my best to keep a wary eye out for snakes at the same time as it was the ideal type of terrain in which to encounter some or other slithery reptile intent on sinking his fangs into your calves.
AN UNEXPECTED GEMSBUCK
We must have covered about two kilometres when I spotted a big, grey form feeding headdown some distance in front of us. I motioned to Lukas to stop and reached for the compact binoculars in my shirt pocket. As the animal slid into view through the Swarovski, I could see that it was a gemsbuck, and judging by the thickness of its horns, I could tell it was a bull. Lukas immediately put up the shooting sticks and I readied myself to shoot.
Through the riflescope I could see that the bull was quartering ever so slightly towards me with his head down in the grass, feeding along. He was, as yet, unaware of us but it could only be a matter of time before he lifted his head, and the game would be over. The distance was somewhere in the region of 180 metres, which is quite a distance for the bushveld, but I knew where my .30-06 was shooting and from good shooting sticks, it was the kind of shot I had made successfully on many previous occasions. With this, I concentrated on my trigger squeeze with the crosshairs where I judged the bull’s lungs would be.
After the shot, there was a momentary lapse as the bullet sped towards the gemsbuck, and I pulled the rifle down from the recoil just in time to see the gemsbuck collapsing in the tall grass. “Done deal,” I thought, but things were not as they seemed at first glance...
Almost immediately, the bull started rolling around where he’d fallen in an attempt to get back on his feet. Although obviously wounded, it became clearer by the second that the bull probably wasn’t mortally wounded. Immediate action was undoubtedly required to save the morning from disaster!
TROUBLE!
After a quick “come on!” to Lukas, I immediately set off towards the gemsbuck as fast as the grass would allow me. My initial idea was to have Lukas set up the shooting sticks again and fire another shot but the grass made this impossible. All I could see of the bull was the odd back leg or horn tip that flashed above the grass, so there was literally nothing vital to shoot at. We had to get closer, notwithstanding the gemsbuck’s well-deserved reputation for aggression when cornered, and end matters at close range.
We were probably about 20 metres from the downed gemsbuck when the thrashing about suddenly stopped. As we’d run towards the animal, I had turned down my scope magnification to its lowest setting and chambered a new cartridge without closing the bolt. The gemsbuck was clearly on the verge of getting up and I closed the bolt and watched him through the scope. For a moment, he stuck his head up out of the grass. I could see his neck was outstretched and his eyes were wide, so he was pretty close to taking off for pastures anew.
I aimed for his neck just behind the head, but our headlong dash to get to the wounded animal had winded me pretty badly and my rasping breath caused the crosshair to wander all over the place. The shot went off, but I instantly knew it was a miss, and so did the gemsbuck, because the next moment the animal erupted from the grass at full speed. He was instantly up to full speed with hooves pounding the earth, heading directly away from me.
As I’d been taught as well, I worked the bolt as fast as I could and watched the gemsbuck as he ran at a full gallop for a thick patch of mopane bush only a few seconds away. I knew full well that we were in for a very, very long and tiring day if I didn’t pull the gems- »
»buck’s handbrake up before he reached the mopane. The bull was in all probability not mortally wounded so he had every chance of leading us on a merry chase for miles on end.
I was pretty mad at myself at this stage. A running shot, such as the one I would now be forced to make, was a pretty poor and uncalled for way of getting yourself out of trouble in the bush. I know full well that Jack O’Connor once wrote that the killing zone of a running animal was the same size as that of a stationary animal, but I also know that he probably had scrawny little Mexican Coues deer in mind rather than a wounded gemsbuck in Africa who not only possessed virtually limitless stamina but also the tools to make kebabs from its pursuers!
I’ve had to drag my own proverbial fat out of the fire on two previous occasions with wounded game, once with a black wildebeest cow and on another occasion with a red hartebeest bull. It can be done, but it is most certainly not the ideal way of putting an end to a wounded animal’s suffering – after all, don’t wound the animal in the first place and there would be no need for dicey second shots, right?
After a short distance, the bull started running to my left, and this gave me the chance I needed. With the crosshair just ahead of the fleeing animal’s left shoulder, I squeezed the trigger. In spite of the close distance, I could hear the bullet striking home, and the gemsbuck immediately collapsed rather spectacularly in full flight. Thankfully, the chase was over. At last!
The subsequent post-mortem showed that the first bullet had hit the bull a touch high on the shoulder, missing the spine and everything else of importance by less than an inch. The wound wasn’t fatal, and the bull could have carried on for miles and probably even survived. The second bullet entered on the left shoulder, took out the left lung and smashed the spine, switching off the bull’s lights instantly. Had it not been for the second shot, the bull would almost certainly have been lost as we couldn’t find a single speck of blood anywhere, not even after he was down. Lucky, lucky, and so unnecessary!
AFTERMATH
There is a saying allegedly attributed to Wyatt Earp, the legendary Western lawman, about what his best advice was for surviving a gunfight. Earp was to have said, “Fast is fine, but accuracy is everything. In a gun fight... you need to take your time in a hurry”. In retrospect, I should have heeded Wyatt Earp’s advice with the gemsbuck. Another second or so to make sure of my shot placement would’ve made a world of difference, not to mention my initial shot placement. Therefore, waiting for a chance and not rushing your shot is still, after all these years, sage hunting advice.