An Out of Africa adventure
Almost a century after this film immortalised professional hunter Denys Finch Hatton, his rifle returned to the continent to shoot wild buffalo again
Denys Finch Hatton was immortalised in the Oscarwinning film Out of Africa, based on the memoirs of his Danish lover, Baroness Karen Blixen. Finch Hatton was a member of the ‘Rift Valley set’ and by the early 1920s had become a famous professional hunter (PH), guiding clients such as King Edward VIII. In the film he’s played by Robert Redford, who re-enacts Finch Hatton’s tragic death when his Gypsy Moth crashed on 14 May, 1931, at Voi in Kenya. The survival of a professional hunter and his clients depends on the absolute reliability of the hunter’s back-up rifle, the one that’s needed when encounters with dangerous game go wrong. Most use double-barrelled rifles, which have two locks that therefore minimise the chances of misfire or jamming. Finch Hatton’s was built by Charles Lancaster in 1911. It was a .475 double sidelock ejector rifle, later re-barrelled to .450 Nitro Express in late 1928. This rifle was recovered from the crash but became separated from the maker’s wooden case. John Ormiston found the case and was able to reunite it with the rifle when he purchased it at a Holts’ auction in 2009. When the rifle came up for sale again at Holts, I bought it.
My intention was to take it back to Africa and experience the type of hunting – close in, iron sights – of the Finch Hatton era. My chosen hunting ground was the Lukwati concession, as large as South-east England, in south-west Tanzania, a remote region where the nearest paved road is 600km away and the closest small African village 100km distant. This is country largely unchanged since Finch Hatton’s day, with a similar density of game and no roads or fences. The hunting is all on foot over rough, difficult terrain at altitudes of around 5,000ft. I was not planning to seek trophies but to use the Charles Lancaster as a passport to another period, when men depended on their PH and trackers’ skills to take them in close for the shot rather than rely on modern telescopic sights.
The rifle had clear signs of use but the bores were excellent. We decided to replace the badly perished recoil pad. David Little of Kynoch provided the .450 Nitro Express ammunition and I found that I could achieve an excellent group at 60yd freehand.
Last June, my British Ph/taxidermist, Kevin Downer, and I flew to Kilimanjaro where we met Tom Dames, our African PH, whose father was an advisor on Out of Africa. We then boarded a bush plane for Lukwati, one of the concessions operated in the region by Danny Mccallum Safaris. The government of Tanzania sets strict quotas and regulates hunting rigorously. What we were looking for was an old, male buffalo that had been excluded from the herd, known as a ‘dagga boy’.
This was my fourth safari in the area and as our pilot surveyed the landing strip cut into the bush, Dames explained that the rainy season had continued into June, that rainfall had been exceptionally heavy and that it would be hard to find game let alone hunt it. Below us, the River Rongwa was much higher than on my previous trips, flowing strongly rather than existing as a chain of pools, while the grasses were well above head height.
We headed off in long-wheelbase Land Cruisers on the one- to two-hour journey to camp but were soon bogged down and needed the winch to haul ourselves out. Another half-hour and we need the winch again – an operation we were to repeat another 13 times during the safari.
Having settled into camp we went to check the sights on the Charles Lancaster. I fired the left barrel, resting the rifle on the sticks, a tripod of 6ft-long narrow poles connected at the top by rubber inner tube, which allow the height to be raised and lowered
by moving only one leg of the tripod. I drill the bull at 45yd. “Great,” said Dames. “Now fire the other barrel free hand.” I aimed at the top of a termite hill and the bullet just carried it away.
Our safari started the next day, 1 July, the first day of the season. We were joined by our government game warden, Amani, sporting his AK-47. He is experienced, speaks good English and is part of the vital network of official wardens who regulate hunting in Tanzania and suppress poaching. Also with us were Charles and Parit, our usual trackers, and Jackson our driver. These are men who could track an ant crossing marble. We left at 7.30am and returned at 8pm, setting the pattern for the next 18 days. As expected, we struggled to find buffalo, though we saw a few hartebeest and sable and plenty of Tanzania’s national animal, the giraffe. When we did find buffalo they were mainly cows and calves. Though herds are easy to track, it’s all too easy in thick, tall grass to find yourself in the middle of a herd – and cows with calves are dangerous. Besides, we were after the very old bulls and these chaps like to avoid the herds and all the hassle of kids and ex-wives, preferring to live isolated lives or stay in small, male groups rather like St James’s clubmen.
The next day followed a similar pattern but just after 3pm the boys spotted a single ‘dagga boy’ crossing a gap in the thick bush around 300 metres from us. The wind was favourable so we headed off into dense grass hoping the boys could find the tracks, which they did after about 40 minutes. We were following him through near tunnels in the high grass when we heard him grunt and then the chirrups of his attendant oxpeckers (tickbirds), indicating he was close.
Dames was now leading, his .475 double in his left hand, sticks ready in his right. I was right behind, Finch Hatton’s Lancaster
at the ready. Dames stopped and there was the bull lying down about 20yd ahead. At this point, a honeyguide bird spotted us and started calling (they have learnt that humans are as adept as honey badgers at opening up the bees’ nests they have located). The bull, now alerted, rose immediately onto his feet. I could only see his head and shoulders, all else hidden by the grass but I placed the Lancaster on the sticks, drew the front bead from the highest point on his back to two-thirds down and fired. His nose went down and front legs buckled. I fired the next round, a solid bullet, into the same spot. As I reloaded, the bull picked himself up and staggered in an arc to my right. We couldn’t let him go far into the long grass, so I gave him another solid, just ahead of the rumen, into his vitals. This stopped him and he turned square on. I then fired the soft nosed into his heart and lungs and he dropped. After 15 minutes we approached him. He was dead, heavy and had obviously been in the wars. Finch Hatton’s rifle had come home to Africa and done the job for which it was made.
The pattern continued for the week, the old buffalo continuing to give us the slip. But early in the morning of Day 13 we found a large herd of buffalo, one of which, judging from the tracks, could be an old buffalo. The herd was heading up into the bushes and trees that form the miombo – scrub woodland – on the steep valley sides, where the grass was less dense and around waist high, so easier going.
After about an hour, it became clear from the dung and tracks that we were closing on the herd but we needed to avoid stumbling into the middle of it. We rounded an acacia thicket and there, lying around 50 metres ahead, were several buffalo, most only visible by their horns, twitching ears and flicking tails. Amongst them was our old bull. As we closed the distance, the wind shifted behind us (a feature of the miombo) and the herd rose and trotted off but without any panic.
We could now hear the herd somewhere off to our right and higher up in the miombo. We let them settle, then headed off in a wide, outflanking manoeuvre to get down wind.
Eventually, the trackers found the spoor of our bull, which had circled back towards the herd. After nearly an hour, we spotted him lying in the grass below an old terminalia tree, with another smaller, younger bull 20 metres to his right. Dames and I advanced as before with Downer close behind. We crept to within about 30 metres and waited, the Charles Lancaster on the sticks. A few minutes later the bull stood and faced us. Dames gave me the nod and I placed the bullet in the bull’s chest, his knees buckled and his nose hit the ground. Somehow the bull got up so I fired the second barrel but hit a tree. It didn’t matter. After a wait we followed the tracks and found him dead behind a termite mound.
My licence allowed me three buffalo, so we tried for one more with Finch Hatton’s .450. The chances came but went as thick cover and fickle winds defeated us. Finally, on Day 16, we saw two old bulls having a mud bath. They sensed us and headed into the long grass, which rapidly became impenetrable. We decided it was too dangerous to go further so gave up on them. Dames thought that we might find a ‘dagga boy’ leaving the high grass to climb up into the miombo to find a cooler spot to rest in the heat of the day. And so it proved. Just after noon, Jackson gave an excited shout. He had spotted an old bull heading up into the scrub woodland. Charles and Parit found the spoor after about 40 minutes hard climbing over black volcanic rock. There were two of them and the tracks began to meander – a sign that the bulls were seeking a place to lie down.
Charles found one of the bulls lying 60 metres ahead, facing to our left, largely concealed by a rise in the ground leaving only a horn and flicking tail visible. Dames and I advanced slowly towards a huge boulder on our right. “Can you climb it?” he whispered. No way! We continued our advance to about halfway to the bull. As we climbed up a small rise, the sticks clicked on a large rock. The bull we were looking at only flicked its tail but his friend erupted from cover just behind him, glaring straight at us. There wasn’t time for the sticks, I had him plumb in the V foresight mid chest and he crumpled to the shot. He rose and moved to my left, giving me time to place the second bullet just below his shoulder. Downer also managed to get a shot in before the bull disappeared into cover. We found him dead 70yd in. A third buffalo for Finch Hatton’s double, now more than a century old, and a testament to the skill of Charles Lancaster.
Back in camp, the boys dressed out the third buffalo, making sure nothing was wasted. They are, after all, wild cattle and excellent eating. What was not consumed immediately in the camp was dried into biltong. We joined them while they worked and shared out some cold beers, raising them in a toast to Cape buffalo, the noblest of big game, to our trackers, to this wonderful piece of wild Africa and to Finch Hatton, who would have loved this moment.
There wasn’t time for the sticks, I had him plumb in the V foresight mid chest