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A very good friend of mine asked me to post this, as a learning expirence for us all.

Cape Buffalo – When things go wrong

I had dreamed of hunting Cape Buffalo ever since I had read “Pondoros” African Rifles and Cartridges” and that was over forty years ago. This trip had been three years in the planning and during that time I had made three Safaris to Africa, two for plains game and one for Ellie, all had been successful. I have harvested over one hundred head of big game, in Europe and North America. I have a good practical knowledge of rifles, bullets and ballistics, I have carefully studied Kevin Robinson’s books as well as several others. My normal practice before I depart for Africa is 10 rds a day of full power .470 NE ammo for 14 days, from point blank to 50 meters with some odd rds back to 200 meters. The scene was set for a successful Safari for Cape Buffalo, to return with no trophy, or worse to screw things up was unthinkable, at least I believed that to be the case, so off to Zimbabwe and the hunt of a life time.

I am writing this for two reasons, the first, I find this is therapeutic and secondly it may help a future Buffalo.

My son was supposed to accompany me on this trip, it would be his first Safari, with two months to go he had to cancel, I was floored, but determined to go on, it was to late for me to stop.

The new .450/.400 NE rifle failed to arrive successfully, no problem I would stay with my trusty .470 NE and 9.3 x 74R. I had bloodied the .470 on Ellie and the 9.3 had taken all kinds of game. I planned on having the 9.3 as back up and as she had a 1-6 Swarovski scope, she would be used for the Hyena and time permitting maybe a Sable.

Day 1

Arrived Joberg international airport but Air France failed to produce my duffel and rifle case, now it would be touch and go if I made my connection to Victoria Falls on day two.

Day2

Thanks to a very officious SAP girl my rifle was refused the check in to VFA as I was five minutes late. Scratch the first days hunting.

Day 3

Hotel shuttle was overheating, couldn’t even make it out the hotel drive. Was it possible anything else could go wrong? hell no, I was away for the hunt of a life time. My message to my PH had not reached him advising him of my enforced delay, but he was there to meet me, all smiles. (For this tale lets call my three PH’s Tom, Dick and Harry. Tom was the PH and outfitter I had booked with. Dick was the PH hired by Tom to look after me. Harry was the older PH and outfitter who had the concession we were to hunt on.) I was pleased to see Tom drove a nearly new Toyota truck with good tires, at last things were looking up. We had a flat tire one kilometer from camp, in itself of no importance but I was surprised when I learnt this was the first flat in this two year old truck. I thought changing the wheel was going to kill Tom, he was pretty sick, he told me the whole camp was down with summer flue. As always, I helped change the wheel, I like to be involved, it is all part of the experience. I was trying to figure out just how I would load this giant of man into his truck if he collapsed, he made three of me, but he survived. We made it to camp, arrived at 3pm. Tom asked if I needed to check my rifles, Buffalo were very close and they would prefer I didn’t fire. No problem I said, then everyone sat around and drank beer until supper time, no afternoon recce just lots of BS tales and that there were lots of Buffalo and I was expected to tag out before breakfast.

Day 4

I was first up sitting by the fire before the rest appeared! I took Tom to one side and expressed my concern that I had not come here to tag the first bull we found but that I wanted a real old beat up bull, I was not worried how he scored but he had to have a solid boss and worn up horns. “No problem, we all know what you are looking for” he replied.

We tracked a herd until it entered a block we couldn’t hunt in. After lunch we tracked a small herd into long grass, one young bull and the rest were cows and calves, even so we couldn’t get close due to the wind.

For the next day and a half the local Lions proved that they were better Buff hunters than us, when the Lions were not around the wind would do a 180 degree change every time we just had the Buffs in sight.

Day 5

Drove around until 9.30 am then PH’s decided to move to a new camp, there were good Sable there as well as Buff. I explained again that the Sable were number two on my least and if I failed to get a Buff (I was starting to have my doubts) I would need to save the cost of a Sable to put towards my next Buff hunt. Tom replied “No problem, we will get your Buff, I guarantee it.” We arrived at the new camp at 5.30 pm.

Day 6

Found the fresh trail of a new herd, followed them on foot until lions moved in, we listened to them kill a Buffalo, must have been close. Harry called the stalk off. We returned to camp before noon. The new camp was excellent but we sat around all afternoon. We watched Warthog, kudu Baboons and Ellie come to the water hole 100 meters from the viewing deck. I was disturbed when I was told that the table with cushions and chair was put there so I could shoot a Sable when they came in to drink and maybe even a Buff if I was lucky.

Day 7

I was up early, eager to go, the camp rose slowly, there was a change in plan. We would now wait for a scout to phone in a report from a new area. I sat on the viewing deck all day counting Baboons and watching the grass grow. I turned to Tom and the conversation went like this.

“Tom, can I ask you a question?”

“Why sure, what is it?”

“Do you think it is ethical to “pot’ a Sable when he comes in to drink here?”

“Yes this isn’t only a viewing spot, this is now a hunting camp.”

“Well I don’t think it is ethical, in fact I will not shoot one from here, no matter how big he is.”

“I’m glad you said that, it does not sit well with me, I will tell the others!”

An hour later eight Sable came in to drink, the first Bull was 40 inches the last one much bigger. The Leica told me 97 meters, superb, they were nervous, a quick drink and they ran away.

Tom looked at me, “Shall we try them now?”

“You bet”

I ran to the truck grabbed the nine three, Tom picked up the sticks and whistled for a tracker. We had a short stalk but they were long gone.

At 3 pm we had a drive round in the truck, it was obvious we were looking for Sable. Twice Dick told me I could load my rifle. The contempt must have showed on my face, I don’t hunt from the back of a truck I thought, not at least for as long as I can walk.

We got back to camp, would you like a drink? Yes make it 50/50 I said I took a huge gulp from my Scotch and water and then I turned to Tom and Dick and chewed them out, I gave them a full blast from both barrels. I basically told them I came here to hunt Buffalo, not sit on my arse watching the grass grow. I would not shoot a Sable from the stoep, in fact, to hell with the Sable, I would not shoot one until after my Buff was down. If the wind and the Lions beat us that was fair, that was part of hunting, but I did not pay them to sit on their arse and drink beer while we waited for a scout to call in a report on a cell phone in an area with no service and from a vehicle that was out of fuel. I expected a maximum effort the next day, hell was I mad. I told them that never in my life did I expect to dress down two African PHs and certainly not you two. If this was the best they could do then we should call the whole hunt off, drive to Tom’s home and hunt some plains game. They hung their heads in shame said that I was right and that tomorrow would be different.

NOTE: It is extremely differcult to maintain high hunting ethics when you are the only hunter in camp and the PH’s are pressuring you to shoot. I was not happy inside and felt that they were not been professional.

Day 8

New plan, we all moved back to first area. This time I travelled with Harry the older PH, lots of experience here, a superb tracker, very experienced, he new what he was doing, I was very pleased to have him with me. We went back to a different part of the first area. Harry picked up a local tracker, he was excellent, had worked with Harry a lot in the past and new his job well, so with two trackers the four of us set of. Found fresh tracks, a mixed bunch, four of us, two trackers, Harry (unarmed) and me with my trusty .470 DR, life doesn’t get better than this. If a Buff charged it would be all up to me, I was glad I had my .470 and that the going was fairly open. The wind was in our face, it stopped, a fresh blast of wind hit the back of my bare legs, Harry and the tracker exchanged looks and just had time to look up when we heard the Buff charge away. They must have been close, I saw one tree where a Buff had smacked it with his horn as he ran off. Oh well, I least I was hunting Buff.

In the afternoon the Lions beat us again, man, they were every were.

Set up to call Hyena that night but nothing at all heard! That was strange.

Day 9

Only two days left, pressure was mounting. We all left camp at first light, little did I know that today would be one of the worse in my life. Soon after we had left camp, a truck drove up to us and reported a herd of Buff on the dirt road ahead. They should have been sleeping until 10 am, had those dam lions beat us again? I was travelling in the passenger seat as we had planned to travel several miles before we started to hunt. Harry was driving, “They should be about here, yes there they are. Look at that monster, he is the one, shoot him.” I bailed out, ran round the truck reached in and asked for my nine three. The first of several errors that I alone was now about to make. I clawed some shells out of my ruck (I hang it in the back of the truck) I grabbed factory RWS RN SP, another error. (Tom had advised me to use SN rds for Buff as he was concerned with over penetration. He uses a .416 and a .375 both have a higher velocity than my .470 and 9.3 I should have stuck to my original plan) I ignored the four rds of my reloads, Woodleigh Solids stored in the butt trap of the Merkel, placed there by me for exactly such an event. The nine three is scoped, the sun was hardly up, the light was poor, the dust was thick, the Buff were bunched up tight in the shadow of the Mopani I wanted to be sure of my shot, I didn’t want to hit a cow. Dick appeared beside me with my .470 in his hands, “Give me a couple of shells” I pulled two from my belt for him, he loaded. Another mistake I should have changed rifles, I didn’t.

Worse mistake, I took a hasty off hand shot, only 40 meters, but I hit him to far back on his LEFT side, I called him quartering away the others said broad side, I said standing the others said moving. I knew from Kevin’s book this was the wrong side. I should have held on his neck, or a low heart. With my lousy placement a good solid 9.3 may have punched through to his liver. Bottom line, I pulled the trigger and the shot was poorly placed. Worse the unusually light recoil caught me by surprise, it caused me to stop and look up, I didn’t instinctively “double tap” a cow moved, he turned into the group, the dust swirled and the opportunity was gone. Never in my life had I felt the recoil when hunting, let alone even heard the shot, this one round, maybe the most important in my life, threw me off balance, the felt recoil had been to light, a squib load? That is not possible? With hind sight, maybe I could have pulled of a Texas heart shot with my second barrel, but that is not dignified, well I know better now.

NOTE: I had instructed my PH’s no back up shots unless a case of life or death. I did not feel it needed to be said, but obviously a badly wounded or “Gut Shot” animal would require that the first person capable of hitting the animal would be obliged to fire.

I climbed into the back of the truck. “Well not exactly how I expected to take my first Buff but after all the problems this week I had to take what Dianne offered,” I said. Lots of back slapping “My shot was to far to the rear” I said. “No it was good” was the reply from Tom and Dick “you should have hit one lung at least, maybe two.” Another mistake I pulled the trigger I should have called it a “gut shot” but I liked to hear that my shot was OK, I even believed it.

We turned around and raced back to pick up a local tracker, headed back and unloaded. We followed tracks for about 1500 meters. There stood a Buff, head and half his shoulders hidden by three trees, approx 100 m away, yes just as all the experts tell you, a wounded buff waiting to ambush us, no problem we could move in close and finish him, or so I thought. At this point I was carrying my .470, Tom had a scoped CZ bolt in .416 Rigby and Dick had my nine three. The tracker had the sticks half set up, I was uncertain that this was my Bull, Tom grabbed my .470 (his CZ was slung) “Quick shoot” he said and pointed to my nine three, I grabbed this from Dick but as I turned to the sticks my Buff ran off. If only I could have that moment again. From the sticks I can hit a 5 gallon pail at 100 meters with my .470, I can even drop to one knee and manage that, I should have shot instantly. When he ran of I could have hit him up the arse with my nine three but that is not dignified and I could see cows beyond him. He ran away, this was like hunting White Tail, everyone knows that Buff would charge, dam it, things were just not working out as expected. When he ran away he didn’t look like he was hurt badly to me, strange according to my PH’s his lungs should have been filling up with blood, yet the blood trail was drying up (it had never been great) and no froth. I was very mad with myself, I am capable of much better, that poor bull, now he was suffering.

We moved of, the Mopani got thicker, I touched Dick on the shoulder and changed rifles, from now on I was carrying my .470 NE, Norma factory 500 grain solid in the left and my Woodleigh 500 gr SN reloads in the right. Tom grinned as we changed rifles, “Keep your eyes up, scan the bush, ignore the tracks, things could get dangerous now” he whispered.

We bumped the herd once in thick Mopani, the four trackers shot up trees, I waited .470 at the ready, but they all ran away, again. We went back to camp for lunch and allowed the herd two hours to settle down. Now I asked Harry what he thought of my first shot, he agreed with me, to far to the rear. If only we had had this conversation earlier, I would have made it very clear that to hell with my pride, we had a gut shot Buff and who ever got the chance to shoot him was to fire.

We resumed the tracking. For the second time in my life I found I was praying, praying that my Buff would charge us, so we could end his suffering. If any one every deserved a good stomping it was me. Come on old fellow have a go, please. I had screwed up, I had failed, I gut shot a cape Buffalo, the Buff of my dreams, me, how could I have failed. I felt like I had been kicked in the guts, the tears flowed freely, but I didn’t care, I had wounded a noble beast. I despised myself.

The tracking was called off at 4.30 pm we had covered sixteen kilometer from where the shot was fired, the trackers were superb, they found three spots of blood at the very end.

I was to choked up to hold a decent conversation that evening, I was to upset to be even embarrassed. What a jerk I had been, I even had the nerve to have chastised the PH’s a few days earlier. No I didn’t sleep that night.

Day 10

We picked up his track the next morning. Harry pointed out that one hoof was uniquely shaped, Dick myself and four trackers headed off. Tom and Harry wished me good luck, I almost believed we would find him. Sometimes my Buff was dragging a hoof, poor fellow. After five kilometer he moved out of our area. Dick called off the tracking, “leave them to settle down, they will return, this is their home patch and we may find him after you have left”, he said. We returned to camp.

I said my good bys to the others with a sad heart , Tom and I moved to the base camp for the final night, this trip was not at all what I had expected. Finally when I turned in, the water had quit, could nothing go right on this trip?

Day 11

Tom and I drove round Victoria Falls looking for fuel so he could drive home. We finally found some, he dropped me at the Airport, we had not even stopped to look at the famous falls but I wasn’t bothered.

I was the last one to walk up the steps into the plane, I turned and took one last look at the country of my dreams and then stepped into the plane. I glanced at my ticket, 2A first class, I have no idea why first class, I took my seat, why couldn’t I have been this lucky yesterday. The tears flowed, if only they could heal my poor Buff. I drank a huge bottle of wine, I told the stewardess it had been a rough week!

The love of my life arrived in Tambo that afternoon, my wife of 38 years. I expected her to be unimpressed with two days of travelling and jet lagged but no, she arrived sparkling and pretty, just the tonic I needed. We headed to Kruger Park to start a ten day holiday and happily my wife came to love Africa and her animals as much as I do.

If you have read this far please remember the basic lessons that I preach (as do all the experts) and that I failed to practice. Make the first shot count and then poor the lead in.

Tom asked me if I would come back. At the time I was ready to quit hunting, but I will go back.

As for my Buff and I don’t have the right to call him my Buff, I believe, with a little luck, you will survive your wound and I hope you sire many more calves, you taught me a lot and I will be a better hunter because of you, I salute you.