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THE DAY OF THE SPIRAL

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BY DAVID HULME

The careless smudge of day thirteen’s blood red dawn caps the eastern mountains as the hunting rig growls six expectant and determined young hunters from Turgwe Camp. Although pressure has never entered the equation on this hunt (except perhaps in the mind of PH Labat), it is the second last day and there is still work to be done. As it stands, Ben and Scott have taken a fine array of trophies, however, certain species still need to be accounted for and we know that we will be hunting hard until the very last minute. That knowledge pleases, for that is how it should be.
We are a fairly large team in total, comprising 4 Hutchisons (Bennett, Gayle, Ben and Scott), PH Thierry Labat, trackers Isaac Bangai and Mudhini, and myself, the journalist. As has been the case on most mornings this second week, Bennett and Gayle have opted to sleep in – Bennett’s job was done with the taking of his leopard on the third night. Since then, the Hutchison family patriarch has been happy to take a back seat. Truth be known, Bennett has taken a back seat from the word go, making it clear that this (Ben and Scott’s maiden African safari) is his sons’ hunt. The brothers have already taken twenty odd trophies between them, but come dawn on day thirteen, Ben is still after kudu, bushbuck and eland, whilst Scott has eland and nyala in mind. The first week of the hunt revolved around buffalo, and once Ben and Scott had each taken a good bull, the focus was transferred to ticking off lengthy lists of plainsgame animals. Species wise, there is little difference in the brothers’ ‘wanted’ lists, though priorities naturally vary. They are brothers after all!

Action presents itself very early on day thirteen, and it comes in the form of a good bushbuck ram bounding across the road ahead of us, not two kilometres or ten minutes from camp. Isaac brings the truck to a dusty halt and, seconds later, Thierry, Ben and Mudhini disappear into the scrub after the buck. Then begins a mini drama of cat and mouse, as the ram twice offers brief opportunities before dissolving into dense riverine. The follow up is done in hurried spurts and, after the two near misses, the hunters descend into a steep, hemmed-in gully, hoping for one more sighting. Halfway down the incline, Mudhini hisses, bringing the trio to a halt. Silhouetted starkly against the skyline on the rivulet’s far bank, stands the buck. The shot is not a long one (70 yards), but neither is it an easy one – uphill, over a ravine and through brush. No real matter – Hutchison family shooting ability has been evidenced on a number of occasions, and Ben is carrying the .375, which should make light work of the light brush.
Thierry has already adjudged the ram and wastes no time giving the nod. Ben knows he has to move fast and, ignoring hastily set up shooting sticks, he instinctively shoulders the .375, taking a snap offhand shot in the same motion. This guy is a whitetail hunter and it shows. At the shot, the buck disappears from view. The hunters move, sliding down into the gully and clambering up the steep incline of the far bank. They surmount the ridge and there, lying in the first golden rays of the thirteenth morning’s light, is a splendid bushbuck ram.
It does not take Scott, Isaac and I long to join the others, and there is backslapping and hand-shaking all round. There could be no better sign for the day’s outlook than the taking of the bushbuck. The buck is a handsome specimen, the horns of which Thierry estimates will measure 15 inches plus. We return to camp briefly and drop the trophy at the skinning shed, before heading out again. It is 6.30 a.m. and circumstance has provided day thirteen with a very solid foundation. What none of us realize at that stage is what the day has in store. So much more is still to come.

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6 A.M. BEN HUTCHISON AND HIS BUSHBUCK - THE FIRST SPIRAL OF LUCKY DAY THIRTEEN

Thirty minutes later we are cruising the Turgwe river road on Bedford Block – a game-rich and picturesque section of Humani that also happens to be our favourite hunting area. When I say ‘our’, I mean everyone. Well, certainly everyone that I’ve hunted Humani with. PH Labat’s game-plan for the morning is to drive downstream to a predetermined point and walk up the river with Ben, in search of a good looking kudu bull that we have chanced upon twice, and that has twice given us the slip. The bull is hanging out with a small harem of cows and shouldn’t move far any time soon. Which bull with a personal harem would? Whilst Thierry, Ben and I walk the river, Isaac is to drive Scott and our ‘learner PH’ Mudhini to an area of dense mopani forest at the top end of Bedford, away from the river. The area in question is populated by a healthy eland population and the plan is for Scott and Mudhini to construct a ‘blind’ along a trail somewhere in the forest (just hide in some bushes in a likely area, actually), wait it out and hope for the best. Sitting in a blind through the heat of the day cannot be anyone’s idea of fun, but time is running out and Scott and Mudhini are both patient hunters – perfectly suited for the job. The signs are good.
Well, that was the gameplan anyway…. Isn’t it funny how gameplans are changed so frequently when hunting? That was the gameplan until Mudhini (razor) spots the lone nyala bull at the base of a termite mound in waist high grass, a couple hundred metres off. If not dense, the bush is at least thick here and, in spotting the nyala, razor does his nickname justice. We drive on for 100 metres or so, and then Thierry and Scott disembark commando style. Humani commando style that is – 5 kph! With Isaac at the helm, the rig trundles on as the two hunters stalk off into the undergrowth and into a steady breeze, back towards the nyala bull. A shot echoes down the Turgwe.
I am standing on the roadside smoking a cigarette and chatting with Ben, when we hear the shot. It is a clearly audible hit. Unless Scott has lead injected an acacia tree (highly unlikely), this day may well have just become ‘The Day of the Double Spiral.’ Hunting area such as this, a hunting unit such as this, hunting days such as this… All these factors are mighty fine stimulants for the mediocre mind of a mediocre hunting writer. On a day like this, a cog just has to begin turning somewhere…. Even if just a little and very slowly to begin with.
Needless to write, the day has become ‘The Day of the Double Spiral’. The bull is a super 27-incher, and the celebrations are taken into a new dimension. Though we have seen about ten bulls so far, only two were shooters and those two were pursued in poor and fast fading light, after sundown. This was our first real opportunity at a decent nyala, and the fact that the opportunity was so decisively taken makes the moment all that more gratifying, for us all. And just as gratifying for us all. Yes, it is Scott’s trophy nyala bull and, as far as I can see, he is most gratified. But Scott flies no higher than anyone else. That is what being a team is all about. And, as far as teams go, we are the A team.

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9 A.M. SCOTT'S TAKING OF THIS NYALA BULL BRINGS ABOUT A STATE OF EUPHORIA

Bennett and Gayle are awaiting our arrival at camp. Always overly eager to transmit news of success to all on the radio, Isaac has ensured that the dominant members of the Hutchison clan have been kept up to scratch. The nyala is offloaded with due respect and care, and precise instructions are given to master skinner Tendai regarding its preparation. Although all trophies should be handled respectfully and carefully, this particular trophy should be afforded a little extra. Anyone who has hunted and taken a nyala bull will understand why. After affording the nyala as much appreciation time as possible, we get ready to move out again – there is still work to be done. As I haul my ample self up onto the hunting seat, I tell Bennett about my already having a great story title for this day – ‘The Day of the Double Spiral’. Bennett looks to me questioningly.
‘The Day of the Triple Spiral?’ he asks.
I nod in agreement, because I know it shall be.

Midmorning and we are on the road again, not cruising now but with hammer down a little. Time flies when you’re having fun and we need to get Scott and Mudhini into their ‘blind’ and settled. Less than an hour later, we have dropped the eland hunters off and are back down on the Turgwe, stalking slowly upstream, hoping to jump a decent kudu bull. The two hour walk yields naught and, after meeting up with Isaac, we drive an extended route back towards camp. Though it is hot and everything is still, nobody is prepared to call lunch just yet.
‘Last roll of the dice before lunch,’ says Thierry. ‘We are going to drive across the main road up towards the Mokore boundary and then call it quits for the morning.’
We turn onto the main road and, barely five minutes later, Thierry spots the bull.
There are four kudu in total – one bull and three cows – and they are about 100 yards off. They bound off at the intrusion, but are not overly alarmed and soon stop, turning back inquisitively. Thierry and Ben are already out and moving – working an angle and soon obscured from view. The kudu make off further into the trees and then they too are invisible. The seconds tick by….
Fifteen minutes later, Thierry, Isaac and I are receiving punishing bear hugs from an overjoyed Ben as he dances happily around his great greater kudu trophy. Yes, he dances… and whoops, as do the rest of us. All of us know how important the taking of this trophy is to Ben – since day one he has made it known that a kudu is his priority plainsgame choice. Now we are really pumped. Bouncing about on the hunting seat beside an elated Ben and a smug PH Labat as Isaac transports us back to camp, I hold both thumbs tightly, silently urging the eland hunters on.
‘Come on Scotty, come on Mudhini, don’t leave the party early, make it a quad…. Make it a spiral grand slam.’

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12 P.M. PH THIERRY LABAT AND BEN HUTCHISON WITH BEN'S FINE KUDU

Though we gulp down lunch, it is already 3 p.m. by the time we are through. The decision is made to go dove shooting at a pan not too far from where the eland hunters are entrenched, so that we can swing by and pick them up at nightfall, should we not receive a radio call before then. There are only a couple of hours daylight remaining, and Ben is happy to leave an eland attempt for the following morning – the last day of the hunt. In relaxed and carefree mode, we load up shotguns and shells and head out.
Two hours later and experience has prevailed outright over exuberance, with Bennett conclusively proving himself the only real wing shooter amongst us. Although underhand and unsporting tactics are employed in a desperate bid to save a little face, the gap is widened by the minute and the under forties are finally forced to admit utter defeat. As the sun touches the western horizon and we busy ourselves collecting shell-cases and Bennett’s doves, the radio crackles to life. A short exchange takes place between Isaac and Mudhini and, once the message is relayed, we move. Scott has shot an eland, and that eland is down.
Though it takes us some time to split and load the magnificent eland bull, it takes Scott and Mudhini longer still to relate the tale of its taking, bombarded as they are by questions from all quarters. As is often the case when waiting in a blind for a particular animal, the day had been predominantly tedious. From 11 a.m. till 4.30 p.m., the eland hunters had seen no more than half a dozen animals – a few kudu cows and a couple of warthogs. The warthogs were great trophies and, with the sun beating down relentlessly, Scott had been sorely tempted to take one of them and bring the vigil to an end. Fortunately, the warthog option was dismissed and the two men had sat on, sucking up the sun, sucking water bottles and thinking how mopani flies suck.
At 5.30 p.m., just before dark, at the same time we were wrapping up the dove shoot, a single eland cow had broken cover and entered the clearing that the hunters overlooked. Scott was ready minutes before the bull stepped out. When it did finally step out, the bull cautiously tested the wind, this way and that, standing stock-still, only his front half visible. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the bull walked into the clearing and stopped once more, broadside on. The moment had arrived and Scott let drive, the heavy .375 slug shattering the bull’s massive shoulder and exploding its heart on impact. The bull buckled and hunched tellingly, struggling to retain its feet before stumbling off. Scott stood and fired into the bull – one shot, two, three… Breaking the heavyweight down, as Thierry had earlier advised. The bull went down heavily and it was done.

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6 P.M. THE ICING ON THE CAKE - SCOTT HUTCHISON WITH HIS SPLENDID ELAND BULL

Each and every hunting day dawns the promise of success, and certain days fulfil that promise. Lucky day thirteen of the Hutchison family safari did far more than fulfil the day’s promise. It fulfilled a once in a lifetime promise, for it is only once in a lifetime that a hunter will get to witness the taking of all Zimbabwe’s spiral horned trophies in a single day. Well, it should only be witnessed once in a lifetime anyway. Later that evening, around the campfire, I discuss the title of this story with Bennett Hutchison. Bennett is a man I have come to admire in a very short time, and believe me when I say that’s saying something. His opinion on this one is important to me and I quiz him.
‘Lucky Day Thirteen? The Day of the Quad Spiral?’
I regard Bennett in the dancing firelight and await the opinion I seek. After a time he gives it.
‘The Day of the Spiral. Simple, to the point and it says it all.’
And ‘The Day of the Spiral’ it certainly is. Of that there is no doubt whatsoever.

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