Not whilst hunting, it was on the final evening before flying home. The PH drove out across the scrub and straight up the side of a mountain to a plateau overlooking the table flat plain scattered with game drifting through the camel thorn. We opened a bottle of Champagne and talked of the days we had hunted and our plans and dreams for the future.
It was Namibia in late March and the end of the wet season. A warm breeze and clear blue sky changing to violet, then black in minutes, full of stars you wouldn’t believe. The storm broke over us lighting up eyes in the dark everywhere and as the rain hit, millions of frogs started to sing, the unfamiliar fresh smells of brand new flowers and herbs closed in. I can still smell them. A magical final evening shared with good honest folk.

If you ever read this, thank you.

Regards

Phil H