Forums.NitroExpress.com

Hi friends

Sorry for delaying my report, but I am so enthralled with this incredible hunting vacation that I decided to wait a bit to cool down.

Note that I didn't read John's post , this is my (shorter) report. Seems that we are descripting the same hunt.

A great country, incredible friends and a memorable hunt.

What happens was that I planned 3 weeks vacation in August on the French Riviera with my wife. And bang, John invited me without notice the week before my vacation. That means 4 weeks out of work. The invitation was so great that in 2 hours I took my decision to join him, stealing 3 days from my vacation with my wife.

It resulted in 2 months deeply rejoicing and preparing for this hunt.

As bringing a rifle in any country is ever a pita, following John’s advice, I opted for bringing a bow and arrows instead of my 375 Sauer.

At this point, zeroing the bow was a real challenge. The bow should be potent enough for buff, but must also shoot lighter wild boars arrows atop of buff arrows I won’t go into details but it was a 2 months long 2 hours a day business. My 100# bow even downgraded to 91# wasn’t a good option. Should I be in lesser form I wouldn’t have managed to shoot it. I resorted to my 70# bowtech and did my best to have it shoot buff heavy arrow and lighter one for wild boar or light game. A real fun and depressing quest. Anyhow I managed.

Then came my kit options. John assured me that I didn’t have to bring anything for living in the bush. But the dilemma was still pregnant. How to pack hunting items and hunting clothing, as well as summer clothing for the Riviera. Yes, no choice, I also needed to pack what was necessary to look decent on the riviera with the wife, especially in the posh city, Cannes. I couldn’t fly home and then fly to Cannes. Quite challenging.

I left my home the 6th August afternoon. My wife drove me to a bus station in Germany (18 km far from my home) for a hop to the Frankfurt airport. I was then very pissed.
I decided to pack all my kit in my bow case. Sadly, I lended this case to a friend that was good enough to bring it back the day previous my departure. One hinge on 4 was erased, so I was forced to stick some tape on it.
The temperature was 40-41°C and the tape was getting off, pissing me. A real risk of having all my items lost during the flight.
In the bus, it happened that I was the only customer. Nice to have a bus for oneself but just imagine 2 idiots, the chauffeur and I, alone in an air con bus, prevented from chatting because of the regulations.

At Frankfurt airport, I took off at 10 pm without any hassle and 15 hours later landed in Singapore airport. I refrained as much as possible to sleep to allay a coming jetlag. A 16 hour stay in the airport wasn’t very appealing, so I had a 2 hours tour in Singapore by night. Really worth of it as Singapore was just commemorating its 50 year of existence. Of course I let back my cam in a taxi cab, a cam that I bought 4 months ago in the Singapore airport. Too bad, no way out of once again buying a cam in the airport. The bright side of this annoyance was preventing me from sleeping and this way to cope with the incoming 8 hour jetlag.

Eventually I landed in Darwin at 2 pm. Some jolly moment waiting for my bow case that didn’t come. Disgusted, I made for the lost luggage office when I saw in a corner my bow case. When I arrived for clearing the customs, I was the last and only one. This case of course attracted the customs officers that very amiably asked to check it as it looked like containing a rifle. A 30 second affair. And right now I had my first inkling of Aussies : serious and friendly.

In the airport hall I tried to call John, but my phone for a while refused any connection, what brought some stress, as John had told me he was not sure to arrive in time. Anyhow 15 minutes later (2 cigarettes) he arrived.

A cheerful meeting of course. On the parking lot I discovered his monster Toyota laden to a point one can imagine, the inside as well as the top rack. Sure we won’t lack any thing.
We drove a couple of hours before stopping for the night in a motel. Incredibly, when having lunch in the restaurant, I saw the stuffed Crocodile Dundee buffalo, remaining me of already having had a drink there in 2006.

Monday morning we met Clayton in his office. Most of You know him, but for those who don’t, imagine a young cheerful guy with plenty of humour. He got to great lengths to explain us how to deal in the ranch we will hunt, along with quite a few laughs.

Now it’s time to be honest. I can read English without needing any dictionary. I can write English more or less. But I am not accustomed to hear English. When meeting John who speaks real English with a slight Australian accent, I was hardly able to understand 75% of what he was saying. Confronted to Clayton, I hardly understood 30% of what he said. A real horrific situation, for me and for Clayton. Fortunately friendship makes miracles.

Then we paid a visit to Pato and his family. Happy meeting but I was at lost with taking my part in this cordial meeting because of my struggling with coping with the Australian accent. Pato showed us his 14 foot croc hide and I was impressed with the size of the monster and of the upper quality of the tanning. Sadly Pato had to go to work and don’t count on me to slander on hard working guys. And later, Pato had no opportunity to join us, I regret it, as we could have had a jolly good time.

Then we went to the ranch from Katherine. A large ranch on a flat dry (at this time of the year) terrain. Imagine sort of a triangle between 2 rivers. It’s dry grass in a sort of a forest where small and medium trees grow every 5 m. See the picture.

Clayton had us scuttled the most part of the ranch to get us accustomed to this fenced territory. Up to us to shoot buffalos, as they are there considered vermin, as well as wild cattle. He showed us 2 places along the main river where we can camp. He gave us 50+ lures (rapalas) for fishing barramundi, a trident for fishing prawns and an iridium cell phone, and the absolute weapon, a garmin GPS logging the tracks, the rivers, the fences, and the best hunting spots.

We set our camp close to the river in a place where the river is very narrow and shallow, the clear running water allowing US to have a bath without being puzzled by possible crocs.

Setting the camp was a grand moment for me. John brought whatever You can imagine. 6 guns, fishing gear of course but tents, sleeping bags, 1 freezer-fridge, 1 fridge, a generator, a 3 fired stove, comfortable chairs and table………along with varied food for accommodating demanding customers for a month……along with whatever cooking ustensils you can imagine. Cold beer and wine,……….incredible, that has to be seen to be believed. John presented me with his 375.

I checked it , shooting 4cm high at 100m, what means a rifle zeroed to shoot at 200m. We opted for sleeping under the stars, they well deserve it. And no mosquitos to pester us. Sort of back to the earthly paradise.
The first morning we scouted upstream of the main river. Not that many tracks of buff or wild boars but a good training with coping with the lantanas. The afternoon, we checked downstream.
I realized that hunting in dry land isn’t easy when one want to move noiselessly. What is reassuring is that the ranch is harboring 3000 heads of cattle, and that the buffalo might believe that the noise of our footing is cattle’s.

The days later, we tried our luck diagonally opposite close to the second river where a young bull was often looking at us at 50m. More fresh tracks there. We persisted in this area, looking for a brook that in fact was dry. We made a terrible mistake with this brook but John perhaps can explain it, we were so dumb!!!!!!

It appeared that this east part of the ranch, more watered, was the most promising. Especially a marsh covered in wallows.

So far we saw a scampering herd of cows and calves not far from our camp, the dumb young buff 3 times, and approaching cows and calves and a herd in the vicinity of the bog. This place was to be hunted thoroughly as haphazardly looking for solitary trophy buffs failed. Also 2 wild cattle, but we let them alone, not wanting to shoot and alert the buffalo.

The 5th day in the morning close the marsh when having seen cows and calves we bumped onto a young bull by himself. As next day I’d have to fly back, I decided to shoot him. Sadly during my approach, I bumped my quiver against a branch and the bull got startled. No chance for a close approach for shooting with the bow. I resorted to the rifle, but the bull was now upset and slowly departing. At 60m broadside, I shot it behind its right shoulder, he marked and trotted away. In this circumstance, I lacked judgement. I was waiting for him to fall down and didn’t shoot again, especially because I am not an adept to the Texas heart shot. Beyond 100 m he stopped broadside and both we shot. He came a bit toward us and I let go a raking shot when he was quartering toward us.
He then galloped in our direction. John was clearly ahead of me, so only he could shoot and he knocked it over, a clear impressive dead right there. What a lesson, this Australian buffalo are incredibly bulletproof compared to the African’s.

That was a collective shooting and definitely better fun.
You can’t imagine how I was pleased after 6 days of scouting the whole area to bag a nice bull with such an indecisive shooting, my spirits going high, low and high. Pure joy. Not a coveted trophy, but for me an incredible souvenir of a memorable week of hunt and sharing friendship. We spent the afternoon cleaning the trophy and lazing. And what a memorable dinner!!!!

I regret we couldn’t shoot another buff for John, but that he managed a couple of days later, to my relieve, feeling a bit egoistical.

Next day, we visited Clayton, as cheerful as ever. I thank him very much for this so generous invitation and for taking charge of my trophy to dip, clear and ship it.
John drove me to Darwin from where I flought to Singapore, Zurich and Cannes, full of happiness and nostalgy.
Our hunting kit. John was using his famous double and no less that a 20kg rucksack full of whatever items we might use, let alone every pockets filled. A no nonsense guy, and a strong guy too. My kit was light, the 375, my bow and arrow, a knife, my binocs, a cam and a bottle of water. Not more. John acted as guide most of the time.

What I’ll ever remember is the good time we spent. We hunted reasonably, not hard but astutely. The pleasure was also to enjoy the bush, being free as a bird without any pressure. And most of it chatting no end between friends. John is very heartful, educated and open to the whole world, has a lot of knowledges making him a perfect companion. Every night after a serious dinner, we were chatting about lots of points, a rare pleasure.

Same with Australians. I met them when shopping. All are very cool and friendly, quite different from Europeans.
And now I am just looking to come back to meet John again, and Australia which is a fantastic country that turns You addict of.

--------------------
"I don't want to create an encyclopedic atmosphere here when we might be having a beer instead" P H Capstick in "Safari the last adventure."

Edited by NitroX (24/09/15 06:42 PM)

"A Safari is not a destination, it is a journey through life ..." & "An exciting buffalo hunt" It ran through my mind

"This buffalo is going to kill me."

The story continues ...

I was invited to hunt with another local Katherine guy. So drove down to Katherine and stayed at a local motel so we could meet up for dinner. Unfortunately he was working on the weekend, actually mustering buffalo, or sorting out in the yards the buffalo they had already mustered during the week. His boss wouldn't give him time off to go for a hunt. So we just met up for dinner and had a good chat and time. His hunting area was actually the station immediately North of where JB and I had been hunting.

So I arranged instead to go back to the same place and look for a bull and maybe some meat for myself.

Drove down to the station house again and picked up the key again to the gate locks. I was staying in town this time on Saturday night as I had booked the motel over the weekend due to the earlier uncertainty and also as the place had been near full the first night. So after the day's hunt would head back to town.

My plan was to hunt the same area where JB's bull was taken but further South, trying out the banks of a larger river South of the swamps where we had seen the largest number of buffalo. Maybe check out the area South of the River as that had been suggested as well. Would stay free and see how it went.

Stopped under some shady trees which obviously served as a fishing spot at times with some line and bits and pieces lying around or in the trees.

The makeshift 'camp'. I had to setup the generator to make sure the Engel fridge kept running through the heat of the day. It was filled with buffalo meat and crocodile. I bought some croc meat from a wholesale butcher in Darwin.

The river is decent sized in this area. One thing we missed out was never dropping a line here to see what would bite here.

I headed out to the East along the Northern bank of the river. There is a fair amount of tangled bush near the water so some pushing through or dodging around the worst bits is required. The forest opens out a hundred to two hundred metres away from the river.

Took my time enjoying myself hunting along and scanning for buffalo or pigs. We never saw a pig this trip but did find tracks earlier in this area in some wet or muddy stream tributaries to this river. Maybe I would be lucky and bump into some pigs.

A couple of kilometres along ducking under and through some brush, I "bumped" into a bull and a young cow, some other buffalo hidden behind. A got quite a surpirse to walk "into them" like that. They were on the South side of the river across some deeper water and lying down in the heat of the late morning sun. Both got up immediately but for once did not run immediately. I knew the inaction wouldn't last for long. The horn on the bull looked nice and large and impressive enough. Excitement built immediately. But with them stading in the deep shade, I could see only one horn of the bull now, the right one. The young cow was covering the front part of the bull, both standing broadside with their heads turned to see what I was, but facing in opposite directions.

I decided I could not wait and raised the Jeffery double rifle I was carrying in my hands and fired at the bull. Enough of his chest was showing in front of the cow's nose to allow a back of lungs shot. The 480 gr Woodleigh Weldcore RN hit him well, but all the buffalo were immediately off. I expected that and hoped the shot was good enough he would drop sooner than later ...

There were some rocky areas to my left further upstream so cross the river there, and headed back to look under the tree and the tracks leading away from it. No blood did I see.

The tracks were pretty evident here plus I knew which direction the buffalo had ran leaving the banks so set off in that direction. The tracks continued for 50 metres and then I hit some solid flat rock and gravel so they were not so evident to me, a skilled tracker would probably have found them like a highway, but not me. I kept in the same direction looking carefully for any sign of buffalo. This was getting a bit worrying as a wounded buffalo could cover a considerable distance.

Waling up an incline to my left maybe a couple hundred metres away I could see something dark under a tree. The binoculars revealed it to be a buffalo. One by itself. It had to be my bull sitting there feeling sick. The rest had cleared out of the area. These buffalo in this area are not milk cows and are very skittish and disappear when they realise humans are about. Hunting pressure no doubt has taught them this.

I covered maybe half the distance to the bull when he stood up. He stood with his head down, obviously glaring at me. I decided to try to drop him by shooting him through the spine above his lowered head .... I missed completely seeing the bullet impact to the right ... and down he came ... straight at me down the hill. A small tree caused him to diverge but DAMN ... he corrected his run to come straight back at me. The second left barrel of my Jeffery fired and again DAMN not even a flinch from the bull. I was pretty sure I hit him. Now I had an empty rifle, so hurriedly pushing the top lever and opening the double rifle, extracted the two empty shells ... also taking a number of steps backward to put a small, quite insignificant little tree in between me and the incoming buffalo, while pulling two more rounds out of my ammo belt pouch and pushing them into the chambers.

During all this I thought, having had some lack of confidence on these hunts of buffalo not dropping as they should when hit!!! "This Buffalo is going to kill me." Not, this buffalo is trying to kill me.

I intended to use the tree if necessary to play a circular game if necessary running to keep the tree between me and the buff while shooting him in the head, if necessary.

Raising my eyes and the rifle, no, the buffalo was no longer coming at me, he was now maybe ten metres in front but twenty metres to the side. I think my last shot had turned him a little and he was no longer intent on my demise. I fired into his broadside as he passed. Again not even a flinch. Off he ran into some thick brush along the river banks a couple of hundred metres on.

Picking up some of the shells, I set off to find him. Approaching the thick brush, I could hear what sounded like a buffalo crashing off on the other side a couple hundred metres or more on and off to the left, back 'inland' from the river.

So decided to skirt the heavy bush and check out that crashing sound. The ground was more open a hundred metres inland and I checked out what I could towards the creek as I went. But it was very thick here and not much could be seen.

I did find some buffalo tracks on the far side and followed them. I ended up covering a good two kilometres and ended up back at the same area as my vehicle except of the wrong bank. The water looks nice and deep at this point and I would not chance crossing here unless pushed.

I was just on the other side from here at this point.

Lots of trails of buffalo in this area, if he had gone well inland I would have some time finding him. OR he could be holed up somewhere closer to the river bank. I had made my way at least a couple hundred metres away from the bank where the forest is far more open.

Now I decided I would search the area right near the creek where the going is far harder. About a kilometre back I had to stop and cool down. Stop and had a quick meal and drink. Doesn't hurt either to let a wounded buffalo expire or stiffen up. So on again. The bush kept getting thicker. At this point I checked the GPS and this damned thick stuff was at the other end of the patch I had earlier skirted where the bull had entered. I had stopped to mark the spot on the GPS before following.

The bush near the South side of the river was very thick near the water's edge.

The riverine brush here was thick. Small saplings with lots of green leaves. Visibility got down to three metres .... then got down to ONE METRE ... I could only see to end of my barrel. Adrenalin was up, "what is that?" a dark log, "and that?" a large grey rock, I laughed to myself I would die of shock when I would probably trip over a dead buffalo I couldn't see until it is at my feet. I continued along.

At some point I decided to head to the right inland and see if a better way in was possible. Perhaps it was, I ended up searching the whole area of the thick sapling "jungle" to no result. There were enough buffalo tracks in the sand and soil to not know which were from my bull.

By now it was getting late. I estimated I had enough time to search the other side of the river and get back to the Landcruiser. I could search the river bank on the Northern side and keep an eye further inland. Maybe the bull crossed the river and I would find him on that bank or inland. If he headed South he wouldn't be easy to find. If I didn't find him this day. I would hunt the same areas tomorrow and maybe bump into him.

Crossing the river again almost at the same place, a few hundred metres further on, "what is that?" There the bull was lying dead in the river inself. I think after I shot him again passing me by and he crashed into the thick bush he continued straight on, down the bank and collapsed in the water. I could not see him as the bank was high enough to cover him on the edge of the river.

Took a few photos and decided to come back tomorrow morning to get the skull and horns. Would be a "fun" carry out by myself and even more fun getting the head off in the water. What else might be lurking in the river?

Got back to the vehicle, again stupidity headed there too close to the river. Will i never learn.

Packed up the generator. Had a cold drink from the engel fridge, what luxury! I was parched. Had a smoke as well. Then off back to town. Arrived in time before the restaurant closed and a night's sleep. On the way close to town, telephoned Claydog and asked a serious question, "how likely or not, is it that the river would hold saltwater crocodiles?" Claydog thought it pretty unlikely which was my guess anyway. He had though warned us not to go swimming in the deeper bigger pools in the rivers here. Also told him my plan to carry in the trifor type winch to winch the bull out of the water. His comment about the trifor being as heavy as the bull's head made me question that plan.

Next morning back at the fishing spot, decided to carry less crap. Decided to take the M98 .375 instead of the Jeffery as it is a lot lighter. Maybe I would still bump into some pigs or more buffalo.

Again stupidly ended up back in the thicker stuff near the river ...

Got to the buffalo and no crocs feeding on it. Good start.

Crossed the river and dumped my crap on the bank. Now started the cutting of the neck to get to the spine as close to the skull as possible. It was harder as only about 20% of the neck was out of the water. Cutting underneath the neck meant kneeling in the brown muddy and full of blood water to reach under in the water. Got quite messy. The bull blew regular bubbles, its lungs and stomach having bloated in the heat and now expelling gasses.

Tried to tip the bull at some point to get at the other side better but no luck. So ended up cutting on that side of the river too with my back to it. If there was anything bitey in the river, I rang the dinner gong with bloody scent for sure. Using a tomahawk again, got the spine severed and the last bit of flesh. Carried the head across the water. Wasn't that deep anyway..

Bloody heavy.

Laid it on the wet soil on the Northern bank in the shade. Got the rest of my gear and spent a couple hours removing as much skins, meat, eyeballs, tongue, brain, jaws etc as I could. Some lovely red meat ants were massing to attack me, so threw them bits of meat to divert them as much as possible. Other bits I fed to the crocs that no doubt inhabited this fresh water river, Johnson's crocs, not salties.

DONE AT LAST.

Covered the bloody skull in a couple of plastic bags. Tied it up with paracord to my daypack as best as I thought, rifle on the other shoulder and back to camp. THIS TIME I would head direct to the track, no bloody thick river brush to fight through. It was heaven to walk the open forest and not have to push continually through stuff. Also the buff head minus jaws, skin and meat was quite light. But the good job of mine tying it to my pack turned out to be deficient so it ended up hanging under my left shoulder with the pack twisted and the rifle on my right.

After a kilometre and a half hit the track and dumped the head there, walking the kilometre or whatever back to the Landcruiser. A very welcome cold drink and a smoke.

The vehicle is always a welcome sight when getting back.

Drive up to the spot where the head was left and tie it on the back roughly. Driving out I detoured near the highway in the property on a boundary fence and dumped the head under a tree hidden from sight. It might be too ripe for town.

Back to town. I was pretty disgusting, my clothes saturated with mud, blood and gore. The restaurant was probably closed at the hotel, so into town for a fast food place. Some chicken place was the only likely looking one and it looked like it was closing. The very very nice young lad inside sweeping up told me they were already closed, but he could still get me some chicken. I probably looked like the creature from the black logoon anyway ....

Back to the motel, a shower and the hot meal. At worst I could have got something out of the food box, but felt like a hot meal was needed. Or could have gone to the hotels BBQ area to cook myself, but again, I was pretty bushed.

Next day, visited Claydog to return his GPS and satphone. Then the start of the long drive home. Dropped in to the station to return the key, drop off some beer as a gift and a chat.

Then drive down to pick up the head. Wrap in well up in layers of plastic, with lots of tape. Keep any stink of a four day drive through the heat of central Australia as enclosed as possible. Would it work ????

--------------------
John aka NitroX

...
Govt get out of our lives NOW!
"I love the smell of cordite in the morning."
"A Sharp spear needs no polish"