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From the archive - A safari story and photos from 2005 by our member "larcher" for your continued enjoyment.

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BACK FROM THE Central Africa Rep with Kotto SAFARI

Date of Hunt: 28th February – 13th March, 12 hunting days

Location: the CAR (Central African Republic) Kotto River, Center-North region of the CAR.

Animals Taken: Lion, Lord Derby Eland, Baboon, Yellow-backed Duiker, and Major Hartebeest

Game Hunted But Not Taken: Buffalo, Warthog, Bush pig, Bushbuck, Blue duiker, reddish-flanked duiker, Roan.

Game Not Hunted: The allotment had been shot: Waterbuck (largest seen 32”), Leopard. Bongo, Giant Forest Hog, Sitatunga are present but required another type of hunting in deep jungle.

Outfitter: Kotto Safari, Michel Angelvy

PHs: Herve Houdebine, Oumar Auboussard

Booking Agent: Ol’ Sarge

Travel Agent: « Secrets du Monde» and Kathi Klimes

Hunt Summary: I wanted to hunt with both my bow and my Sauer Model 202 in .375 H&H. Not easy goals since the shooting distances are drastically different. I was there mainly to get a nice Lord Derby Eland. To top it all off I was craving to arrow a nice buff should the outfitter allow me to put his team in jeopardy. In fact, Michel the Outfitter would have liked me to bow-hunt everything, DG or not.
Michel Angelvy, the outfitter, obtained this block 4 years ago because nobody was interested in hunting in wet and thick cover in a dicey location so near to the Sudan (rebels, guerrillas and poachers). It appeared the block was crawling with literally every type of game. Michel had many spanners thrown into the works by several of his influential and famous colleagues. In the end, he decided to do his best to ensure that his few clients get the best game and he is performing splendidly, gaining his colleagues’ envy. Bow-hunting DG was icing on the cake.

My cousin and me arrived from Paris in Bangui on Sunday morning and then flew to the hunting block in a no cheap charter plane (1800 USD each). The roads are so bad that three days would have been required to cover the 300 miles and six days on foot with bearers. By plane it took an hour and a half.

THE MAIN HIGHWAY BETWEEN BANGUI AND THE SUDAN; it was worse than any of the tracks in our hunting zone
The 650 000 ha hunting zone is situated along the Kotto river in a diamantiferous region. By chance there is no working in the block. More luck, the diamond rage attracts the villagers out of the zone. So there is only 3 quite deserted villages living from miners’ salaries : no cultivation, no breeding, nearly no local poaching.
The camp is snug and shady along a small river, it consists of 6 bungalows and a restaurant-kitchen among trees growing on a spotless sandy yard. Further downstream are lying the skinning shed, the workers’ camp and the garage. Every straw-thatched bungalow is divided into a bedroom, a shower and a flush toilets. 2 beds topped by their mosquito nets, fine but damn it, no locking at the banging door. How to keep black panthers away? Immediately, Luc, my cousin, and me rushed to the bar to complain. Good thing, a waiter, no waitress. We ask him about black panthers. No trouble, here this is serious stuff, no French style camp. No cheap booze and no cheaper girls aplenty, only free booze and no chicks, so no latch at the doors. At dinner , we met our PHs, their family, another hunter and his wife and retrieved the taxidermist from Paris and the outfitter. No mystery, outstanding French cooking based on vegetables and fruits from the garden and game meat.
The first day was reserved for acclimation. The territory is primarily flat, the occasional hills are capped with dry bush, the lowlands are comprised of small plains, swamps and wide wet thick jungle or dense riverine forests. All hunting consists in spotting spoor on the trails and track, then walk and stalk. No blinds, lying in ambush or shooting from the vehicle. When driving one can spot and then stalk the odd hogs seen in the small plains or swamps. The first tracks I saw in a salt flat were heart-shaped Bongo’s. I bow hunted warthog and bush pig in the swamps and called-in duikers in the riverine forests. I had no luck with the wind whirling non-stop or only female bushbuck and duiker coming to the call.

In the evening Herve called for lion in 3 separate places, not to hunt them but to get an idea of the location of the cats. He explained to me that he had a 100% success rate calling-in lion in Tanzania where he is guiding in the four blocks of JM Latrive Safaris.

On Tuesday we searched for a limping rogue buff, which is charging cars and people and followed a herd of buffalo up to a dense forest and gave up. No way to distinguish a buff at 3 yards in this vegetal nightmare, not to speak of shooting at it. As we came back to the car Jean, our beanpole of a driver, scared out of his skin, announced that 2 lions had passed by the car. No way to make him spit out whether the lions passed 15 seconds or 15 minutes ago. At once we packed our team into the scrub on the embankment and Herve and I sat on the berm at the side of the trail. Herve unpacked his giant funnel to call the lions and taught me the basics. There are two kinds of approaching lions ; the shy awkward type which come stealthily skirting around, creeping and hiding behind every clod, and the big King rocketing right up to the caller to kill his roaring rival. The sissy deserves an arrow; the mean stuff must be stopped with a rifle preferably. Herve told me that in Tanzania a couple of months ago the last lion he called was killed at 5 yards. After the first call the shivering gun bearer squealed that lions were coming, running through the plains. After the second call he muttered ‘Boss, they come fast, they are angry”. Herve asked me to put my bow down. When a running tawny shape appeared at 40 yards I stuck my reticule on his chest and Herve ordered me to shoot. “No, too many branches in the shooting lane”. “Shoot now”. At 35 yards I let my 300gr Swift A frame fly to the lion’s shoulder. The lion roared and ran by us on three legs, receiving a .458 Lott 500 gr Woodleigh soft from Herve’s Heym double before he disappeared into a patch of long grass. I removed my scope and my sling...15 minutes later Herve and I proceeded inch by inch into the long grass. And now, was the king dead? What about the lioness? Shooting a lioness means prison for both of us and a whopping fine. The lion was dead within 25 yards. We proceeded awkwardly onward until we were sure the lioness was gone.
Jesus, what a lion! 10 feet 2 inches of lion ; an old slender scarred warrior with a shockingly huge head and a good orange and black mane from the chin to the elbows. Just as I had aimed, the bullet broke the shoulder and smashed through both lungs, the heart and the liver and was bulging just under the offside skin. Herve’s snapshot Woodleigh pierced the abdomen just behind the diaphragm.

THE LION DID HIS BEST TO HIDE HIS ORANGE BLACK MANE

Upon arrival in the camp, the crew surrounded us, sang “Barama yacoue” (the lion is dead), danced waving branches and carried me shoulder high in triumph. It was the first lion taken since the closing of lion hunting in the CAR four years ago.

This PH’s family are tough people, the baby is 8 days old

Our mentor Michel Vaillier, the famous taxidermist of kings and presidents known as the “dean” throughout Africa, put the spurs to the skinners, had them remove the tenderloins (lion’s white meat tastes like veal) and had them work all night long. He wants this lion for his booth at the next hunting fair; he hadn’t seen such a large old (8-10 years) lion in ten years. Later another riot occurred when my cousin brought in a wonderful eland, big black mane and 40’’ monstrously thick horns.

Michel, the outfitter was beaming. With such great success on the second day, he called Bangui via satellite to inform the country the first lion had been shot. Then he visited the 3 surrounding villages and distributed the traditional bonus of $200 (at my expense). He explained to the village chiefs that the 15 foot lion was killed with a bow. He added that two cars were required to bring back the beast, the first pulling and the second following in reverse gear, the lion lying in the back of the two cars. Michel is a brilliant liar.

Over the next few days we tried to arrow different buffs but the wind always ruined our close approaches. Once while tracking, Hassim, my gun bearer gave me a stare, his wide eyes rolling around his head and he muttered “Ze”. He had bumped into a leopard in thigh high grass and I never saw it at 15 meters. Anyway, with my bow I would have been no match.

While trying to arrow a buff, we flushed baboons in the jungle. Herve mimicked the baboon’s cries and a patriarch showed up. My arrow (Easton axis HIT+ 125gr Magnus=700gr) at 35 yards in spite of interspersed branches hit his chest and ripped his belly open. He ran 60 m and died, a bullet would not have killed him so fast, Hervé told me.

30 minutes later we found the very rare yellow-backed duiker. There is hunters all over the world coming in the CAR just to get this curio, the biggest of the duiker species. I raked it at 120 yards. Not a big one but a rare one. I know, on the picture it looks weird even a real sight. In fact the real thing is nice, the coat shiny, the hair velvet short on the face and progressively longer up to the back surmounted by this stunning citrus yellow tuft of hackles. No bargaining, it will be full mounted.

The day after, we scuttled a long valley for 5 hours and saw no game save quite a few lion tracks and two freshly detusked elephant carcasses left by poachers, a cow and a small calf. A revolting sight. The day after we harassed the buffalo for over 8 hours, I slightly wounded one, a strange tawny bull and followed him 90 minutes in very dense cover. Exhausted by the extreme nervous tension we gave up thinking to follow it again the morrow. We had to call our driver who had disappeared by shooting twice into the air. He came back drowning in tears. 7 Sudanese ele poachers heavily armed with Kalashnikovs had given him a slap in the face and stolen his cigarettes, not mine, even though all our gear was in the car. They complained we were interfering with THEIR ele “hunting”. We were disgusted and …. undergunned. White foreigners risk little; these poachers (former slavers) don’t want to have to deal with the French Foreign Legion in Bangui.

The next day, we gave up on the tawny bull and, to be frank we gave up buff hunting to the blacks great delight. My DG bow hunting gave them the jitters, better two rifles than one. Even if in the past Herve brained a couple of buffs so as they received the horns on their new not still fully paid shoes they seemed to trust my rifle shooting. We carried a wide loop out from a saline and back and failed in searching for fresh Eland tracks. Damn Ghost Antilopes, more than 500 elands and no one to be seen. On Wednesday we picked up the track of a solitary Eland and got a glimpse of him 50 minutes later. I was told that one never sees a whole eland, just part of it between the foliage. So I shot at part of his chest at 140 yards and splintering a branch gutshot it. I shot 3 times again, twice in the paunch. The guide finished him with two 458 Lott .500gr hand-loaded Woodleigh softpoints. Wow! What a body size, like the Patterson’s, but mainly what a unique set of long horns (1.02m =40”) a pity he had shed his black mane. Nonetheless I’ll keep it.

After hacking a 3.5 km trail in the forest, in clouds of bee, we loaded the butchered bull in the back of the Mercedes and drove back. Not for long as the vehicle’s head gasket broke for the car couldn’t take 5 men and 1600 pounds of eland when the temperature hit 100°F. Poor Jean, the beanpolelike driver who never failed facing lions and then poachers, had to run 20 miles up to the camp to fetch the Toyota. We had planned a 5 hours nap, but it wasn’t going to happen. Up to this point we had only been battling tse tse and anopheles. But billions of gnats in spite of our nets and gloves were creeping into our noses, ears and eyes and then thousand of carnivorous bees, attracted by the eland meat, dived onto us again, not to mention the ants decorating our legs.

We decided to walk back to the camp. As we were chattering along the way, Herve pointed at 2 hartebeests at 120 yards and said “Shoot the one on the right, it’s a monster”. I picked up a forgotten 375 solid in my pocket and shot at the Major Hartebeest and spined him. What a piece of luck, a big eland and a monster hartebeest the same day.

I spent the rest of the week drooling at the many sights of a record waterbuck (>32’’) but the waterbuck quota was shot, and idling about arrowing duikers, warthog or bush pig, in vain, because of the bloody whirling wind. I shot three times a male duiker. At every missed arrow he was coming closer, Hervé was despaired coping with such a poor shot. The last arrow flew over his back when he was at 8 yards. Then I feared his one inch horns fuelled by this 5 lbs ruined my new Cabelas pants Thanks to my French stinking I deterred the redhaired brute in extremis. Anyhow I arrowed a francolin and a guinea fowl to the trackers’ satisfaction.

In addition to his monster eland,

my cousin got a yellow-backed duiker, a baboon, a nice warthog and a huge bush pig. He couldn’t approach good buffs, the fault of too many reckless lions. A pity in a block harbouring over 2000 buffs. Oumar his PH, a student of the CAR mythical best guide Abdoulaye, did more than his best. Paddling before my cousin in a river, he was smashed in the leg by a 10 feet crocodile’s tail. Oumar is a real pro and has some experience. In a posh territory, as a wannabe PH, searching a winged lion he was bitten in the knee before the lion flattened the PH. He managed to creep to the lion and be splashed with grey matter whilst “machetting” the lion’s skull. Another day, conveying 2 hunters, his car was suddenly rolling between 60 Sudanese poachers aiming at them with their Kalashnikovs. In low speed, he drove by, forced to stop for a hunter lost his cap. He didn’t recover the stolen cap but brought his clients safely to the camp. This Oumar, a black muslim, is a genious too. An outstanding tracker, he knows how to guess where the game will foolishly rest, letting the trackers zigzagging on the long track and at best acting as batters, saving time and exertion for the best result. Always overdoing. At sundowner time, he never accepted anything other than Coca, what a dedication!
Alain the third hunter spent a long long time (????) building high stands to hunt bongo. As he didn’t want to shoot to at night with a flashlight, he saw many bongos with his night vision binoculars. The last day he went eland hunting, shot a good bull in a herd after tracking him 3 hours. No luck, he craved finding the herd in which my cousin saw a well known record bull over 1.20m, the world record is 1.238m. He got lost and walked 8 hours hacking his way at night in real jungle as punishment.

Saturday evening we flew back to Bangui and stayed in the best hotel, the shabby but expensive Sofitel (120$/night). We had lunch in the mythical “Restaurant des Chasses” where we met the other hunting safaris in the CAR. Michel the outfitter was proud and beaming. This was revenge day. Our success rate for eland and yellow-backed duiker was 100% and for 4 years we were the only ones to have taken a lion. The others success rates for eland varied from 0 to 66%, yellow-backed duiker’s worst . The fair play guys congratulated me for having arrowed a lion at 10m. Michel is a brilliant liar. After fending the most DG off, insomniac damzels, we snort a deserved night out. You know bragging is more tiresome than hunting. Sunday morning we were checked 12 times at the airport and I paid some bribes to bring illegally my lion claws in my luggage.

So if you want to hunt unusual game in a really wild country, the CAR is your destination. Be ready to wake up at 3H30 AM, to walk 10 to 30 miles per day with the thermometer flirting 100° F, to be refreshed by sudden rainfalls, to squelch across umpteen swamps and brooks, to feed the complete set of flying bloodsuckers and you’ll be rewarded with free booze, genuine French cooking, and a wonderful Eland at the least or a bongo if you are the good boy.
Don’t be afraid, I suffered from severe asthma and nonetheless I got what I wanted, buff apart.

The agent for KOTTO SAFARI in America will be our friend Ol’ Sarge and the travel agent Kathi. Allow me a little time to brief Ol’ Sarge.

Thanks to our friends Winks, Steve and Tina B and NitroX, rooting out from my pidgin English what is stunning me no end.

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