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A driven game hunt with a difference

NOWHERE along the foothills of the Himalayas is there a more beautiful setting for a camp than under the Flame of the Forest trees at Bindukhera, when they are in full bloom. If you can picture white tents under a canopy of orange-coloured bloom; a multitude of brilliantly plumaged red and gold minivets, golden orioles, rose-headed parakeets, golden-backed woodpeckers, and wire-crested drongos flitting from tree to tree and shaking down the bloom until the ground round the tents resembled a rich orange-coloured carpet; densely wooded foothills in the background topped by ridge upon rising ridge of the Himalayas, and they in turn topped by the eternal snows, then, and only then, will you have some idea of our camp at Bindukhera one February morning in the year 1929.

Bindukhera, which is only a name for the camping ground, is on the western edge of a wide expanse of grassland some twelve miles long and ten miles wide. When Sir Henry Ramsay was king of Kumaon the plain was under intensive cultivation, but at the time of my story there were only three small villages, each with a few acres of cultivation dotted along the banks of the sluggish stream that meanders down the length of the plain. The grass on the plain had been burnt a few weeks before our arrival, leaving islands of varying sizes where the ground was damp and the grass too green to burn. It was on these islands that we hoped to find the game that had brought us to Bindukhera for a week's shooting. I had shot over this ground for ten years and knew every foot of it, so the running of the shoot was left to me.

Shooting from the back of a well-trained elephant on the grasslands of the Tarai is one of the most pleasant forms of sport I know of. No matter how long the day may be, every moment of it is packed with excitement and interest, for in addition to the variety of game to be shot-on a good day I have seen eighteen varieties brought to bag ranging from quail and snipe to leopard and swamp deer-there is a great wealth of bird life not ordinarily seen when walking through grass on foot.

There were nine guns and five spectators in camp on the first day of our shoot that February morning, and after an early breakfast we mounted our elephants and formed a line, with a pad elephant between each two guns. Taking my position in the centre of the line, with four guns and four pad elephants on either side of me, we set off due south with the flanking gun on the right-fifty yards in advance of the line - to cut off birds that rose out of range of the other guns and were making for the forest on the right. If you are ever given choice of position in a line of elephants on a mixed-game shoot select a flank, but only if you are good with both gun and rifle. Game put up by a line of elephants invariably try to break out at a flank, and one of the most difficult objects to hit is a bird or an animal that has been missed by others.

When the air is crisp and laden with all the sweet scents that are to be smelt in an Indian jungle in the early morning, it goes to the head like champagne, and has the same effect on birds, with the result that both guns and birds tend to be too quick off the mark. A too eager gun and a wild bird do not produce a heavy bag, and the first few minutes of all glorious days are usually as unproductive as the last few minutes when muscles are tired and eyes strained. Birds were plentiful that morning, and, after the guns had settled down, shooting improved and in our first beat along the edge of the forest we picked up five peafowl, three red jungle fowl, ten black partridge, four grey partridge, two bush quail, and three hare. A good sambhar had been put up but he gained the shelter of the forest before rifles could be got to bear on him.

Where a tongue of forest extended out on to the plain for a few hundred yards, I halted the line. This forest was famous for the number of peafowl and jungle fowl that were always to be found in it, but as the ground was cut up by a number of deep nullahs that made it difficult to maintain a straight line, I decided not to take the elephants through it, for one of the guns was inexperienced and was shooting from the back of an elephant that morning for the first time. It was in this forest-when Wyndham and 1 some years previously were looking for a tiger-that I saw for the first time a cardinal bat. These beautiful bats, which look like gorgeous butterflies as they flit from cover to cover, are, as far as I know, only to be found in heavy elephant grass.

After halting the line I made the elephants turn their heads to the east and move off in single file. When the last elephant had cleared the ground over which we had just beaten, I again halted them and made them turn their heads to dle north. We were now facing the Himalayas, and hanging in the sky directly in front of us was a brilliantly lit white cloud that looked solid enough for angels to dance on.

The length of a line of seventeen elephants depends on the ground that is being beaten. Where the grass was heavy I shortened the line to a hundred yards, and where it was light I extended it to twice that length. We had beaten up to/the north for a mile or so, collecting thirty more birds and a leopard, when a ground owl got up in front of the line. Several guns were raised and lowered when it was realized what the bird. was. These ground owls, which live in abandoned pangolin and porcupine burrows, are about twice the size of a partridge, look white on the wing, and have longer legs than the ordinary run of owls. When flushed by a line of elephants they fly low for fifty to a hundred yards before alighting. This I believe they do to allow the line to clear their burrows, for when flushed a second time they invariably fly over the line and back to the spot from where they originally rose. The owl we flushed that morning, however, did not behave as these birds usually do, for after flying fifty to sixty yards in a straight line it suddenly started to gain height by going round and round in short circles. The reason for this was apparent a moment later when a peregrine falcon, flying at great speed, came out of the forest on the left. Unable to regain the shelter of its burrow the owl was now making a desperate effort to keep above the falcon. With rapid wing beats he was spiralling upwards, while the falcon on widespread wings was circling up and up to get above his quarry. All eyes, including tllose of the mahouts, were now on the exciting flight, so I halted the line.

It is difficult to judge heights when there is nothing to make a comparison with. At a rough guess the two birds had reached a height of a thousand feet, when the owl-still moving in circles-started to edge away towards the big white cloud, and one could imagine the angels suspending their dance and urging it to make one last effort to reach the shelter of their cloud. The falcon was not slow to see the object of this manoeuvre, and he too was now beating the air with his wings and spiralling up in ever-shortening circles. Wouuld the owl make it or would he now, as the falcon approached nearer to him, lose his nerve and plummet down in a vain effort to reach mother earth and the sanctuary of his burrow? Field glasses were now out for those who needed them, and up and down the line excited exclamations - in two languages - were running.

'Oh! he can't make it.'

'Yes he can, he can.'

'Only a little way to go now.'

'But look, look, the falcon is gaining on him.' And then, suddenly, only one bird was to be seen against the cloud. Well done! well done! Shahbash! shahbash! The owl had made it, and while hats were being waved and hands were being clapped, the.falcon in a long graceful glide came back to the setnul tree from which he had started.

The reactions of human beings to any particular event are unpredictable. Fifty-four birds and four animals had been shot that morning - and many more missed - without a qualm or the batting of an eyelid. And now, guns, spectators, and mahouts were unreservedly rejoicing that a ground owl had escaped the talons of a peregrine falcon.

At the northern end of the plain I again turned the line of elephants south, and beat down along the right bank of the stream that provided irrigation water for the three villages. Here on the damp ground the grass was unburnt and heavy, and rifles were got ready, for there were many hog deer and swamp deer in this area, and there was also a possibility of putting up another leopard.

We had gone along the bank of the stream for about a mile, picking up five more peafowl, four cock florican - hens were barred - three snipe, and a hog deer with very good horns when the accidental (please turn your eyes away, Recording Angel) discharge of a heavy high-velocity rifle in the hands of a spectator sitting behind me in my howdah, scorched the inner lining of my left ear and burst the eardrum. For me the rest of that February day ,vas torture. After a sleepless night I excused myself on the plea that I had urgent work to attend to (again, please, Recording Angel) and at dawn, while the camp was asleep, I set out on a twenty-five-mile walk to my home at Kaladhungi.

The doctor at Kaladhungi, a keen young man who had recently completed his medical training, confirmed my fears that my eardrum had been destroyed. A month later we moved up to our summer home at Naini Tal, and at the Ramsay Hospital I received further confirmation of this diagnosis from Colonel Barber, Civil Surgeon of Naini Tal. Days passed, and it became apparent that abscesses were forming in my head. My condition was distressing my two sisters as much as it was distressing me, and as the hospital was unable to do anything to relieve me I decided - much against the wishes of my sisters and the advice of Colonel Barber - to go away.

I have mentioned this 'accident' not with the object of enlisting sympathy but because it has a very important bearing on the story of the Talla Des man-eater which I shall now relate.

Extracted from Jim Corbett's "The Temple Tiger"

Tags:
Howdah. Corbett, Elephant Drive, India, Double Rifle, Tiger

http://forums.nitroexpress.com/showflat.php?Cat=0&Number=2973&an=&page=0&vc=1

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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"

Marrakai's first post on the Fat Lady. Was posted up on these forums some time before the 15 year searchable limit.

DANCING WITH THE FAT LADY
by
'Marrakai'

There has been a lot of press lately over the ultra-fast short magnums promoted by US marketeers, but I must be well outside the square because they have utterly failed to captivate my interest. I was thinking of a new project, however, so when a certain double rifle was offered to me for the second time in 12 months, I was able to atone for the regret at turning it down the first time! Here are the details of a most interesting firearm:

Greener .577 Action

The action is an E-17 Greener, meaning it was originally an "Empire" shotgun which sold for 17 guineas new. Several years ago, it was given a new set of rifle barrels in Melbourne, complete with engine-turned rib, express sights, and nothing less than a faceted diamond for the front sight bead! This fine firearm is now chambered for the .577 x 2 3/4 Light Nitro cartridge.

The original owner had sold it into the UK after my initial decline. I was on the trail of another .577 at the time, which subsequently fell through, and I had almost a year to ponder what might have been. Imagine my joy when a phone-call from Melbourne informed me that it was on the market once again. “Sold!” was the immediate response!

The handling quality of this gun is rather interesting. Even the Greener duck-gun doesn't really have enough weight in the action for a heavy double rifle, so to compensate, the barrels have been left fairly thick, and kept short at 22 inches. At first it feels a tiny bit ‘clubby’, but it is compact enough to get away with it, and the gun is really growing on me. At 10.5 lb it handles better than a .375 Wilkes double of the same weight I passed up some time ago, but is not as lively as my Jeffery .400 with 24-inch tubes. Even so, everyone I have shown the rifle to so far has really liked it. Here's another pic of the whole gun to give the proper perspective.

Greener .577 Rifle

Ballistics are: 650 gr projectile at just over 1650 fps for around 4000 ftlbs ME. The Taylor Knock-out value is a whopping 90 units! All this with only 63 ft lbs of free recoil at a manageable 20 fps recoil velocity! Marvellous!

Initially my load development followed the recommendations of the two previous owners. I was told it had been regulated with 65gr of AR2207 (H4198), but this load shot apart for me and was too slow (under 1600 fps). Their theory was to use quicker powder to ensure complete combustion in the short barrels, however I lacked the courage to add any more of this relatively fast powder! I tried AR2208 (Varget) next, but 'chickened out' at 95gr! Still slightly apart. The day-time muzzle blast with this powder in the short barrels was blinding, about 18 inches in diameter! Very impressive, if a tad wasteful!

I can’t remember which British gun-writer had described his afternoon of off-hand shooting with a short heavy double as “dancing with the fat lady”, but the euphemism seemed very appropriate during those early range sessions! Eventually I settled on 77gr of AR2206 behind the 650gr Woodleigh bullet, giving good barrel groups with centres within an inch or so at 50 metres. Time to test it out in the hunting field!

I was hopeful of finding a worthwhile buffalo to ‘blood’ the rifle, however the dry season was fast drawing to a close. On what turned out to be the last trip of the year, I managed to dump a large sow with a nice heart-shot at about 60m on the run (entrance hole is visible behind the elbow in the photo below). The big soft-nose Woodleigh was devastating! At that point I couldn’t wait to line it up on a trophy buff!

Large Sow

Building nitro doubles on shotgun actions is an old trick, but has not always been done well. A well-known American gunsmith used Ruger U/O actions, but I am led to believe that they often shot loose. His SxS BSS-action conversions enjoyed a much better reputation. I have seen some horrors: one floating around Darwin looking for an owner was in .444 Marlin sleeved into the inside of a pair of shotgun barrels, the intervening spaces filled with solder. Handled like a truck axle! Disgusting! Ron Webb, an Australian gunsmith, has made double rifles with some success: I have seen video of him hunting pigs with a .375 H&H Flanged Magnum on a Ruger Red Label action.

In any case, the Greener 'Empire' is the only British action I would trust. Ex-Century Arms gunsmith Rolph Bachnick has made several double rifles on this action, and a number of cape guns. No trouble with any of them as far as I know. Full nitro loads should probably be out of the question, although W. Ellis Brown has published a list of ‘Low Intensity’ candidate cartridges in his book, which includes the 8x57R, .303 British, and all the popular flanged Nitro Express cartridges up to and including the full nitro .577! Nevertheless, keeping pressure below 7 or 8 tons (10 tons max!) would be a very good idea in my humble opinion.

Because fine vintage firearms are particularly susceptible to the laws of supply and demand, the price of good original doubles, especially by British makers, will always remain high. The idea of a modern retro-fit like this Greener is looking more attractive all the time! If buffalo are not on the menu, a .500 calibre 'nitro-for-black' equivalent might just be the perfect boar and sambar rifle, offering two quick 440-grain Woodleigh Weld-cores at 1900 fps or thereabouts, with considerably less recoil and gun-weight than that of a .577. When chasing the big bovines or scrub bulls however, the .577 Light Nitro provides a definite advantage over lesser calibres and a reassuring safety margin in the unlikely event of an escalation!

My first buff-hunting trip for the new year saw a reasonable bull fall to the light nitro double. Not huge horns, but a good-sized animal and a nice representative trophy. Not bad for the first hunt of the year, and the first buff I had seen with the Greener in my hands. This is how it happened:

After stalking a particular creek-line for several uneventful kilometres, I spied a single bull feeding quietly along on the levee. The wind had been quite unpredictable all day, so I closed in fairly quickly to about 35m without detection. Rising up out of the long grass, I shot for the lower chest. The bull went down on his front knees, but his rear end stayed up so I hastily reloaded and gave him two more quick ones in the 'middle of the front-half' through the grass. To my utter astonishment, he regained his feet and attempted to depart, but folded after only a few steps before I could reload again!

Young Buffalo Bull

They are incredibly tough animals: the first shot had completely wrecked his heart! I could only find one projectile in 30 minutes of digging, under the hide on the off side having completely penetrated the chest. It’s a beauty, still weighing 99%, and so perfect it looks like a gelatine recovery! Love those big blue-nose Woodleigh Weldcores!

Woodleigh Bullets

Later I flattened a feral horse as well after a brilliant stalk, up to about 25 metres in quite open country, using a small bush and a termite mound. Great fun! Shot for a bullet recovery, but no joy. Even quartering towards me, the projectile blew straight through.

We are incredibly lucky to be able to buy premium bonded-core bullets in Australia for a little over a buck each. If it weren't for 'good guys' like Geoff MacDonald we'd be coughing up several Aussie dollars every shot for imported stuff, which is not as good! I hope he lives forever.

A worthy opponent for the .577 Greener was finally located some time later, while scouting a couple of waterholes south-east of Darwin. The first waterhole hosted three separate mobs of feral horses, a scrub-bull, and the inevitable huge flock of whistle-ducks. Wandering across to the second waterhole, we sneaked in to a stand of timber to glass the shoreline. Immediately I spotted a good bull buffalo off to our left some 300m, and downwind! As he grazed the short grass near the waters edge, his horns appeared to reach up above his shoulders! The decision to commence hostilities was made in a flash!

A rapid diversion out to the west to get the wind right, and the stalk began through dead timber and fallen logs well back from the water’s edge. He must have gotten a whiff of the dreaded man-scent however, as he stared fixedly upwind a couple of times, and then began a deliberate departure out into the dry scrub. Once he was out of sight, I sprinted across the open ground and up into the sticks to try to keep him in view.

Then followed about half-an-hour of ‘cat and mouse’ among the dry leaves and spindly shrubs, with the suspicious old campaigner stopping frequently to listen and look behind, often catching me on one leg amongst the ‘corn-flakes’. On several occasions, I couldn’t be sure that the patch of shadow I was stalking was indeed the bull, and then an ear would twitch or the tail flick, and the game would resume. It was a very difficult stalk in awkward terrain, and I was rather pleased with the fact that he never actually detected my presence.

Quinine-Bush and Cornflakes...

Eventually a sustained gust of wind rattled the leaves and presented the opportunity to move quickly forward through the belt of scrub to the edge of a clearing. He was facing directly away at about 25 metres, so I mounted the Greener and mentally pleaded with the bull to show me his shoulder. After an eternity he took a step forward and turned slightly to the left, and a million whistle-ducks took to the air as one!

Old Broken-Horn Bull

I would like to report that the first shot knocked him straight over, but as is often the case with such a massive beast, it merely raised the curtain on the action to follow! After receiving the bullet on the point of the shoulder, his knees began to sag within a couple of seconds and I was certain he was going down. By this stage I was quite close, and witnessed an amazing transformation come over the bull. He simply decided that No! He was not going to give up that easily, and would attempt to ‘tough it out’ instead! Obviously the adrenalin had kicked in, and although he was dead on his feet, he refused to admit it and suddenly I was way too close!

Being a believer in the golden rule “Keep shooting till the animal is down”, I had a lively time dumping those fat cartridges in and out of the Greener’s cavernous breech, and it was the fifth hit which finally knocked him over for good! Admittedly less than half a minute had elapsed in total, during which the buff had not gone more than two paces in any direction, but there was a time when he staggered round to face me and I was mentally taking a few hasty steps backwards! All shots were perfect killers in their own right, the first and last on the shoulder were only half an inch apart! It never ceases to amaze me just how tough these big animals can be!

Pity about the broken horn, but he was obviously not scared of a fight, and carried the old scars to prove it. Back in Darwin, the measuring tape scored the unbroken horn at 35 5/8 inches! The massive bases were 18 5/8 and 19 1/4 inches in diameter. Had the broken horn been entire, he would have topped 109 points. A magnificent trophy with plenty of character!

According to my mate, there's still a bigger 'sweeper' bull out there somewhere on the property, estimated at 120 points or more! Bulls that size are very hard to come by these days, so I guess I’ll be taking the fat lady to the dance for a few more weekends yet!

See more stories by Marrakai via the link:
http://www.marrakai-adventure.com.au/GreenerStory.html

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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"