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From the archive - A safari story and photos "The Bongo that damned near killed me" by larcher in 2006.

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Date of Hunt: 07th January – 22nd February, 13 hunting days

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

Animals Taken: Leopards, Bongo, Bush pigs, Warthogs, Bushbuck, Buffalo, Baboons, Red-flanked Duikers and ………….Guinea fowl.

Game Hunted But Not Taken: Buffalo and Bongo for JB; minor duikers, Sitatunga and Giant forest Hog.

Game Not Hunted: The allotment had been shot: Waterbuck (largest seen 32"), Lion, Roan, Yellow–backed duiker and Eland.

Outfitter: Kotto Safari, Michel Angelvy, contact jbderunz@wanadoo.fr

PHs: Herve Houdebine, Oumar Aboussar

Booking Agent: Chassorbis

Travel Agent: Sadly not Kathi Klimes at: kathi@wldtravel.com but « Chassorbis» Paris.

HUNT SUMMARY

My cousin Luc and I were back this year in the CAR with the same outfit and with the same PHs as last year. 2005 Back from the CAR with Kotto safari

Michel the outfitter was forced to hire more ground, 2 million ha more, thus the area (about 3 M ha or 7.5 M acres or 11 000 sq miles) is larger than all the hunting blocks together in Zimbabwe, larger than the Selous, the Serengeti or Kafue. All of this ground only for my cousin and me. This year we were looking for a bongo each.

“Sitting up a tree most of the night ought to give a man time to think, and perhaps ponder his sins. But with a horde of jet-powered mosquitoes around my head flying fighter cover for assorted bomber-weight bugs, it was hard to think very clearly. Why was I perched in this unlikely tree almost 9000 miles from home, peering gloomily at a fog-dank meadow in the middle of the CAR jungle? What was it that had brought me in this repellent-smeared but still bug-bitten, and thoroughly uncomfortable, pass?
If you’re a trophy hunter, you’ll guess the answer. There’s a sort of madness that besets trophy hunters, a gnawing deeper than the bite of any jungle bug, and more insistent. If there’s a sporting beast on earth that’s hard to take, you want him. The harder he is to take, the fewer the sportsmen who’ve collected him before you, the more you want him. If he’s a common beast, you want the biggest of head and horn. You can be satisfied with that. But the top sport of the game is to get the uncommon one, and the more uncommon, the better.” From “a bongo hunt in the CAR” by Warren Page, former shooting editor of Field and stream

We left our car at our taxidermist friend’s home who dropped us at the airport. We had minor troubles with Air France for we cannot show vouchers to explain the reason we paid cheap airfares. Then I was summoned to check my rifle by an air hostess. In a customs room I met Gilbert Surun, an old hand in the PH business. Like me, he was admonished because he too hadn't removed the bolt from his 22LR. Funny how one can be sloppy when dealing with lesser devices. We got to the bar to meet Jean Pierre Leroux, another legendary PH. We chatted about hunting in the CAR, the changes in the outfits and PHs: jealousy, treachery and African mood swings. We learnt that two Frenchmen were shot the previous week in the North (50 miles north of the hunting camp): the culprits were either Sudanese or Chadian rebels? ErikD on this forum informed us of troubles in Chad. By the way, I got news of the PH Alain Lefol: he can hunt neither in Chad, nor in the CAR because of insecurity in his zones. The French army is securing the Chad with 1200 troopers against rebels from Sudan and North of the Chad. The eternal problem of Muslims against other religions and tribalism to worsen the whole.

A smooth 7 hour night flight and we arrived in the morning in Bangui, no jetlag. This flight is weekly and is the only direct flight from Europe. As usual, at the airport there are people everywhere, a mess. The three controls are thorough and slow. Then it's more mess waiting for the slow coming luggage and longer to wait because every rifle is checked and every bullet counted. Luc and I are a bit tense, last year a sucker let fly a burst from his Kalashnikov in the hall. Among the hunters we counted 8 Americans or Canadians, 2 Italians, 1 Spaniard and 4 Frenchmen. American priests and nuns are plenty: what do they want to root out - Catholicism, paganism or Mohammedanism?

Then, dinner at the lush "relais des Chasses". I greeted Freddy, the boss, and transmitted him the hellos from a couple of friends. Splendid food. We dinned with a strange guy. The Commandant Gregoire is the leader of the anti-poaching brigade. A former French foreign legionnaire, a former war dog, a soldier of fortune, he is commanding a couple of soldiers sections with 2 other French legionnaires. They don't take prisoners; any armed guy is shot down and buried on the spot. This year they had 4 casualties and killed 24 bandits. In fact I know this guy, he comes from my region and his cousins are close friends... More than hunting game, he loves to hunt men. Sure he'll be killed, the Sudanese have a price on his head. He is always wearing a Glock well hidden behind his fanny pack. In April I learnt he has been shot in the thigh, but is still in Bangui and ready to fight on.

In the afternoon we got to the airport again to wait for the bush plane. At the bar, Luc found the sucker who last year sent his luggage to another camp. Geez what a bashing the guy got! Around the bar, the friendship was growing fast. We'd travel with the commandant, our PH Hervé, and the clients of Gilbert, Jose the fine Spaniard and Jacques a soft Frenchman. The policemen are less and less haughty. The stubborn police and customs women have let their uniform down and now look casual. Luc was running the show. The VIP lounge was opened especially for us and I swear there was not such a feast even when Emperor Bokassa was using the lounge. The South African pilots had troubles to abduct us and drive us to the plane while the whole airport staff wished us farewell among laughter and yuyus.

We were the last to be dropped off, just before nightfall. The plane had to stay for the night.

We piled stones and old tyres on the plane wheels to prevent hyena from eating the tyres.

Night was hot, we had a real good time with the pilots. Even Luc who doesn't speak English was laughing at the many stories the South Africans told.

The first hunting day was serious business. Herve congratulated us about our talents as bartenders, pranksters and our way to fool around. But time had come to remember what we learnt in the army. It would be more soldiering than hunting. First of all we checked the rifle on the range at 100m. O.K.. We'd hunt night and day. During the day we'd track game down and at night we would wait for the bongo in machans close to saltlicks and take advantage of the moonlight. I'd be based in a makeshift camp 3 hours from the main camp. Luc would use the main camp, for his machan is only one hour distant from there. Why hunting from a machan, not with dogs or by mere tracking down. The bongo is living in the dense cover of the jungle or the riverine forest. Tracking down is extremely exhausting, most of the time on all fours. It’s very slow, half a mile per hour in whirling wind, and often noisy. The temperature and humidity are frightening. Should You not shoo the bongo, You have to shoot at under 5 yards. Usually he hears and smells You and You just hear the clatter when he flees. In these conditions one can hardly jump him more than twice in the day. Then don’t count on tracking him again, he has changed of area. Should You shoot at him, one chance on two it’s a female and very serious troubles in perspective. Hunting with the dogs? It’s no fair chase and good plucky dogs are rarities.

our paraphernalia

In the afternoon, all the paraphernalia was installed in camp 2. There is a small wall-less hut for meals, a roofless john and a roofless shower room. A Brooklet and a waterfall to shave.

For comfort a tiny power generator is feeding a shabby fridge. This fridge is showing Kalash holes: 3 years ago when soldiers from Congo invaded Bangui they shot at the PH and nuns who were hiding behind this fridge and the seats we used in the machan. In the CAR there is no stoppage time. Our cook, Michel, was a most famous gunbearer but became gameshy when an elephant has had redecorated him

Michel’s scars from an ele.

The bongo will be hunted with the rifle :]

binoc, Norma 375HH Swift A frame, extra magazine, 2 reticle illuminators, Swaro 1.25-4x20, PMP 375HH solid, the Sauer 202 + 375HH barrel + Swaro 2.5-10x56, my Al mar folding knife

My bow kit for all other games :]

Truball release, Steelforce 210gr broadhead, Bowtech Allegiance 80#@30”,Zwickey and Magnus 170gr broadheads, judo heads, Truglo rotating quiver, Easton axis arrows, tubing and iron thread as ballast for arrows
What I have constantly with me :

Knife, sunglasses, glasses, blindfold for siesta, insects repellent, videocam, ammo pouch, Petzl headlamp, broadheads, iodine, whistle, cord, release, binoculars, belt as tourniquet, venom-sucking devices, paper, cam, (not included leica binoc and leica rangefinder)

At 5 PM we climbed in the Toyota Hilux and 30 minutes later we loaded the equipment on our backs. After walking a mile up and down in the jungle and crossing a river we reached the machan. 30 feet high, the floor is made of uneven twisted sticks and the thin mats covering them wouldn't be of great help.

The high stand overlooks a saltlick 60 yards away. Bongo tracks are everywhere. Every day from 5 P.M. to 7 A.M. we'd survey the place. 2 hours sleeping, 1 hour of sentry duty and so on. The moon was almost full, it was promising at least 6 hours of visibility. During the entire sojourn, no bongo was seen. The first night a herd of 7 (6 females and 1 male) well hidden at 100 yards licked some salt. One night we heard them at our back at the same level as us, they smelt us. The only night a solitary male came, we weren't in the machan.
What a torment this machan! Almost nothing could be heard because of the noise of a nearby waterfall. The irregular floor was bruising our thighs, knees, elbows, back, shoulders. We were cramped when 2 are sleeping and the other is surveying in the pierced (Kalash bullet holes) seat. In the morning we are bruised, joints locked and aching all over, and having had to deal with legions of mosquitoes and spiders. The lookout cannot hear any noise and the odd buff or bushbuck apart, no visitors to the saltlick. Anyhow during these agonizing nights the brain is running and imagination makes you distinguish rhino, tiger, elephant or what seems to be a bongo and is only a simple shadow. The jungle is tightly encircling us and the place is weird, frightening or boring but always gloomy. We shivered not from anguish but from cold (not to mention dew); the temperature was about 40°F (8°C).

The mornings delivered us. We were feeling deceived, wet, cold and aching. After crossing the river (cold feet again) we joined the car and the waiting staff. A cup of Nescafe and it's tracking time. My hunting team was not the same as last year. The driver Jean was in jail, he committed a theft. The talented cannibal was lent to my cousin. Hissen has found a gigantic diamond and 15 000 $ was giving him the right to disobey the Koran. In Chad, girls and booze will pretty quickly gulp his capital down. We wish he has enough condoms at hand, if not he’ll be a goner in less than 3 months. Many writers noted that in the French Africa, educated staff is very rare, thus precious. That’s why here in the Kotto outfit, any guy leaving the camp must collect a free box of condoms or more. When the season is over, everybody is given an ample provision of condoms to be sure everybody will be back and alive next season. In the nearest town, Bria, the nuns told us that more than half of the population has AIDS. That means that in less than 6 months half of Bria’s population will be dead.

So I’ll hunt with a new team. From the car we searched for prints on the track. We were in eland country, the goal was to shoot a fine eland with the bow and arrow or a record class eland with the rifle.

the fire, the water bearer, gnats.

Funny but it’s so, in this place, a sort of a plateau, the buff are almost absent. When no tracks were found, we went to a saltlick and there we followed buff or eland prints from the night before.

In any case we were always too late. A good tracking job must begin at dawn at 5AM. At 8 we were 3 hours late, almost no chance to catch up with the game before it laid down in deep cover or went on walking. . The second day I shot the elusive red-flanked duiker, for 4 years I was waiting this moment. The staff was adamant, a red animal is a fantastic omen.

The third day no fresh tracks. Stinky dung was lying prominently in the middle of the road. Leopard's dung. At the saltlick, the same leopard prints. We are in the area where last year a leopard scared my gun bearer to death. Herve decided we'd have a try at the leopard. We needed baits badly. In ten minutes, I managed to shoot a pair of warthogs at 150m and an arrogant baboon at 50m. They made the day, providing 7 pieces of baiting meat.

in jungle searching the winged baboon

7pieces of baiting meat

One piece was dragged by Vualapo our bushman, the others were tied on slantwise trees or noteworthy branches. Herve explained the tricks to me. To hunt leopard, first one has to know where to find a good tom. Then one has to bait him in dense forest. The darker the place, the earlier the tom will come. The place has to be far from the road, far from agitation and noise, preferably in remote dense riverine forest. The baits have to be hung on steep slant trunks to prevent civets from climbing and eating the meat. The meat has to be covered with foliage so as not to be seen and eaten by kites or vultures. The team sat down for a pow wow to decide where to hang baits. 5 sites in a T shape along a brook and a dale were selected. The leopard likes to roam on the edge of the riverine forest and tracks are present to prove it. The smelly (later stinky) baits were hung and the tree trunks rubbed with meat.
Vualapo went on dragging a warthog's head from one bait to another, thus creating an odorant trail.

]
a poachers’ hut
We were just finished when Luc and Oumar his PH came. They were very excited.
Last night, when they were both in their machan, a panther came hissing and sawing. He then disappeared and suddenly they heard muffled noises under the machan. As the tom has shooed any animal around they were sure it was him. Not good hearing sawing when set on 4 poles. Not good being taken for a monkey. They called him names in vain. Suddenly the leopard let out a powerful roaring, the one used to scatter the baboons. Oumar, switching on his torch yelled "it's now or too late". The panther was crouched before jumping and Luc sent him a Rigby greeting under the left clavicle which made him a nice little red riding hood when exiting his back. Spotty disappeared bawling like Little Red Riding Hood's grandma when asked when she had sex last. The night was long and tense in the machan. And quiet, for the panther has scared away any game for miles around. No deader tom was ever found than the one they discovered not 20 yards away. A nice orange forest panther.

Luc not overwhelmed with joy. Cold and lack of sleep have taken their toll

Now they were in trouble, that's why they came to us. The main goal of this safari was a bongo for each of us. In case of failure, one or two panthers would be consolation prizes. The trouble was they have got the consolation prize before any serious try at the bongo. Worse, they feared their whacking a leopard could jeopardize my taking a leopard too. Herve reassured them and forced them to speed along to their machan before night fell. Bongo first.
The next morning when I tried to stand up in the machan, no way. I was totally locked, every joint blocked and in deep pain. I mumbled something about feeling like having just been released from a washing machine, that made my companions laugh . More than one hour was necessary to get down from the machan to the car. The ride to the camp was a horror. In the camp I found a flat hard area to lie down on and relieve my back. I sent the team to check the baits while I rested. When he returned, Herve was appalled by my red eyes. When brushing my teeth, my gums bled irrepressibly. My shins were blue with exploded blood vessels. The situation was serious. I was suffering from a haemorrhagic fever, most of the time lethal. 2 hypotheses: the real haemorrhagic fever like Ebola or Marburg fever that's certain death in 3 days, or the haemorrhagic dengue which is a serious thing too but less lethal. I ordered everybody not to touch me or my equipment. I explained to the PH that if I'll bleed on and lose consciousness he'd have to shoot and burn me. He was shocked but he had to agree, I knew what I saying, I have a postgraduate diploma in virology. By late afternoon my eyes weren't red any longer. Herve decided to have me borne to the machan. He insisted we didn't have to mess up the bongo. The night was horrific. In the morning I stayed in the car when the team checked the baits. Good news, a tom hit the fourth bait.
All the old baits were removed and new bait was set-up at the place the tom had hit.

In 2 hours a boma was made with sticks and grass at 40m from the tree. I was unable to use my bow, I'd have to shoot the tom with the rifle. The PH took no risks,

we brought my 375HH, his 460 Wby, a cut-barrelled shotgun……….and machetes along, morituri te salutant

When back at 5 PM, the foliage on the warthog's thigh had been removed, an encouraging sign, the tom was feeding when we arrived.

We sat down in the boma, I between Herve and Hissen the first gun bearer. My whole body was aching but I had decided to ignore it. Herve was wondering if I had enough strength to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly he asked me whether I have jacked a cartridge up the spout. In fact, no. Ashamed, I obeyed him, making as little noise as possible. God bless Sauer, the action is astonishingly smooth 20 minutes later the tom erupted at the tree without making any noise. Herve sized him up and ordered me to shoot.

The Sauer202 375 HH was snugly set on V sticks and tied with tyre tube ribbons. The 300gr Swift A frame struck the tom behind the left shoulder and excited through the right. The tom tried to claw the branch with his front paws, in vain; he fell like a laundry bag. Carefully we scuttled over to the fallen cat when we heard deafening roaring. Herve jumped out of his skin and asked me silently. Silently I protested and assured him the cat was whacked. Awkwardly we progressed to the very dead tom under the branch. The other panther could be the female, or another male. The leopard on the branch looked worried by something under the tree,

dead under the tree

to prove it’s a male, female killing of any species is a very serious offense

Veni is a good dog

Funny it has 6 eyeteeth. Note iodine on the PH’s hand. He has been clawed when handling the leopard.

Immediately I felt in much better shape and my morale increased greatly. This night we drove to the main camp, the leopard's hide needs the care of a serious skinner. What a joy to sleep in a real bed.
At 7 AM we heard a salvo of 4 shots. The other team is firing a salute, they have got a notable big game. Lion? Buff? Giant Forest Hog? Sitatunga?

Then arrived my cousin's Toyota with the team bellowing "bongo acuyave". The bongo has been killed. My god what a splendour, a dream comes true. Luc shot his bongo, a big male with splendid lyre-shaped horns and delicate ivory tips. The joy is overwhelming the camp. The staff is amok. It's the first bongo of the year, the first of the year 2006 in Cameroon and CAR together.

the bongo, Luc and Oumar the PH

a touchy male bongo, not the mangled ear and the scars
You can bet we had more than a drink to feast this quick success. After dinner, we jumped in the Hilux and headed back to the machan. I was aching all over, but my morale was high. The bongo was at hand.
During 5 cold and wet nights we waited for the bongo that never came. The night I shot the leopard he was at the saltlick. Not once in the days after. The days were a torture too. We walked 5 to 6 hours (15 to 20 miles per day) under the searing sun every day. Either we didn't catch up with the game or we caught up with females and calves. Only one quick meal at 3PM, a rapid shower and back in the f…ing machan. The 12th day we let ourselves down and went back to the camp. On the way I shot a fine bush pig at 100 yards. As usual, the females and the piglets fled first, then the males.

The staff was slow to collect it. Last week Hissen had the hunting sticks chopped by bush pigs when burning the long grass. Lucky he fended them off.
We were totally exhausted and depressed. My legs, knees, ankles, feet, back and neck were aching. Thanks to “magic Nickudu” I quote James Mellon “I don't know of anything more difficult than a bongo. I regard that as the most difficult animal to hunt in the world, period. Well, they live in very thick bush-in many cases, dense bamboo-where you have almost no visibility. They have no curiosity. They don't care what you are-they just move out the second that they hear something. They don't have to smell you or anything-their psychology feeds on solitude. They don't want any disturbance at all, and once you've hunted in an area for one or two days, they move out. They're gone. A white-tailed deer is local; it spends its whole life within a mile and a half of where it was born. Bongo just move. One of the biggest mistakes you can make is to keep hunting in an area where you saw them. If you stay two or three days you'll notice that all the tracks are getting old; there are no new tracks. Also, it's a demoralizing kind of hunting. You get mud all over you, it pours rain, it's cold and foggy, and when you go to sleep at night, the bedding is all sort of half-wet. It wears down your morale something awful. The bongo hunt is not a pleasurable hunt by any means. It's not a hunt where you really like the day-to-day hunting.”

In the camp, 2 game wardens were waiting for us. They were starving and happy to be fed. No way to walk in the camp without having this armed pair escorting us.

A state controller was waiting too. Like every state employee he had not been paid for over 12 months and was in bad need of a little money and food. A couple of weeks ago, the CAR President's son celebrated his first billion.?????????? Thanks USA, France, Europe, Russia, China …… Beside farmers and diamond prospectors, people are on the verge of starvation.
Before dinner I got out to wash my hands and

I walked on cohorts of carnivorous ants.
No other solution than stripping all my garments and stark naked pulling out each ant. My cousin, the PHs and our 3 guests were crying with laughter. Not me. The head of these ants tend to rupture and stay their mandibles imbedded in the skin. The blacks are using them to stitch the wounds. The last day we go very far hunting buff, in vain. We found a large herd at dawn but before the sunrise they gained the jungle and outwitted us. A weird situation. I have been charged three times by buff herds but the sensation is really different when visibility is less than 10 yards and the PH has not brought his rifle.
When walking back to the car, we saw in the sand that a lion has stalked us. In the afternoon same scenario, the lion stalked us again. Herve was beaming, the next client wants a lion.

lion’s track
On the way back to the camp, I shot 2 baboons to offer the 3 state employees. They'll smoke the meat and take it to town.

baboon or human being? Commandant Gregoire, saw real black’s portions on the barbeque when the Congolese invaded the CAR
Luc was lucky. He shot a red-flanked duiker too, a good bushbuck, a decent warthog, a fine bush pig and a trophy red and black buffalo. 16 bullets were shot at the buff to make him fall before entering the deep jungle.???????????? Some were crappy 375HH RWS TUG, the kind of bullet that loses more than half its weight and hardly mushrooms.

Luc’s black and red Nile buff

the skinner
He refused to shoot a nice roan (he has already shot a splendid one in Burkina) which drove his team to despair once again. They cannot understand that a hunter won’t crop meat. The main tracker doesn’t show the game with his finger, but by aiming the animal with his shining teeth, an ex- cannibal this guy. He was my first tracker last year.
The last night we feasted but Herve was upset. He just learned a gang of thugs has raided a small town in the vicinity. We appreciate leopard white sirloins; it tastes like the lion did last year, like veal. Without noticing it, we ate some monkey meat too.

Sunday morning we paid a visit to the staff’s quarters. The camp is employing about 33 workers. Their quarter joined side by side the camp, a grass fence as a separation so as they cannot look into the camp and they remain unseen. This tiny village must be kept tidy and clean. Every worker is allowed to bring either one wife or one child, not more. Why? Because the workers are happier with a relative and above all, they don’t try and bring any girlfriend, what is strictly forbidden. Calculate Yourself: 33 employees working 4 months that means a tart can pocket 132 salaries, letting the staff poorer than when they arrived in the camp. The wives and the children must stay unseen by clients, the camp doesn’t look like a native village.

We waited for the aircraft all afternoon. Just before evening the Beechcraft 200 landed in a hurry and our great facetious South African friends took us to Bangui just in time.

Hunters in 3 other camps were abandoned; the bush plane cannot fly at night.
When in Bangui, it was too late for shopping, and I refused to bargain in the street with dubious street vendors. Our families will have only photos. As the Air France plane comes to the CAR once a week, on Sundays, the poor guys will have to wait 7 days for the next flight to civilisation.
No need to tell you we were awaited in the airport by our customs and police friends but we were not in the mood for fooling around.

We questioned the other hunters. Our success was clearly above the hunters' average. I was in very bad shape, thinner and aching but my bag was acceptable and Luc has saved the safari.
For the moment, I don't consider going to Africa again for I suffered quite a lot, mostly from the heat. One can forget the pain. One cannot deal with the heat. . The Pasteur institute in Paris diagnosed I have got the Chikungunya virus, as now 320 000 people did in the Reunion Island (French territory in the west of the Mozambique, close to Madagascar). My recovery is not on the menu yet, 3 months later. Time will mend my troubles, but it might last a couple of months or years.
I have received my Chapuis double 470NE. I hope it will help me to consider hunting the ele (with the bow preferably ??) next year in Zim or TanZ or Zam or Moz.???????? Or at Toufic’s camp in Burkina Faso. Toufic wants the ele hunting to be reopened. Elephants are everywhere and a real and worrying problem. I have some scores to settle with a couple of them.
I want to thank my wonderful Aussie friend Stuart who has corrected this text, thus sparing You my pidgin English.

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