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I wonder how many of our members have ever been up close and personal with a black rhino as I have. On my first trip to Africa in 1971 I had a license for a rhino and filled it. Back then in Kenya the problem was not finding a rhino, it was avoiding bumping into a cow rhino with a calf, which would result in an instant charge. After several days of looking for a shootable bull, I was beginning to get discouraged. I had reached the point that a 14" horn would be satisfactory.

Then our lock changed. Somehow we got word of a large bull rhino which was escaping from the Aberdares National Park by day and returning to it at night. He was encroaching on private land and chasing both the cattle and the cattle herders. A complaint had been filed with the game department and he was slated for destruction. We, of course, volunteered to do the job for them.

We reported to the ranch early the next morning and were given one of the cattle herders as a guide. He showed us the spot in the game ditch surrounding the park where the rhino was crossing over, and examination of the tracks reveled that he was already at large on the ranch. The two gun bearers and the tracker went with the herder following the tracks. I remained at the crossing point with the PH.

A short time later they returned looking very disgusted. They had found the rhino, but the herder had immediately began yelling at it and throwing stones. Nonetheless we headed out to the spot where the rhino was last seen, going down hill all the way. The Aberdares Park is located on the slopes of Mount Kenya, and the area outside it is quite steep.

The tracker was leading the way, with me immediately behind him, and as we went through an area of thick brush, suddenly the rhino appeared, looking very white against the green background. However, I could not get a shot with the tracker in the way, and he moved off down hill. We followed him for several hundred yards, flushing him several times. We rarely saw him, just heard the noise of his breaking through the underbrush.

Finally we came to a clearing composed of very hard and rocky soil. The tracker lost the track. The two gun bearers and the tracker, plus the PH spread out across the clearing, trying to pick it up again. Suddenly the PH snapped his fingers to attract our attention. Almost simultaneously there came from behind us a noise like a steam locomotive letting off steam, and as I turned toward it, found the rhino, who had circled around behind us in order to charge down hill, heading full tilt at the PH, who was slightly to my right and in front of me. He presented a fine broadside shot, which I took, aiming for the shoulder. He immediately swapped ends and started back in the direction from which he had come, giving me another broadside shot.

I was able to get off two more hurried shots aiming at his shoulder, emptying the magazine of my .505, and as I reached into my pocket for more ammunition, I saw a black arm snake around my waist, holding a handful of cartridges. My gun bearer had headed for me when the action started, instead of for the nearest tree. I was impressed.

I fired one more shot as he disappeared into the underbrush. By this time the PH had joined in with his William Evans .470NE double rifle, with no apparent effect. We stood there looking at one another, when suddenly the sweet sound of a rhino's death groan reached our ears. We followed the sound and found our rhino lying on the ground with his back toward us. Two more shots aimed at the spine with my .458 WM double rifle did not produce a movement, so we relaxed and went to examine the trophy.

To my immense gratification, the horn measured over 27", earning it a spot in Rowland Ward's Records of Big Game. A little effort rolled the body upright, and clearly revealed the bullet holes. My first shot had gone too far forward. The PH indicated that the rhino had seen me just as I fired and checked his charge, while I evidently had continued with my swing. The other two shots went directly into the shoulder, where I had aimed them, but did not hit any bones. The PH's shots were ineffectual. One grazed the horn and the other keyholed in the right buttock. My parting shot went into the left buttock, but we never determined how far it had penetrated. Anyway, the photo the reflects the happy and relieved end of a successful hunt.

The property owner was equally pleased, for in addition to having a nuisance and threat to his livestock removed, he was to receive the trophy fee normally paid to the government. He requested that it be deposited to his account in the US, a request which we were happy to comply with.

Here's the group:

On the left behind the rhino, Kheri Bhai, the PH's gun bearer, a reformed elephant poacher from a tribe, the Waliangulu, which specializes in killing elephants with bow and poisoned arrow. Next, Kaoli, my gun bearer, then the local herder. In front, Sabuni, another reformed poacher, the tracker, the only one who looks as pleased as I.

The impetus toward developing my .505 cartridge was provided by Ernest Hemingway in his story "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" in which he mentions the "short, ugly, shockingly big-bored .505 Gibbs" used by the fictional PH.

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