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"Bulls in the Rain"

by Robert Borsak

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Bulls in the Rain
By Robert Borsak

Well here we were Cheryl & I, in Bulawayo for the start of our two week trip into the Omay on Lake Kariba, northern Zimbabwe. Two bull elephants were on the agenda as we headed up the road north, through the rain, donkeys, cattle and goats that surrounded us in the Toyota Landcruiser.

Our Professional hunter on this trip was Deon Pistorius, a veteran PH, with 15 years hunting experience, just another day at the office for Deon.

Our original plan had been to fly by charter flight up to the Omay block, landing on the strip next the croc farm. No such luck, we faced a 10 hour trip by road, 6 hours on tar and the last 80 klms in 4 hrs, along rough dirt roads. The late season heavy rains, low cloud and generally untidy weather prevented the charter from flying.

The ride though uncomfortable at times was very interesting, as we sped through the morning, dodging & weaving around donkey carts and stray cattle. We hit the Bulembi Safaris camp at about 5.00pm, stiff and a bit sore, but ready for anything. The camp is located at the confluence of two rivers, the Ume & the Metaya, that then run north for a short distance to Lake Kariba. To the east over the Ume is the vast Matusadona national park, green & verdant, a dozen elephants already visible, as if taunting us.

The first hunting morning opened wet & dull, getting up for breakfast at 4.30 am, we were gone down the rough road by 5.15am. It rained hard on & off during the day, it turned into a real wash out. This was the story for the next two days, dark & wet, all tracks washed out and impossible to follow. We did several abortive tracking efforts as we hunted through the jess looking carefully for the elusive bulls. Several hunts ended in disappointment as we either lost the tracks or ran out of day light. Six and a half hours on the trail one day, ended up dry, as we gave up due to loss of light.

Several times what with being bogged to the axles & losing the trail, the tension of the hunt built. It was only a matter of time until we caught up with a nice bull. This happened on the fourth day out, we hooked onto his trail after a tip off in the maize from a young local. Shorty & Jumana our two expert trackers were veterans of the hunt. Neither smoked or drank, fit Shona’s, Shorty at least 65 & Jumana about 50 years of age. These two guys were amazing, true professionals, in the game their whole lives.

The bull lead us a merry chase through the thickest riverine jess, crossing the river a total of 5 times, each time causing me to remove my boots, whilst watching for the ever present crocs. As the crow flies, we did not cover more than 5 or 6 kilometres, a long arc that at first left the maize fields, then headed back. We trailed him for some three & a half hours, huge piles of droppings the size of soccer balls, greener and warmer as we got closer. They were flecked with corn & sorgum, the odd melon seeds interceded, bright yellow green. We were close.

Deon called us to a quick & silent halt, as he strained to listen, desperate whispered words were exchanged with the trackers as they moved ahead. Next a thundering crash as Deon passed me heading in the opposite direction, the bull was coming! I turned & dodged behind the largest tree I could find some 10 metres away, then nothing. The bull was not headed in our direction, but away from us, phew!! We had frightened him just as much as he had frightened us, we were about 5 metres from him when Shorty saw him and the bull took off. Apparently he had not winded us, but was frightened away by the small noise that we made, on the wet grass and sand.

Whatever he thought we were, after his initial dash, he ran along the river and again crossed at a rapid pace. We followed, catching him again some 30 minutes later, in the thick stuff. Deon again heard him breaking branches and feeding, he motioned me forward beside him, on all fours we crawled up to him. There looking up some 20 metres away I first saw a leg, then tail and arse as he fed in a little break in the jess. “Get ready Robert” Deon whispered, “he may feed up to us”, the bull turned slowly and revealed a tusk, I stood up.

I took a deep breath to settle my nerves & let it out slowly, it looked like he was going to walk right up to us through the green screen of bush. Mentally I went through the routine, rifle ready, safety off here he comes. In a matter of 5 seconds he was there, not walking straight up, but angling to my left, a great huge head with a small hazel eye stared down at me, clearing the jess, as I swung the Heym onto him. My reflexes took over as the rifle fired the right barrel at 6 paces from the brain of the giant, he went down, as if in slow motion. Deon on my left whispered “fire again”, I put the second barrel into the top of his head and it was all over. He flattened a vast area of jess as he hit the ground, as silently as his approach. It was awesome, he did not know what had hit him. I started to shake, this hunt was over.

Four days into the hunt I had taken the first of my two bulls. The 500 grain Woodleigh solid had found its mark, above the left eye, angling across the skull, through the lower brain, cleanly and instantly killing the bull. The fun was now only about to start, there in front of me lay 4 tonne of elephant meat, with tusks weighing in at about 45lb a side. It was 4.30pm, 12 hours since we had got up in the dark in quest of a shootable bull.

We headed foot sore and weary back toward the truck, 30 minutes in, we met the first of the locals heading with uncanny direction right to where the bull lay. A few short words from the PH, put them straight, the skinning and meat distribution would take place in the morning, on the morrow.

I had time to quietly contemplate what had happened there in the deep jess, as we bumped back toward camp. Days & days of anticipation, hours & hours of legging through the thick jess. Time & again straining myself to hear the tell tale sounds of the elephant in the bush. Wondering if he would wind us, hear us or sense us? Then all too soon it was over, in a flash, 37 years of shooting and hunting experience brought to bear with a shot at the bull just on a trunks length away. I could still see that small hazel eye, looking at me, without recognition, before the bullet put out his lights forever.

The following morning, after an early breakfast we headed back to the downed bull, over tar road & rough potted dirt tracks. Upon arrival we were greeted by over 200 local subsistence farmers, wives, children, young and the very old, all now ready to join in to the feast.

The process of skinning, chopping out the ivory and butchering of the bull took all day. Organised chaos accompanied us to where the bull lay, and the whole process ran from about 9.00am, until 4.00pm. We dropped dog tired back at camp that evening at 6.30pm, the events of the day before now a slowly fading memory, held forever in my mind and in the digital files of the cameras I used to take dozens of pictures. This is what I had come to Zimbabwe again and again for, the call of the hunt, the rhythm of the wild.

Now for the next hunt, I had just over one week to scout around for my second bull. I was really having a great time, the rain continued, but I didn’t care a bit.

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