This is the first Ssese Island sitatunga to be taken in 2009. The Ssese Islands are found in Uganda, which has only recently re-opened its doors to hunting. This sitatunga was shot on Bugala island by Jim Shockey (left), he was accompanied by Steve Cobrine (right). This particular bull measured 26 7/8 inches and was shot with a muzzle loader at 40 yards from Jim and Steve doing a push through a strip of forest bordering a swamp.

Bruce Martin from Lake Albert Safaris has spent just over a year of hard work opening the Ssesse Islands. The sitatunga is the rarest spiral horn available in Africa today and with Bruce having found a very healthy population of sitatunga on the islands, any serious hunter should be encouraged to book a hunt with them asap. The well known American bow hunter, Steve Kobrine, (stevekobrine@hotmail.com) is the booking agent for Lake Albert Safaris. Bruce Martin can be contacted at bruce@lakealbertlodge.com.

by Scott Olds

On December 30, 2008, PH Mike Currie, my wife Vicki and I, and the Mayo Nduel crew of Mayo Oldiri Safaris completed a long and grueling 8-day quest,
ending in my taking a 50-inch Lord Derby’s eland. After relaxing for a day, we started in pursuit of harnessed bushbuck. We had spent every ‘non-eland’minute of this safari on the lookout for harnessed bushbuck. In fact, we had seen and pursued the same bushbuck on several mornings. He was a perfect 10-or 11-inch ram who, in this battle of wits, handily defeated us each morning. We now planned on devoting the rest of the safari to finding him.

New Year’s day began with a very cold morning (for northern Cameroon), and we all hunkered down in the back of the Cruiser as much as possible. Two of the hunting crew were late and had to get a ride on a motorcycle to catch up with us. Apparently, they enjoyed their New Year’s Eve celebration, and who could blame them, having spent eight long, hot days on the tracks of my Lord Derby’s eland? One tracker had no coat on and another was wearing flip-flops on his feet!

We drove around the area where we had seen my bushbuck nemeses on so many prior days but he was not home. We hiked and glassed this country without success. Mike decided we should take the Cruiser to the river and glass a vast area to see if we could spot bushbuck working the riverbanks. We stopped at a scenic spot verlooking the Mayo Nduel. Mike had not yet told me what the exact plan was. I was not focused at all, still enjoying the fact that I had finally got my eland just two days ago. I still could not believe how lucky I was to survive the endless hikes through miles of burned grass and worm mounds. I felt as if a 1500-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

Everyone was sitting down except me. The river was about 250 yards from us. Mike sat down with the driver Sukaré, porter Jean Claude and trackers Jeremy and Zachariah, and began glassing the area below us surrounding the river. I walked around to warm up in the cool morning air, kicking dirt clods and generally making a noise. Mike eventually gave me a stern look, like a schoolteacher chastising a rambunctious youngster, and I promptly found a place to sit down and glass the river valley. I just got settled when I looked over and thought, “Mike must see something down there along the river. He looks like he is trying to push his eyes through his binoculars.” I saw our diminutive driver Sukaré (otherwise known as ‘Le Petit Chauffeur’) running for the Cruiser some 100 yards away! I suspected that I’d better follow him since I had carelessly left my rifle in the truck.

Yes, although harnessed bushbuck was my second-most desired animal on this particular safari, I inexplicably left my rifle in the Cruiser. My only excuse is that I was still reveling in the eland and my brain had not yet switched gears. Not much of an excuse, I know. To make up for my blunder, I ran as fast as I could, grabbed my .375 H&H and ran back to Mike. I did not realize that the bushbuck had spotted us and was walking away. When I reach Mike, he pointed and asked me, “Do you see the bushbuck?” His eyes were as big as saucers but he spoke like the calm professional that he is. I saw, way out there, a little dark brown animal and two smaller light-brown animals. They were out by the river in the thick, impenetrable grass and brush. Mike set up the shooting sticks but I decided to lay down on the ground for greater stability. As I was turning up the power on my scope, Mike spoke again (this time insistently), telling me to stop playing around and shoot because the bushbuck was about to disappear from view. This was not a request, it was an order, so I knew things were serious. I quickly found the bushbuck in the scope as he walked away from us. He was 5 feet from entering the wall of grass. I aimed and fired. He went down and did not get back up. The two female bushbuck darted away. Mike pounded my back enthusiastically, saying in his distinctive South African accent, “That’s a monster [expletive] bushbuck, eh.”

I had no opportunity to see the horns clearly at 150 yards on low power — I could only tell it was a male bushbuck with horns. I trusted Mike unreservedly to tell me when and what to shoot. Vicki managed to get the shot on video. As we all worked our way down the embankment and through the grass tunnels towards the river, the team was excited, talking animatedly. I was shocked to say the least when I saw the trophy!

The horns of the harnessed bushbuck that lay before me were enormous, looking out of place on such a small animal. Mike said, “Cameroon has been very kind to you.” He was right. Cameroon gave me a very nice bongo in June 2008. Two days ago, it was a magnificent eland and now an indescribable harnessed bushbuck with 15-inch horns. I know one thing for certain. I am lucky.

I would like to thank Mike Currie of Mayo Oldiri, who guided Vicki and I to my bongo in June, to my Lord Derby’s eland in December and to this harnessed bushbuck on New Year’s Day.

As luck would have it, Mike later guided renowned African hunter and adventure writer Peter Flack after our safari and Mr. Flack was kind enough
to measure it for me.

Elephants wandered through the concession area and we even found very fresh lion spoor in the dry Goantagab River. Game management is strict and laws are enforced. The result is that Damaraland and Kaokoland are home to the only free roaming black rhino population in Africa outside the national parks. I have hunted springbuck before in the Namibia, near the Naukluft Park and at Wolvedance in the Namib Desert, but this time, Erika, my wife was with me to share the experience. Besides, the really big springbuck have so far been smarter then me, although I have collected some very respectable rams. Ernst-Ludwig Cramer, our host, guide and owner of the hunting rights in this huge 400 000 hectare concession area, woke us very early, to make the most of the ‘cool’ part of the day. Hot coffee and breakfast under the leaf canopy of the old fig tree started our first hunting day. The two Damara trackers secured the cooler box on the Cruiser and off we went. We headed for a huge granite rock formation and parked the Cruiser in the spotty shade of a tree skeleton. Erika made herself comfortable in the vehicle with her book and the four of us climbed to the top to glass for springbuck. It did not take Ernst- Ludwig long to find three rams.

They were a long way away from our position but one of the trio looked really interesting; it was worth having a closer inspection. We were forced into a wide detour due to the wind direction. The sun had no mercy and the terrain was of the ankle twisting variety. My hat had to come off frequently so I could wipe the sweat from my forehead. I was too busy watching the treacherous ground to pay much attention to the surroundings and consequently lost all sense of direction, but the way my guide acted told me that we must be near our quarry. We had walked for well over an hour since leaving our lookout. Well, we found our ram and I had a perfect shooting position. I was very tempted, to say the least, to collect this fantastic springbuck. I had never seen one this big before. Ernst- Ludwig and I agreed that the horns would measure 17 inches as we had enough time to look him over from a distance of 150 metres. The horns where high but narrow and too thin, without the backward hooks. His whole posture was that of a young ram – thin neck, long spindly legs and the body not very heavy. Oh, he will be a tremendous ram in 2 or 3 years without a doubt – so we left him.

We sneaked away without the springbuck knowing that he had been watched. The heat was terrific as we marched back to the Cruiser, our drinking water hot enough to make tea. The rest of the day was uneventful with regards to big springbuck but we came across the most beautiful Western spitting cobra. A magnificent specimen of almost two metres in length, shiny black with the white band on the wide extended hood. Not the type to mess with. On the second day we again saw only a few springbuck. The heat was so bad that the two Damara trackers on the back begged Ernst-Ludwig to drive faster through a stone covered depression, the heat was too much even for them. Something was out of joint and our dinner discussion was all about the big springbuck herds usually roaming the areas we covered. The only sensible explanation we agreed upon was food.

With no barriers to contain them in any given place the springbuck herds follow the localized patchy thunderstorms. It’s all about rain; the fresh grass shoots only one or two centimetres long attract springbuck like nothing else. We were sure our theory was spot on, but our dilemma was still the same. Ernst-Ludwig had pressing commitments as an Exco member of NAPHA and left for meetings in Windhoek on the third day. I fully understood and accepted this as I have been there myself. Our new guide’s name was Henning Schuenemann, a young, pleasant Namibian farmer of German descent. He never talked much but that was fine with me. Day three went by and, despite covering a lot of new ground, the whereabouts of the large herds remained a mystery. We climbed koppies, scanned the huge desert expanses through our binoculars, found some springbuck but nothing to get too exited about.

Nevertheless we enjoyed the solitude, the challenge of the hunt and the well chosen lovely lunch spots. We even got reasonably used to the hot drinking water. However, the heat was getting to us; even at night the temperature was uncomfortable. Erika never complained and I admired her for it. Late on the fourth day we finally found large concentration of springbuck, not too far from the provincial road to Twyfelfontein. The local herdsmen told us about rain one week ago, but together with the springbuck there were also a lot of domestic sheep and goats. We still had a long drive back to camp but hoped for a good day tomorrow. Getting up was easy on day five as we knew where to go. Much to our frustration the animals had moved on during the night. Maybe the large numbers of sheep and goats made them uncomfortable. They where gone.

The few stranglers still hanging around held no big male and, as the day wore on, we had to accept that in this hide-and-seek game only the springbuck had scored so far. Henning felt terrible, despite my assurance that I was enjoying the hunt. I had no trouble accepting the fact that no springbuck was yet in the back of the Cruiser. This is trophy hunting and I love it. To me the challenge of finding an old, exceptional buck is infinitely more satisfying then just collecting any reasonable trophy. Still my guide was more disappointed than my wife and I. About halfway back to camp, a small group of only five springbuck watched us from our left, maybe 300 metres away. We stopped to look them over. “Wow, what a ram.” This came simultaneously from Henning and me. I was looking at the biggest springbuck I had ever laid eyes on including the one passed up on day one. What a sight. He stood there, tall and regal, like he was aware of his status. Daylight was fading fast with no time to waste. “Just drive on,” I instructed Henning, grabbing my rifle.

A big ‘melkbos’ shielded me from detection as I got out of the departing vehicle. Three of the five springbuck had seen enough and ran off, but the big fellow was still in the same spot, starring intently in my direction. In a crouched, fast walk I headed straight for the welcome cover and sat down behind it. With my rifle across my lap I heaved myself up on my hands and, maintaining the sitting position, moved sideways clear of the bush. The ram’s neck appeared to grow longer and he was almost standing on his toes as he tried to work out the danger facing him. The crosshair of my single shot rifle found the base of his neck and the big springbuck ram never heard the shot that killed him.

Read "ROWLAND WARD’s FIELD SPORTSMAN MAGAZINE"

by Peter Flack

I have just returned from my second trip to Uganda in four months and my previous favourable impressions of the country, its people and places were all confirmed. This time I hunted in the Kabwoya Wildlife Reserve with Bruce Martin on the shores of Lake Albert for Uganda kob, Nile bushbuck and oribi.

Bruce received a game quota from the Uganda Wildlife Authority (UWA) in August of this year and is only teh second outfitter to officially receive a quota in Uganda since hunting reopened in the country, after a 24 year absence, in 2003. In addition to the animals I was looking for, eastern bush duiker, warthog, bushpig and olive baboons are also available. As from next year, Bruce advised me that he should also have four Nile buffalo on quota. In time, other species will become available as he has re-introduced Ugandan defassa waterbuck and Jackson’s hartebeest. Giant forest hog are also about to be delivered.

Lake Albert Safaris operates out of Bruce’s very comfortable lodge on top of a 60 metre high cliff overlooking the lake towards the Blue Mountains in the Congo which rise for some 1900 metres above the lake’s surface. The lake itself is 160 kilometres long and 35 kilometres at its narrowest point.

The hunting takes place between the Bunyoro Escarpment to the east and the lake to the west and consists, for the most part, of open, rolling grasslands interspersed with small thickets which, although they provide shelter for some of the game, also provide cover for the stalking hunter.

There were large amounts of game of all the species on quota and, with the possible exception of the bushbuck, they were remarkably calm and relaxed. So much so that I shot excellent specimens of all the animals I was looking for, including a second kob, in the space of three days. Much like hunting black lechwe in Zambia’s Bangweulu swams, the challenge is more in selecting a good, old, representative bull, who has long since passed on his excellent genes, than in closing within shooting distance undetected.

The Rowland Ward minimum for kob, which is the national animal of Uganda, is 19 5/8 inches. I was the fourth hunter to shoot one since hunting for these handsome animals re-opened and both of mine comfortably beat the minimum although still a long way off the biggest one of 27 1/4 inches shot by Mr. Fairrie in 1961 at Lolim. Given the large numbers of kob (estimated at over 6000 animals during last year’s official game count), their calm disposition and the small quota, I anticipate that many more Rowland Ward quality kob will be produced by the Reserve over the years to come.

The hunt ran remarkably smoothly, in all spects, considering that this is, effectively, a start up operation and I have already booked to return in August, 2009, to try for Nile buffalo.

The well known American bow hunter, Steve Kobrine, (stevekobrine@hotmail.com) is the booking agent for Lake Albert Safaris. Bruce Martin can be contacted at bruce@lakealbertlodge.com.

Elephants wandered through the concession area and we even found very fresh lion spoor in the dry Goantagab River. Game management is strict and laws are enforced. The result is that Damaraland and Kaokoland are home to the only free roaming black rhino population in Africa outside the national parks. I have hunted springbuck before in the Namibia, near the Naukluft Park and at Wolvedance in the Namib Desert, but this time, Erika, my wife was with me to share the experience. Besides, the really big springbuck have so far been smarter then me, although I have collected some very respectable rams. Ernst-Ludwig Cramer, our host, guide and owner of the hunting rights in this huge 400 000 hectare concession area, woke us very early, to make the most of the ‘cool’ part of the day. Hot coffee and breakfast under the leaf canopy of the old fig tree started our first hunting day. The two Damara trackers secured the cooler box on the Cruiser and off we went. We headed for a huge granite rock formation and parked the Cruiser in the spotty shade of a tree skeleton. Erika made herself comfortable in the vehicle with her book and the four of us climbed to the top to glass for springbuck. It did not take Ernst- Ludwig long to find three rams.

They were a long way away from our position but one of the trio looked really interesting; it was worth having a closer inspection. We were forced into a wide detour due to the wind direction. The sun had no mercy and the terrain was of the ankle twisting variety. My hat had to come off frequently so I could wipe the sweat from my forehead. I was too busy watching the treacherous ground to pay much attention to the surroundings and consequently lost all sense of direction, but the way my guide acted told me that we must be near our quarry. We had walked for well over an hour since leaving our lookout. Well, we found our ram and I had a perfect shooting position. I was very tempted, to say the least, to collect this fantastic springbuck. I had never seen one this big before. Ernst- Ludwig and I agreed that the horns would measure 17 inches as we had enough time to look him over from a distance of 150 metres. The horns where high but narrow and too thin, without the backward hooks. His whole posture was that of a young ram – thin neck, long spindly legs and the body not very heavy. Oh, he will be a tremendous ram in 2 or 3 years without a doubt – so we left him.

We sneaked away without the springbuck knowing that he had been watched. The heat was terrific as we marched back to the Cruiser, our drinking water hot enough to make tea. The rest of the day was uneventful with regards to big springbuck but we came across the most beautiful Western spitting cobra. A magnificent specimen of almost two metres in length, shiny black with the white band on the wide extended hood. Not the type to mess with. On the second day we again saw only a few springbuck. The heat was so bad that the two Damara trackers on the back begged Ernst-Ludwig to drive faster through a stone covered depression, the heat was too much even for them. Something was out of joint and our dinner discussion was all about the big springbuck herds usually roaming the areas we covered. The only sensible explanation we agreed upon was food.

With no barriers to contain them in any given place the springbuck herds follow the localized patchy thunderstorms. It’s all about rain; the fresh grass shoots only one or two centimetres long attract springbuck like nothing else. We were sure our theory was spot on, but our dilemma was still the same. Ernst-Ludwig had pressing commitments as an Exco member of NAPHA and left for meetings in Windhoek on the third day. I fully understood and accepted this as I have been there myself. Our new guide’s name was Henning Schuenemann, a young, pleasant Namibian farmer of German descent. He never talked much but that was fine with me. Day three went by and, despite covering a lot of new ground, the whereabouts of the large herds remained a mystery. We climbed koppies, scanned the huge desert expanses through our binoculars, found some springbuck but nothing to get too exited about.

Nevertheless we enjoyed the solitude, the challenge of the hunt and the well chosen lovely lunch spots. We even got reasonably used to the hot drinking water. However, the heat was getting to us; even at night the temperature was uncomfortable. Erika never complained and I admired her for it. Late on the fourth day we finally found large concentration of springbuck, not too far from the provincial road to Twyfelfontein. The local herdsmen told us about rain one week ago, but together with the springbuck there were also a lot of domestic sheep and goats. We still had a long drive back to camp but hoped for a good day tomorrow. Getting up was easy on day five as we knew where to go. Much to our frustration the animals had moved on during the night. Maybe the large numbers of sheep and goats made them uncomfortable. They where gone.

The few stranglers still hanging around held no big male and, as the day wore on, we had to accept that in this hide-and-seek game only the springbuck had scored so far. Henning felt terrible, despite my assurance that I was enjoying the hunt. I had no trouble accepting the fact that no springbuck was yet in the back of the Cruiser. This is trophy hunting and I love it. To me the challenge of finding an old, exceptional buck is infinitely more satisfying then just collecting any reasonable trophy. Still my guide was more disappointed than my wife and I. About halfway back to camp, a small group of only five springbuck watched us from our left, maybe 300 metres away. We stopped to look them over. “Wow, what a ram.” This came simultaneously from Henning and me. I was looking at the biggest springbuck I had ever laid eyes on including the one passed up on day one. What a sight. He stood there, tall and regal, like he was aware of his status. Daylight was fading fast with no time to waste. “Just drive on,” I instructed Henning, grabbing my rifle.

A big ‘melkbos’ shielded me from detection as I got out of the departing vehicle. Three of the five springbuck had seen enough and ran off, but the big fellow was still in the same spot, starring intently in my direction. In a crouched, fast walk I headed straight for the welcome cover and sat down behind it. With my rifle across my lap I heaved myself up on my hands and, maintaining the sitting position, moved sideways clear of the bush. The ram’s neck appeared to grow longer and he was almost standing on his toes as he tried to work out the danger facing him. The crosshair of my single shot rifle found the base of his neck and the big springbuck ram never heard the shot that killed him.

Read "ROWLAND WARD’s FIELD SPORTSMAN MAGAZINE"

by Jan Hendrik Loubser

As I started walking that brilliant morning with the wind in my face the bush was alive with the roars of the impala rams advertising their genes.
They were fighting and I could hear horns locking some 100 yards in front of me. I realized that they were fighting downwind and I started jogging slowly, keeping a big bush between me and the battle noises. The ram of all rams rushed out of the bush and the hunter’s prayer instinctively went up to the heavens to make him stop in a clearing.

The rest of the story is now a part of hunting history in South Africa. It was also one of the humblest moments of my life as a dedicated hunter of more than 20
years.

Read "ROWLAND WARD’s FIELD SPORTSMAN MAGAZINE"

by Jason Stone

While on a recent hunting trip, I received word from one of my partners that there was an impressive blesbok in the Winberg area in the Free State of South Africa. It was a lucky twist of fate as I was already hunting with Angus Murray, a good friend and client only interested in hunting above-average trophies. When we heard the blesbok might go over 20 inches, Angus was immediately interested. The next day we arrived in the area and headed into the field to start our search. Though we saw a number of really good rams, we didn’t find the giant we were looking for till late in the
afternoon.

Bedded down in a big open field with some younger rams, his long, thick horns stood out instantly and I knew this was the one we’d come looking for.
There was no cover and we could only creep to within 300 yards before a group of eland standing 100 yards to the left started getting anxious and alerted the rams to our presence. When the blesbok stood up Angus was ready with the rifle on the shooting sticks and fired the first of two shots needed to take the beast down. The monster
blesbok was far and away the largest I’d ever seen.

Watch "Flack Hunts South Africa" by Peter Flack

by Uwe Janssen

In 1997 I hunted again in Chewore, north of Kandarara Camp right on the banks of the Zambezi River, with my 10-year-old son Cornelius and my old friend PH Joseph Chitambwe. It was July which turned out to be a good time of year for croc-hunting. The weather was perfect with sunshine and 25°C temperatures during the day, but fresh nights and midtemperatured water. Crocs then like to come out during the day to get warmed up and that’s the time for hunting. Hunting crocs on the Zambezi is something special. The current is strong. The crocs always lie very close to the water, ready to jump in if something disturbs them. Crocs especially jump in if you wound them, and if they have jumped they are gone.

We saw a huge animal at the edge of the river lying parallel to the water. Joseph and I climbed up the bank and crawled a distance of 1000 yards. We got as close as possible to the beast without disturbing it. I aimed at the brain and fired my .375 H&H magnum. Its head did not move but the body shook and the legs prepared for a final jump. I fired a second time.

We ran down the bank and found the croc dead. By the time I took the photograph above it was late afternoon. The croc was skinned back at the camp and the carcass given back to the river which is why I did not get the stomach stones. A few days later I met my friend Brett Roberts who looked at the skin and commented on the bullet mark in the neck area. I believe this is the same croc I shot at the year before in the same location. The skin measured 17 feet and 3 inches in length.

Read "An African Game Ranger on Safari " by Don Cowie.

by Paul Phelan

The weather patterns during this period were so dry. Grazing and browsing was as a result at an all time low and the Zululand Reserves were faced with a massive game die off as a result. As Game Ranger responsible for an area of the Umfolozi Game Reserve, it fell upon myself and my staff to reduce the ungulate numbers to such an extent that they did not compound the result of the drought.

During the dark moon period we culled every night and during the full moon we walked the bush every day cropping on foot. We cropped nyala and impala in areas generally inacessible to the capture team. It was during one of these day time walks that we culled 15 nyala before the heat of the day. I was accompanied by a game scout and a labourer, walking through the bush a little way inland of the Umfolozi River when a movement was spotted in the bush. I peered through the scope on my .308 and saw what I thought was a waterbuck due to the profile of the horns. The animal turned its head, I noted the chevron below the eyes and shot it.

The nyala had large horns and I kept them as a result but without any thought of a record. It was some 14 years later that Robin Halse brought the Record Book to my attention and I registered them.

Read "Tales of a Trophy Hunter" by Peter Flack

by Peter Kennedy

During the 2003 season I gained the hunting rights to a large, open area in KwaZulu Natal which held an exceptional nyala population. The property in question had not been hunted for five years but due to an imminent land claim over twelve farms in the region, the hunting was re-opened. At this stage, most of the fencing had been stolen and the properties were fast falling into a state of disrepair. Having grown up in the district, I knew the area held excellent genetics and had high hopes of what I might find there.

The season produced a number of very good, mature bulls in the 27- to 30-inch class but nothing over the 30-inch mark. I did, however, hear of a very big bull that lived in a series of large, densely vegetated basins.

The owner had seen him there the year before. The basins, in addition to being choked with vegetation, were also devoid of infrastructure and, as a result, it was not easy to hunt and I did not dedicate much time to looking for him until towards mid-season when it began to dry out.

My first sighting of him left me gasping as his widely flaring tips easily extended ten inches past the bell. Unbelievably, the client I had with me declined to shoot, saying that it looked very similar to the bull he had already shot and that he would only shoot another if he saw a bigger one. Thereafter I hunted the bull religiously (for myself) but did not get another chance at him until late in the year. When I eventually found him, the timing could not have been worse as, from a financial perspective, my upcoming wedding left my bank balance looking decidedly poor. I simply could not afford to pull the trigger. After a tantalizing 10 minutes, and against every instinct, I had to let him go.

We did, however, see a number of other good bulls but not the one we wanted. Sunday morning saw the skies clearing and we started to see more activity. At 3 o’clock I saw a young nyala bull entering the opposite clearing. We caught glimpses of a second animal skirting the far edge. I could not see its horns, but I could see that it was a mature bull. Hoping that this was the bull we wanted, we scrambled to get into position for a shot, at which time the bull reached an open pocket at the far right hand side of the clearing. Even at this distance it took only a glimpse to recognise that it was the one. He moved again and Dieter urgently called for a range. A shaky reading showed the distance to be 308 metres. Fortunately, just before disappearing from view, the bull paused momentarily. The distinct sound of a hit followed Dieter’s shot, the nyala bucked, ran forward and was disappeared from view.

Dieter had just pulled off an amazing shot. We gave it a few minutes before making our way around. Just before leaving, a movement at the top of the clearing caught my eye and through the binoculars, I made out the orange legs of a nyala. Seconds later this materialized into the obscured form of a bull standing in the bush behind the clearing. I told Dieter to get ready. I could not see the horns but the bull’s posture indicated that it was decidedly sick. Not wanting to make the mistake of shooting a second animal, I told Dieter to wait. The bull then lowered its head and I saw what I wanted.

Dieter shot it twice more in rapid succession, the sounds of the hits echoing back towards us. Incredibly the bull remained on its feet, then started running downhill towards us, its long horn tips flashing in the afternoon sun. As it entered the clearing, halfway across, it fell but managed to regain its feet again.

Dieter’s final shot, which was possibly unnecessary, put an end to matters. On reaching the clearing, before us lay the most magnificent and ancient nyala bull I had ever seen. He was scarred, near hairless and crowned with a massive set of perfectly shaped 32-inch horns. Dieter’s shots had been good but were all very low on the chest. Hindsight revealed that in my excitement, I had given Dieter the incorrect range.

When measuring it afterwards, the actual distance was closer to 330 meters, hence Dieter’s shots going low. This heralded a fitting end for what was truly a remarkable animal. I longed to have been the hunter but it went to a very deserving individual and friend, especially so, given that on the previous hunt I accidentally allowed Dieter to shoot a nyala bull which had broken off both of its horns 3 inches above the skull, but that’s another story. Redemption was mine.

Watch "Tracks Across Africa: Season 1 DVD " by Craig Boddington

Read "Buffalo! " by Craig Boddington

by Bruce Moon

"Shoot the one on the right!" Andre whispered. One problem – I could only see one Cape buffalo. Then I saw him, a large bull facing us only thirty yards away in heavy brush. His head was up as he stared in our direction. A limb covered his vitals, and I moved the sticks and rifle one step to the right for a clear shot at the base of his throat. Even as I squeezed the trigger, part of me was awestruck that I was shooting an alert buffalo that close, at that angle, with "only" a .375 H&H, which suddenly didn’t seem big at all.

He spun at the shot and ran straight away. I worked the bolt faster than I ever have in my life, but the brush swallowed him immediately.
I looked at Andre and noticed he had not unslung his .458. Andre asked me if I had shot him well and where I had held, and then said, "Well, let’s go find him." And so we did.

I had shot him well. He was down only 75 yards away. The solid placed behind the shoulder hastened things by only a few moments, followed by back slaps and handshakes all around. Only then did I begin to shake. I had my second buffalo. He was huge. My dream of hunting Africa had come true, and I had passed the test of hunting Cape buffalo.

In December 2004, I had the opportunity to hunt Cape buffalo and plains game with Robin Hurt Safaris in the Maswa Reserve in Tanzania. I booked the hunt with Ridge Taylor in 2003. Circumstances beyond his control prevented Ridge from hunting with me, but he left me in the capable hands of PH Andre de Kock and the excellent staff of Robin Hurt Safaris. As this was my first safari, I really didn’t know what to expect. In addition, the safari date and hunting area had to be changed, worrisome developments to say the least.

Susan Hill of Gracy Travel was especially helpful, and Ridge stayed involved throughout, for which I am forever grateful. My worries were unfounded, and things went smoothly from the moment we landed in Arusha.

The camp accommodation was excellent considering everything has to be flown in or built on site. The food was good and the camp staff friendly and attentive. A hot shower at the end of a long day, followed by one (wink) drink before dinner set the stage for a good meal and sound sleep with dreams of what had been seen that day, and would be seen tomorrow.

The hunting exceeded my expectations. Heck, it exceeded my dreams! Andre took the time to find out my preferences and we hunted accordingly. My first animal in Africa was a Cape buffalo – an old bull with huge bosses, a great first buffalo.

Thereafter, we continued to hunt buffalo primarily, but collected other game as the opportunity arose – a total of six head of plains game (seven, had I shot better) to go with the two buffalo. Some were shot perfectly, others (ahem) less so, but throughout Andre worked hard and with a sense of humour to present me with opportunities for representative trophies. The terrain was varied, from thick brush to open meadows to tall grass to the stark beauty of the Serengeti Plain.

In 1989 I saw In the Blood, a movie about hunting, Africa, and Teddy Roosevelt. Robin Hurt was the featured PH. I recommend it highly. I walked out of the theatre wanting to go to Africa and to hunt Cape buffalo. A few years later the want became a need, and I began saving money to make the dream come true. It did come true. It was worth the wait; it was worth the money. I can’t wait to go back.

Read "Africa’s Most Dangerous " by Kevin Robertson

Read "Buffalo! " by Craig Boddington

Read "Nyathi" by African Hunter

by Peter Flack

This ancient, old bongo bull walked out of the rain forest without a second glance and immediately started feeding on the mineral enriched, grey mud in a clearing on the banks of the Batou River in north central C.A.R. He was so old that he had no teeth, his skin hung in folds off his bony frame and was bald in patches (the same as me), while his huge ears were tattered and torn. We guessed his age at over 15 years and yet, despite many people having visited the salt lick over the past seven years since its discovery, no-one had ever seen him before.

He presented a simple, straight forward shot of some 90 metres as I sat in a machan, built into a sturdy Ngreki tree, looking out over this and one other salt lick and hoping (for the fourth time in 16 years) to find a forest sitatunga bull. Prior to this, we and our trackers, who were posted in two other machans on either side of us, had seen a number of other bongos but I had not been tempted as they were all smaller than the excellent, 32 inch specimen I had shot on a tough, ten day, walk and stalk hunt a number of years previously. This bongo was clearly in a class of its own, however, and it took me less than a second to decide not to look Diana’s gift horse in the mouth. My .375, topped with a 1 ½ x 6 power Zeiss Diavari scope and loaded with 300 grain, Swift A Frame, Norma softs, pole-axed the bull where he stood with a high shoulder/spinal shot.

Even so, as Christophe Morio, my outstanding, French professional hunter and I stood in awe next to the venerable, old master, we did not realise quite how big he really was. It was only when we returned to main camp and battled to measure the horns at less than 36 inches, that we realised we might have beaten the current number one in Rowland Ward’s Records of Big Game by nearly an inch. Obviously, the official measurement will have to wait until the trophy arrives at my taxidermist, both because the six week drying out period needs to have elapsed and to allow an experienced Rowland Ward measurer to make his findings. Not as easy as you might think as the bull was so old he had worn away the keel around his horns which is used by measurers to guide their tape measures. We estimated that, in his prime, with the keel and unworn horns in place, the bull would have been a good five inches longer!

Initially, I felt guilty that I had been handed such a spectacular trophy on a plate so to speak and been granted such a magnificent animal, almost by accident, with so little effort on my part as, for me, my hunting pleasure is usually in direct proportion to the difficulty of the hunt. But then I reminded myself of all the times I have returned home empty handed after having slogged for days, weeks and even months sometimes for a particular animal, including the forest sitatunga that had brought me there in the first place. I decided to graciously accept the kind gift and put it down to the luck of the draw which, after all, is behind most of our "success" as hunters.

UPDATE:
A few months ago we released the news that this could be the new number one Bongo in Rowland Ward.

This was confirmed on the 12th December 2007 by two official Rowland Ward measurers.

Rodney Kretzschmar (owner of Trans African Taxidermy) and Jane Halse (CEO of Rowland Ward) announced the following horn measurements:

Left: 36 1/8"
Right: 35 1/2"

Previous Rowland Ward Record:

I was hunting on a farm near Harrismith called Eagle Mountain Game Lodge when I came across this blue wildebeest. It was a very early cold and windy morning. This bull was grazing with 20 other wildebeest in the open plains. I waited for him to turn and offer a fair shot which he did. He ran about 50 meters and went down. I could not believe my eyes when I reached the animal. He was a really good one.

This is a picture of my Bezoar Ibex, Free Ranging, from New Mexico’s Florida Mountains taken December 7, 2006. I was one of the "Fortunate 15" persons who drew a rifle permit to hunt one in 2006!
It was a great hunt. Dennis Kauffman of Kauffman Outfitters and his wife Mary were my guides. The ibex have definitely taken hold in this mountain range. I saw ibex every day, but getting on a big one proved a real challenge. We did lots of glassing and climbing, and often heard the honk of a nanny sentry who saw us and sent the herd to the next county (just out of sight or smell was not sufficient for these goats!).

I passed up lesser animals and on the last day I had we collected this one. We got to 270 yards and they saw us (we got the "honk") but I managed a quick shot at 300 yards moving out in 30 mph winds and put him down. It took a finisher but, as Jesus Yuren would say, he got a one way ticket to my home!
I can definitely recommend Dennis and Mary Kauffman. They know the mountains and the game. Both are superb glassers and Dennis knows the likely movements of the game. We shared lots of laughs and enjoyed a great hunt. If you don’t apply for this one, you are missing an opportunity!
Mine scored 493/8 on the longest side, with 81/2 bases and 311/2 between the tips.
The meat has been tough but flavourfuI.