African Hunting Adventure

This is one of the truly wilderness hunting areas left in Africa that requires physical effort to gets one’s game, with tracking being the best method of locating trophy animals. Days of searching for fresh tracks for a large bull elephant and then loosing the track on rocky or hard ground, can be tough both physically and mentally until finally Lady Luck intervenes.

Sitting at a spring in a remote mountain valley, waiting for a shot at a bush pig, our trackers, Estevao and Jeffery, suddenly heard a branch break about 200 yards away. I silently indicated to Lane to load his 470 double rifle and to follow us in the direction of the sound.

The slight breeze was fickle and prone to change direction at any moment, as we cautiously moved in the direction of the noise. The sun had dropped behind a high ridge as we entered a stand of dense combretum forest (jesse) giving us a time limit of about fifteen minutes to locate the elephant before it became too dark. Slowly we stalked up to the sound of breaking tree branches in a dense thicket. Twenty yards away I suddenly saw the tusks through the vegetation and realized it was an exceptional bull and prepared for a final approach to find a gap through which to shoot. Five yards closer and suddenly the elephant’s head appeared as it fed towards us. The frontal brain shot was all that we had as the elephant was now aware of our presence and I whispered the words “shoot now” to Lane. Lane’s 470 belched fire in the gloom and the animal staggered backwards.

Crashing sounds as the elephant departed and then silence after about thirty seconds told us that our quarry was down. It was only the next morning, in the full daylight, that we could fully appreciate the body size of the elephant and its magnificent tusks that turned the scale to 74 and 75 pounds respectively with a length of 6 ft 6 inches each – a truly magnificent trophy!

This is a story of a very special friend, somebody who gave me courage and inspiration, who showed me that it is not perfection that makes perfection, but tenacity, and more importantly the want to succeed, a strength that lies deep with in us all … we just have to find it.

This is a story about my first real success; it allowed me to look at myself and say “well done girl” this is a story about a Draathaar Pointer named Benjamin Francolin.

It started long ago. My father is well known PH Tony Tomkinson, and I often wonder if I’d been born a boy and wanted to dance like my Prima Ballerina mother, how different life would have been for me. Would I have been expected to follow my father’s footsteps? Or would I have been left alone to make my own choice as I have been born a girl. My younger sister and I did the “hunting, shooting, fishing” thing, but without the pressure to excel. As long as we did our best, Dad was really proud of us, took our picture and put it into the family photo album.

The wonderful thing is we have all the experience we would have had been boys, all the wonders of life adventures, we grew up with the back drop of wildlife in it’s truest form, we learn all the same values, we spoke Zulu and ate putu with the labour and game guards kids in the compounds. We were cocooned from the pressure and handed the beauty of an amazing childhood on a plate. My memories far out do the that of the average person my age, something I took for granted for so long, but something I now thank my parents for allowing me to experience. A childhood wild and free, the cry of a fish eagle or the beating of Zulu drums still takes me back to a little blonde girl sitting on daddy’s shoulders.

I left this life for a while, moved to the city after the bright lights, but always felt that there was something missing, a yearning to be in open spaces, so when my father had decided that I had finally finished paying my “school fees” and offered me a job in his business, I jumped at the opportunity . We have now been working together for eleven years. It started with me going along on the marketing trips to the USA. I think dad was one of the first to introduce his daughter to the Safari and Hunting world, now when I look around, more PH’s seem to have had daughters, and in some way, at least one of them is involved in the industry they were born to.

One of my roles in our family company was to train the ten gun dogs which started purely by accident. Jason and I chose two dogs to start with from a local trainer and breeder for our new wingshooting lodge and hunting concessions in the Eastern Free State, and with out any life line or pressure to succeed, I took to training like a fish to water, and what’s more … I loved it. I finally found my talent. We’d always had dogs when I was kid, but they were family pets, and there was never really one which stood apart from the others for me, … I never had one of my own. Anshka was my first. A 40kg big, black, wirery drathaar with yellow orange eyes who challenged me constantly. He chased very duiker and every rabbit on every ridge, up every mountain … with me hot on his trail, because after all you can’t discipline a dog if you don’t catch him in the act and it’s a TOTAL NO NO for a bird dog to chase game… I’m not a very big person, so picking up a 40kg dog to ruffle him was somewhat difficult, especially when I was out of breath. The turning point came when one warm honey like afternoon after a training session, we were sitting on the lawn enjoying a crisp glass of wine and watching the sun go down over the mountain behind our lodge with our dogs at our side, I gently lent over towards Anshka, and he growled at me. Unfortunately for him he still had his training collar on and to this day I have no idea where the strength came from, needless to say Anshka and I have been inseparable since, he lies at my side now as I write. Old and grey and riddled with aches and pains but always within 5 steps of me. Anshka hunted for me in his younger days and me alone, the only thing he would still do is eat the birds while retrieving … oops, another no, no. All our clients are international, so following wingshooting ethics was rather important. We never made our bird dogs into Field Trail Champs, because finding the birds for our clients was more important, this wasn’t a competition, it was real life, still there were rules we had to follow.

We took Anshka back to training while we were on a safari and from the moment we picked him up, he refused to retrieve for the next two years, it took a lot of gentle coxing to get him to pick up a bird, even for me, and a season ahead without a retriever. The trainer gave me Ben to make up for what ever had happened while Anshka was at school. He was a year and a half, had basic training, but was … there is no other way to put it but MAD! He was hyper active, jumped all over you, then would shy away in the space of 10 seconds, his tongue constantly hung out, and his eyes constantly darted around as though he was scared he would miss something if he relaxed.

The trainer told me that I could have him if I wanted him, he would retrieve anything, but if I hadn’t “got him right within 6 months, we would have to shoot him” … I grew up roller skating in skinning sheds amongst the carcases (because it was the only place with cement) going with dad on culling trips, eating mapami worms… the whole nine yards, but this was even a bit harsh for me. It was the beginning of October and dad popped in to the lodge to see the new dog on his way back to KZN, his advice was to shoot it now, I’d never get it right, I’d be wasting my time and only get attached … to which Jason agreed. Benjamin was not only hyper, retrieving was all he could do; he bumped birds, stole points because he bumped birds, he was simply a menace and totally and utterly useless.

From October when I brought him home, Ben and I trained all day every day, maximum time on, and minimum time off, I tried everything I could, I ran him with older dogs who were natural teachers, read every book I could lay my hands on, spoke to anybody who had even an ounce more experience than I did … but give up I wouldn’t.

Three months down the line my parents came up to the Free State for Christmas. The wonderful thing about owning a bird hunting lodge is that the season is closed and there is lots of space for full family Christmas, it was two days before Christmas, the 23rd of December, my father’s birthday. I snuck into his room early morning to wish him and get him up and going. For his birthday I would take him hunting. The joy and excitement was short lived when he asked which dog we would be taking, and I answered “Ben” and walked out to get ready myself not waiting for any rebuff or argument.

We went out onto our farm, walked from the lodge to a ‘koppie” where I knew birds would be in the area, and I could give Ben time to warm up. Ben and I had only been working together for three months, and I needed this to be perfect. We had just walked onto a stretch of land where old fields had been harvested … the perfect place for swainsons, when suddenly Ben froze, his overly cropped tail dead straight, my fathers eyes raised, I slowly walked ahead, constantly reassuring him until I got to his side, stood there for a few seconds, then stepped forward to flush the birds, I ducked, dad shot, and Ben sat at my side until I gave him the command to bring the limp bird back to me and delivering it to the palm of my hand. Needless to say, dad was as any father would be, proud … of both of us. He still says that, that morning was the most memorable birthday of his life.

Ben went from strength to strength and became the best hunter out of our kennel of fourteen dogs. If we needed reliability, we took Ben. He was still hyper, and his toung would still hang out giving him a look of Ed the hyena from the Lion King, but he was a magical hunter and would stop at nothing to succeed. I remember him going right over a cliff face after a retrieve (which thankfully was not very steep.) We climbed many a mountain together and Ben was always there, when times were tough and when times were good; During one training season, I got caught in a freak thunderstorm on an iron rock mountain, and Ben wouldn’t leave my side, lightning flashed around us and even though I gave him the command to run to the safely of the truck, he trotted besides me. When I fell pregnant with our son Gordon, Ben was as gentle with me as any human could have been, when Gordon was born, he’d stand next to me and stare at the little bundle, gently nuzzling him. I’d never heard of a Draathhaar Pointer or German Wirehair Pointer until I first saw Anshka, now I will own no other dog, and especially in the industry that we work. I’ve had four, and don’t know anybody who has ever owned one will disagreed with me They are versatile, hunt both game and birds, are the most fantastic watch dogs and because Jason is away so much, is something I really look for in a dog. They are fantastic family dogs and allow my four year old to climb all over them. The only con about owning a Draathhaar, is they don’t live forever.

I was lucky to share some of my life with a dog like Ben, we worked together for eight years, and there wasn’t a hunt I never enjoyed. We eventually got to the point where I would think and he would react, we would hunt in virtual silence, there was just no need for command, he would look back every now and again for a hand signal, and to check that I was still there, but that was it.

Two years ago, the season had just started, and I noticed Ben had a limp in his front paw, I couldn’t see anything, so left it for a few days; it went away so I figured it was a thorn which had worked itself out. He was fit and well for the second hunt of the season, but the same happened, this time I decided to take him to the vet, arthritis is common in working dogs, and if you can catch it quickly you can at least slow the process down. My vet phoned me latter that afternoon to give me the bad news, Benjamin had cancer of the bone. We had options, we could amputate his limp, and give him chemo which would painfully prolong his life for approximately a year, we could wait it out to have him with me for perhaps another month or two, or we could end it all now.

People often ask the same question about training bird dogs … How do you do it? How do you teach a dog to hunt? And my response is always the same. You don’t teach a dog to hunt, just as we are born hunters, so are they … you can refine the talent, but you can’t teach it, and to live a life in pain, or with limbs missing is no way for hunting dog to be. They live for the hunt; it’s what makes them happy.

When I walked into the surgery, his little tail wagged with the joy of seeing me, and that tongue slobbered all over me … this was my Ben, who unconditionally loved me … I held him and told him everything was going to be fine and although with all my heart I didn’t want to do this, I had to, for him. I couldn’t bear to think of the other options. He flinched slightly as the vet inserted the needle, his body relaxed …. And I held him until he fell.

 Waking up I look at my watch and realize it is time to get up and call to Elvech. Hearing his footsteps going towards the client’s tent, followed by his“ tea …. morning” and the sound of the tent’s outside light being switch on.  I get up and walk over to my clothes, set  out nicely from the day before by the laundry attendant and get dressed. As I walk out of my tent Elvech comes over to me with my coffee, greeting me before he hands me my cup. There are few smells as good as freshly brewed coffee in the morning and I walk over to the fireplace and sit down near the still hot coals from the night before. It normally takes ten minutes for the clients to get to the breakfast table and it gives me the opportunity to prepare myself mentally for the day. This is my time, and what I remember of life on hunting safaris as a little boy. Getting up before everybody else and just listening to the sounds of day slowly approaching … what is better than the cracking call of a crested francolin at dawn?

 Tumo, my right hand man is already at the vehicle, checking the oil, water and tyre pressure before he cleans the windows and wipes the dust from the inside of the truck. He never seems to sleep and is always up, doing something. I get up to go and pour myself another cup of coffee and hear Paul unzip his tent. Elvech heard it too and is walking to the breakfast table with two bowls filled with eggs and steak. I greet Paul with the usual “morning, how did you sleep?” and we seat ourselves as food is served to us along with more coffee and tea.  I always find it hard eating a full breakfast so early, but after a month of being here I’ve got use to it.

 Tumo was at the vehicle joking with Estavao my lead tracker when I got there. Seeing me Estavao walks towards me greeting me with a welcomed smile. As usual we will listen to each others thoughts of the day to come and make a decision. Today we have the same idea…. Go back were we left the four bachelor bulls late yesterday afternoon and pick up their tracks again.

 It was still dark enough for me to use my vehicle lights as we left camp and I was running everything trough my mind, making sure we have not left anything behind when there was a flash in the headlights as two bush pigs ran across the road. They caught everybody by surprise as there is now a lot of talking on the truck compare with the usual silence. Scott my apprentice is giggling on the back seat from Paul’s remark,

” Sorry boys, did not mean for it to come out like that.”

By now Scott and I are laughing  out loud and Paul realising how funny it was, joined in.

 We have gone for thirty minutes and I have just turned the lights off when Estavao puts his hand up. He can be so calm while hunting that I never really know if he is just chasing a tsetse fly or actually wants me to stop, this time he is looking back at me and I stop. We all get off and inspect the tracks of the four bulls. Estavao is still sitting on the tracker seat, rolling a cigarette.  I nod to Tumo and give him and Scott the thumbs up. Tumo walks back to the truck taking Paul’s double 450-400 out of its case, opening the action before walking over to Paul and handing him his rifle.  I now take my own .458 Lott out and start to load it, four down one up and put the safe on, in the meantime Paul has put in two rounds, a Woodlegh soft and a solid into the chambers of his double waiting for me to give the go ahead so he can close the action.  I find it a relief to hunt with safety conscious hunter as there are few things that can ruin a hunt more, than a hunter who does not practises the basics of gun safety.

 Estavao was already fifty yards ahead by the time we were ready and everybody fell into place,  Estavao, me, Paul, Scott and a few yards behind Tumo and Jango always ready to come and help track if needed. We only lost the track once that day and Estavao found it in no time in some hard clay that impressed me to no end. Other than that it was easy going as the bulls walked in quite a straight general direction, which is only good for tracking as every time  I have followed buffalo that walked in such a straight bearing they never seem to stop especially in Mozambique. But it is difficult to turn around as all the time you believe the bulls will hold up in some thicket, but they do not. It was noon and we were approaching another patch of thickets with the tracks no fresher than when we started when Estavao stopped and took me to the side, showing me what I had hoped would not happen. The tracks were no fresher and it would probably be better if we turned around, as we were now about seven kilometres from the truck.

 I completely agreed with him but wanted to do one last thing before I made my decision, and took out my GPS to get a reading.  It was just as I thought – we were less than a kilometre from an old track in which direction the buffalo were moving.  I pointed this out to Estavao and he agreed with me to follow the tracks till they cross the track. There we could stop and send Scott back to fetch the truck.

 I started to realise this is no ordinary thicket as we got closer, as the brush seem to turn into a wall of hell with dead leafs covering the ground that would make walking quietly almost impossible. There was a small chance they would bed down in this thicket.  We were just about to enter and I waved Tumo and Jango closer as I did not want them too far behind me in the thicket, for it is easier to be in control of things when you can see everybody in the party especially with these northern Mozambique buffalo.  Estavao had just entered the thicket and was out of my sight when there was a trumpeting sound  coming from inside the thicket. We all heard it and I rechecked the wind thinking the elephants might have smelled us but the wind was good. Suddenly the thicket seemed to be alive with elephants trumpeting and branches breaking in almost every direction.  I can now clearly hear the sounds getting closer and realise the elephants are running our way.  Estavao was already behind me and I told everybody to get back, as I needed some space between me and the thicket to be able to shoot, if need be. But they seem to be frozen and I repeated the command, “Get Back”, and suddenly the reality got to all and they moved however, as the sound got louder and they moved faster. The group was now really panicking and about to break into a run, when I told them,” don’t run, don’t run!” when Tumo looks back, pointing to the side saying,” Buffalo”.   I was concentrating to the left were the elephant trumpeting came from so did not sea the buffalo till Tumo showed me. We were now less than fifteen yards in between a herd of about fifty buffalo and things were happening fast.  I am looking for a shootable bull but in the same time keeping an eye on the general direction from where the trumpeting is coming. Then there, there in front of us a good bull was moving to the left and he was so close.  I had no difficulty pointing him out to Paul who was by my side, ready for my command to shoot.

 Paul wasted no time in aiming for the shoulder and took the first shot following with a second to the bull’s rear as he turned. The buffalo immediately joined two other bulls running to our left and I can hear him breathing hard before he started to cough and I knew it was good.  ”Sounds like a lung shot” I  told Paul. “We will get him, lets just give him some time” We can still hear the faint trumpeting of elephants in the distance, as they now decided it safer somewhere else. Only now, I realise what really happened during the last few seconds. The elephants actually chased the buffalo to us, and gave us the chance at a shot.

 Fifteen minutes  passed since Paul shot the buffalo and it is time to go and find him. I open the bolt of my rifle and make sure it is still loaded and look at Paul to let him know, this is it, giving him my usual speech when we follow a potential dead or wounded buffalo.” Stay right next to me at all times with your safety on. The only time your safety comes off is when there is nothing between you and the buffalo and you are ready to shoot. If for some reason you have to get in behind me because of thick brush or something, you are out of the equation and you just do not shoot no matter what. You step forward next to me and only then do you shoot. I have a better chance handling a buffalo than a bullet. So let’s go.”

 I walked forward the fifteen yards to where the buffalo was when Paul shot him, and we almost immediately found blood. It is was an easy blood spoor to follow and Estavao is behind me, he knows the danger of a potentially wounded buffalo. Years of following his dad after buffalo with inadequate weapons, trying to supply military forces with meat had taught him great respect for these beast. But this is were Tumo comes in – he just does not care and will follow me into any situation as long as my .458 Lott is in my hand. Sometimes I think he believes we are invincible with the Lott.

 Fifty yards further we hear the death bellow a bit to our right, less than a hundred yards away.  I feel the relief as does everyone else. I indicated to everyone except Paul, to stay back and advanced in the direction of the bellow. Halfway to the buffalo I saw a movement through the brush and moved into a little bit of a clearing to see. There thirty yards in front of me was the dead buffalo, standing…. head up looking back in our direction.  Miraculously, in his last breath he had obviously smelled us and his adrenalin kicked in and was now looking for us. We had to act fast and it took three more shots to finish him off.

I approached the buffalo from behind and gave it a nudge with my foot before I touched his eye with my rifle barrel to declare him dead. Looking back I could see the relief in Paul’s eyes and the rest of the group was also getting closer with smiles everywhere.  This is when you know that the whole group is completely part of the hunt. It does not matter who actually shot the animal, as everybody deserves some recognition and everybody was congratulating everybody.

 The decision was made to send Scott back the ten kilometres to fetch the truck, while we caped the buffalo and carried his horns to the old bush track and to wait. We managed to reach the road just before dark and found ourselves a place to sit, recollecting the day while we waited for Scott. That complete Mozambican silence settled in again as we all waited

 In the meantime what we did not know was that Scott had his hands full in getting to the truck as he had to detour around elephant, his guide became lost more than once, and he almost walked smack into a big lion male at no more than nine yards away which he then had to quietly follow in order to get to the vehicle.  Needless to say he was as happy to see us, as we were to see him.

 The drive back to camp was just on two hours and we welcomed the sight of Elvech greeting us on our arrival with cold beers and the camp fire inviting us to come and sit and just enjoy the last few hours of  another great day in Mozambique!

Terrain

When hunting elephant in this God forsaken country, you need a client who trusts you, who trusts your judgment, who is willing to follow, putting his life in your hands and for what you may ask? For the glory of a few seconds? The shot that will make him a successful African hunter? You need a client who is true not only to himself, but also to his Professional Hunter and who knows his limits. For in this true wilderness there has never been and never will be room for over-driven egos, pretense or anything but honesty and the spirit of the hunt. The country in question lies in the corridor between Niassa and Qurimba National Park in Gabo Delgado province, northern Mozambique. Temperatures push the thermometer into the hundreds with high humidity and almost no shade, making hunting here harder than any of the other areas I have hunted across Africa.

Barry is that hunter, putting his faith in my team and I….mile after mile on the tracks of an elephant that passed more than twelve hours before. That’s an old track to follow, but it was already half past nine in the morning, hot and getting hotter by the second. We were confident he would head out towards the Mesalo River to find shade not far from the river’s edge and wait out the heat of the day …. so we decided it was still worth it. It is a well oiled team and routine kicked in as packs were filled with water and snacks;

Taking a breather while working on co-ordinates. From left Estevao , Jango and Tumo with PH Jason

 I get GPS readings, check ammo and rifles and make sure everybody drinks as much water as possible before leaving the vehicle for the rest of the grueling hunt on foot.

Hunting elephant has its ups and downs and today is no different. We lost the track, five hundred yards from where we had first picked them up. The feeding bull entered a well-used patch of grass….tracks mingling with others….we spread out and looped the area, finding the tracks just to lose them again at the next patch. It was close to an hour before we found his tracks again, this time in a well-used elephant path leading to the river. Now seven miles away from where we started, tracking was becoming easier, and the pace picked up. We all knew that now we had a good chance of closing the gap.

Tracker Estevao smoking a home made cigarette filled with tobacco he grew on the floodplains

Not wanting to burn out before we made any real progress, I tried to slow the pace down, but the excitement made it near impossible and it quickly picked up again. Estevao, my lead tracker suddenly stopped….two more bulls had joined our boy. It was now approaching noon and the heat was unbearable. Sweat drips and you can think of nothing other than the cocoon of heat that feels to be trapping you. It becomes all consuming and yet strange as it sounds, I am content….this is what I enjoy, this is hunting. You would not be far wrong by thinking that I take as much pleasure in following these huge creatures as I do catching up with them – the harder it gets, the greater the challenge. I’ve seen it happen so often, the romance of untamed Africa only seems to materialize once it is all over.

I realized we needed shade but there was nothing. We pushed on another ten minutes before the tracks led us to a big baobab in a small dried up river bed. As we entered the shade of the great old tree I felt the temperature drop and the atmosphere amongst of the group relaxed. It is great working with a team who are comfortable with each other, there is always time for relaxed conversation and a joke or two. Barry fits in well, even though I can see he is hot and tired.

I sit with my back against the big tree and am struck by the overwhelming smell of elephant, signs of where they rubbed themselves surround me. I wonder how many great tuskers spent their time here waiting for the heat to become bearable as we are now. I look at Estevao, sitting on a log opposite me, smoking a home made cigarette filled with tobacco he grew on the floodplains of the Mesalo. He looks at me, I nod, letting him know I am still happy with the way things are going. He takes one long drag of his cigarette and stands up, handing what is left of the cigarette to his assistant he walks over to me, kneeling so that our eyes are on the same level.

“We must be careful now, the bulls will be down the river bed not far, that way”. He points north.

“They have been at the Mesalo and are resting now,” he adds.

I have seen enough and know better than to challenge or question him. I look around – everybody looks rejuvenated and ready to go. I stand and out of habit, open the bolt of my rifle, making sure it is still loaded, my team know that this means, “Let’s go”.

Hunting terrain

At first we walked down the river bed but eventually flank it, keeping the wind in our favour. We are now on the Mesalo side and if the bulls had come back we’d be able to pick up their tracks. Then Estevao changes his tactics, slowly moving away from the stream towards the Mesalo. I was about to ask him why he was doing that when we move up onto a small rise. It is enough for me to see that the river has turned west two hundred yards ahead and is now heading almost straight to the Mesalo. We were now on the earlier tracks even though we were not precisely following them. Estevao was not paying much attention to the tracks either, instead he focuses all his attention on the thickets bordering the stream. We must have gone a hundred yards when right in front of us were four bull tracks crossing over the tracks we have been following and going off to our right, straight to the stream bed where Estevao had been looking all the time. To top it all, the tracks were fresh….very fresh.

The additional fourth track was one of a very old bull. I’d seen the tracks before but it’s never been fresh enough to follow. It had kept me awake many a night, so you can imagine, I was in my element and so was Estevao – he was smiling from ear to ear. Barry, not knowing what it all was about, looked at me puzzled until I tell him we just saved ourselves some seven kilometres and that the additional track is of the old bull from the day before. I did not need to say more, he knew what track I was referring to. The day before we were following tracks and this track kept popping up, but was always too old to follow. The excitement must have shown because Barry mentioned it later that night.

Being late October, the wind is unpredictable and keeps us on our toes by swirling and changing direction. It has left us with little choice but to carry on hoping it would settle and come from the north-west, as it usually does. The bulls were spread out more than fifty yards from each other but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the old bulls track, hopeful that he’d split off from the rest of the group.

Discussing strategies, Elephant hunting is a joining of both mind and soul, without good team work it is near impossible

We were no more than 80 yards from the thicket when Estevao stopped and looked intently into the thicket. I immediately got my binoculars up and did the same, but couldn’t see anything. Looking closer, I saw there was something there! A tail? An ear? I couldn’t be sure, but there was movement. How Estevao saw it with the naked eye, I don’t know but there were elephants in front of us, silent and practically invisible, making it virtually impossible to make out anything more.

We tested the wind and it looked good, so I waved Barry closer and indicated we were going to move in quickly. I didn’t want to give the wind chance to swirl again, as had happened on the first day of the hunt. We’d caught up with five bulls early that morning and the wind suddenly came from the opposite direction.

Not being able to get a good direction on where we were, the elephant bulls stampeded straight towards us, with a magnificent single tusker at the lead, carrying 90-100 lbs.

It all happened so quickly. I’d told Barry to take the bull in front, pointing out the big one tusker, but unfortunately he was concentrating on another big bull standing to the left, which I couldn’t see. By the time he saw the bull I was focussed on, they were virtually on top of us. I shout and raised my arms in an attempt to stop or turn them. They were now less than twenty yards from us and approaching quickly. Fortunately the noise and motion turned the herd, but simultaneously a young bull moved between us, making a shot at the target impossible. There was nothing more to do, we followed them until late that afternoon and eventually decided to give up. They kept on moving, making sure the wind was always behind them and then they were gone.

We hadn’t moved more than ten paces when I felt the wind change again. It was now blowing from behind us and straight towards them. We stopped, hoping it would turn again before our scent got to them. Suddenly they took off and in the commotion and dust, we managed to catch a small, quick glimpse of a beautiful trophy bull amongst them. Once all had settled and we knew our efforts had come to little, we ambled over to were the herd had rested, not only to have a good look at the tracks but also because it was the only much needed shade in the area. The mood was heavy and we were a bit down, to say the least, but I was confident the elephant would not go to far. It was now almost one in the afternoon and the heat had peaked to what seemed impossible for any human could handle.

After a short, but much deserved breather and a few sips of water to keep up our hydration, we started to follow the easy path the elephant had left in their hurry to get away from us. We found they had turned back to the stream bed and slowed down to a walking pace, conserving energy. This confirmed that they wanted shade and would not go far before stopping again. We must have been on the tracks less than ten minutes when I saw the bulk of an elephant bull facing away from us, fanning his ears. It was clear from his posture that he was an old bull. I couldn’t see his tusks but knew we had to get closer….He looked like he could be our bull.

The wind seemed more stable. We were walking in the depression of a stream bed, surrounded by thick bushes, keeping our scent hidden. I decided it would be better to get onto the bank and approach them from the right where, hopefully, we will have more visibility and a constant wind. We found a game path, which helped our approach across the dead leaf litter.

It was an African Star Chestnut which gave us our last cover, forty yards from the bulls. The wind was still stable and good, so using the tree, I peeked around the left of it but could only make out two small bulls carrying thirty to forty pounds each and no sign of the old bulls we’d seen before. Gut instinct told me they were there.

To the left of the young bulls, I saw a dark patch, but it was unclear and I just could not make out anything that could indicate an elephant. The carpet of dead leaves made it to risky getting any closer and I did not want to give up our vantage point, so decided we would just have to wait it out, hoping they would eventually move to were we could see them clearly and with any luck, get in a good shot. Again, the wind started to blow from behind us straight towards them and again I expected them to run, but our scent must have blown over them, because they just stood there with no indication that they knew we were in the vicinity. I knew time was running out and I knew I’d have to find the big bull quickly.

I was busy trying to make out a bull from the dark patch in front of me when Barry tapped me on the shoulder pointing to the right of the tree. There, walking back to the young bulls was a magnificent tusker. I smiled and indicated the latest arrival was the bull we wanted, when suddenly, as luck would have it, before we could get ready, he walked smack into the herd of younger bulls and instantly lifted his trunk. I knew we were busted. A deep rumble rang out and they started to move but strangely, they were moving our way, on a path that would bring them thirty yards past us, with the big bull in the lead. Gradually the dark patch started moving too – an even bigger bull. As we watched, he moved between the younger bulls making a shot impossible. We only had a few seconds before they would be gone for good. The first big bull was ten yards in the lead and I told Barry that as soon as he gets a clear shot, he should take it.

We’d spent a lot of time discussing shot placement and follow up and ideally we were hoping for a brain shot. Barry also insisted I shoot the instant he shot. I did not even need to tell Barry where to aim as the only sensible shot was for the shoulder as the bull was moving and on a slight angle. He was now moving through some brush and I raised my rifle so I could be ready the instant the bull cleared the brush. Barry and his .375 H&H were also now lined up on the bull waiting for him to clear the bush. As he stepped out, Barry’s shot went off and the bull stumbled. I followed with a shot from my .458 Lott and the impact was clear. The bull was now clearly trying to regain himself but we both shot him again and he was off….

Mozambique 2009

We tried to gather our senses in the little shade the Chestnut tree gave us, but our excitement was too overwhelming. I expected to find blood soon but there was none. We tracked him for hundred yards before he turned sharp to the right and entered open country. I was just getting worried about not finding blood when there, almost a hundred yards in front of us I saw the big bulk of our bull, laying on his side. Giving Barry the thumbs up, I could see his relief as he, like myself, was getting worried that there was no blood yet.

The tusk, sticking up into the air, got bigger with every step I made and I could feel the relief washing over me. The biggest reward was watching Barry showing his respect to the bull while my team and I were standing a couple of yards back. That is when you know….Barry really deserved such a bull. It was now twenty past one but the heat did not seem to bother us anymore. We finally weighed and measured the tusks at 7.8/6.8 feet and 77/65 pounds.

Thinking back, I cannot wait to get into the next season because I know we left even bigger bulls behind!

Contact Details:

Jason van Aarde – Professional Hunter and Outfitter

Cell:+27 82 3290192

Tomkinson African Safaris

e-mail: mct@xsinet.co.za

www.tomkinsonafricansafaris.com