While Rowland Ward is known primarily as a publisher of record books, he also published some big game hunting books. Most of them were good and today many of them are scarce. Cotton’s book about the Eastern Sudan is most interesting, especially the first edition published with a large foldout map. While many think of this area for large elephants, it also has many lions. These provided sport for Mr. Cotton. Continue reading Armchair Safari – Sport In The Eastern Sudan
At age 75 I thought my doctor’s suggestion for an angiogram didn’t make sense just because of a slight shortness of breath when walking briskly. However, the test results showed I was in immediate need for what turned out to be triple bypass surgery, and the next day I found myself a cardio bypass patient.
A lifelong dream of an African safari seemed remote and, as I lay in my hospital bed, my family and recovery were on my mind, not Africa. Heart surgery is a life changing experience, both physically and emotionally.
In a few weeks, I joined a group in a cardio rehab program at a local gym. One morning I overheard the words “African safari” and immediately introduced myself to a fellow rehab patient who was showing his photos of a safari he went on two years prior. One thing led to another and as I quizzed my new found friend, Doug Blood, I told him how I had wanted to hunt in Africa since I was a teen and didn’t see that a possibility now.
We discussed a trip during the next few weeks at the gym, over lunch, and dinner and Doug said he would go again if I would. Doug had taken a Cape buffalo and kudu and wanted to add a plains game hunt. Tino Erasmus, the PH and owner of TG Safaris in the Limpopo province of South Africa was to visit in March for his annual trip to the States, and we all agreed to meet and discuss a possible hunt. Doug’s previous safari was with TG Safaris and he was impressed and satisfied, so any other outfitter was not even considered. I liked Tino from the start, and felt comfortable talking with him and discussing my health issue and concerns.
After talking it over with my wife, JoEllen, she urged me to go. Her words were something like, “Look, you aren’t getting any younger, you survived heart surgery, and I think you should go.” A safari was no minor expense; however, we discussed that as well and agreed it was not an issue.
As for my heath concern, after talking it over with my cardiologist, he said: “Have a great time. I want to see the pictures.” I did, however, purchase a trip cancellation policy through SCI’s travel protection plan as well as a Global Rescue policy. Neither was necessary, but well worth the peace of mind they afforded. South Africa is a long way from home.
I finally made up my mind and said to Doug, “OK. Let’s go hunting.” Since he had been on safari, he knew the ropes and what was involved. That made it much easier, riding on Doug’s experience.
We booked the trip with TG Safaris for a seven-day hunt in July of this year. I wanted to take a greater kudu, gemsbok, impala, warthog and wildebeest. My daughter, Amy, asked that I get her a zebra rug, so that was added to the list.
As for the rifle, five years ago I purchased a custom Winchester Model 70 in .300 Winchester Magnum caliber with the hope of an eventual African hunt. I mated it with a Zeiss 3-9X scope, not knowing it would actually make it to the Dark Continent. I settled on 180-grain Nosler Partition Federal Premium ammo for the hunt, since it was highly recommended and consistently grouped well under an inch at 100 yards. Sighted in 1.6 inches high put it on the money at 200 yards. A ton of practice off the unfamiliar shooting sticks gave me the confidence I needed, as well as getting used to the stiff recoil of the magnum.
Our other daughter, Jenny, a critical care physician in Washington State, asked if she could join us because she wanted to see and experience Africa. Of course I was elated that she wanted to come, knowing deep down that her real purpose was to watch over her dad!
The long flight from Rochester, New York, to Washington/Dulles to Dakar to J’Berg was not nearly as bad as I feared. I suspect the thought of my long-anticipated safari had a lot to do with that. An overnight accommodation at a meet and greet guesthouse in J’Berg allowed us to get a good meal and restful night sleep. The next day, we boarded a short flight to Pietersburg where we were met and driven the final leg to the Sand River Hills ranch.
Upon arrival at the ranch and meeting Amanda, Tino’s wife, Arno, my PH, JJ, another PH, and the staff, we settled in, sighted-in the rifles and prepared for the next day’s hunt. After an excellent dinner that included gemsbok, we hit the sack for tomorrow’s hunt. It is hard to describe my feelings and thoughts as I lay in bed. There I was in Africa. Tomorrow we would hunt. After 60 years, a dream was being realized.
Our hunt was successful in all ways and Doug and I took the game we sought. The last shot I took was on a slow-moving warthog at 210 yards. The Model 70, Federal ammunition and practice combined for one-shot kills on all the game.
Dr. Jenny had a terrific time joining me on the hunts and enjoying camp life. Tino said it was nice having a doctor in camp and Jenny did tend to a serious infected tick bite Doug received.
That is how a dream was realized, and a 77-year-old cardio patient discovered that Africa was not out of the question. As I admired my first trophy, the zebra, I became overwhelmed for the moment seemed impossible two years ago. I can’t imagine the possibility of a few years from now wishing I had gone on safari and not having done it. Some dreams are meant to be realized.
Incidentally, I recently purchased a Mauser rifle in 9.3×64 caliber for the next trip in two years. The Africa experience is too wonderful to only experience once. I hear there is a dagga boy Cape buffalo waiting for me and I don’t intend to disappoint it.– Ron Martino
By Jörg Rodenbeck
Jörg Rodenbeck is an international member from Wilhelmshaven, Germany.
I like the idea of asking our fellow hunters what they like and use. My pet rifle is the first rifle I bought after acquiring my hunting license–a Sauer 202 in .300 Weatherby Magnum with a Zeiss 2.5-10x 48mm scope. This rifle was very accurate right out of the box and shot (and is still shooting) sub-minute-of-angle groups with Norma 180-grain PPC (Vulcan) factory ammo. It’s my favorite because it has so many “firsts”–first rifle, first hunt, first red stag, first wild boar, first kudu, first moose and so on.
This rifle was with me on 30 hunting trips on three continents and never let me down. From 1993 until today, I’ve shot roughly 300 game animals with it and the confidence in this rifle really improves my shooting. With its detachable stock, it’s easy to transport.
I have 15 African safaris under my belt and the 16th was scheduled for August. Over the past 12 years, I took more than 30 species of African game from dik dik to elephant and used a couple of different rifles for those tasks. I always take two rifles to Africa, but my battery changed over time and it depends on the area and the game as to which battery I take.
On my first buffalo hunt, I used a .375 H&H for the big stuff, but to my mind this caliber is overestimated and has not the stopping power I want from a “dangerous game” rifle. So I went to the German custom gunsmith K.H. Ritterbusch and ordered a .416 Rigby rifle with a Magnum Mauser action, equipped with a 1.5 -6 X 42mm Swarovski scope (detachable mount) and open sights. This rifle is a joy to shoot, very accurate with Romey ammo and 410-grain Woodleigh Bullets (20mm group at 100m) and all I want from a DG-rifle.
My second Rifle for the first four safaris was my pet rifle, but I realized that in areas with thick bushes, the .300 Weatherby is not the best choice. So I switched to the following batteries.
Battery For Dangerous Game
I use the.416 Rigby as mentioned above. Also, I use a .338 Winchester Magnum Winchester Model 70 rifle with classic receiver; 24-inch fluted Shilen barrel, Jewell trigger and JRS laminated stock, with Swarovski 3-12 X 50mm scope. For all the different plains game I may shoot on DG safari for bait or as a trophy, including leopard, eland or sable, I find this caliber to be very, very versatile, hard hitting and accurate.
On plains game safaris in open country like parts of Namibia, the Kalahari and so on, where I may have to shoot at distances of 300 yards or more, I like a flat-shooting rifle. So my Number One for this kind of hunting is my .300 Weatherby Magnum pet rifle. For the “little ones” like duiker, dik-dik, steenbok or small cats like caracal and for jackals, my second rifle is a Sauer 202 Outback in .243 Winchester with a Zeiss 3-9x42mm scope.
Battery For Plains Game In Bush-Country
When I hunt plains game in bushy country like Zulu-Natal, I prefer the .338 Winchester Magnum as the first rifle and the .243Winchester as the second.
Ammunition and bullets are a never-ending discussion, and everybody seems to have his pet brand and pet loads. But since I have hunted on three continents and have shot about 500 game animals, I’ll try to explain my point of view.
I use factory ammunition as well as handloads, depending on which rifle I am using.
In recent years, I have become a fan of the bonded-core or welded-core bullets. Those bullets usually deliver good penetration, have good weight retention and leave a good blood trail to follow. With the .416 Rigby, I use the Romey factory load with 410-grain Woodleigh welded core bullet for buffalo and lion. For elephant and hippo, I use the Romey factory load with 410-grain Woodleigh FMJ bullet. With the .300 Weatherby Magnum, I prefer the 180-grain Norma PPC load for longer shots, and the 180-grain Norma ORYX (bonded core) load for closer shots.
With the .338 Winchester Magnum, I prefer the 215-grain Sierra Game King on lighter game like red stag, fallow deer or hartebeest. On larger game like eland, kudu, sable, boars and bears, I prefer the 250-grain Swift A-Frame.
With the .243 Winchester, I use 105-grain RWS factory soft-points, and with the .30-‘06, I use the 180-grain Norma ORYX or 180-grain Norma PPC loads, depending on the hunting circumstances. “Waidmannsheil!” (good hunting)
The smell of freshly baked bread greeted us at the door of the 1840’s lodge at Southern Cross Safaris. We were happy and hungry after a successful spot-and-stalk on a trophy mountain reedbuck. We had seen several and pushed a couple of nice ones out of range. They certainly have the eyesight. We also had seen a nice herd of zebra and more trophy impala that morning than you could count. The miles-long hike up and down along the game trails scratched into the mountainside certainly worked up an appetite. Each step had to be taken deliberately to keep upright and quiet. The luncheon discussion over a spread of fresh fruits and vegetables, sliced game meats, and marmite for the bread soon turned to the afternoon’s planned adventure for trophy bushbuck. Now we were talking!
“This will be more like your whitetail lie-and-wait game,” said my PH, Chris Cawood. “It will probably be approaching dark when the big males come into the fields, just like your deer. But one difference from the whitetail is a bushbuck can really hurt you if you make a bad shot.” I had read this about bushbuck, and I paid attention when Chris confirmed it. I’ve learned over the course of two safaris that he does not exaggerate or take artistic license when describing a hunt. “So have a quick nap and rest that trigger finger, hey chap,” Chris finished.
I drifted off with a full belly and thoughts of bushbuck dancing in my head. At 1:30 Chris and I climbed into his Land Cruiser and headed down the mountain through Bedford and on past Grahamstown, South Africa. The Karoo mountain scene surrounding Southern Cross had given way to open prairie periodically dotted with tree lines. It felt like we were driving from Denver to western Kansas for a pheasant hunt, but instead we were heading to the farm of a friend of Chris’ where lots of nice bushbuck had been seen feeding in the crop fields.
“You’re gonna like my buddy Mike, hey Jay. He’s made a fortune in the meat-packing business and now he plays Farmer Brown and cowboy-helicopter-pilot in his own Robinson R-44,” Chris said. Sure enough, as we pulled into the farm, we intercepted Mike and his sons on a tractor, just coming in from an honest day’s work. The tail of a helicopter peeked out from a nearby barn-turned-hangar.
“Oh my God, you’ve gone mad, Mike. Or have you lost it all and have to work your own tractor now?” Chris asked in a bright, cheeky tone.
“Don’t you know if you want something done right you do it yourself, hey Chris?” Mike said with a grin.
Chris and Mike caught up on the goings-on of farming and safari hunting while Paoway, the tracker, readied the gear. Today, for the first time on this safari, he brought Chris’ rifle–a custom .416 Rigby. I had killed a red hartebeest, a black wildebeest (okay that one took two days but that’s another story), a zebra, and a mountain reedbuck with me as the sole gunner.
“It’s not that I don’t trust your shooting, Jay. But if he runs and we have to track him into the woods in the dark, I want my rifle too.” That made sense to me and increased my heart rate a few beats, considering the “what if.” Hmmm–should I have signed up for MedJet Assist? After all, I thought this was just a plains-game hunt, and my wife had come along to South Africa since I assured her how safe it was. Well, at least she had stayed back at Southern Cross with Chris’ wife Lexi, a good book, and some great South African wine.
Based on Mike’s observations of some nice male bushbuck working his farm, we made a plan. We would walk along a fence line to a small rise where we could lie prone and still see the woods edge 250 yards out to the west. The wind would be just right, while the sun would set behind the trees and hopefully hang up long enough for a shot.
Chris and I gathered the gear, left Paoway in the Land Cruiser with a radio in case he spotted anything in another location. We said thanks to Mike, and started our trek.
“I’ll be on the porch with the cold beers ready when you’re done,” Mike said. “Good luck!”
We smiled, tipped our hats, and were off like a herd of turtles. It was almost 4:00 pm when I looked at my watch. It would be getting dark about 6:00. Chris sensed my slight concern about us perhaps being late, and said we had plenty of time and it would be a splendid setup.
We eased along the fence line so we could hopefully keep from spooking any game, and periodically glassed for any movement. Fortunately, we did not see anything to trap us, which confirmed we were indeed early enough for the show.
Chris pointed out our landing zone just through the fence and on a terraced plain. We held the fence wires apart for each other to climb through and stayed crouched on the other side. We slinked up to the selected spot and plopped our gear on the cold ground. Chris unrolled a wonderful fleece blanket that was backed with a water-and-thorn-resistant nylon. There was no need for water resistance in the dry Karoo winter, but the thorn and stick deflection came in handy. It seems that most things in Africa bite or pinch or sting.
I tried out the blanket in prone position and agreed this was the ticket. I could comfortably rest my rifle’s fore end on my backpack and have a super stable platform with a clear view all the way to the woods. We double-checked the distance, and the farthest practical point ranged 282 yards with the most direct line to the woods showing 248 yards. That gave us a nice triangle to work. Now all we needed was a mature bushbuck to enter our zone.
I heard dogs barking in the woods and thought they might have blown our chances, but Chris said those were not dogs–they were bushbuck–so my blood ran faster and the game was on. We stayed attentive for a good half hour but saw nothing but a few birds that looked like our good old black crows that seemed to mock me. I responded by rolling over on my back, closing my eyes, and lying quite limp as if I’d given up. Then I hoped they were not vultures that might mistake me for a carrion carcass. In actuality, I was simply thrilled to be there enjoying the paradox of excitement and relaxation that defines an African safari. I may have even dozed a few minutes, but my eyes sprung open when Chris announced the arrival of our first visible bushbuck.
The single doe snuck into the field from a small opening in the woods, just as the sun’s belly touched the treetops. It was now five minutes ‘till 5:00. We watched her through binoculars. I studied her movements and was amazed by her cautious feeding and head bobbing to scan her environment. This really was like whitetail hunting. Soon, another doe eased out to test the water. Before long we had three more, but where were the bucks? The sun was making that mad dash to hide in its way that ends whitetail hunts too abruptly. I was thinking we might have ourselves a bust when Chris whispered, “Okay, Jay, there’s a buck. But he’s a helluva long way off, there on the far left. We are in the wrong spot for him.” So just like that my hopes raced upward and then slid down as I saw he was well over 500 yards away. If they had zip codes in this place, he would have been at least in the next one.
“Maybe he’ll feed over to us,” I offered.
“That would be great, but I would not count on it, Jay. The bushbuck mostly come straight out from the woods, feast a while, and then head straight back into the woods,” Chris said. And he was right again. This guy was not making any beelines for us or anyone else.
As the sun tried to give up, two males came into view straight out in front of us. It was now 6:00 pm. Agricultural terraces and tall grass partially hid each male. I could see most of the one on the right, and Chris could see most of the one on the left. They would have to take a few steps to climb up into full view. It was now almost impossible to see them with the naked eye. I steadied my rifle on the backpack and studied my bushbuck through the Meopta scope.
“Jay, I can’t see his horns. They’re blocked from my position, and I don’t want to move a muscle. You’d be surprised what they can see,” Chris said. “I don’t know if he’s mature enough for what we’re looking for.”
“His horns are twice the height of his ears, Chris. He looks good to me,” I said, talking about the first bushbuck I had ever seen through a riflescope. “Can I take him?”
“Hold on. Let me try to see him. Let me try to see his horns. Are you sure he’s twice the height of his ears?” Chris asked.
“Yes, that’s the way it looks to me. And I’ve got him now. I’ve got him again. He’s broadside, but the light’s almost gone. It’s dark. Man, it’s dark. I’ve got to shoot him now if I’m gonna shoot him, Chris,” I said, willing him to give me the green light.
“Okay, Jay. If you’re sure you’ve got him then let him have it.”
“Bawoom!” went the Sauer .300 Win. Mag., and fire flashed from the barrel. I tried to stay on him in the scope but I could not. Oh no. Where was he?
“He’s down, Jay. He’s down. That was a great shot. You smoked him,” Chris said. I rolled over on my back again and decompressed. The day’s events all flowed through me as I exhaled.
We used flashlights to navigate to him through the crops and over the terraced landscape. When I saw him, I couldn’t believe it. He was beautiful. What an amazing hide. And what interesting horns he had! They were unlike most bushbuck photos and taxidermy I had seen. I was ecstatic. Paoway made short work of carrying him back toward the Land Cruiser for optimal photo-op positioning. We took dozens of photos and then headed for Mike’s skinning shed. Mike and his sons met us there and congratulated me.
“Well done, man! That’s a great trophy, that,” he said. “I can’t believe how late it was when you shot. We thought for sure it was all over and there would be no shooting tonight.”
We headed to Mike’s house and were greeted by the rest of his family and his dog, Scar. Chris and I regaled them with the details of the adventure in between gulps of ice-cold beer and bites of stewed wildebeest and other delights. I could not have been happier. The cool-and-getting-cooler South African night wrapped around me and it felt just fine. This bushbuck hunting is A-Okay.
The ride home was exquisite. Stars fell on South Africa that night. Radio Algoa played “Freshly Ground” and other contemporary African bands interspersed with good old American rock-n-roll while the hum of the off-road tires provided a soothing background tone. You could see forever in the crisp, clear weather. Our wives were happy to see us arrive safe, sound, and victorious, or maybe they had just corked an extra bottle. All I know is that I slept soundly and with more dreams of bushbuck dancing in my head. I’m hooked and ready for the next one.