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In a very difficult business year without any foreign hunting, the upside was that many doors opened for our local hunting brothers to experience some of the best hunting that South Africa has to offer. One of these hunts that became feasible for local hunters was a truly incredible South African reserve buffalo hunt we had on offer close to the Botswana border. Needless to say, we were privileged enough to be able to acquire a few tags for the 2020 season. This magnificent reserve spans more than 23 500 hectares of thick thorny bush; hunting a buffalo on foot there is no easy task.
The first safari was with a local hunter named Arnold Bailey and the reserve showed the hunt for what it was - incredibly difficult and in some unbelievably thick bush! A buffalo hunted on this reserve, would need to be hunted by putting the long kilometers in, constant hard work and, of course, a bit of luck! After 3 days of slogging around with many highs and lows, we finally connected with a tremendous old dugga boy, much to our team’s delight. Arnold put a perfect first shot into the bull at about 20m and he didn't make it all of 30m.
During that first safari we checked the furthest waterhole on the concession. It was a good many kilometres and hours travel by foot away from the next water source and there we found a single set of tracks that grabbed all our attention.
The bull’s tracks were not only huge in size, but deeply imprinted as well. He had obviously mudded himself that evening and he had left huge clumps of mud as he travelled through the bush, using a well worn elephant trail. This bull had all the indicators of a resident to the area and, the likelihood of him falling into that dugga boy class was abundantly obvious. After following him for most of the day, we were eventually sabotaged by a huge herd of Zebra walking over his tracks. It was definitely one of the low points of the safari. However, after many discussions with the rangers, it was determined that this specific bull was well known and was on many hunters’ hit lists. Yet, he had managed to evade them time after time, year after year. He was always 2 steps ahead of the hunters and, at this point in his life, it was said that he was almost hairless and white in colour due to his extreme age. It was clear that he was a true treasure of the bush, and this old bull had, without question, built quite the reputation for himself!
Fast forward to 3 months later, when the next gentleman arrived at the reserve to hunt buffalo with us. Arrie was a fantastic individual and he arrived fresh, eager and full of optimism for his first buff hunt with myself and Big John (our tracker). We knew full well the monumental challenge that lay ahead of us over the next few days. That first morning, meeting up with our designated ranger and tracker, Boetie, we made the call to drive all the way to that furthest waterhole where we had followed the old bull’s tracks previously. It was a bold call, because if we found nothing to follow there, we would have wasted a good 2 hours of the morning and risked other tracks being trampled by the numerous herds of Zebra roaming around. In a reserve such as this you need to use every single given opportunity to follow buffalo!
On the way to the waterhole, Boetie told me that since I had last been there, a few attempts had been made to try and locate this bull, however each time he seemed to outsmart them and vanish into thin air. Arriving at the waterhole, after the rather chilly and lengthy drive, we immediately set out, eagerly trying to locate a decent track to follow. Low and behold, almost as if we were watching a repeat of the previous hunt, we found the bull’s tracks entering and leaving in precisely the same spot. Huge clumps of mud, with multiple hairs sticking out, were glued to the various stumps and trees that he brushed passed on his way out. We realised that we had made the right call and we were on his tracks early enough to hopefully beat the countless zebras and their destructive hooves. We geared up and prepared ourselves for a long walk. Within the first 30 minutes, the heat of the September sun had burned off whatever chill had been in the air and the first droplets of sweat started to run down our backs. Following the tracks, we quickly realised that he was walking the exact same route as he had previously and for the first few kilometers he stuck to the well worn and easy to navigate elephant trail.
The September wind was fickle as can often be and the swirling early morning breeze left us without much confidence as the bull turned and weaved through the bush. Ultimately, he broke off from the elephant trail and started heading for the thicker brush. Following him in, we realised that we had at long last found his home range. His old dung piles and the countless sets of criss-crossing tracks showed us that this was indeed his area and had been for quite some time. We were at the very most Northern tip of the reserve. The tracking became slower and more difficult as we tried to distinguish new from old spoor whilst still competing with the ever present Zebra herds. The bush seemed to thicken with each step and the September heat started to cast a suffocating blanket over the dense thorn bush. The section of thick sekelbos we found ourselves in, was dotted with countless Matoppi trees. Each one offered its own small piece of shade and each tree had likely seen him sleeping under it at some point in its life. The big question on all our minds was: where had he chosen to rest today?
Eventually, after a few painfully slow minutes, we tracked to a point of complete uncertainty. We stopped for a welcome break to allow Big John and Boetie to head off in their respective arching loops, as they tried to cut the fresh tracks again. Standing there, chatting with Arrie, we both felt as if the old bull had once again slipped through the fingers of a determined hunter. We were admiring his cunning when we heard some whistling close by. Responding to the whistle with whistles of our own, we slowly but surely started to see Boetie emerging out of the bush at a frantic pace. Sensing the urgency of his movements, we snatched up our rifles and headed to him. Boetie quickly explained to us that whilst looping around he had luckily seen a quick flash of the bull’s horns as he lay resting under a Matoppi tree. Fearing the bull would sense him, or catch his wind, he had quickly pulled out and hurried back to find us. He pointed out the lonely Matoppi tree in the distance and indicated that it was indeed the fateful tree.
We checked the wind, as we now had the advantage of knowing where the bull was. We looped around and hurried in as quickly as we could for our final approach. Finally, reaching the tree, we realised that the old bull had truly been cunning in his selection of bedding for the day. The sekelbos was so thick around the Matoppi that I could only make out glimpses of him through the brush even though he was a mere 25m away. When we arrived there he was already on his feet and looking very much alert. I could see his big head swinging from side to side as he attempted to pick up any scent of man in his wide flaring nostrils. He had obviously sensed Boetie nearby when he made his hasty retreat back to us.
Luckily, the one thing we had going for us was the wind. Choosing a route of attack, we slowly crept down a game trail that took us along the edge of the sekelbos in the hopes of finding a shooting lane or the smallest of gaps so as to be able to place a shot into the bull. We sensed the uneasiness of the bull and moved slowly but with purpose. As we were steadily approaching the end of the trail, the bull finally decided that enough was enough. Even without scenting us, his years of experience guided him and he started trotting off. A million thoughts crossed my mind in a few short seconds, as I watched this dream bull running off. The only chance we had at stopping this spooked bull, was to try and stop him with a calf bellow. I threw out my best version of a buffalo calf bellow, and the bull immediately whipped around to see where this familiar, yet alarming noise had come from.
He stopped in the only shooting lane visible to us and he stared us down, trying to make out what we were and where the confusing sound had come from. At this point, Arrie was already on my shoulder as I whispered to him in no uncertain terms: “take him, he’s slightly quartered on”. The seconds felt like hours as I saw his glassy smooth bosses reflecting the sunlight and his scarred white face staring back at us. I had never seen a buffalo more magnificent. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime (but in reality was likely only 3 seconds) Arrie’s .416 bellowed and the bull spun away from us with minimal reaction to the big bore’s impact as is typical of these titans. I told Arrie to shoot again, and he quickly worked the bolt and took a second snapshot as the bull was running into the bush. Rushing up to where we last saw him, we were surprised when we saw the old bull not far into the bush and giving him a third shot, we saw him hit the ground. Not wanting to put pressure on the old bull I thought it best to give him 2 minutes to succumb to his injuries and backed out about 20m. Unbelievably, after about 30 seconds of excited chatter from us, the old bull somehow managed to make it back up onto his feet at which point we quickly moved back into position where Arrie dispatched him with 2 quick shots.
Walking up to the old bull was an indescribable experience. To be able to hunt such an incredible old warrior was something that every hunter and guide strives to do. The old bull’s horn tips were fully broomed off and his bosses were completely smooth. His face and hide shone a brilliant white in the sunlight. He was every bit as impressive as his legend had led us to believe. The awe with which we admired the old bull was long lasting and it was hard to leave his side to start the planning to get him out. That was, until the promise of cold beers was offered! Being able to guide this bull was something I will never be able to forget. A bull like this often only comes once in a lifetime and just to be part of the experience was something I will always cherish.
A big thank you must go out to all the local hunters that spent their hard earned money with South African outfitters this year and helped to keep us afloat in these difficult times! It was a tremendously challenging year for everyone and we appreciate every one of you for supporting us!
Written by Dempsey Bayly
To get in touch with us:
Email: hunt@baylysippelsafaris.co.za
Cell/WhatsApp+27719821685 Dempsey Bayly
Arnold Baileys stunning old Buffalo
Some Elephants cooling off!
And here he is! Arrie's Bull!
The first safari was with a local hunter named Arnold Bailey and the reserve showed the hunt for what it was - incredibly difficult and in some unbelievably thick bush! A buffalo hunted on this reserve, would need to be hunted by putting the long kilometers in, constant hard work and, of course, a bit of luck! After 3 days of slogging around with many highs and lows, we finally connected with a tremendous old dugga boy, much to our team’s delight. Arnold put a perfect first shot into the bull at about 20m and he didn't make it all of 30m.
During that first safari we checked the furthest waterhole on the concession. It was a good many kilometres and hours travel by foot away from the next water source and there we found a single set of tracks that grabbed all our attention.
The bull’s tracks were not only huge in size, but deeply imprinted as well. He had obviously mudded himself that evening and he had left huge clumps of mud as he travelled through the bush, using a well worn elephant trail. This bull had all the indicators of a resident to the area and, the likelihood of him falling into that dugga boy class was abundantly obvious. After following him for most of the day, we were eventually sabotaged by a huge herd of Zebra walking over his tracks. It was definitely one of the low points of the safari. However, after many discussions with the rangers, it was determined that this specific bull was well known and was on many hunters’ hit lists. Yet, he had managed to evade them time after time, year after year. He was always 2 steps ahead of the hunters and, at this point in his life, it was said that he was almost hairless and white in colour due to his extreme age. It was clear that he was a true treasure of the bush, and this old bull had, without question, built quite the reputation for himself!
Fast forward to 3 months later, when the next gentleman arrived at the reserve to hunt buffalo with us. Arrie was a fantastic individual and he arrived fresh, eager and full of optimism for his first buff hunt with myself and Big John (our tracker). We knew full well the monumental challenge that lay ahead of us over the next few days. That first morning, meeting up with our designated ranger and tracker, Boetie, we made the call to drive all the way to that furthest waterhole where we had followed the old bull’s tracks previously. It was a bold call, because if we found nothing to follow there, we would have wasted a good 2 hours of the morning and risked other tracks being trampled by the numerous herds of Zebra roaming around. In a reserve such as this you need to use every single given opportunity to follow buffalo!
On the way to the waterhole, Boetie told me that since I had last been there, a few attempts had been made to try and locate this bull, however each time he seemed to outsmart them and vanish into thin air. Arriving at the waterhole, after the rather chilly and lengthy drive, we immediately set out, eagerly trying to locate a decent track to follow. Low and behold, almost as if we were watching a repeat of the previous hunt, we found the bull’s tracks entering and leaving in precisely the same spot. Huge clumps of mud, with multiple hairs sticking out, were glued to the various stumps and trees that he brushed passed on his way out. We realised that we had made the right call and we were on his tracks early enough to hopefully beat the countless zebras and their destructive hooves. We geared up and prepared ourselves for a long walk. Within the first 30 minutes, the heat of the September sun had burned off whatever chill had been in the air and the first droplets of sweat started to run down our backs. Following the tracks, we quickly realised that he was walking the exact same route as he had previously and for the first few kilometers he stuck to the well worn and easy to navigate elephant trail.
The September wind was fickle as can often be and the swirling early morning breeze left us without much confidence as the bull turned and weaved through the bush. Ultimately, he broke off from the elephant trail and started heading for the thicker brush. Following him in, we realised that we had at long last found his home range. His old dung piles and the countless sets of criss-crossing tracks showed us that this was indeed his area and had been for quite some time. We were at the very most Northern tip of the reserve. The tracking became slower and more difficult as we tried to distinguish new from old spoor whilst still competing with the ever present Zebra herds. The bush seemed to thicken with each step and the September heat started to cast a suffocating blanket over the dense thorn bush. The section of thick sekelbos we found ourselves in, was dotted with countless Matoppi trees. Each one offered its own small piece of shade and each tree had likely seen him sleeping under it at some point in its life. The big question on all our minds was: where had he chosen to rest today?
Eventually, after a few painfully slow minutes, we tracked to a point of complete uncertainty. We stopped for a welcome break to allow Big John and Boetie to head off in their respective arching loops, as they tried to cut the fresh tracks again. Standing there, chatting with Arrie, we both felt as if the old bull had once again slipped through the fingers of a determined hunter. We were admiring his cunning when we heard some whistling close by. Responding to the whistle with whistles of our own, we slowly but surely started to see Boetie emerging out of the bush at a frantic pace. Sensing the urgency of his movements, we snatched up our rifles and headed to him. Boetie quickly explained to us that whilst looping around he had luckily seen a quick flash of the bull’s horns as he lay resting under a Matoppi tree. Fearing the bull would sense him, or catch his wind, he had quickly pulled out and hurried back to find us. He pointed out the lonely Matoppi tree in the distance and indicated that it was indeed the fateful tree.
We checked the wind, as we now had the advantage of knowing where the bull was. We looped around and hurried in as quickly as we could for our final approach. Finally, reaching the tree, we realised that the old bull had truly been cunning in his selection of bedding for the day. The sekelbos was so thick around the Matoppi that I could only make out glimpses of him through the brush even though he was a mere 25m away. When we arrived there he was already on his feet and looking very much alert. I could see his big head swinging from side to side as he attempted to pick up any scent of man in his wide flaring nostrils. He had obviously sensed Boetie nearby when he made his hasty retreat back to us.
Luckily, the one thing we had going for us was the wind. Choosing a route of attack, we slowly crept down a game trail that took us along the edge of the sekelbos in the hopes of finding a shooting lane or the smallest of gaps so as to be able to place a shot into the bull. We sensed the uneasiness of the bull and moved slowly but with purpose. As we were steadily approaching the end of the trail, the bull finally decided that enough was enough. Even without scenting us, his years of experience guided him and he started trotting off. A million thoughts crossed my mind in a few short seconds, as I watched this dream bull running off. The only chance we had at stopping this spooked bull, was to try and stop him with a calf bellow. I threw out my best version of a buffalo calf bellow, and the bull immediately whipped around to see where this familiar, yet alarming noise had come from.
He stopped in the only shooting lane visible to us and he stared us down, trying to make out what we were and where the confusing sound had come from. At this point, Arrie was already on my shoulder as I whispered to him in no uncertain terms: “take him, he’s slightly quartered on”. The seconds felt like hours as I saw his glassy smooth bosses reflecting the sunlight and his scarred white face staring back at us. I had never seen a buffalo more magnificent. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime (but in reality was likely only 3 seconds) Arrie’s .416 bellowed and the bull spun away from us with minimal reaction to the big bore’s impact as is typical of these titans. I told Arrie to shoot again, and he quickly worked the bolt and took a second snapshot as the bull was running into the bush. Rushing up to where we last saw him, we were surprised when we saw the old bull not far into the bush and giving him a third shot, we saw him hit the ground. Not wanting to put pressure on the old bull I thought it best to give him 2 minutes to succumb to his injuries and backed out about 20m. Unbelievably, after about 30 seconds of excited chatter from us, the old bull somehow managed to make it back up onto his feet at which point we quickly moved back into position where Arrie dispatched him with 2 quick shots.
Walking up to the old bull was an indescribable experience. To be able to hunt such an incredible old warrior was something that every hunter and guide strives to do. The old bull’s horn tips were fully broomed off and his bosses were completely smooth. His face and hide shone a brilliant white in the sunlight. He was every bit as impressive as his legend had led us to believe. The awe with which we admired the old bull was long lasting and it was hard to leave his side to start the planning to get him out. That was, until the promise of cold beers was offered! Being able to guide this bull was something I will never be able to forget. A bull like this often only comes once in a lifetime and just to be part of the experience was something I will always cherish.
A big thank you must go out to all the local hunters that spent their hard earned money with South African outfitters this year and helped to keep us afloat in these difficult times! It was a tremendously challenging year for everyone and we appreciate every one of you for supporting us!
Written by Dempsey Bayly
To get in touch with us:
Email: hunt@baylysippelsafaris.co.za
Cell/WhatsApp+27719821685 Dempsey Bayly
Arnold Baileys stunning old Buffalo
Some Elephants cooling off!
And here he is! Arrie's Bull!
... sorry for the pun but nice buffalo nonetheless! Congratulations!
