Wooster
AH senior member
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2021
- Messages
- 65
- Reaction score
- 315
- Media
- 9
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- DSC, RMEF, MDF, BHA
- Hunted
- USA (AK, CO, NM, WY, MT, TX, OK, KS), Canada (Yukon), South Africa (East Cape, Kwazulu-Natal), Namibia (Kalahari, Kaokoland, Caprivi, Waterberg Plateau), New Zealand (South Island), Scottish Highlands, Argentina
There is so much wrong with this story I am omitting dates, names and even country. I have kept it low profile for a long time, but think you all will find it both horrifying yet amusing. Please don't heap abuse on me. I was young and didn't know better. Lol. I understand the PH is no longer active. Everyone aware of this event is aghast at the recklessness of it all. I don’t tell it as a cautionary tale, as I doubt anyone on this site is so insane as to put themselves in a similar position. But I guess it may be useful to illustrate the wrong way to make a core memory.
I was after my second kudu at the time. (I am looking next month for a special one to make it an even dozen. So, it was a while ago.) I had not yet hunted any dangerous game. Driving a dusty road to a glassing point my PH got a call to make him aware of a wounded buffalo in the area – shot several times the day before but still alive. I heard only one side of the call, but there was macho PH talk going on. My PH kept saying “don’t worry, we’ll be careful” and several times he said we would make sure to “shoot him right between the eyes.” That stuck with me because that’s not a shot that I would generally want to take.
Well, we found the bull as we topped a ridge. He looked sick, and mad, but had the energy to bolt and disappear down slope into heavy bush. My PH slammed the brakes and asked “you wanna hunt a Cape Buffalo?” I answered with a quick “sure!”
I was relieved when he pulled a .458 Lott from behind the seat. I figured he would give it to me. Instead, he told me to grab my trusty .300 Win Mag. On reflection, that seemed the better way to do it. He would be in position to back me up.
What he said next caught me off guard, and, in hindsight, is obviously where I should’ve questioned things. He said we would split up. The tracker and I would walk the ridge while he and his dog, along with a second tracker, would slip to the bottom and walk up the drainage. I felt uncomfortable with this, being alone with only the .300 and 180 grain TTSX’s, but figured he knew what he was doing and was probably trying to keep me out of harm’s way up on the ridge.
As luck would have it, the tracker and I hadn’t gone 100 yards along the ridge when up from the bottom came the bull. Unaware of me, he stopped no more than 25 yards away. I could hear his breathing. Quartered hard toward me, he was looking slightly to his left down the slope distracted by the PH and crew below. My tracker quietly set up the sticks and whispered to me “shoot him on the shoulder”. I whispered back “[PH] said to shoot him between the eyes”. The tracker said, “no, on the shoulder”.
With time ticking, my mind was weighing the options. If I shot him on the shoulder, it would be square on the shoulder knuckle, and I questioned whether even the TTSX could make it through to the vitals. And even if it did, it would not be an immediately fatal shot and I would have no options or escape from a quick charge since he was so close. With my mind spinning, and not being comfortable with the tracker’s advice, I whispered back at him but there was no answer. I turned and saw him running away. To me, this further discredited his advice.
So, instead, I triangulated a spot under the boss, and hedged an inch and a half to take into account the height of my scope above the bore. I thought to myself “I can’t believe I thought about the scope height,” and it bolstered my confidence. I wasn’t nervous taking the shot. In fact, I had quite a peace about it, and thought the Good Lord had led me to choose the shot I should take, even though it was not my first choice. (I still believe this.)
I fully expected to pancake the bull and was shocked when it didn’t happen. I must’ve miscalculated by just a hair. It was close enough, though, to completely discombobulate him, and he spun around in tight circles several times, like a tornado or bucking bull, and stumbled awkwardly down the hill. Although he was still on his feet, I was relieved that I concussed him so hard he did know where he was, couldn’t see me, and couldn’t charge.
My PH heard the shot and we reconnected. He asked where I shot him and when I said “under the boss” he went ballistic. He cursed me out, up and down, pummeling me with F-bombs, and saying “now we have a problem on our hands”. He asked why I didn’t shoot him on the shoulder, and I said because he was quartering to and I would have had to shoot through the shoulder knuckle. He then cursed out the tracker, who had now returned, for not having me shoot him on the shoulder, but I defended him and said he had in fact told me that, but I made my own decision in the heat of the moment. (I also said “you were the one in the truck who said over and over to ‘shoot him right between the eyes!’”)
Now comes the crazy part. Ha. We went along and the dog found the bull with head low in thick brush. My PH slid over to get a shoulder shot with the Lott. Boom, he shoots him with the Lott on the point of the shoulder, just as he thought I should’ve done. And here he comes!! Bursting out of the brush bellowing!! Full charge. Straight at my PH. Boom, boom, boom. Three more shots. I’m in no position to support as I’m too far away and obstructed. Just a spectator at this point. I must give him credit for working the bolt that fast. One glanced off the top of the boss. One got the nose but too low. But the last one ended it with the bull dropping about 10 yards away.
For the next hour we all sat there while my PH chain-smoked a couple packs of cigarettes while his hands were shaking like leaves. That was his closest call he said. I took it all in and ruminated on how fortunate I had been. He seemed to have forgotten his attack on me for my shot selection. Once everything settled down I said “you do understand the irony of all this don’t you?” He said “what are you talking about?” I said “You cussed me out up and down for not shooting him on the shoulder with my .300 Win Mag, then you shot him there with your .458 Lott and you nearly died.” He got the point and laughed nervously. That night he got really drunk.
I told this story only to #WoodFire, who was in camp with me and who can verify all the foregoing. He was the first to confirm to me that this whole episode was about as irresponsible as can possibly be imagined.
Nonetheless, by the grace of God, we all lived to hunt another day.
I was after my second kudu at the time. (I am looking next month for a special one to make it an even dozen. So, it was a while ago.) I had not yet hunted any dangerous game. Driving a dusty road to a glassing point my PH got a call to make him aware of a wounded buffalo in the area – shot several times the day before but still alive. I heard only one side of the call, but there was macho PH talk going on. My PH kept saying “don’t worry, we’ll be careful” and several times he said we would make sure to “shoot him right between the eyes.” That stuck with me because that’s not a shot that I would generally want to take.
Well, we found the bull as we topped a ridge. He looked sick, and mad, but had the energy to bolt and disappear down slope into heavy bush. My PH slammed the brakes and asked “you wanna hunt a Cape Buffalo?” I answered with a quick “sure!”
I was relieved when he pulled a .458 Lott from behind the seat. I figured he would give it to me. Instead, he told me to grab my trusty .300 Win Mag. On reflection, that seemed the better way to do it. He would be in position to back me up.
What he said next caught me off guard, and, in hindsight, is obviously where I should’ve questioned things. He said we would split up. The tracker and I would walk the ridge while he and his dog, along with a second tracker, would slip to the bottom and walk up the drainage. I felt uncomfortable with this, being alone with only the .300 and 180 grain TTSX’s, but figured he knew what he was doing and was probably trying to keep me out of harm’s way up on the ridge.
As luck would have it, the tracker and I hadn’t gone 100 yards along the ridge when up from the bottom came the bull. Unaware of me, he stopped no more than 25 yards away. I could hear his breathing. Quartered hard toward me, he was looking slightly to his left down the slope distracted by the PH and crew below. My tracker quietly set up the sticks and whispered to me “shoot him on the shoulder”. I whispered back “[PH] said to shoot him between the eyes”. The tracker said, “no, on the shoulder”.
With time ticking, my mind was weighing the options. If I shot him on the shoulder, it would be square on the shoulder knuckle, and I questioned whether even the TTSX could make it through to the vitals. And even if it did, it would not be an immediately fatal shot and I would have no options or escape from a quick charge since he was so close. With my mind spinning, and not being comfortable with the tracker’s advice, I whispered back at him but there was no answer. I turned and saw him running away. To me, this further discredited his advice.
So, instead, I triangulated a spot under the boss, and hedged an inch and a half to take into account the height of my scope above the bore. I thought to myself “I can’t believe I thought about the scope height,” and it bolstered my confidence. I wasn’t nervous taking the shot. In fact, I had quite a peace about it, and thought the Good Lord had led me to choose the shot I should take, even though it was not my first choice. (I still believe this.)
I fully expected to pancake the bull and was shocked when it didn’t happen. I must’ve miscalculated by just a hair. It was close enough, though, to completely discombobulate him, and he spun around in tight circles several times, like a tornado or bucking bull, and stumbled awkwardly down the hill. Although he was still on his feet, I was relieved that I concussed him so hard he did know where he was, couldn’t see me, and couldn’t charge.
My PH heard the shot and we reconnected. He asked where I shot him and when I said “under the boss” he went ballistic. He cursed me out, up and down, pummeling me with F-bombs, and saying “now we have a problem on our hands”. He asked why I didn’t shoot him on the shoulder, and I said because he was quartering to and I would have had to shoot through the shoulder knuckle. He then cursed out the tracker, who had now returned, for not having me shoot him on the shoulder, but I defended him and said he had in fact told me that, but I made my own decision in the heat of the moment. (I also said “you were the one in the truck who said over and over to ‘shoot him right between the eyes!’”)
Now comes the crazy part. Ha. We went along and the dog found the bull with head low in thick brush. My PH slid over to get a shoulder shot with the Lott. Boom, he shoots him with the Lott on the point of the shoulder, just as he thought I should’ve done. And here he comes!! Bursting out of the brush bellowing!! Full charge. Straight at my PH. Boom, boom, boom. Three more shots. I’m in no position to support as I’m too far away and obstructed. Just a spectator at this point. I must give him credit for working the bolt that fast. One glanced off the top of the boss. One got the nose but too low. But the last one ended it with the bull dropping about 10 yards away.
For the next hour we all sat there while my PH chain-smoked a couple packs of cigarettes while his hands were shaking like leaves. That was his closest call he said. I took it all in and ruminated on how fortunate I had been. He seemed to have forgotten his attack on me for my shot selection. Once everything settled down I said “you do understand the irony of all this don’t you?” He said “what are you talking about?” I said “You cussed me out up and down for not shooting him on the shoulder with my .300 Win Mag, then you shot him there with your .458 Lott and you nearly died.” He got the point and laughed nervously. That night he got really drunk.
I told this story only to #WoodFire, who was in camp with me and who can verify all the foregoing. He was the first to confirm to me that this whole episode was about as irresponsible as can possibly be imagined.
Nonetheless, by the grace of God, we all lived to hunt another day.
Now do as I say not as I do……..yeah nar!!!!
