SOUTH AFRICA: Classic Rifle Safari With KAROO WILD Safaris

[USN]

very well written and the plus is your rifles doing rifle things where they should do ‘em!

 

[Doug3006]

Wonderful report Tom! What a joy and privilege it must be to let those beautiful rifles do what they were built for! I have the same book you reference at the beginning of your post, along with the other 3 titles released by the NRA. Taylor’s book is a favorite and the information it contains is surprisingly relevant today, despite all of the “advancements“ made in the last 75 years. I always thought that a modern hunter armed with an old classic rifle/cartridge combination would find success today….you proved it.

 

[degoins]

Tom you write as good as you shoot!!
I'm so glad to the little Martini doing what it was made to do where it was intended to do it. Beautiful bush buck.....congrats!!!

 

[shotgungibbs]

Very beautiful rifles! Couldn't ask for more classic rifles on this adventure! Great writing, looking forward to more!

 

[Tom Leoni]

Part 3: Zebra and Stars

I am a superstitious man to begin with. Doubly so when I’m hunting. The things I wear and carry, the little rituals, the signs and omens from my surroundings—they all speak to me of what may or may not happen. That morning while I got dressed I looked at my Holland & Holland .375 falling block and a rush of optimism swept over me.

Mind you, I knew that it wouldn’t be easy. Zebra had eluded both me and my buddy Joe the year before, but I had the "Iron Man" and “Infallible” on my side. I knew that it woud be physically challenging. The terrain would call for lots of brisk uphill walking, but I had spent the last several months training hard and keeping myself in shape. And I knew that if I even got a glimpse of my quarry, shots would have to be taken quickly and without much thinking. Zebra are very alert and prone to flight, but I had the most ideal rifle I could think of—my classic single shot H&H, a tack-driver that fits me like a glove and that I shoot with the utmost confidence.

We began the stalk in a little donga or dry riverbed on Victor’s property early in the morning. As we glassed the hill, the gigantic shadow we projected in the early light looked like the apparition of some primitive earth-deity searching for a treasure deep in the bowels of the mountain. On the other side of the hill, Mitchell was tracking a small group of zebra that he had seen shortly before we set off. The silence was only broken by the occasional crackling of the two-way radio Victor was carrying, along with the whispered “Mitchell, kom in” followed by the epigrammatic reports in Afrikaans from the tracker.

A note about silence. When I talk about silence, I’m not merely talking about any silence. I’m talking about African silence. Karoo silence. Not a leaf stirs—not that there are many leaves to stir in that semi-desertic landscape. Imagine being transported to a modern-art museum and suddenly finding yourself in a Salvador Dalí painting, in another dimension where sound is unknown. That kind of silence. You can actually hear your heart beat behind your mandibular bone, slightly under your ears. It has to be experienced to be believed.

Back to the real world: nope. As Mitchell reported, the zebra he had seen had simply evaporated. Accordingly, the three of us hiked back to the Toyota and had a little conversation about the next tactic to employ. We would hunt a high hill where, the preceding year, Joe and I had taken our first crack at kudu—seeing some in the distance but not being able to get a shot.

After a very short drive, we hiked the steep trail leading to the top of the hill. I kept my eyes up, combing the surroundings for any sign of game while I climbed. The Courteney "Safari" boots gave me a firm purchase on the steep ground and I was proud of myself for keeping up with the Iron Man without too much struggle. Slung on my shoulder, the H&H seemed to push me up and forward as if it knew that something ahead was going to be memorable.

We eventually got to a little flat clearing on the top of the hill. Almost immediately, Victor and Mitchell pointed to a nearby height where a small group of zebra had briefly halted to take a better look our way and figure out who or what we were. There were three of them, just a touch over 200 yards away according to the rangefinder built into Victor’s Leica binoculars. He pointed to the middle one as the best animal while he set up the quad shooting sticks. He watched somewhat in trepidation (as he admitted later) as I calmly—perhaps too calmly!--loaded the H&H and settled the splinter forend on my left hand, which in turn rested on the forward platform of the sticks. As the crosshairs locked on the animal’s left shoulder, I squeezed the trigger and I had a good feeling that I had sent the 270gr Speer true and straight on its way. Sure enough, we hiked up to the zebra and there she lay—a beautiful mare with just an entry hole on her left shoulder.

After Mitchell had field-dressed the animal, I took some pictures of my nice classic rifle as it leaned against the zebra. A little inner voice told me that in the next year or so, a beautiful zebra-skin rifle case will be the new home of this incomparable rifle.

Back in camp, an absolutely spectacular kudu burger was waiting for me, along with what is perhaps my beverage of choice—a nice cold diet soda.

Later, instead of the usual 1-3PM siesta, I decided to venture behind my cottage and hike the kopje or hillock adjacent to camp, atop which stands the Wi-Fi tower installed by the Watsons. As I gained more and more elevation, the camp and the surrounding landscape yielded a tremendous view, until I made it to the top and was able to take a few panoramic shots. This image shows the Watsons' camp along with the nearby hills and the dirt roads that spider-web their huge property. In the center is the lapa or main building where the kitchen, office, and entertainment area are located; lower and to the right are the four thatched cottages, with the one I occupied being the lowermost and farthest from the lapa.

That night, Lindsay, Victor and I had a spirited discussion on the relative merits of kudu, eland and springbuck meat (which one do you find most delicious?). We did so over a Cape Malay dish called bobotie, consisting of spiced ground meat in an egg-based crust with a tasty accompaniment of chutney, rice and banana. Here is a picture of a particularly lovely Mrs. Watson along with the day's culinary masterpiece she created:

As this fantastic day drew to a close, I ventured back to my cottage. I had asked the Watsons to keep the camp lights off because a colder front was coming in and I wanted to experience one more thing on this unforgettable day: the African starlight. It is amazing that even with a cell phone--and no enhancement!--I was able to snap this shot of the firmament, with the Milky Way clearly visible in the center. Africa has so many gifts to give, even besides the hunting.

The plan for the next couple days included both some sight-seeing and the crown jewel of my pursuit: an eland, with which I would complete my 4-animal spiral horn slam. Would I be able to get a shot at one? And would it be a job for the H&H or, as Victor encouraged me to do, would I take it with the open-sighted Martini .303? Even I didn’t know. Yet.

End of part 3.

 

[VertigoBE]

Your writing stands out like a fine gourmet meal @Tom Leoni ! Can’t wait for the next instalment.

Btw, are you a professional writer? If so do you have other pieces you could share?

 

[Tom Leoni]

Your writing stands out like a fine gourmet meal @Tom Leoni ! Can’t wait for the next instalment.

Btw, are you a professional writer? If so do you have other pieces you could share?

LOL - no, alas, no professional writer. Chalk it up to the magic of Africa--experiences like these write themselves. Thank you for the kind words!

 

[KAROO WILD Safaris]

Beautifully written report @Tom Leoni !

We were very fortunate spotting that bushbuck so early on. We’d packed in for a full day, braai meat, firewood, camping chairs . Got out the vehicle, discussed the days hunting strategy at length unloading some of the the gear to carry with us, take 100 steps, pick the binos up to glass before we move through an area… there’s a bushbuck ram 70 yards in front of us…

Given the backyard gunsmith job and the angle the ram was standing, Tom’s shot was absolutely pinpoint.

 

[KJE81]

Great writing, really puts one's thoughts about going to Africa into overdrive

 

[Art Lambart II]

Great stuff

 

[mark-hunter]

Beautiful rifles, and great writing! Looking fwd to read the next part!

 

[gesch]

Thank you. I am hooked! Your friend, Brian

 

[Tom Leoni]

Part 4: A Bit of Italy Comes to the Eastern Cape. A Glorious Hunting Day


Much More than Hunting

There is something about a whole family and camp staff spoiling you as the only guest. Not talking about as the only hunter—but rather as the only guest in the whole camp. This is why after a few days, I felt like doing something for my hosts in return. Yes, I know. I’m not strictly a guest—I’m a paying client; but the Watsons really go out of their way for their safari customers, so I was determined.

The specific idea came to me one evening when Lindsay Watson and I were teasingly challenging each other to define Italian risotto and pinpoint the main difference between it and any other rice dish—much to the amusement of Victor who seemed to be enjoying the debate with an amused grin on his face. As the far superior cook, she was defending her position masterfully and parry-riposting all my arguments with the adroitness of a D’Artagnan. I even rolled out the argumentum ad auctoritatem as someone who still holds Italian citizenship, but man, is she a good debater!

So we were both playfully but tenaciously defending our positions when,

Me: OK, how about I show you what I mean? All you need to do is let me use your kitchen for one evening.

Her: Hah, you think you can, eh? And why should I trust you with my kitchen?

Me: Oh, yes, I think—rather, I know I can. Question is, can you find the ingredients around these parts?

Her: I can find anything I need and more, thank you very much!

Me: Well, then the challenge is on! Let’s shake on it: tomorrow it is, then!

The next evening I turned my Lombard accent up a notch and, under her attentive eye, prepared a bacon and mushroom risotto that came out nicer and creamier than any I’d cooked before. I was extremely pleased to see the Watsons enjoy it. I had finally managed to do something for them!

The Hauntingly Beautiful Graaff-Reinet

Incidentally, while on a hunt for the ingredients, Victor had driven me to the nearby town of Graaff-Reinet where I got to spend a few extremely enjoyable hours sight-seeing. Founded by the Dutch East India Company towards the end of the 18th century, today Graaff-Reinet is a gorgeous old town of approximately 35,000 souls, chock-full of charm and history. Its architecture, with its clean white lines and old-timey Dutch aesthetics, stands out as one of the most unique I’ve ever seen. Historically, the town was not only one of the main starting points of the Great Trek, but played a key (and tragic) role in the Second Boer War of 1901—one of the most interesting chapters in modern military history and one that I urge my AH friends to learn more about.

The interiors were just as fascinating as the exteriors. Here are some photos of the truly spectacular Drostdy historic hotel, where Victor and I also sat down for a great meal:

And of course, a visit to the historical firearms museum was an absolute must. They had everything of interest to an African hunter and lover of firearm history--from the flintlock elephant guns carried by the early settlers to the Mauser and Martini rifles used in the Boer War.

The Best Hunting Day in My Life

As my visit to South Africa was drawing to a close, I still had an important item on my list: an eland. Much like the zebra, the massive spiral-horned ungulate had eluded both me and my friend Joe the year before.

While discussing the upcoming drive to another concession—spanning an impressive 400,000 acres—Victor urged me to take both my H&H and the .303 Martini, with which he hoped I would bag my eland. Now and then during the morning drive, he would nudge me with his elbow and challenge me to only take the Martini upon my next trip to the Eastern Cape. I started as unmoved, then shifted to doubtful, then to merely wavering. By the end of the drive, I was looking forward to a one-gun 2023 safari with that sleek, trim, open-sighted 1896 classic. Such is the power of the Iron Man’s persuasion!

We made it to the new camp in the early morning. It’s as if someone had picked up a period cottage from Graaff-Reinet and plopped it in the middle of the veldt, together with its nicely-manicured lawn and the ancient, monstrous Brazilian pepper trees around it:

Here I also reunited with an old acquaintance, the tracker Michael, whose favorite game to hunt (much to my appreciation) is in fact the massive Taurotragus oryx. Taurotragus oryx. What a funny binomial nomenclature for the eland. Classical education kicking into auto-pilot. Taurus means bull, as in a male bovine. Tragus means goat, as in a goat. Oryx means, well, oryx, as in the gemsbok. That day, then, I would pursue a “Bull-goat gemsbok.” And I had the best-possible team to help me do so: Victor, Mitchell, and Michael.


Primal Images; Through a Maze of Dongas

We set out immediately after arriving. The air was still and crystal-clear, with visibility extending as far as the eye can see. The terrain there consists of a vast—and I mean vast—crater-like flat in the shape of a circle, surrounded by a ring of mountains called Camdeboo.

While beginning the stalk, we saw giraffe, warthog, springbuck as well as, far, far in the distance, a single row of elephant silently coming down an impossibly steep hill. The kind of sight that, in a dream, would activate what Carl Jung called an archetype—a powerful image that awakens millennia of primal symbols from our collective unconscious. Animals. Venturing into unknown lands. The chase, or what we evolved to do as humans. I released any type of sentient thought and let that image and those ancient voices speak to me. Yes, hunting is also that, if we learn to listen.

Back from my state of semi-consciousness, the Martini’s stock was tapping my back to the rhythm of my steps. Ahead of me, Victor was carrying my H&H just in case the eland would present us with a shot too far or too tricky for open sights. He and Michael would occasionally stop and glass in the distance, but so far, no eland. Meanwhile, Mitchell had remained somewhat behind and in radio contact with Victor, to alert us of any eland he may see. So far, silence.

Occasionally, kudus would tease us from the rocky ground of a faraway hill:

After a few hours’ stalking, we decided to use the cover of a maze of dongas or dry creek-beds and scour the surroundings for our quarry, to lessen the imponderables of the day’s shifting breeze. At long last, in the early afternoon, we finally spotted a herd of eland about 500 yards away. The first sight of your prey: that’s when joyful expectation becomes relentless determination.

Michael’s tracking skills and knowledge of the terrain shifted into overdrive, and so did my desire to obtain this animal. For about an hour, we negotiated a labyrinth of deep dongas—or was it the same one that wound and wound its way through the plain? I was too happy and single-minded to notice.

Eventually, Victor and Michael peered over a high, natural parapet reminiscent of a trench: about 200-210 yards away were the eland. One, two, three, more. Some would be wholly concealed by acacia and gwarri bushes. No telling how many of them there were.

Conditions were perfect, save for a breeze that was deceitfully fishtailing hither and thither and making it impossible for us to even dream of getting closer. No place of concealment existed between us and the game—a perfect flat, almost wholly bereft of vegetation, separated us from the group of eland. That’s when I reluctantly put away the .303 and unzipped the case containing the H&H—reluctantly because I knew that Victor hoped for me to use the little Martini. But he knew that at that distance, with the animals so numerous and all partially or totally concealed, a telescopic sight would be near irreplaceable.

That’s when something unexpected happened. Almost as if obeying a telepathic command, the eland all lay down, all at the same time.

“If you’ll love the next few hours—said Victor—you’ll definitely love buffalo hunting.”

And love the next few hours I did. Victor, Michael and I watched the herd relentlessly. Unfortunately, my camera phone did not have a long enough lens to take a photograph of what we had our binoculars locked into. This quick sketch, which I made upon my layover in Doha on the way back, gives a fair idea of what we were looking at for all that time:

The sketch shows two animals. Directly in front of us and slightly to the right lay, almost totally concealed, what appeared to be an eland with unusually long horns. We could only see the top of his head with those incredibly developed points. We temporarily got very excited about this animal and we decided that, once he stood up, he would be the one to take. To our left of him was another bull with shorter horns but perhaps better mass. We could see his whole head while his body lay concealed by the same bush that covered the front of his comrade. The other eland in the herd sat farther to our right, and Victor and Michael concluded that they didn’t see one worth taking among that wing of the herd. We knew, however, that there were some more—only, we could not see them.

As the minutes turned into hours, the euphoria in me only increased. That was pure, unadulterated hunting pleasure. A group of fabulous animals in front of me, the electrifying wait, the anticipation of them eventually standing up. And yes, of course, my classic rifles. After some time, Michael noticed that the left horn of the one we were looking at as our animal may have a couple inches missing. We debated whether it was still worth choosing, since Victor knows that I have absolutely no qualms about taking what others would consider an imperfect animal. Would it be this one? Pity about the horn, eh? Would the other be a safer bet? Still both fantastic beasts.

More time passed. And more yet. A fly kept landing under the brim of my hat. An omen, perhaps? An inquisitive giraffe was slowly coming in from our right, between us and the eland. Maybe he would prompt the herd to stand up? That’s when it happened, and it happened all in mere seconds.

Just as simultaneously as the whole group had sat down hours before, it stood up—and there were so many more than we had seen! They were barely on their feet when Victor pointed to a new member of the herd with great horns who was briefly appearing behind his broken-tipped comrade. “Take that one!” With no time to think, I disengaged the safety of the H&H, and as the terrain was too uneven to open the quad sticks, quickly steadied three fingers of my supporting hand around one of the sticks and cradled the rifle’s forend between my thumb and index. As the shot rang, pandemonium ensued with the whole herd bolting towards our left—it was impossible to distinguish our animal among that hurtling river of tawny.

We jogged to the spot where the eland had been hit. It was lying there, with a tiny entry hole right at the top of his shoulder. I had finished my spiral-horned slam!

The very low-tech, some would say boring, lowly Speer 270gr boat-tail spitzer that I’ve been using for years was recovered from under the skin of the animal’s right shoulder. It had mushroomed perfectly and stayed together beautifully. The reading on my RCBS mechanical scale put it at 259gr. I won’t switch bullets or loads any time soon.

And, of course, I added another (mental only!) notch to my classic H&H, a rifle that I am genuinely awed to have and that gives me the utmost pleasure and confidence. A safari is a wonderful experience. A classic rifle safari is pure delight. I had given two gunmaking masterpieces their soul back; and they had helped me uncover something more about mine.

Conclusion

Perhaps I’m lucky. When God distributed buck fever, I must have been out spending a penny. Instead of that, my expectation manifests itself in incredible joy. Since the anticipation before this shot had lasted a good five hours, it’s easy to imagine the kind of high I had been on pretty much all day.

Soon after, Mitchell had also shown up together with the skinning crew, all grinning ear to ear and letting out the occasional eeeeeh! as they took the eland to get butchered, no doubt thinking ahead of many a good feast on that plentiful, delicious meat. As the whir of the skinners’ pickup faded in the distance, it was silence once again. Happy silence. Victor, Michael and I, tired but walking on clouds, hiked slowly back to the faraway Toyota. We walked towards the West, in front of a setting sun that reflected its golden rays on the sand, near the still water of a stream.

“Michael?”

“Sir?”

“Thank you.”

“For what, sir?”

“You, Victor and Mitchell gifted me with the best hunting day in my life.”

“I’m glad. It was a great day for me too, sir.”

 

[USN]

That Sir is a very well written account. Only makes me more excited for my first trip to Africa seem like a life long dream to commence in August. Again thank you Sir.

 

[Tom Leoni]

That Sir is a very well written account. Only makes me more excited for my first trip to Africa seem like a life long dream to commence in August. Again thank you Sir.

@USN - I hope to be reading yours soon then! It will be a dream--you'll love it and you'll want to go back!

 

[gesch]

Thank you for a great writeup! We have some great writers on Africa Hunting and you are in the top few! What a fantastic Eland. I also appreciate the way you honor your PH and trackers. God has created s beautiful world and I feel I know it better after your report. Keep on writing for us. It is a joy! Your friend, Brian

 

[meigsbucks]

An incredible and detailed account of an amazing hunt with classic rifles. Truly a hunt that will stay with you for the rest of your days.

 

[cls]

Enjoyed following along, thanks for the write up on your safari.

 

[Tucketed]

Well told, great hunting memories. Thank you

 

[Ravensview]

congratulations, and thank you for sharing your hunt, loved the detail and your writing style.