Johnny7604
AH veteran
- Joined
- Apr 29, 2013
- Messages
- 232
- Reaction score
- 207
- Media
- 66
- Member of
- SCI, FMFG
- Hunted
- Canada (BC, AB), RSA (Limpopo), RSA (KwaZulu-Natal)
Hunting Day 9 – One last push
We had decided there was no need to be up early so I took the morning and began packing up my non-essential gear. It was bitter sweet, on one hand it would be good to get back to the family but on the other I wished the hunting would never end. So far the hunt had been a smashing success. The physical and mental challenges of it all only made it that much better. The gears were already spinning as I worked on the logistics of getting back to Africa.
After a nice lunch we proceeded to head off to the area we hunted the day before for one last hunt. We were expecting a fairly easy hunt for the plentiful common blesbok we had seen so many times already this week. We arrived at the area and once again picked up Pieotr. I enjoyed asking him about the area and the animals that called it home. Today I grilled him about the buffalo and rhino that were present. The conservation methods that were employed in South Africa fascinated me. Pieotr gladly answered all my questions only pausing to point out directions to Chris as we merrily bounced along the road to the last location we had seen the blesbok herd the day before.
The herd was not far from where we left them. We disembarked and geared up for what we were hoping would be one last short stalk to finish my first hunt in Africa. Once again we had the wind as we proceeded into the bush after the blesbok.
One silent step after another we crept through the sandy brush towards our quarry.
The familiar grunt of the blue wildebeest broke the silence.
“Damn those wildebeest” I whispered. The wildebeest were still with them and they once again had us cold. We could see one of the bulls standing in the shade of a tree looking right at us through the brush.
We took a knee and assessed the situation. We were losing light at an astonishing rate. If we circled to the left flank of the blesbok, away from the wildebeest we would be upwind of the entire blesbok herd. If we tried circling to the right we would put the wildebeest that already knew we were here right between us and the blesbok. Damned if we did….damned if we didn’t. Pieotr checked his watch and I took another look at the sun inching closer to the horizon.
The seconds ticked by and the shadows kept growing longer. We were in a Mexican standoff with the wildebeest to see who would flinch first……then the wind switched and made the decision for us. The herd packed up and headed deeper into the bush.
“Let’s get out of here and see if we can hit the fields before we lose the light” Pieotr suggested.
“Exactly my thought’s” I agreed.
We made a quick exit back to the truck and headed to one of the three fields that frequently had blesbok in it near dusk. We stopped well ahead of the field and walked in so as not to spook any game that might be there. I couldn’t help but keep looking at the sun. The sky was turning orange now as it dropped closer to the horizon.
As we broke the tree line bordering the field we immediately saw blesbok along the far edge. Pieotr. It was too far to tell if any were male but we needed to move quickly. As we did the day before we formed into a single line with Chris at the lead and headed out into the field. Our pace was a little quicker today as we cut through the thigh high grass trying to keep the small trees dotting the field between us and the blesbok.
About half way across the field the small herd sensed something was up and made a move to the left. They were still in the open but we lost some distance. As we shifted to intercept them and stepped out from behind a tree we came face to face with another white blesbok ram. I doubt he was more than 100 yards away and staring right at us. Busted!
The group of us froze. We could see the herd slowly moving towards the edge of the field. The white male stood there looking right at us. There was only a sliver of the sun poking up above the trees now. We had to make a move and we had to do it now.
“Let’s go” said Chris as he stepped towards the herd.
It was the only option we had left. We needed to get a line of sight to the herd, quickly determine if there was a shooter ram in the bunch and make a shot before the big white male made it back to them and ushered the into the bush. The race was on.
As soon as we moved the white ram took off running as expected straight towards the herd. We moved quickly into an open area where we had line of sight to the herd. Binoculars and rangefinders were up as we scanned the herd. Female…female….female….female….I don’t know if there was any males in the bunch but if there were they certainly weren’t shooters. All we could do is watch as our last hope ran into the brush and out of sight. A quick glance back at the sun confirmed we did not have the time to get to the other fields and see if there was anything in them. The hunt was over and I would not be getting my last blesbok.
Now that I think back it was strange how not finding that one common blesbok brought everyone’s mood down so quickly. Up until that point I was really not concerned whether I got one or not. I’m not sure what everyone else was thinking but for me it was a combination of feeling as though we had been so close and failed as well as a touch of OCD screaming at me that having the white and not the common would bring the universe to a catastrophic end.
We all walked back to the truck with our heads hung low. At least we had a beautiful sunset to watch. I took some solace in that and decided to capture this last one with a couple of pictures.
I don’t know if someone was praying, or if I had been blessed in some former life but when I raised my head up to watch my last African sunset of the trip I could not believe my eyes. There between us and the truck running to our left across the field was a lone blesbok.
I managed to spit out a loud “PSSSTT”. Everyone snapped their heads up to look at me as I pointed at him crossing in front of us. Springing into action with the speed of an old west gunslinger Chris’ binoculars suddenly appeared in front of his face.
“It’s a male” Chris confirmed.
“Is he a shooter”? I asked moving towards the front of the group.
“He’s a good representation” was the reply.
It was good enough for me. “Sticks” I whispered.
Pieotr was Johnny on the spot and set them up for a standing shot.
I ranged the ram. 140 yards, not a problem. However as I placed my rifle on the sticks he began to move again. Angling away from us he started running. As I followed him in the scope he stopped behind a large bush. No shot.
I believe Pieotr made a suggestion we move to get an angle on him. I could see him clearly though. He wasn’t going to stay where he was much longer. “He’s going to move” I said without coming out of the scope.
“Yes, he’s going to come out” Chris whipered.
It was surely only a few second even though it seemed like hours but the ram finally trotted out. He was going to stop…..he had to stop. “Please stop” I pleaded with my best Jedi mind trick. Apparently it worked because the ram stopped broadside. I estimated the distance at around 300 yards. No time to confirm with the laser though, I held on the shoulder about half way up the body to compensate for any errors in judging the distance. I took one last breath and as it bottomed out I squeezed the trigger.
“BOOOOOMMMM……….SMACK”! My .338 barked for the last time.
“He’s hit” Chris confirmed. We watched as he took off on three legs. The left front leg was clearly non-functional. He was moving fast and going to pass behind a large stand of trees. We lost sight of him as he slipped behind the trees. You could sense everyone tracking where they thought he would be if he continued along that path. As I pointed to where he should be moving I suddenly came to the other side of the trees and stopped………seconds passed and no blesbok. He was down.
The mood was much lighter and everyone was smiling as we walked up and found him laying in the grass. It turned out the distance was closer to 350 yards. Samson later confirmed that the bullet broke the left leg and hit the heart and lungs.
We managed to get a quick few pictures in before the light was completely gone. After loading the blesbok into the truck and saying our goodbye’s to Pieotr and his brother we headed back to Sabrisa Ranch.
We would be having dinner in the boma tonight. Fire grilled eland tenderloin and impala shish-kabobs washed down with my last glass of Old Brown Sherry and some red wine. The dinner was amazing as usual.
Thus ended my fist African hunt and I think for the first time in nearly two weeks I finally managed to sleep through the night.
For those who took the time to read this lengthy report, my sincere thanks I really do appreciate it. Please keep in mind that I was working mostly from memory on a lot of it so some of the quotes and smaller details may not be exact but that’s what my brain remembered in the heat of the moment. If I made any errors I’m sure Chris will correct me.
I will make one more post as part of this hunting report and that will be an outfitter review for those who are interested. Thanks again.
Cheers and happy hunting,
John
We had decided there was no need to be up early so I took the morning and began packing up my non-essential gear. It was bitter sweet, on one hand it would be good to get back to the family but on the other I wished the hunting would never end. So far the hunt had been a smashing success. The physical and mental challenges of it all only made it that much better. The gears were already spinning as I worked on the logistics of getting back to Africa.
After a nice lunch we proceeded to head off to the area we hunted the day before for one last hunt. We were expecting a fairly easy hunt for the plentiful common blesbok we had seen so many times already this week. We arrived at the area and once again picked up Pieotr. I enjoyed asking him about the area and the animals that called it home. Today I grilled him about the buffalo and rhino that were present. The conservation methods that were employed in South Africa fascinated me. Pieotr gladly answered all my questions only pausing to point out directions to Chris as we merrily bounced along the road to the last location we had seen the blesbok herd the day before.
The herd was not far from where we left them. We disembarked and geared up for what we were hoping would be one last short stalk to finish my first hunt in Africa. Once again we had the wind as we proceeded into the bush after the blesbok.
One silent step after another we crept through the sandy brush towards our quarry.
The familiar grunt of the blue wildebeest broke the silence.
“Damn those wildebeest” I whispered. The wildebeest were still with them and they once again had us cold. We could see one of the bulls standing in the shade of a tree looking right at us through the brush.
We took a knee and assessed the situation. We were losing light at an astonishing rate. If we circled to the left flank of the blesbok, away from the wildebeest we would be upwind of the entire blesbok herd. If we tried circling to the right we would put the wildebeest that already knew we were here right between us and the blesbok. Damned if we did….damned if we didn’t. Pieotr checked his watch and I took another look at the sun inching closer to the horizon.
The seconds ticked by and the shadows kept growing longer. We were in a Mexican standoff with the wildebeest to see who would flinch first……then the wind switched and made the decision for us. The herd packed up and headed deeper into the bush.
“Let’s get out of here and see if we can hit the fields before we lose the light” Pieotr suggested.
“Exactly my thought’s” I agreed.
We made a quick exit back to the truck and headed to one of the three fields that frequently had blesbok in it near dusk. We stopped well ahead of the field and walked in so as not to spook any game that might be there. I couldn’t help but keep looking at the sun. The sky was turning orange now as it dropped closer to the horizon.
As we broke the tree line bordering the field we immediately saw blesbok along the far edge. Pieotr. It was too far to tell if any were male but we needed to move quickly. As we did the day before we formed into a single line with Chris at the lead and headed out into the field. Our pace was a little quicker today as we cut through the thigh high grass trying to keep the small trees dotting the field between us and the blesbok.
About half way across the field the small herd sensed something was up and made a move to the left. They were still in the open but we lost some distance. As we shifted to intercept them and stepped out from behind a tree we came face to face with another white blesbok ram. I doubt he was more than 100 yards away and staring right at us. Busted!
The group of us froze. We could see the herd slowly moving towards the edge of the field. The white male stood there looking right at us. There was only a sliver of the sun poking up above the trees now. We had to make a move and we had to do it now.
“Let’s go” said Chris as he stepped towards the herd.
It was the only option we had left. We needed to get a line of sight to the herd, quickly determine if there was a shooter ram in the bunch and make a shot before the big white male made it back to them and ushered the into the bush. The race was on.
As soon as we moved the white ram took off running as expected straight towards the herd. We moved quickly into an open area where we had line of sight to the herd. Binoculars and rangefinders were up as we scanned the herd. Female…female….female….female….I don’t know if there was any males in the bunch but if there were they certainly weren’t shooters. All we could do is watch as our last hope ran into the brush and out of sight. A quick glance back at the sun confirmed we did not have the time to get to the other fields and see if there was anything in them. The hunt was over and I would not be getting my last blesbok.
Now that I think back it was strange how not finding that one common blesbok brought everyone’s mood down so quickly. Up until that point I was really not concerned whether I got one or not. I’m not sure what everyone else was thinking but for me it was a combination of feeling as though we had been so close and failed as well as a touch of OCD screaming at me that having the white and not the common would bring the universe to a catastrophic end.
We all walked back to the truck with our heads hung low. At least we had a beautiful sunset to watch. I took some solace in that and decided to capture this last one with a couple of pictures.
I don’t know if someone was praying, or if I had been blessed in some former life but when I raised my head up to watch my last African sunset of the trip I could not believe my eyes. There between us and the truck running to our left across the field was a lone blesbok.
I managed to spit out a loud “PSSSTT”. Everyone snapped their heads up to look at me as I pointed at him crossing in front of us. Springing into action with the speed of an old west gunslinger Chris’ binoculars suddenly appeared in front of his face.
“It’s a male” Chris confirmed.
“Is he a shooter”? I asked moving towards the front of the group.
“He’s a good representation” was the reply.
It was good enough for me. “Sticks” I whispered.
Pieotr was Johnny on the spot and set them up for a standing shot.
I ranged the ram. 140 yards, not a problem. However as I placed my rifle on the sticks he began to move again. Angling away from us he started running. As I followed him in the scope he stopped behind a large bush. No shot.
I believe Pieotr made a suggestion we move to get an angle on him. I could see him clearly though. He wasn’t going to stay where he was much longer. “He’s going to move” I said without coming out of the scope.
“Yes, he’s going to come out” Chris whipered.
It was surely only a few second even though it seemed like hours but the ram finally trotted out. He was going to stop…..he had to stop. “Please stop” I pleaded with my best Jedi mind trick. Apparently it worked because the ram stopped broadside. I estimated the distance at around 300 yards. No time to confirm with the laser though, I held on the shoulder about half way up the body to compensate for any errors in judging the distance. I took one last breath and as it bottomed out I squeezed the trigger.
“BOOOOOMMMM……….SMACK”! My .338 barked for the last time.
“He’s hit” Chris confirmed. We watched as he took off on three legs. The left front leg was clearly non-functional. He was moving fast and going to pass behind a large stand of trees. We lost sight of him as he slipped behind the trees. You could sense everyone tracking where they thought he would be if he continued along that path. As I pointed to where he should be moving I suddenly came to the other side of the trees and stopped………seconds passed and no blesbok. He was down.
The mood was much lighter and everyone was smiling as we walked up and found him laying in the grass. It turned out the distance was closer to 350 yards. Samson later confirmed that the bullet broke the left leg and hit the heart and lungs.
We managed to get a quick few pictures in before the light was completely gone. After loading the blesbok into the truck and saying our goodbye’s to Pieotr and his brother we headed back to Sabrisa Ranch.
We would be having dinner in the boma tonight. Fire grilled eland tenderloin and impala shish-kabobs washed down with my last glass of Old Brown Sherry and some red wine. The dinner was amazing as usual.
Thus ended my fist African hunt and I think for the first time in nearly two weeks I finally managed to sleep through the night.
For those who took the time to read this lengthy report, my sincere thanks I really do appreciate it. Please keep in mind that I was working mostly from memory on a lot of it so some of the quotes and smaller details may not be exact but that’s what my brain remembered in the heat of the moment. If I made any errors I’m sure Chris will correct me.
I will make one more post as part of this hunting report and that will be an outfitter review for those who are interested. Thanks again.
Cheers and happy hunting,
John