SOUTH AFRICA: Hunting Kudu With Warren At Rhinoster Hoek

[HuntingGold]

Warren parked the Land Cruiser at what, after three hunts, is now a familiar location. I took the .35 Whelen from the rack and we slipped into the donga. The three of us, Warren, myself and Patrick, worked our way up the dry wash, following the twists and turns as we moved our way into the hills. An inexperienced, or even an older lazy hunter, would simply follow the two-track road the same direction. After all, the two routes led the same direction, often brushing up to one-another only meters away. However, I appreciated the extra care Warren took in staying out of sight of kudu or any other game that may alert to our presence. We really had not gone far when Patrick, our tracker and third in line, pointed to the kudu ahead. I looked up and could see a few animals on the hillside. I moved aside to let Patrick pass to alert Warren. Warren stopped, looked through his binoculars, assessed the situation and muttered something about them being early tonight. He resumed his walk, proceeding slowly, careful to stay out of sight. After a few small challenges, we were just underneath the bulls; maybe a hundred and fifty yards away. In the lead were two larger, mature bulls. Both were tempting but not quite what we were looking for. They fed on the hillside above us. Still in the donga, we settled into comfortable positions to watch. Behind the two bulls were three more, all smaller. We sat and watched as this group of bulls fed on spekboom. The closest bull, the largest, had fed to a location maybe only 125 yards away and beautifully broadside. He was tempting this hunter who had not hunted kudu in nearly three years.

My last hunt with Warren in 2019 was spent looking for a particular bull who had not been seen for over a year. He was a special bull, large. In fact, this bull had only been seen a few times in his life. Warren was able to snap a photo of this bull and shipped it to me electronically. I have kept this photo on my phone and I share it with you here.

 

[HuntingGold]

Sorry.... I just lost the whole document... more coming.

 

[HuntingGold]

In 2019, we hunted for nearly a week to find this bull. We only hunted this bull. Since he was very rarely seen, we hunted several locations on the 20,000 acre farm in hopes of turning him up. One particular evening, a single-horn kudu bull appeared with others as they fed their way out of their mountain hide-away. We watched these kudu until last light in hopes our big bull would show. Finally, Warren pointed out the single horn and directed that he be culled. I settled into a prone position and fired a single shot. The hillside exploded with kudu moving every direction, confusing not only myself but Warren and Patrick as well. We immediately moved to the area but could not find the bull. We searched the area, back and forth, here and there but darkness overtook us and we were forced to leave. We returned the following morning with additional help, and after reconstructing the shot, we set up a search and found the bull. It was apparent the bull fell immediately after being hit into a thick patch of spekboom. My search the night before had taken me within meters of him. Sadly, jackals had taken their share before we arrived. Everything that could be salvaged, indeed was.

 

[HuntingGold]

Throughout our week, we saw many kudu bulls but none that measured up. On our last evening we climbed a small ridge that offered a great vantage point. Many groups of kudu were spotted and one group held an interesting bull. He was not the bull we were after but he clearly was big. Warren developed a plan to get close and led me out of sight of the kudu and off the backside of the little ridge. This route was interrupted by more kudu coming in from another direction. We looked this group over and moved on. Back on the trail, Warren led me on a circuitous route towards the group containing the big bull. Finally at a location underneath the group, Warren stopped and said we would wait there for the sun to set, so that we would not be lit up by the setting sun as we attempted our stalk. Warren lit a cigarette and after what felt like an eternity, we started moving up the hill and towards the herd. It didn't take long before we had a cow not far to our left, 40 meters maybe. Another was following along behind. We stood motionless and let them pass. Of all the kudu on the mountain, the next one was that big bull. He was not 100 meters away and completely unaware. Warren raised his glasses and looked this bull over and then looked elsewhere. From his actions, I knew Warren was not interested in taking this bull. He looked at the bull again and finally said, “You can take him if you want to, but he will get bigger.” By this time the bull was 75 meters away or less. I could see the bull was not quite “finished” but was confused by Warren’s words. After confirming the bull would get bigger, Warren again affirmed he would rather that I let him pass. I did.

We moved to get a better view of other bulls and when doing so blew out the big bull and cows. We continued to look up the hill as more kudu were still on the mountain. In the next few moments, we caught glimpses of two odd-horned bulls but could not manage to weed them out. In a matter of moments, my hunt was terminated by darkness and we walked off the mountain. I was happy that I had a good hunt. In our long walk to the Land Cruiser, Warren told me he believed the bull we let go was well over fifty inches. Though the bull was certainly not finished, hearing that he was over the magical mark of fifty stung a bit.

 

[HuntingGold]

I'm having a classic case of "a dog ate my homework." I lost my final copy and am working off a draft that needed lots of edits. In addition, photos wont post. This laptop has become possessed. Please bear with me.

 

[BRICKBURN]

Nice Kudu.....

 

[HuntingGold]

I'm having troubles with loading pics. I will attempt to edit and add them later. Sorry... I had this all together until twenty minutes ago then it all crashed ...

 

[HuntingGold]

The next day I left Warren’s farm to hunt with another outfitter. After my hunt with them was over, we were on our way to the airport when I received a WhatsApp from Warren. He told me he had just seen my bull. Further messages revealed the bull had lost condition, was all by himself, and likely wouldn't make it through the winter. I was happy the bull had won but a bit sad knowing he would soon fall to the veld.

Now, after nearly three years, I was back at Warren’s side and sitting in the donga looking at two mature bulls. Eventually a female warthog came out of the brush and stood near the bigger of the two bulls. The two stared at each other for a few moments before the warthog flipped her head and bluff rushed at the bull. He bolted a dozen meters or so and so did the other bull. After a small while, three smaller bulls moved out and took the place where the two bigger bulls had been before the warthog ran them out. The two bigger bulls could still occasionally be seen but had moved farther down the ridge. The smaller bulls were beginning to move off, seemingly taking my hopes with them.

I settled back to watch the night close in. Warren whispered that he could see the legs of another kudu coming. “Bullshit,” I thought to myself. Mentally I had taken note of what was on the hillside and believed all kudu had passed by. Warren again whispered he believed he saw legs and my thoughts were again repeated. Warren’s next words caught me by surprise, “You can take this one if you want to.” I looked above us and saw a beautiful bull. I looked at the tops of his horns and saw that they were long and finished. His look was quite different than those seen prior. Immediately I said I would take him.

I moved a bit to reach for the rifle we have lovingly named “Bob.” Bob of course was named after our own Bob Nelson, the Australian man who has single-handedly been preaching the virtues of the .35 Whelen. The rifle named Bob was recently put together from a Remington Sportsman 78 action by my local gunsmith. After exhaustively trying to get it to shoot accurately with 225 grain Nosler Ballistic Tips, I tried some bulk 200 grain Remington Core-Lokts salvaged from an estate and found a load that held good accuracy.

My movement for the rifle did not go unnoticed. A few of the bulls were watching but not yet alarmed. I moved into an odd prone position, propping up a possibles bag as a rest. The bull was somewhat quartering towards us and staring at our odd forms below in the washed out donga. The shot was not far, less than 125 yards, but I struggled a bit to get the crosshairs where they needed to be. As the crosshairs moved back and forth across the bull’s chest, Bob finally tired of waiting and fired. I heard the bullet hit as the bull wheeled and tore off across the hillside. I climbed out of the dry wash, dropped to a kneeling position and contemplated sending an insurance shot. Though the bull appeared to be running strong, he was losing elevation as he ran. I held off on shooting and the bull disappeared into a thick patch of spekboom. We heard a crash and for a moment, labored breathing. Warren lit a cigarette and we watched that patch of hillside until his smoke was finished. We moved slowly and cautiously towards the thick spekboom patch where my bull was found, stone dead.

We found the bullet had entered the chest on the left side, angled back and exited the top of the back behind the shoulders.

For me, a mount represents a memory. I have a mule deer mount that reminds me of miserable mountain weather, time spent deep in the wilderness with a high-school friend, a mouse that wouldn't leave my chocolate stash alone and a tree that blew over between our two tiny tents. The fact the mount is of a very large mule deer is secondary to these memories. Other mounts in my home evoke unique memories of times spent in the field with my father.

Many reading this report will point out that this bull is not 50 inches and that is true. Hunting is not about inches. The bull is not the largest I’ve seen on Warren’s; not by a long shot, but he is beautiful. He is perfect to represent my wonderful friends and their farm. He is perfect to remind me of the squeaks and rattles an old Land Cruiser makes while moving along farm roads. He is perfect to remind me of all the time sitting under plumb trees with binoculars in hand watching countless numbers of kudu slowly making their way out of the brushy mountains, and of finally seeing a very nice hunt come together.

*** I will try to add photos later... this computer is giving me fits.

 

[BenKK]

You’ve captured the magic of kudu magnificently! Thank you!

 

[HuntingGold]

The single-horn bull

 

[Hutch01]

Love that ranch...very secluded and quiet place. I hunted kudu there on my first Safari. We had hunted the ranch all day. Finally, Lammie says ‘I have one more place we need to go’. He came off the mountain at dusk. I broke my sticks down, got on my bum and squeezed at 250 yds with my .300. He scored 46” with ivory tips forward. I have a painting of him and pedestal mount on wooden cabinet. After seven safaris, that’s one of my best memories. The first ones always are...

 

[HuntingGold]

Awesome memory!

 

[HuntingGold]

 

[Carson]

Enjoyed reading your report! I'm one of the 2 hunters who flew over to Johannesburg and PE with you! Glad to see your trip went well.

 

[Trogon]

I really enjoyed reading your Kudu hunts, @HuntingGold , thanks for your effort dealing with your computer (I have some issues also). Both are great animals!

 

[HuntingGold]

@Carson I'll look your report up. Thanks again for all of your patience with the gun issue in Joberg! Hopefully all the prawns and steak made it all better.

@Trogon my pleasure. I just wish I could have loaded the correct report and photos... My wife did some editing to help me look smarter but that corrected report disappeared... you got the dumber version of me.

@Hutch01 I love the Rudman's and their property. Just a special place. Load the picture of your kudu mount on this report if you want. I'd love to see it.

@BenKK my pleasure. Thanks for taking the time to read it.

 

[HuntingGold]

 

[Bob Nelson 35Whelen]

Warren parked the Land Cruiser at what, after three hunts, is now a familiar location. I took the .35 Whelen from the rack and we slipped into the donga. The three of us, Warren, myself and Patrick, worked our way up the dry wash, following the twists and turns as we moved our way into the hills. An inexperienced, or even an older lazy hunter, would simply follow the two-track road the same direction. After all, the two routes led the same direction, often brushing up to one-another only meters away. However, I appreciated the extra care Warren took in staying out of sight of kudu or any other game that may alert to our presence. We really had not gone far when Patrick, our tracker and third in line, pointed to the kudu ahead. I looked up and could see a few animals on the hillside. I moved aside to let Patrick pass to alert Warren. Warren stopped, looked through his binoculars, assessed the situation and muttered something about them being early tonight. He resumed his walk, proceeding slowly, careful to stay out of sight. After a few small challenges, we were just underneath the bulls; maybe a hundred and fifty yards away. In the lead were two larger, mature bulls. Both were tempting but not quite what we were looking for. They fed on the hillside above us. Still in the donga, we settled into comfortable positions to watch. Behind the two bulls were three more, all smaller. We sat and watched as this group of bulls fed on spekboom. The closest bull, the largest, had fed to a location maybe only 125 yards away and beautifully broadside. He was tempting this hunter who had not hunted kudu in nearly three years.

My last hunt with Warren in 2019 was spent looking for a particular bull who had not been seen for over a year. He was a special bull, large. In fact, this bull had only been seen a few times in his life. Warren was able to snap a photo of this bull and shipped it to me electronically. I have kept this photo on my phone and I share it with you here.

View attachment 461921

@hunting Gold
Very nice long but not wide.
Bob

 

[Bob Nelson 35Whelen]

The next day I left Warren’s farm to hunt with another outfitter. After my hunt with them was over, we were on our way to the airport when I received a WhatsApp from Warren. He told me he had just seen my bull. Further messages revealed the bull had lost condition, was all by himself, and likely wouldn't make it through the winter. I was happy the bull had won but a bit sad knowing he would soon fall to the veld.

Now, after nearly three years, I was back at Warren’s side and sitting in the donga looking at two mature bulls. Eventually a female warthog came out of the brush and stood near the bigger of the two bulls. The two stared at each other for a few moments before the warthog flipped her head and bluff rushed at the bull. He bolted a dozen meters or so and so did the other bull. After a small while, three smaller bulls moved out and took the place where the two bigger bulls had been before the warthog ran them out. The two bigger bulls could still occasionally be seen but had moved farther down the ridge. The smaller bulls were beginning to move off, seemingly taking my hopes with them.

I settled back to watch the night close in. Warren whispered that he could see the legs of another kudu coming. “Bullshit,” I thought to myself. Mentally I had taken note of what was on the hillside and believed all kudu had passed by. Warren again whispered he believed he saw legs and my thoughts were again repeated. Warren’s next words caught me by surprise, “You can take this one if you want to.” I looked above us and saw a beautiful bull. I looked at the tops of his horns and saw that they were long and finished. His look was quite different than those seen prior. Immediately I said I would take him.

I moved a bit to reach for the rifle we have lovingly named “Bob.” Bob of course was named after our own Bob Nelson, the Australian man who has single-handedly been preaching the virtues of the .35 Whelen. The rifle named Bob was recently put together from a Remington Sportsman 78 action by my local gunsmith. After exhaustively trying to get it to shoot accurately with 225 grain Nosler Ballistic Tips, I tried some bulk 200 grain Remington Core-Lokts salvaged from an estate and found a load that held good accuracy.

My movement for the rifle did not go unnoticed. A few of the bulls were watching but not yet alarmed. I moved into an odd prone position, propping up a possibles bag as a rest. The bull was somewhat quartering towards us and staring at our odd forms below in the washed out donga. The shot was not far, less than 125 yards, but I struggled a bit to get the crosshairs where they needed to be. As the crosshairs moved back and forth across the bull’s chest, Bob finally tired of waiting and fired. I heard the bullet hit as the bull wheeled and tore off across the hillside. I climbed out of the dry wash, dropped to a kneeling position and contemplated sending an insurance shot. Though the bull appeared to be running strong, he was losing elevation as he ran. I held off on shooting and the bull disappeared into a thick patch of spekboom. We heard a crash and for a moment, labored breathing. Warren lit a cigarette and we watched that patch of hillside until his smoke was finished. We moved slowly and cautiously towards the thick spekboom patch where my bull was found, stone dead.

We found the bullet had entered the chest on the left side, angled back and exited the top of the back behind the shoulders.

For me, a mount represents a memory. I have a mule deer mount that reminds me of miserable mountain weather, time spent deep in the wilderness with a high-school friend, a mouse that wouldn't leave my chocolate stash alone and a tree that blew over between our two tiny tents. The fact the mount is of a very large mule deer is secondary to these memories. Other mounts in my home evoke unique memories of times spent in the field with my father.

Many reading this report will point out that this bull is not 50 inches and that is true. Hunting is not about inches. The bull is not the largest I’ve seen on Warren’s; not by a long shot, but he is beautiful. He is perfect to represent my wonderful friends and their farm. He is perfect to remind me of the squeaks and rattles an old Land Cruiser makes while moving along farm roads. He is perfect to remind me of all the time sitting under plumb trees with binoculars in hand watching countless numbers of kudu slowly making their way out of the brushy mountains, and of finally seeing a very nice hunt come together.

*** I will try to add photos later... this computer is giving me fits.
View attachment 461928

@hunting Gold
Bob got impatient because he didn't want to see the bull die of old age.
That 200gr Core-Lokt performed well. As I said it was probably one of the 200gr that Remington beefed up for the 350 rem mag.
However told you inches doesn't matter was definitely male.
Ask a female the same question and you will get a different answer.
Is that big enough darling,. No a few more inches would be good.
Read into that anything you want.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha
Bob
Very nice kudu by the way well done.

 

[VertigoBE]

congratulations on a very fine kudu @HuntingGold ! and excellent writing too might I add
thanks for sharing! (btw, I'm sure you made 'our Bob' feel quite honoured too!)