stratton
AH member
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- Aug 21, 2012
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- Argentina,Austria,Belgium,Benin,Congo,Croatia,France,Germany,Poland,Sweden,Spain,S.A,Zambia,UK
I have just returned from a whirlwind trip to South Africa with my son, where we spent a few thrilling days with @EXECUTIVE HUNT AFRICA. Based about an hour’s drive from OR Tambo airport, our PH Johan's operation spans several hunting areas in Northwest Province, teeming with game. From the classic plains game to the more exotic species like Golden and King wildebeest, White Flanked Impala, and Copper Springbok,there was no shortage of quarry to keep the blood pumping and the senses keen.
Our accommodation at Johan’s family home was a cozy guesthouse with a bedroom, a sitting room that doubled as a dining area, and a bathroom equipped with a powerful, hot shower that was a welcome end to each day’s exertions. Johan and his family epitomized African hospitality, ensuring we wanted for nothing. His wife, Henlomi’s culinary skills were matched only by Johan’s prowess at the Braai, where his mastery over flame and meat was rivalled only by his skill as a Professional Hunter.
While the plains game hunts provided plenty of sport, the crowning moment came on the second day: the buffalo cow hunt. The area, although technically enclosed, felt as wild and untamed as any open expanse. The fences, barely noticeable, only became apparent as we entered and exited the terrain. Once we picked up the buffalo spoor, Johan and our tracker swiftly closed the distance until we were within earshot of the herd. The early season foliage made visibility a challenge, the dense greenery breaking up the hulking shapes of the buffalo, blending them into the shadows. But the guttural grunts and rustling gave away their position. The herd, numbering twenty to thirty with a handful of bulls and the rest cows and calves, was ever watchful, every step a calculated move against potential threats.
The fickle breeze was our constant adversary, shifting directions and forcing us to circle and re-circle, always trying to get downwind of the herd. Time and again, we set up the shooting sticks, only for a calf to wander into view or another cow to cross our path, thwarting the perfect shot. The herd moved off each time, leaving us to start the stalk anew.
At one point, as we crouched behind a screen of bushes, the herd thundered past, close enough to make my pulse quicken and my grip tighten on the rifle. The air was thick with adrenaline and dust, the unseen buffalo a force of nature that passed like a living storm. After several long and intense stalks, Johan suggested we take cover in a cluster of trees. He anticipated the herd would loop back, seeking to circle around us. We settled in the shadows, motionless and silent. After half an hour, our patience was rewarded as the herd meandered back our way. A curious blesbok nearly gave us away, but the buffalo pressed on, oblivious.
When a suitable cow without a calf presented itself, Johan signalled. As it paused, offering a clear shot at the shoulder, I steadied my breath and squeezed the trigger. The buffalo leaped, all four feet off the ground, before bolting. We waited; the silence thick with anticipation. Then we moved forward, following the spoor and scanning for blood. The shot had struck true, but the blood trail was faint. Anxiety gnawed at me, fearing a long, arduous track of a wounded, angry buffalo. Yet within minutes, our tracker pointed out the downed cow, sprawled beneath a tree, legs askew. Relief washed over me as we examined the shot—a perfect hit, the bullet having mushroomed beautifully and retained over 90% of its weight. The hunt was exhilarating, each step a dance with danger and challenge. It was every bit as demanding as my previous open-area hunts but with far less time spent driving.
I can wholeheartedly recommend Executive Hunt Africa for an unforgettable hunting experience. Johan and his family made us feel more than welcome. For those seeking convenience and adventure, their setup is ideal. I eagerly look forward to trying their Limpopo camp in the north next year.
Our accommodation at Johan’s family home was a cozy guesthouse with a bedroom, a sitting room that doubled as a dining area, and a bathroom equipped with a powerful, hot shower that was a welcome end to each day’s exertions. Johan and his family epitomized African hospitality, ensuring we wanted for nothing. His wife, Henlomi’s culinary skills were matched only by Johan’s prowess at the Braai, where his mastery over flame and meat was rivalled only by his skill as a Professional Hunter.
While the plains game hunts provided plenty of sport, the crowning moment came on the second day: the buffalo cow hunt. The area, although technically enclosed, felt as wild and untamed as any open expanse. The fences, barely noticeable, only became apparent as we entered and exited the terrain. Once we picked up the buffalo spoor, Johan and our tracker swiftly closed the distance until we were within earshot of the herd. The early season foliage made visibility a challenge, the dense greenery breaking up the hulking shapes of the buffalo, blending them into the shadows. But the guttural grunts and rustling gave away their position. The herd, numbering twenty to thirty with a handful of bulls and the rest cows and calves, was ever watchful, every step a calculated move against potential threats.
The fickle breeze was our constant adversary, shifting directions and forcing us to circle and re-circle, always trying to get downwind of the herd. Time and again, we set up the shooting sticks, only for a calf to wander into view or another cow to cross our path, thwarting the perfect shot. The herd moved off each time, leaving us to start the stalk anew.
At one point, as we crouched behind a screen of bushes, the herd thundered past, close enough to make my pulse quicken and my grip tighten on the rifle. The air was thick with adrenaline and dust, the unseen buffalo a force of nature that passed like a living storm. After several long and intense stalks, Johan suggested we take cover in a cluster of trees. He anticipated the herd would loop back, seeking to circle around us. We settled in the shadows, motionless and silent. After half an hour, our patience was rewarded as the herd meandered back our way. A curious blesbok nearly gave us away, but the buffalo pressed on, oblivious.
When a suitable cow without a calf presented itself, Johan signalled. As it paused, offering a clear shot at the shoulder, I steadied my breath and squeezed the trigger. The buffalo leaped, all four feet off the ground, before bolting. We waited; the silence thick with anticipation. Then we moved forward, following the spoor and scanning for blood. The shot had struck true, but the blood trail was faint. Anxiety gnawed at me, fearing a long, arduous track of a wounded, angry buffalo. Yet within minutes, our tracker pointed out the downed cow, sprawled beneath a tree, legs askew. Relief washed over me as we examined the shot—a perfect hit, the bullet having mushroomed beautifully and retained over 90% of its weight. The hunt was exhilarating, each step a dance with danger and challenge. It was every bit as demanding as my previous open-area hunts but with far less time spent driving.
I can wholeheartedly recommend Executive Hunt Africa for an unforgettable hunting experience. Johan and his family made us feel more than welcome. For those seeking convenience and adventure, their setup is ideal. I eagerly look forward to trying their Limpopo camp in the north next year.
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