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ZIMBABWE: Once Upon A Time With Mapassa Safaris
- Thread starter VertigoBE
- Start date
VertigoBE
AH legend
and now to continue and finish the story:
Waking up again to a grey sky, we set out to check baits. While on the road for the first bait in the corner of Marshlands, I suddenly saw movement ahead. Vaughan confirmed it to be a shootable steenbok, that was scurrying around in the bush. Off we went on a short stalk when we could suddenly spot him standing still, looking back at us. He did not feel too afraid as there was 70m of dense brush between us and we could only see him through a tunnel. The sticks went up quickly and the 7x64 delivered again. The last of the Tiny Ten that was available as a species on Marshlands! Some quick pictures and we continued doing our rounds of the bait.
With the euphoria of the steenbok in the salt subsiding, depression sank in again. Still no sign of anything, not even a genet or caracal or bush pig visiting any of the baits. Even the lone brown hyena had not returned to “Hanging George”.
We started discussing the situation over lunch after we got back to camp. As the weather was still grey but improving, we took a bit longer lunch break during which Vaughan shared a video of a hunt last year on their concession, with some New Zeeland hunters. It was a very professionally made video, about a combined elephant and leopard hunt. However, this was a leopard-over-hounds hunt and the action and the adrenaline was palpable in the video.
There I made my decision, that if I ever would hunt leopard, I’d rather do it over hounds than from a blind. I said as much to Vaughan and Garth. I’d rather forego the very slim chance, due to the current time of year, to hunt a leopard from a blind, instead save my money, maybe hunt some other smaller things and have a great time for my last few days and try to do a leopard over hounds at some undetermined point in the future. Blind hunting is not for me, I find it the less interesting option compared to a stalking and tracking hunt. Vaughan and Garth also agreed, they had noticed that this blind-hunting business was not my cup of tea. As soon as we had decided to quit the leopard hunting business, the camp felt like a weight had been lifted.
As the weather was cleaning up, we were going to adventure out to a secret fishing spot from their youth and try and see if we could land any catfish. It was located along a stretch of river inside the conservancy and no one had been there in a while, as we had to ask the guys to cut a path through the overgrown “road”, to get the truck through.
Arriving there, with the water gently flowing in the river and all the green around, we thought we had been transported to another area of the country and would see hippos and crocodiles floating by any time now. It was truly a most magnificent little corner of paradise there and using some of the entrails from various doves and go-away birds we had shot that morning, we sat out to do some fishing.
No crocs or hippos were there of course, but at some point, someone could have fooled me, when a huge monitor lizard came from the depths to have a look at us, before getting out of dodge. We spent a few hours there, happy to soak up some warm sunlight on the warm rocks and feel the pressure of the last few days float away. Eventually, we called it a day and returned to camp. On the way back, we noticed a group of zebras and next to them some impala, with one monster ram between them. Jumping out of the truck, I tried to stalk them on my own, with Garth following at a distance. It would be great if I could show them once how it was done! But all kidding aside, it felt nice to know that Vaughan and Garth had sufficient trust in me, that they could let me try and start a stalk on my own, without their direct supervision.
Alas, it was not meant to be, because after about 100 meters I felt a distinctive breeze on my neck and it wasn’t long before the impala vanished into the bush. Garth and Mlillo had joined me by then and we tried to continue the stalk and track them, but the impala had seen enough of us and disappeared. I hope on future hunts that I will again be in a position of having gained sufficiently the confidence of other PH’s, to redo this. It was very enjoyable for once not to be following another man’s butt into the bush, but having to think myself on how and when and where to move. It felt much more like hunting.
Back to the Land Cruiser, direction camp, with night falling around us. Driving into Marshlands, we suddenly spotted some eyes in a tree, a genet. Garth and I jumped from the truck with the .22 rifle and tried to stalk it while it was running and jumping away. Although I had the .22 in my shoulder a few times and even attempted a shot (which was a clear miss) I could not seal the deal. Back on the cruiser, we went for the last few hundred meters to camp. At the last turn in the road, only 100m from my lodgings, there was again a drumroll on the roof of the cab. Garth had spotted yet another genet. This one was sitting still high up in the tree. Through the shadows, all I could see were the eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight. I aimed carefully and got him through the right eye, he fell out of the tree like a sack of bricks. The .22 had only grazed the brain, so I put in an additional heart shot to speed up the passing. It turned out to be one very big male large-spotted genet. We had a few pictures and handed the genet over to the skinner for a full body mount. Reflecting on this hunt, I must admit that this was the first time I had a tinge of regret for having shot at this animal. Genets are beautiful little creatures with a furry tail almost as long as themselves. They look like they are a cross between a leopard and a raccoon, with spots on their body and a ringed tail. There are small-spotted and large-spotted genets. The small-spotted have a white-tipped tail and have as their names says, smaller spots on their body. While the large-spotted genet has the dark-tipped tail. They are little carnivores of the night, superbly agile, and are the only cat that can stand on their hind legs. They eat mostly rodents and insects. As I mentioned, I felt a tinge of regret after having shot this elegant little creature. I think I would have preferred to see it jump and run around instead of being shot. Food for thought.
Without any more pressure to check baits for leopard signs and having sent the Parks Ranger home, we set out to see if we could connect on some pigs. Up until now, we had tried multiple times to outsmart both bushpig and warthog, but each time they eluded us. It was about time to get some bacon back home. In the morning Paradzai had told us he had spotted a nice warthog down in the fields, so around 7:00 off we went in that direction, with the three Jack Russel’s in tow. Mlilo, Junior, and Seda quickly got on the tracks and we followed step by step, observing how they worked their magic. At some points, when Vaughan had a suspicion of the direction, we would leapfrog ahead, trying to keep the pace up. However most of the time we would lose the track and then have to wait for the trackers to catch up again. The spoor took us through a huge semi-circle and we realized we had been had. The warthog must have spotted us from a distance, and upon seeing us approach he circled around to get to our back, got our wind in the process, and subsequently disappeared in the bush.
After having tracked an hour or so the warthog tracks and having realized that this attempt would be fruitless, we went back to some tracks of bush pigs we had stumbled upon while tracking the warthog. Their path led in a straight line and seemed to be from last night, when after having fed in the vicinity of the lodge they traveled back to their den a few kilometres away. With the heat of the day rising, we started tracking this new spoor but we did not manage to catch up to them before their tracks led into the kopjes of a neighbouring property. The heat had been beating on our heads all along during the track, so we were glad to get picked up by the truck to get back to camp.
While arriving there, together with the midday heat, it started feeling heavy again and rain clouds were gathering around. As this would be keeping animals from moving, we decided to spend our afternoon at a nearby pond, trying to catch some fish. Not very successfully however, but a beautiful evening nonetheless when the sun pierced the clouds just before setting.
With both the warthog and the bushpig giving us the slip the day before, we had to show them who was boss. So, we got up bright and early, and around 7:00 we set out to find some bush pig tracks. There was a suspicion that at least one sounder of bush pigs was retiring in some known kopjes during the day. The plan was to circle these kopjes, so we could pick up their tracks and then follow them into the kopje towards their den. Just like the day before, by 10:00 the sun was again testing our resistance to sunburn. Vaughan, Garth, and I were on edge, following the trackers silently with our rifles at the ready, prepared to react quickly if they would suddenly come out from behind a bush or rocky hole.
The tracking went well and we found where they had milled about, uprooting some small shrubs and trees, to get to their roots. After this snack, their tracks led into one of the kopjes. As we did not yet know exactly in which one of the two hills their den was, we decided to change the tracking hunt into a driven hunt. Vaughan, Garth, and I posted ourselves at the foot of one of the kopjes in a haphazard gun line, overlooking a dry pan between the two kopjes. Meanwhile, the trackers and the Jack Russels would walk around, coming back from where we started, they would climb the two kopjes at the same time and drive the bush pig’s out of their den, hopefully towards our lap.
We tried this a couple of times on different kopjes, but without much success, despite the best efforts of the trackers and the dogs. Everyone came back down after the last try, and we assembled down in the valley. It was around 11:30 now and had a war counsel on what to do next. With the temperatures rising again above 40 degrees Celsius, we were about to call it off for the morning, to try again in the afternoon. While we were discussing this, the dogs had been milling around the trackers and us, when suddenly Kanka, one of the Jack Russels, sped off investigating some bush 25m from where we had been kicking about.
As we all were feeling like we were getting boiled alive under the sun, contemplating how to best get back to the truck, we weren’t ready at all for what would follow. Upon reaching the bush, Kanka’s yipping changed to a higher pitch, and just as we started to realize that he might have found something we saw a big black shadow lifting itself from the long grass and sprinting away. “Bush Pig!” yelled Garth and we all started sprinting with our rifles in our hands, trying to keep within distance of the howling Kanka, who was hot on the heels of a big boar. After hours of being silent and keeping still, the air was suddenly filled with growls, barking, men yelling and me huffing and puffing behind Garth.
Vaughan had long since been lost from our sight as he had followed the tracks in a different direction than us. Astonishingly, there had not been just one bush pig hiding in plain sight right next to us, but the whole sounder!
For the next hour and a half, under the sweltering sun, Garth and I alternated running with fast-paced walking, trying to keep up with the ever-more distant yipping of the Jack Russels, but utterly failing to do so. Trying to outrun a pack of bush pigs being chased by a Jack Russel was perhaps just a bit optimistic on our part. At some point, having completely lost all sense of direction, we happened upon a dirt road and actually could see the truck in the far-off distance. We walked over there, to find Vaughan sitting easy and waiting for us. Although Garth and I weren’t aware of this, it had stopped being a bush pig chase about an hour ago and now we were just trying to get all three dogs back. Kanka was the last one still missing, and the trackers had difficulty following its tracks. While we were drinking a few liters of water to aid our parched throats, the message came over the radio that the trackers had found Kanka and everyone fell back to the truck, sharing in some cool drinks. Garth took off his hat, threw it upside down in the road, and filled it with water for the dogs to drink, as they too were getting to the edge of their limits. The pigs emerged victorious yet again.
The heat was stifling and we were all exhausted and would welcome a nice late lunch. Luckily, once we had driven back to camp, Francis had prepared one of the camp favourites, zebra schnitzel with French fries. As we were enjoying our lunch and cooling off under the shade of the thatch roof, Vaughan suddenly asked “Where are the binos?”. “What are those spots down in the valley?”. A bit of a shuffle ensued, trying to find the closest bino and behold, two warthogs were munching on some grubs in a small open space! One of them looked pretty decent, as we could even see ivory from such a far distance. They were about 200 meters down and about 1km away from the lodge. While we continued finishing the food on our plates, we kept an eye on them. Once we finished, they were still hanging around where we had spotted them. I retrieved the optic for the 7mm, that I had left behind in camp when chasing bush pig that morning and Garth and I jumped in his truck.
A frantic drive down the hill to get in their vicinity took us about 15 minutes, and we stopped just short of a gully that ran parallel to the location of the warthogs. There was a thicket between us and where we estimated the warthogs to be. We used the gully to get as close as possible and then went into the copse of trees to get them in our sights. We were about 80 meters away and it was quite obvious to even me which one of the two kneeling pigs would be of interest. Leaning on a tree, I found a stable footing. Meanwhile, from the lodge, Vaughan could see the proceedings.
Getting the final approval from Garth and his confirmation that I had the right one in sight I breathed gently out and the pig came down as if struck by lightning. We ran up to him, his body full of ticks and plenty of grey hairs and bald spots. As he was still on his way out, I gave him a merci shot and Garth went back to get the truck. What a dandy of an old warthog! We brought him back to the lodge for some pictures on the lawn and though I did not know it yet, this warthog would be the last animal I would be sending to the salt.
After all the effort, the many kilometers walked and sweat shed, trying to get the upper hand on a pig, who would have thought we would be shooting one over lunch!
That afternoon with the storm clouds gathering , preparing yet again for another storm, we went down to the pan to get some fish. Francis had a nice starter of crumbed and fried fish bits planned for tonight, for which he was still lacking the fish. We were happy to oblige!
With the cloud cover, swarms of flying termites were falling into the water and the fish were showing a lot of activity. Even though we were not catching much, we had so much fun that we did not notice the thunder and lightning get on top of us. When the lightning suddenly struck some power lines about 100m from us, we called it a day. No point in getting electrocuted now. Luckily, we had caught a few fish, just enough so Francis could fry us those crumbed fish bits.
For the one but last day of my trip to Zimbabwe, and also the one but last day of hunting that would happen this season on Marshlands, as we still had the fishing boat in camp, Vaughan organized another fishing expedition. The target would be to go for large bass, over at Shishani Lake. At 6:00 we got up, to leave camp around 7:00, with the truck, trailer, and boat, everywhere loaded to the gills with equipment for a day of fishing far from home. As it was promising to be another scorcher today, we luckily did not forget to bring the sunscreen as well.
Upon arrival at Shishani, it was still quite cold, but the guys prepared everything rapidly, and soon Vaughan, Garth, and I were speeding along the shores trying to find a good spot. Having had a bit of practice in the last two weeks, the casting came a bit quicker to me, but my luck was not. Despite numerous casts and a few lures lost, I did not seem to be able to connect. Garth and Vaughan were doing a bit better than I, but not at all what we were used to catching in a few hours, in the other places. Garth did manage to reel in a rather nice catfish. Once this one was in the boat, we made our way back to the truck, where the guys had started a fire in the meantime.
Although the fishing gods had not been smiling upon us that day, luckily there was a backup plan in the form of duiker meat that we could cook on the fire, as well as the catfish. But first, we needed to get the meat of the catfish. With some clamps and hooks, he was strung up on the closest tree. Then came the matter of killing it, as it was still very much alive as it had spent its time in the hold, nicely oxygenated with the water coming into the boat. With their thick skull and overall very hardy nature, I learned that killing a catfish is something that even 2 veteran Zimbabwean PHs find a daunting task and would rather leave to one of the trackers. I can neither confirm nor deny, if at some point a .22 was used, so at least the catfish would have the decency of keeping still while it was being butchered.
Eventually, the steaks of catfish were cooking next to the duiker meat, while the guys were preparing the always present Sadza. It was sweltering hot, even though we were finding some refuge under the trees. Unfortunately, with the proximity of the water, and being under the trees, we soon got stung on all sides by mosquitos, mopani flies, and all other manner of flying and stinging beasts. Luckily the beer was cool and while we were waiting for the meat to get ready, each of us flapping around with our hats, all feeling a bit miserable, Garth looked around and back at the meat: “Truly a bunch of bottom feeders” he exclaimed. We all burst into laughter. Both the duiker and the catfish are obvious bottom feeders, contenting themselves with whatever they can find. But perhaps Garth did not have the meat in mind when he looked around and saw us all in our misery with the mopani flies.
In honesty, both the duiker and the catfish were not the culinary highlights of the trip. The catfish especially was quite muddy in its taste.
To get away from the mopani flies, we did not have a siesta under the trees, but immediately set off on the boat again. Hoping to have more luck in the afternoon. However, this meant exchanging the annoying biting insects, for the searing hot midday sun. With no clouds above us, and the boat and us likely standing out like sore thumbs on the water surface, the fish refused to bite. If I recall correctly, not one more fish was caught the entire afternoon.
By the time we made our way back to the truck, we were feeling properly cooked and burnt. We loaded everything back on the truck and the trailer and with a glorious evening sun setting, we made our way back to Marshlands.
Since my last day with Mapassa Safaris was coincidentally a Sunday, and the very last day of the season on Marshland’s, Vaughan had arranged for his wife and son to join us over lunch and spend a quality afternoon fishing the nearby pan.
After breakfast, to warm up our legs, we thought to go out for a little stroll. A klippie had been spotted and Vaughan was offering a deal on it, if we could get it of course. Our feet took us to a koppie where we found some old cave paintings from the original hunter-gatherers from the region. No klipspringer could be found however, so we returned back to the lodge for some serious business. The second tusk had finally, the day before, gotten out of the skull of my elephant, and on my very last day we would do the weighing. Not the official one, mind you, with Zimbabwean officials, but just between us, to close of the safari.
Everyone was gathered around and the tusks were displayed. There were high hopes, due to the high age of the elephant and the thick bases that we would still be able to breach the 50lbs a side, despite both tusks having been broken off. We each got the opportunity to pick up the tusks and get a feel for them. After which Vaughan noted our estimates on a piece of paper. Estimates ranged from 40 lbs on the lightest tusk to 52 lbs on the heaviest tusk. When everyone had given their opinion, together with lots of laughter, and jesting that one or the other may have had a background in poaching, the tusks were put to the scale. The right-hand tusk weighed in at 44 pounds, the outside curve was 50.5 inches while the inside curve was 42 inches, with the circumference at the lip being 17.5 inches. The left-hand tusk weighed in at 48 pounds, with a total length on the outside of the tusk of 53 inches, an inside curve of 43 inches, and a circumference at the lip of 17 ¾ inches. An excellent trophy for this region, where the average is usually more around 35-40lbs. I could not have been happier with the result. A proper, old bull elephant, with heavy ivory, broken tusks, and feet that showed the many 1000s of miles walked in his lifetime.
After the weighing moment, we got ready for lunch, as we were expecting Vaughan’s wife and their son to arrive. I believe he was around 7 years old. After giving them some space, we all met, in and around the common area, exchanging greetings. Vaughan’s wife turned out to be a professional guide herself. But since the arrival of their son, she had been focusing on getting a more school-hour-friendly career going. Especially the tourism and hospitality sector around Victoria Falls seems attractive.
After the sumptuous lunch of zebra steaks, we all walked down to the pan, to spend some hours in tranquility in the afternoon sun, fishing away. Vaughan wanted to share a few last moments on Marshlands with his son, showing him how to fish and spending some quality time together.
When a neighbour of Marshlands started talking about removing the fences between their properties to create an even larger common property, it became a natural conclusion for Vaughan to also propose to the neighbour to buy Marshlands from him. Having two bosses for the terrain would not have made sense anyway. This had all been decided a few weeks before my arrival. I would have the dubious honour of being the very last client to ever pass by Marshlands with Mapassa Safaris. In fact, that Sunday was likely the last time Vaughan’s son would ever be on the property as Garth and Vaughan were preparing to move towards Victoria Falls with their families the next days. There was a tinge of sadness that day as it was for everyone the end of a story.
But I did have the honour to watch a father and son spending time together fishing. As a young father myself and far from my family, this was touching. Especially, when a bit later Vaughan put out a cardboard box and did some first shooting lessons with the .22. I dream of one day being able to do the same with my children. I never had that.
We spent a very unrushed and happy last evening all together. Fishing, having a beer and seeing the sun go down in the sky. Garth and Vaughan were having fun trying to fish with small balls of sadza, but without much luck. I caught my biggest bass of the past two weeks, in perhaps only 15cm of water.
Eventually, Vaughan’s wife and their son had to leave and it was just Garth, Vaughan, and I, silently fishing, lost in our memories, sometimes yelling out when we got a bite. The plan was to take a last picture with the sunset of me with all the trophies, but we had forgotten a bit about timing, so we had to rush back to the lodge and get the guys to bring all the skulls to the front, so we would have the setting sun in the picture. I must admit it was quite a procession seeing them all file past, one holding a tusk on his shoulder, the other a skull. Garth made some great photos that I’ll be able to treasure for a very long time.
Once all the pictures were taken, we joined around the campfire for a last drink, with some fresh fish bits. It was also the time to thank the staff. Previously over lunch, I had asked Vaughan to write down who from the staff I should include in the tips as well as what kinds of amounts he would recommend. There were 11 people on the list, over whom I divided up $2000, as per the amounts indicated by Vaughan. For Garth and Vaughan, I chose to give each the same amount, especially with Garth having produced a video of my adventure there. This to the sum of $1500 each. I also gave all the most important trackers and skinners each a brand-new Scandinavian knife. The binos and batteries I had brought over for Vaughan, instead of having him pay me back for this, I just made a gift out of them as well. Vaughan also suggested, that if I was not overly attached to my second pair of hunting boots, then Junior could use some to replace his old sports shoes. I did this gladly. Everyone was appreciative and the mood was light.
This night the flying ants were out in force, even more so than usual. As lights were attracting them, and Vaughan wanted to get a reserve of them going for future fishing opportunities, he had a tarp fetched, that was held in front of the land cruiser, and then they would switch on the high beams. The termites would swarm in en-masse, and everyone helped out catching them and throwing them in a bucket to collect. Apparently collecting them, then freezing them, would keep them fresh for use another day.
Another delicious dinner later and we made off to bed, for our last night together at Marshlands.
Having not brought a lot of luggage, the packing went quite fast, and after the by-now obligatory breakfast omelet, we set off to the city. We just had time to pass by Collett’s quickly so I could pick up some elephant hair bracelets, have Vaughan do a quick doctor's appointment, and finish it with a good coffee, before being dropped off at the airport again.
For my return trip, I did not even bother going in civilian clothing. Shorts, bush shirt, Courteney’s, I must have made quite a sight for the other passengers. Going through the check-in process, as was the case when I arrived, there was someone present to help with the process. However, he was not always around, which meant that at one point when the officials would be checking the serial numbers, I found myself in a 2 by 3 m backroom. Sandbags, some of them spilling sand on the floor, a rinky-dinky table in the back, on which my Americase was placed, and apart from myself and two officials, about 10 baggage handlers in the room. There was no air in the room, no windows, no ventilation, just a door out to the tarmac. Once the serial numbers were checked, all attention was on me when the officials started to leave. They obviously wanted some compensation for their services, but this was rather unnerving, being alone in that backroom with 10 other people, all staring while I was looking for a bill. I only had a 50 USD bill left, and due to the amount of people, I decided it was perhaps for the best if I gave it to them, instead of the official who had helped me through the whole check-in procedure and who had told me he would come by and find me later in the lobby. I later explained this to him and although he was not too happy about it, he understood my predicament and made me promise that next time I would be in Zimbabwe, I would not forget him.
The short flight to Johannesburg was quite uneventful, apart from the fact that upon arrival there we had a bit of trouble finding where they had put my bags. Instead of having the regular check-in bag with the others on the carousel, it had been delivered to the area where the gun cases were. The gun cases were in the meantime already picked up to get checked by SAPS, but my check-in bag was still waiting for me.
Once we got all the bags checked in, I met up with @Frederik . Another member from the AfricaHunting forum that I had chatted with in the past. He made the effort to come over to the airport to keep me company until my flight to Belgium would leave. We had a few hours where I got to share all the pictures and adventures with a fellow hunter. The first person I got to speak to, who was not present, but actually understood what kind of feat this elephant hunt was. We had a great few hours together, chatting about over drinks. He had even brought me a few old issues of Big Bore Magazine. A great guy all around.
But then came my flight to Belgium and the adventure was fully over. The flight was uneventful and after a short Uber drive home, it was finally time to embrace my wife and our daughter.
I am now writing in October of 2024, exactly 2 years after I left Belgium on this adventure. End of 2023, the Belgian Government announced that they would no longer allow the importation of trophies of Lion, Leopard, Elephant and a few other iconic animals. From January 2024 no new CITES import permit's where being delivered. Luckily my pre-CITES had been valid until May of 2024. Pressuring Collett's to get the elephant trophies on-time out of Zimbabwe and on its way was stressful. But in the end all turned out okay. I'm still waiting for all the other trophies. But all the elephant trophies are secure in my hands.
For those interested, those little stumps looked like this, after the necessary drying:
Left Hand Tusk: 48 pounds, outside curve 53" , inside 43" , circumference at lip 17 3/4"
Right Hand Tusk: 44 pounds, outside curve 50.5" , inside 42" , circuference at lip 17.5"
Very likely I am one of the last, if not the very last, hunter who imported legally and officially ivory from Africa. So though this trip was financially a big burden at my young age, this confirmed that it truly was a case of now or never.
Thanks to all AH members for their advice, their messages, encouragement (enablers!), that allowed me to go on this amazing trip. But especially thanks to @rookhawk, for introducing me to Vaughan and Garth from Mapassa. I'm convinced that we will find ourselves in the same camp with them, in the next two years!
V.
Day 13 – 2/11/2023 – Steenbok and a small leopard
Waking up again to a grey sky, we set out to check baits. While on the road for the first bait in the corner of Marshlands, I suddenly saw movement ahead. Vaughan confirmed it to be a shootable steenbok, that was scurrying around in the bush. Off we went on a short stalk when we could suddenly spot him standing still, looking back at us. He did not feel too afraid as there was 70m of dense brush between us and we could only see him through a tunnel. The sticks went up quickly and the 7x64 delivered again. The last of the Tiny Ten that was available as a species on Marshlands! Some quick pictures and we continued doing our rounds of the bait.
With the euphoria of the steenbok in the salt subsiding, depression sank in again. Still no sign of anything, not even a genet or caracal or bush pig visiting any of the baits. Even the lone brown hyena had not returned to “Hanging George”.
We started discussing the situation over lunch after we got back to camp. As the weather was still grey but improving, we took a bit longer lunch break during which Vaughan shared a video of a hunt last year on their concession, with some New Zeeland hunters. It was a very professionally made video, about a combined elephant and leopard hunt. However, this was a leopard-over-hounds hunt and the action and the adrenaline was palpable in the video.
There I made my decision, that if I ever would hunt leopard, I’d rather do it over hounds than from a blind. I said as much to Vaughan and Garth. I’d rather forego the very slim chance, due to the current time of year, to hunt a leopard from a blind, instead save my money, maybe hunt some other smaller things and have a great time for my last few days and try to do a leopard over hounds at some undetermined point in the future. Blind hunting is not for me, I find it the less interesting option compared to a stalking and tracking hunt. Vaughan and Garth also agreed, they had noticed that this blind-hunting business was not my cup of tea. As soon as we had decided to quit the leopard hunting business, the camp felt like a weight had been lifted.
As the weather was cleaning up, we were going to adventure out to a secret fishing spot from their youth and try and see if we could land any catfish. It was located along a stretch of river inside the conservancy and no one had been there in a while, as we had to ask the guys to cut a path through the overgrown “road”, to get the truck through.
Arriving there, with the water gently flowing in the river and all the green around, we thought we had been transported to another area of the country and would see hippos and crocodiles floating by any time now. It was truly a most magnificent little corner of paradise there and using some of the entrails from various doves and go-away birds we had shot that morning, we sat out to do some fishing.
No crocs or hippos were there of course, but at some point, someone could have fooled me, when a huge monitor lizard came from the depths to have a look at us, before getting out of dodge. We spent a few hours there, happy to soak up some warm sunlight on the warm rocks and feel the pressure of the last few days float away. Eventually, we called it a day and returned to camp. On the way back, we noticed a group of zebras and next to them some impala, with one monster ram between them. Jumping out of the truck, I tried to stalk them on my own, with Garth following at a distance. It would be great if I could show them once how it was done! But all kidding aside, it felt nice to know that Vaughan and Garth had sufficient trust in me, that they could let me try and start a stalk on my own, without their direct supervision.
Alas, it was not meant to be, because after about 100 meters I felt a distinctive breeze on my neck and it wasn’t long before the impala vanished into the bush. Garth and Mlillo had joined me by then and we tried to continue the stalk and track them, but the impala had seen enough of us and disappeared. I hope on future hunts that I will again be in a position of having gained sufficiently the confidence of other PH’s, to redo this. It was very enjoyable for once not to be following another man’s butt into the bush, but having to think myself on how and when and where to move. It felt much more like hunting.
Back to the Land Cruiser, direction camp, with night falling around us. Driving into Marshlands, we suddenly spotted some eyes in a tree, a genet. Garth and I jumped from the truck with the .22 rifle and tried to stalk it while it was running and jumping away. Although I had the .22 in my shoulder a few times and even attempted a shot (which was a clear miss) I could not seal the deal. Back on the cruiser, we went for the last few hundred meters to camp. At the last turn in the road, only 100m from my lodgings, there was again a drumroll on the roof of the cab. Garth had spotted yet another genet. This one was sitting still high up in the tree. Through the shadows, all I could see were the eyes reflecting the light from the flashlight. I aimed carefully and got him through the right eye, he fell out of the tree like a sack of bricks. The .22 had only grazed the brain, so I put in an additional heart shot to speed up the passing. It turned out to be one very big male large-spotted genet. We had a few pictures and handed the genet over to the skinner for a full body mount. Reflecting on this hunt, I must admit that this was the first time I had a tinge of regret for having shot at this animal. Genets are beautiful little creatures with a furry tail almost as long as themselves. They look like they are a cross between a leopard and a raccoon, with spots on their body and a ringed tail. There are small-spotted and large-spotted genets. The small-spotted have a white-tipped tail and have as their names says, smaller spots on their body. While the large-spotted genet has the dark-tipped tail. They are little carnivores of the night, superbly agile, and are the only cat that can stand on their hind legs. They eat mostly rodents and insects. As I mentioned, I felt a tinge of regret after having shot this elegant little creature. I think I would have preferred to see it jump and run around instead of being shot. Food for thought.
Day 14 – 3/11/2022 – The pressure is off
Without any more pressure to check baits for leopard signs and having sent the Parks Ranger home, we set out to see if we could connect on some pigs. Up until now, we had tried multiple times to outsmart both bushpig and warthog, but each time they eluded us. It was about time to get some bacon back home. In the morning Paradzai had told us he had spotted a nice warthog down in the fields, so around 7:00 off we went in that direction, with the three Jack Russel’s in tow. Mlilo, Junior, and Seda quickly got on the tracks and we followed step by step, observing how they worked their magic. At some points, when Vaughan had a suspicion of the direction, we would leapfrog ahead, trying to keep the pace up. However most of the time we would lose the track and then have to wait for the trackers to catch up again. The spoor took us through a huge semi-circle and we realized we had been had. The warthog must have spotted us from a distance, and upon seeing us approach he circled around to get to our back, got our wind in the process, and subsequently disappeared in the bush.
After having tracked an hour or so the warthog tracks and having realized that this attempt would be fruitless, we went back to some tracks of bush pigs we had stumbled upon while tracking the warthog. Their path led in a straight line and seemed to be from last night, when after having fed in the vicinity of the lodge they traveled back to their den a few kilometres away. With the heat of the day rising, we started tracking this new spoor but we did not manage to catch up to them before their tracks led into the kopjes of a neighbouring property. The heat had been beating on our heads all along during the track, so we were glad to get picked up by the truck to get back to camp.
While arriving there, together with the midday heat, it started feeling heavy again and rain clouds were gathering around. As this would be keeping animals from moving, we decided to spend our afternoon at a nearby pond, trying to catch some fish. Not very successfully however, but a beautiful evening nonetheless when the sun pierced the clouds just before setting.
Day 15 – 4/11/2023 – Pigs!
With both the warthog and the bushpig giving us the slip the day before, we had to show them who was boss. So, we got up bright and early, and around 7:00 we set out to find some bush pig tracks. There was a suspicion that at least one sounder of bush pigs was retiring in some known kopjes during the day. The plan was to circle these kopjes, so we could pick up their tracks and then follow them into the kopje towards their den. Just like the day before, by 10:00 the sun was again testing our resistance to sunburn. Vaughan, Garth, and I were on edge, following the trackers silently with our rifles at the ready, prepared to react quickly if they would suddenly come out from behind a bush or rocky hole.
The tracking went well and we found where they had milled about, uprooting some small shrubs and trees, to get to their roots. After this snack, their tracks led into one of the kopjes. As we did not yet know exactly in which one of the two hills their den was, we decided to change the tracking hunt into a driven hunt. Vaughan, Garth, and I posted ourselves at the foot of one of the kopjes in a haphazard gun line, overlooking a dry pan between the two kopjes. Meanwhile, the trackers and the Jack Russels would walk around, coming back from where we started, they would climb the two kopjes at the same time and drive the bush pig’s out of their den, hopefully towards our lap.
We tried this a couple of times on different kopjes, but without much success, despite the best efforts of the trackers and the dogs. Everyone came back down after the last try, and we assembled down in the valley. It was around 11:30 now and had a war counsel on what to do next. With the temperatures rising again above 40 degrees Celsius, we were about to call it off for the morning, to try again in the afternoon. While we were discussing this, the dogs had been milling around the trackers and us, when suddenly Kanka, one of the Jack Russels, sped off investigating some bush 25m from where we had been kicking about.
As we all were feeling like we were getting boiled alive under the sun, contemplating how to best get back to the truck, we weren’t ready at all for what would follow. Upon reaching the bush, Kanka’s yipping changed to a higher pitch, and just as we started to realize that he might have found something we saw a big black shadow lifting itself from the long grass and sprinting away. “Bush Pig!” yelled Garth and we all started sprinting with our rifles in our hands, trying to keep within distance of the howling Kanka, who was hot on the heels of a big boar. After hours of being silent and keeping still, the air was suddenly filled with growls, barking, men yelling and me huffing and puffing behind Garth.
Vaughan had long since been lost from our sight as he had followed the tracks in a different direction than us. Astonishingly, there had not been just one bush pig hiding in plain sight right next to us, but the whole sounder!
For the next hour and a half, under the sweltering sun, Garth and I alternated running with fast-paced walking, trying to keep up with the ever-more distant yipping of the Jack Russels, but utterly failing to do so. Trying to outrun a pack of bush pigs being chased by a Jack Russel was perhaps just a bit optimistic on our part. At some point, having completely lost all sense of direction, we happened upon a dirt road and actually could see the truck in the far-off distance. We walked over there, to find Vaughan sitting easy and waiting for us. Although Garth and I weren’t aware of this, it had stopped being a bush pig chase about an hour ago and now we were just trying to get all three dogs back. Kanka was the last one still missing, and the trackers had difficulty following its tracks. While we were drinking a few liters of water to aid our parched throats, the message came over the radio that the trackers had found Kanka and everyone fell back to the truck, sharing in some cool drinks. Garth took off his hat, threw it upside down in the road, and filled it with water for the dogs to drink, as they too were getting to the edge of their limits. The pigs emerged victorious yet again.
The heat was stifling and we were all exhausted and would welcome a nice late lunch. Luckily, once we had driven back to camp, Francis had prepared one of the camp favourites, zebra schnitzel with French fries. As we were enjoying our lunch and cooling off under the shade of the thatch roof, Vaughan suddenly asked “Where are the binos?”. “What are those spots down in the valley?”. A bit of a shuffle ensued, trying to find the closest bino and behold, two warthogs were munching on some grubs in a small open space! One of them looked pretty decent, as we could even see ivory from such a far distance. They were about 200 meters down and about 1km away from the lodge. While we continued finishing the food on our plates, we kept an eye on them. Once we finished, they were still hanging around where we had spotted them. I retrieved the optic for the 7mm, that I had left behind in camp when chasing bush pig that morning and Garth and I jumped in his truck.
A frantic drive down the hill to get in their vicinity took us about 15 minutes, and we stopped just short of a gully that ran parallel to the location of the warthogs. There was a thicket between us and where we estimated the warthogs to be. We used the gully to get as close as possible and then went into the copse of trees to get them in our sights. We were about 80 meters away and it was quite obvious to even me which one of the two kneeling pigs would be of interest. Leaning on a tree, I found a stable footing. Meanwhile, from the lodge, Vaughan could see the proceedings.
Getting the final approval from Garth and his confirmation that I had the right one in sight I breathed gently out and the pig came down as if struck by lightning. We ran up to him, his body full of ticks and plenty of grey hairs and bald spots. As he was still on his way out, I gave him a merci shot and Garth went back to get the truck. What a dandy of an old warthog! We brought him back to the lodge for some pictures on the lawn and though I did not know it yet, this warthog would be the last animal I would be sending to the salt.
After all the effort, the many kilometers walked and sweat shed, trying to get the upper hand on a pig, who would have thought we would be shooting one over lunch!
That afternoon with the storm clouds gathering , preparing yet again for another storm, we went down to the pan to get some fish. Francis had a nice starter of crumbed and fried fish bits planned for tonight, for which he was still lacking the fish. We were happy to oblige!
With the cloud cover, swarms of flying termites were falling into the water and the fish were showing a lot of activity. Even though we were not catching much, we had so much fun that we did not notice the thunder and lightning get on top of us. When the lightning suddenly struck some power lines about 100m from us, we called it a day. No point in getting electrocuted now. Luckily, we had caught a few fish, just enough so Francis could fry us those crumbed fish bits.
Day 16 – 5/11/2023 – Bottom feeders
For the one but last day of my trip to Zimbabwe, and also the one but last day of hunting that would happen this season on Marshlands, as we still had the fishing boat in camp, Vaughan organized another fishing expedition. The target would be to go for large bass, over at Shishani Lake. At 6:00 we got up, to leave camp around 7:00, with the truck, trailer, and boat, everywhere loaded to the gills with equipment for a day of fishing far from home. As it was promising to be another scorcher today, we luckily did not forget to bring the sunscreen as well.
Upon arrival at Shishani, it was still quite cold, but the guys prepared everything rapidly, and soon Vaughan, Garth, and I were speeding along the shores trying to find a good spot. Having had a bit of practice in the last two weeks, the casting came a bit quicker to me, but my luck was not. Despite numerous casts and a few lures lost, I did not seem to be able to connect. Garth and Vaughan were doing a bit better than I, but not at all what we were used to catching in a few hours, in the other places. Garth did manage to reel in a rather nice catfish. Once this one was in the boat, we made our way back to the truck, where the guys had started a fire in the meantime.
Although the fishing gods had not been smiling upon us that day, luckily there was a backup plan in the form of duiker meat that we could cook on the fire, as well as the catfish. But first, we needed to get the meat of the catfish. With some clamps and hooks, he was strung up on the closest tree. Then came the matter of killing it, as it was still very much alive as it had spent its time in the hold, nicely oxygenated with the water coming into the boat. With their thick skull and overall very hardy nature, I learned that killing a catfish is something that even 2 veteran Zimbabwean PHs find a daunting task and would rather leave to one of the trackers. I can neither confirm nor deny, if at some point a .22 was used, so at least the catfish would have the decency of keeping still while it was being butchered.
Eventually, the steaks of catfish were cooking next to the duiker meat, while the guys were preparing the always present Sadza. It was sweltering hot, even though we were finding some refuge under the trees. Unfortunately, with the proximity of the water, and being under the trees, we soon got stung on all sides by mosquitos, mopani flies, and all other manner of flying and stinging beasts. Luckily the beer was cool and while we were waiting for the meat to get ready, each of us flapping around with our hats, all feeling a bit miserable, Garth looked around and back at the meat: “Truly a bunch of bottom feeders” he exclaimed. We all burst into laughter. Both the duiker and the catfish are obvious bottom feeders, contenting themselves with whatever they can find. But perhaps Garth did not have the meat in mind when he looked around and saw us all in our misery with the mopani flies.
In honesty, both the duiker and the catfish were not the culinary highlights of the trip. The catfish especially was quite muddy in its taste.
To get away from the mopani flies, we did not have a siesta under the trees, but immediately set off on the boat again. Hoping to have more luck in the afternoon. However, this meant exchanging the annoying biting insects, for the searing hot midday sun. With no clouds above us, and the boat and us likely standing out like sore thumbs on the water surface, the fish refused to bite. If I recall correctly, not one more fish was caught the entire afternoon.
By the time we made our way back to the truck, we were feeling properly cooked and burnt. We loaded everything back on the truck and the trailer and with a glorious evening sun setting, we made our way back to Marshlands.
Day 17 – 6/11/2022 – Family time
Since my last day with Mapassa Safaris was coincidentally a Sunday, and the very last day of the season on Marshland’s, Vaughan had arranged for his wife and son to join us over lunch and spend a quality afternoon fishing the nearby pan.
After breakfast, to warm up our legs, we thought to go out for a little stroll. A klippie had been spotted and Vaughan was offering a deal on it, if we could get it of course. Our feet took us to a koppie where we found some old cave paintings from the original hunter-gatherers from the region. No klipspringer could be found however, so we returned back to the lodge for some serious business. The second tusk had finally, the day before, gotten out of the skull of my elephant, and on my very last day we would do the weighing. Not the official one, mind you, with Zimbabwean officials, but just between us, to close of the safari.
Everyone was gathered around and the tusks were displayed. There were high hopes, due to the high age of the elephant and the thick bases that we would still be able to breach the 50lbs a side, despite both tusks having been broken off. We each got the opportunity to pick up the tusks and get a feel for them. After which Vaughan noted our estimates on a piece of paper. Estimates ranged from 40 lbs on the lightest tusk to 52 lbs on the heaviest tusk. When everyone had given their opinion, together with lots of laughter, and jesting that one or the other may have had a background in poaching, the tusks were put to the scale. The right-hand tusk weighed in at 44 pounds, the outside curve was 50.5 inches while the inside curve was 42 inches, with the circumference at the lip being 17.5 inches. The left-hand tusk weighed in at 48 pounds, with a total length on the outside of the tusk of 53 inches, an inside curve of 43 inches, and a circumference at the lip of 17 ¾ inches. An excellent trophy for this region, where the average is usually more around 35-40lbs. I could not have been happier with the result. A proper, old bull elephant, with heavy ivory, broken tusks, and feet that showed the many 1000s of miles walked in his lifetime.
After the weighing moment, we got ready for lunch, as we were expecting Vaughan’s wife and their son to arrive. I believe he was around 7 years old. After giving them some space, we all met, in and around the common area, exchanging greetings. Vaughan’s wife turned out to be a professional guide herself. But since the arrival of their son, she had been focusing on getting a more school-hour-friendly career going. Especially the tourism and hospitality sector around Victoria Falls seems attractive.
After the sumptuous lunch of zebra steaks, we all walked down to the pan, to spend some hours in tranquility in the afternoon sun, fishing away. Vaughan wanted to share a few last moments on Marshlands with his son, showing him how to fish and spending some quality time together.
When a neighbour of Marshlands started talking about removing the fences between their properties to create an even larger common property, it became a natural conclusion for Vaughan to also propose to the neighbour to buy Marshlands from him. Having two bosses for the terrain would not have made sense anyway. This had all been decided a few weeks before my arrival. I would have the dubious honour of being the very last client to ever pass by Marshlands with Mapassa Safaris. In fact, that Sunday was likely the last time Vaughan’s son would ever be on the property as Garth and Vaughan were preparing to move towards Victoria Falls with their families the next days. There was a tinge of sadness that day as it was for everyone the end of a story.
But I did have the honour to watch a father and son spending time together fishing. As a young father myself and far from my family, this was touching. Especially, when a bit later Vaughan put out a cardboard box and did some first shooting lessons with the .22. I dream of one day being able to do the same with my children. I never had that.
We spent a very unrushed and happy last evening all together. Fishing, having a beer and seeing the sun go down in the sky. Garth and Vaughan were having fun trying to fish with small balls of sadza, but without much luck. I caught my biggest bass of the past two weeks, in perhaps only 15cm of water.
Eventually, Vaughan’s wife and their son had to leave and it was just Garth, Vaughan, and I, silently fishing, lost in our memories, sometimes yelling out when we got a bite. The plan was to take a last picture with the sunset of me with all the trophies, but we had forgotten a bit about timing, so we had to rush back to the lodge and get the guys to bring all the skulls to the front, so we would have the setting sun in the picture. I must admit it was quite a procession seeing them all file past, one holding a tusk on his shoulder, the other a skull. Garth made some great photos that I’ll be able to treasure for a very long time.
Once all the pictures were taken, we joined around the campfire for a last drink, with some fresh fish bits. It was also the time to thank the staff. Previously over lunch, I had asked Vaughan to write down who from the staff I should include in the tips as well as what kinds of amounts he would recommend. There were 11 people on the list, over whom I divided up $2000, as per the amounts indicated by Vaughan. For Garth and Vaughan, I chose to give each the same amount, especially with Garth having produced a video of my adventure there. This to the sum of $1500 each. I also gave all the most important trackers and skinners each a brand-new Scandinavian knife. The binos and batteries I had brought over for Vaughan, instead of having him pay me back for this, I just made a gift out of them as well. Vaughan also suggested, that if I was not overly attached to my second pair of hunting boots, then Junior could use some to replace his old sports shoes. I did this gladly. Everyone was appreciative and the mood was light.
This night the flying ants were out in force, even more so than usual. As lights were attracting them, and Vaughan wanted to get a reserve of them going for future fishing opportunities, he had a tarp fetched, that was held in front of the land cruiser, and then they would switch on the high beams. The termites would swarm in en-masse, and everyone helped out catching them and throwing them in a bucket to collect. Apparently collecting them, then freezing them, would keep them fresh for use another day.
Another delicious dinner later and we made off to bed, for our last night together at Marshlands.
Day 18 – 7/11/2022 – Departure
Having not brought a lot of luggage, the packing went quite fast, and after the by-now obligatory breakfast omelet, we set off to the city. We just had time to pass by Collett’s quickly so I could pick up some elephant hair bracelets, have Vaughan do a quick doctor's appointment, and finish it with a good coffee, before being dropped off at the airport again.
For my return trip, I did not even bother going in civilian clothing. Shorts, bush shirt, Courteney’s, I must have made quite a sight for the other passengers. Going through the check-in process, as was the case when I arrived, there was someone present to help with the process. However, he was not always around, which meant that at one point when the officials would be checking the serial numbers, I found myself in a 2 by 3 m backroom. Sandbags, some of them spilling sand on the floor, a rinky-dinky table in the back, on which my Americase was placed, and apart from myself and two officials, about 10 baggage handlers in the room. There was no air in the room, no windows, no ventilation, just a door out to the tarmac. Once the serial numbers were checked, all attention was on me when the officials started to leave. They obviously wanted some compensation for their services, but this was rather unnerving, being alone in that backroom with 10 other people, all staring while I was looking for a bill. I only had a 50 USD bill left, and due to the amount of people, I decided it was perhaps for the best if I gave it to them, instead of the official who had helped me through the whole check-in procedure and who had told me he would come by and find me later in the lobby. I later explained this to him and although he was not too happy about it, he understood my predicament and made me promise that next time I would be in Zimbabwe, I would not forget him.
The short flight to Johannesburg was quite uneventful, apart from the fact that upon arrival there we had a bit of trouble finding where they had put my bags. Instead of having the regular check-in bag with the others on the carousel, it had been delivered to the area where the gun cases were. The gun cases were in the meantime already picked up to get checked by SAPS, but my check-in bag was still waiting for me.
Once we got all the bags checked in, I met up with @Frederik . Another member from the AfricaHunting forum that I had chatted with in the past. He made the effort to come over to the airport to keep me company until my flight to Belgium would leave. We had a few hours where I got to share all the pictures and adventures with a fellow hunter. The first person I got to speak to, who was not present, but actually understood what kind of feat this elephant hunt was. We had a great few hours together, chatting about over drinks. He had even brought me a few old issues of Big Bore Magazine. A great guy all around.
But then came my flight to Belgium and the adventure was fully over. The flight was uneventful and after a short Uber drive home, it was finally time to embrace my wife and our daughter.
THE END
AFTERMATH
AFTERMATH
I am now writing in October of 2024, exactly 2 years after I left Belgium on this adventure. End of 2023, the Belgian Government announced that they would no longer allow the importation of trophies of Lion, Leopard, Elephant and a few other iconic animals. From January 2024 no new CITES import permit's where being delivered. Luckily my pre-CITES had been valid until May of 2024. Pressuring Collett's to get the elephant trophies on-time out of Zimbabwe and on its way was stressful. But in the end all turned out okay. I'm still waiting for all the other trophies. But all the elephant trophies are secure in my hands.
For those interested, those little stumps looked like this, after the necessary drying:
Left Hand Tusk: 48 pounds, outside curve 53" , inside 43" , circumference at lip 17 3/4"
Right Hand Tusk: 44 pounds, outside curve 50.5" , inside 42" , circuference at lip 17.5"
Very likely I am one of the last, if not the very last, hunter who imported legally and officially ivory from Africa. So though this trip was financially a big burden at my young age, this confirmed that it truly was a case of now or never.
Thanks to all AH members for their advice, their messages, encouragement (enablers!), that allowed me to go on this amazing trip. But especially thanks to @rookhawk, for introducing me to Vaughan and Garth from Mapassa. I'm convinced that we will find ourselves in the same camp with them, in the next two years!
V.
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BourbonTrail
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Well, that report was worth the wait. A hearty congratulations, Vert.
I really like how your elephant trophies turned out. Glad you got them in before that door closed.
Oh, and very cool to see that you got a hyena, and I am with you on sitting in blinds.
I really like how your elephant trophies turned out. Glad you got them in before that door closed.
Oh, and very cool to see that you got a hyena, and I am with you on sitting in blinds.
VertigoBE
AH legend
Thanks @BourbonTrail . The number of times I said to myself that I was so lucky getting that ivory in, helps with the financial sting of such a grand safari.Well, that report was worth the wait. A hearty congratulations, Vert.
I really like how your elephant trophies turned out. Glad you got them in before that door closed.
Oh, and very cool to see that you got a hyena, and I am with you on sitting in blinds.
On the blinds, I have nothing against it, just that I'd rather be actively looking for my quarry, than sitting and waiting for it to come. I sit on my butt the whole year round for my job. For my holiday I prefer to clock some miles.
Those tusks will be huge when removed from the skull. Congrats on the bull of a lifetime.
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LIMPOPO NORTH SAFARIS wrote on RStien321's profile.
Dear RStien321
I noticed your thread this morning.
We would be thrilled to assit you as mentioned in my comment on your thread.
We as Limpopo North Safaris has numerous areas in limpopo that vary between 10 000 to 24 000 acres that we hunt that has all of the animals on your wish list furthermore we have great deal on cull buffalo cows and bulls.
Please let me know if you might be intrested.
Regards
Sampie
I noticed your thread this morning.
We would be thrilled to assit you as mentioned in my comment on your thread.
We as Limpopo North Safaris has numerous areas in limpopo that vary between 10 000 to 24 000 acres that we hunt that has all of the animals on your wish list furthermore we have great deal on cull buffalo cows and bulls.
Please let me know if you might be intrested.
Regards
Sampie
