pwn
New member
For any of you who have read my recent hunt report, the following, as Paul Harvey would say, is the rest of the story.
After photos and more than a few minutes of disbelief that I had finally killed a cape buffalo (with one shot, although an insurance shot was fired as well), me, my two hunting companions and the two trackers headed off at about 2:30 pm on a 7.5 kilometer hike back to the truck. We left Everson, the Mozam game scout, and my buff with intentions of returning shortly after hacking a road as close as possible so we could recover the buff before dark.
Once back at the truck, we found the terrain on the choosen route very difficult and finally at about 4:30 pm and after covering a total distance of 1.5 kilometers, found ourselves stuck in a very deep, very difficult, sandy wash. The truck was high centered and continued forward progress was not possible. Don and John decide they should stay with the truck and try to free it and that I and the trackers should make our way back to the buff in an attempt to skin and remove the head before darkness fell. Then, after skinning, we were to walk out and meet them back at the truck. (It must be remembered while reading this story that this is not your ordinary PH assisted safari, but more akin to a hunt in Alaska or any ohter remote local with experienced friends. Therefore, a certain amount of self-reliance and absence of hand holding is present during this hunt) Prior to my departure, Don offered to let me take his GPS and I declined with the assurance that the trackers could find their way back to the present location, even in the dark. John offered to send the large water bag with me, but I declined as I had a small water bottle with me which I thought would be sufficient and didn't want to have to carry the extra wieght to the kill site and back. Also, it was decided that I would be better off with John's Ruger #1 in 500 NE rather than my Winchester 375 H&H if I encountered any of the numerous elephants or lions that had been making all the tracks we had discovered during our buff hunt. Besides, it was a lighter gun and I was going to be carrying enough stuff already.
The trackers and I make good time back to the kill site and they begin skinning immediately at about 5:30 pm and have the hide and head removed just before darkness falls. As the boys hadn't eaten all day and I had some sandwiches and fruit at the truck, time was taken for them to cook up a pot of Sadza (mealie meal or pap) and a large chunk of the buffalo rump. (I would have choosen the tenderloin myself) By the time they finished eating and the head and hide were prepared for transport it was now about 8:00 pm and dark as only Africa can be. The moon typically did not rise until about 10:00 pm, so our trek out would be in total darkness as we would certainly be back to the truck in at least twice the time it took to walk in. We had walked only a short distace, by the light of my Surefire flashlight (which eats batteries and went through 2 sets on this experience), and a 12 hour glow stick; when, judging from the hand signals I'm witnessing and the language I can't understand, the boys appear to be arguing over which direction to travel. These "discussions" continue and become more vehement the further we walk until finally a halt is called and a hell of an argument amoung the boys ensues. After about 10 minutes, Everson, who speaks pretty fair English, came to me and said..."Mr. Perry, these two gentlemen do not agree with me on the way to the truck, do you know the way to the truck?" Stunned silence on my part as I attempt to comprehend my current situation. In as calm a voice as I can muster, I reply something to the effect that I have no damn idea. (Then I try to determine which way is north as I have mindlessly been following these three) However, dispare is fleeting, for although I have made errors as to my equipment to this point, I do have my trusty compass. After digging it out of my kit bag, I proudly show these three trusted native guides which way is north. This action is met with awe initially equalled only by the presentment of the light stick earlier that evening and then utter disbelief as I point out which direction is north. What? The translated statement that my compass is wrong is difficult for me to comprehend and then I try to decipher how to explain the workings of a compass to these three and decide "forget it" and take what comes from their fertile minds as a solution to our current fix. More discussions are held amoung the troops and it is decided that we will stop and wait for the moon rise so as to able to determine directions set a course to intercept the road traveled into the hunting area. Great plan, only have to sit in the bush for a couple of hours with three lost natives and various pieces of my deceased buff wondering if lions are afraid of glow sticks, and if not, will the light still be working when it is passed through the digestive system of the "lucky" lion. The night sky is beautiful and the mozzies aren't really that bad on top of our choosen hill. Besides, I love listening to camp fire stories, even if they are related in Shona.
A fire is built, more food is prepared and eaten by the troops and then it is nap time for my weary band. During this incredibly quiet time, I become reflective in my thoughts. I wonder how the hell Don is going to tell my wife and young daughters I have come up missing while walking around in the middle of the night, in the vast bush of Mozambique, while carrying pieces of a fresh buffalo kill accompanied by three lost black natives who are very poorly equiped to care for me. Also, I wonder how damn much the water I declined to bring would have wieghed as I'm very thirsty and trying to save my meager water ration, while also considering how difficult it would have been to operate a GPS that I was not familiar with in any way. Strangely, I really am not afraid and am actually more concerned with what John and Don must be thinking as the time of my re-apperance is slowly passing.(Note...they fired numerous locator shots and flares during my bush trek and we just didn't hear the shots nor see the flares)
Prior to the moon rise, Everson decides to fire a shot from his ancient AK 47 to see if we can locate John and Don. Prior to doing so, he proceeds to remove, with great difficulty, the magazine (the difficulty of which is no doubt attributed to the fact that he sits on the rifle supported my the magazine) and shucks out 4 cartidges (to my complete amazement-his total supply). With a great deal of difficulty he finally manages to close the bolt on one of these rounds after re-inserting all 4 in the mag and the mag in the gun. He pulls the trigger and...CLICK! No joy, as the round fails to fire and the trackers break up in laughter. Everson ejects this round into the African night and after a diligent search accompanied my more laughter from his companions, finally finds it and prepares for another attempt. BANG, BANG...not one shot, but two. Damn those pesky full auto selector switches. Now, I unplug my ears and listen intently for a shot in reply. None was to be heard and Everson proceeded to eject the last round from the chamber, presumably to place it back in the battered mag. In the process, he also ejects this round into the darkness and after a very long and thorough search we never do locate it. Therefore, I assess my current predicament. I am lost with three natives who have no idea where we are until the moon rises and I am with a game scout who, the day before, has said he is present to protect me from poachers, lions and elephants. Normally, this would be comforting. However, currently my salvation from assorted unpleasant harm is armed with an AK 47 that, although I know will fire, only has one round in the magazine which will not chamber easily and appears to be a dud and the other two are smoking some weed rolled up in old news print that smells vaguely familiar from my days in college. Ah, safari the last adventure.
Finally and mercifully the moon rises and after rousing the troops it is discovered that, lo and behold, the compass was correct. We now have our African night moon compass bearings (so much for the native's inate ability to navigate in the bush without getting lost) and are under way once more. Kefus, the younger tracker, is carrying the buffalo skin (@ 40/45 lbs) on his head, with great difficulty as you can imagine, for the green skin will not stay in a tight package and flops all over the place. While, Richard, the older tracker, is packing the unskinned head (@ 40/50lbs) in the same manner with the added difficulty of doing so barefooted. (How these guys could carry such loads, in such a manner, for so long and far is amazing) Everson is carring the cooking pot, grilled buffalo leftovers, water bottles and his trusty AK. All of us are wandering through the night in a series of relays lasting for as long and far as the trackers can bear their loads or for as long as the hide will stay bound up with the buffalo skin rope we have had to fashion. Our pace and progress is also dictated by how long Richard the Barefoot can stand the buff skull mashing into his skull and by the amount of thorns his leathery feet can't turn.
Finally, I have had enough of the loose skin flopping around and decide to roll it up like a rug and show Kefus how to pack it over his shoulders. I do so and secure it in the middle with the makeshift green buff skin rope and the strap from my kit bag. Thusly secured, I toss it up on my shoulders. Seeing this, Kefus then bends over and picks up my rifle, ax, light stick, bag and the native axes and prepares to depart. Rather than tell him, "no, this is how you should carry it" I pack this load after recovering my rifle from him (just in case something goes GGRRRR in the night and I find myself standing all alone with nothing more than a meatless buff skin to offer my guest). I carry the skin for a long, long way (I hope over 100 yards) and finally my shoulders give out and I drop my load and turn around to the smiles of all three of my interpid guides. Everson, finally says..."Mr. Perry, you are very strong" and I think to myself.."no, Mr. Perry is very tired and would like to make it to the road and not spend the night in the bush. And no I will not now carry your load." We seem to be making about 1/4 or 1/2 mile between rest periods and finally make it to the road about 1:30 am. I fire a shot from John's cannon and to my complete relief a shot is heard in response. Joy to all hands and even though Richard's bare feet are hammered from the rocks and thorns, he and Kefus head off to retrieve the truck while Everson and I have a pleasant visit around a fire.
Eventually, John and Don, with Kefus and Richard in tow, drive up and have, what I think at the time, are very relieved expressions on their faces. I am certain their cheerful moods are do to the fact that they will not have to send the, ...Dear Mrs. Newman, we are sorry to inform you your husband has... A) been eaten by large carnivors, ...B) stomped by elephants, ...C) not been located but search parties are hopeful even after 3 weeks he will turn up... letter.
All ends well and we make it back to camp about 4:00 am. After a meal and shower we finally turn it for a little sleep after the smiles and congratulations of my two new best friends fade with the passage of false energy at my safe return. I think they thought I would pee my pants and have sucked all the skin from my thumb instead of been able to paste a big smile and a "couldn't careless" attitude on my face upon their arrival. I'm glad it was dark, my pants dried before we arrived at camp and I had gloves to wear for the rest of the trip.
The killing of the buffalo was great and the reason I planned this trip to Africa. However, the post kill adventure is what has made this trip such an memorable hunt. I will carry those memories with me always and am truly gratful to both of these guys for making it possible. Thank you Don and John. And thank you Piet Hougaard for the extra permit and use of your camp, without which none of this would have been possible.
Perry
After photos and more than a few minutes of disbelief that I had finally killed a cape buffalo (with one shot, although an insurance shot was fired as well), me, my two hunting companions and the two trackers headed off at about 2:30 pm on a 7.5 kilometer hike back to the truck. We left Everson, the Mozam game scout, and my buff with intentions of returning shortly after hacking a road as close as possible so we could recover the buff before dark.
Once back at the truck, we found the terrain on the choosen route very difficult and finally at about 4:30 pm and after covering a total distance of 1.5 kilometers, found ourselves stuck in a very deep, very difficult, sandy wash. The truck was high centered and continued forward progress was not possible. Don and John decide they should stay with the truck and try to free it and that I and the trackers should make our way back to the buff in an attempt to skin and remove the head before darkness fell. Then, after skinning, we were to walk out and meet them back at the truck. (It must be remembered while reading this story that this is not your ordinary PH assisted safari, but more akin to a hunt in Alaska or any ohter remote local with experienced friends. Therefore, a certain amount of self-reliance and absence of hand holding is present during this hunt) Prior to my departure, Don offered to let me take his GPS and I declined with the assurance that the trackers could find their way back to the present location, even in the dark. John offered to send the large water bag with me, but I declined as I had a small water bottle with me which I thought would be sufficient and didn't want to have to carry the extra wieght to the kill site and back. Also, it was decided that I would be better off with John's Ruger #1 in 500 NE rather than my Winchester 375 H&H if I encountered any of the numerous elephants or lions that had been making all the tracks we had discovered during our buff hunt. Besides, it was a lighter gun and I was going to be carrying enough stuff already.
The trackers and I make good time back to the kill site and they begin skinning immediately at about 5:30 pm and have the hide and head removed just before darkness falls. As the boys hadn't eaten all day and I had some sandwiches and fruit at the truck, time was taken for them to cook up a pot of Sadza (mealie meal or pap) and a large chunk of the buffalo rump. (I would have choosen the tenderloin myself) By the time they finished eating and the head and hide were prepared for transport it was now about 8:00 pm and dark as only Africa can be. The moon typically did not rise until about 10:00 pm, so our trek out would be in total darkness as we would certainly be back to the truck in at least twice the time it took to walk in. We had walked only a short distace, by the light of my Surefire flashlight (which eats batteries and went through 2 sets on this experience), and a 12 hour glow stick; when, judging from the hand signals I'm witnessing and the language I can't understand, the boys appear to be arguing over which direction to travel. These "discussions" continue and become more vehement the further we walk until finally a halt is called and a hell of an argument amoung the boys ensues. After about 10 minutes, Everson, who speaks pretty fair English, came to me and said..."Mr. Perry, these two gentlemen do not agree with me on the way to the truck, do you know the way to the truck?" Stunned silence on my part as I attempt to comprehend my current situation. In as calm a voice as I can muster, I reply something to the effect that I have no damn idea. (Then I try to determine which way is north as I have mindlessly been following these three) However, dispare is fleeting, for although I have made errors as to my equipment to this point, I do have my trusty compass. After digging it out of my kit bag, I proudly show these three trusted native guides which way is north. This action is met with awe initially equalled only by the presentment of the light stick earlier that evening and then utter disbelief as I point out which direction is north. What? The translated statement that my compass is wrong is difficult for me to comprehend and then I try to decipher how to explain the workings of a compass to these three and decide "forget it" and take what comes from their fertile minds as a solution to our current fix. More discussions are held amoung the troops and it is decided that we will stop and wait for the moon rise so as to able to determine directions set a course to intercept the road traveled into the hunting area. Great plan, only have to sit in the bush for a couple of hours with three lost natives and various pieces of my deceased buff wondering if lions are afraid of glow sticks, and if not, will the light still be working when it is passed through the digestive system of the "lucky" lion. The night sky is beautiful and the mozzies aren't really that bad on top of our choosen hill. Besides, I love listening to camp fire stories, even if they are related in Shona.
A fire is built, more food is prepared and eaten by the troops and then it is nap time for my weary band. During this incredibly quiet time, I become reflective in my thoughts. I wonder how the hell Don is going to tell my wife and young daughters I have come up missing while walking around in the middle of the night, in the vast bush of Mozambique, while carrying pieces of a fresh buffalo kill accompanied by three lost black natives who are very poorly equiped to care for me. Also, I wonder how damn much the water I declined to bring would have wieghed as I'm very thirsty and trying to save my meager water ration, while also considering how difficult it would have been to operate a GPS that I was not familiar with in any way. Strangely, I really am not afraid and am actually more concerned with what John and Don must be thinking as the time of my re-apperance is slowly passing.(Note...they fired numerous locator shots and flares during my bush trek and we just didn't hear the shots nor see the flares)
Prior to the moon rise, Everson decides to fire a shot from his ancient AK 47 to see if we can locate John and Don. Prior to doing so, he proceeds to remove, with great difficulty, the magazine (the difficulty of which is no doubt attributed to the fact that he sits on the rifle supported my the magazine) and shucks out 4 cartidges (to my complete amazement-his total supply). With a great deal of difficulty he finally manages to close the bolt on one of these rounds after re-inserting all 4 in the mag and the mag in the gun. He pulls the trigger and...CLICK! No joy, as the round fails to fire and the trackers break up in laughter. Everson ejects this round into the African night and after a diligent search accompanied my more laughter from his companions, finally finds it and prepares for another attempt. BANG, BANG...not one shot, but two. Damn those pesky full auto selector switches. Now, I unplug my ears and listen intently for a shot in reply. None was to be heard and Everson proceeded to eject the last round from the chamber, presumably to place it back in the battered mag. In the process, he also ejects this round into the darkness and after a very long and thorough search we never do locate it. Therefore, I assess my current predicament. I am lost with three natives who have no idea where we are until the moon rises and I am with a game scout who, the day before, has said he is present to protect me from poachers, lions and elephants. Normally, this would be comforting. However, currently my salvation from assorted unpleasant harm is armed with an AK 47 that, although I know will fire, only has one round in the magazine which will not chamber easily and appears to be a dud and the other two are smoking some weed rolled up in old news print that smells vaguely familiar from my days in college. Ah, safari the last adventure.
Finally and mercifully the moon rises and after rousing the troops it is discovered that, lo and behold, the compass was correct. We now have our African night moon compass bearings (so much for the native's inate ability to navigate in the bush without getting lost) and are under way once more. Kefus, the younger tracker, is carrying the buffalo skin (@ 40/45 lbs) on his head, with great difficulty as you can imagine, for the green skin will not stay in a tight package and flops all over the place. While, Richard, the older tracker, is packing the unskinned head (@ 40/50lbs) in the same manner with the added difficulty of doing so barefooted. (How these guys could carry such loads, in such a manner, for so long and far is amazing) Everson is carring the cooking pot, grilled buffalo leftovers, water bottles and his trusty AK. All of us are wandering through the night in a series of relays lasting for as long and far as the trackers can bear their loads or for as long as the hide will stay bound up with the buffalo skin rope we have had to fashion. Our pace and progress is also dictated by how long Richard the Barefoot can stand the buff skull mashing into his skull and by the amount of thorns his leathery feet can't turn.
Finally, I have had enough of the loose skin flopping around and decide to roll it up like a rug and show Kefus how to pack it over his shoulders. I do so and secure it in the middle with the makeshift green buff skin rope and the strap from my kit bag. Thusly secured, I toss it up on my shoulders. Seeing this, Kefus then bends over and picks up my rifle, ax, light stick, bag and the native axes and prepares to depart. Rather than tell him, "no, this is how you should carry it" I pack this load after recovering my rifle from him (just in case something goes GGRRRR in the night and I find myself standing all alone with nothing more than a meatless buff skin to offer my guest). I carry the skin for a long, long way (I hope over 100 yards) and finally my shoulders give out and I drop my load and turn around to the smiles of all three of my interpid guides. Everson, finally says..."Mr. Perry, you are very strong" and I think to myself.."no, Mr. Perry is very tired and would like to make it to the road and not spend the night in the bush. And no I will not now carry your load." We seem to be making about 1/4 or 1/2 mile between rest periods and finally make it to the road about 1:30 am. I fire a shot from John's cannon and to my complete relief a shot is heard in response. Joy to all hands and even though Richard's bare feet are hammered from the rocks and thorns, he and Kefus head off to retrieve the truck while Everson and I have a pleasant visit around a fire.
Eventually, John and Don, with Kefus and Richard in tow, drive up and have, what I think at the time, are very relieved expressions on their faces. I am certain their cheerful moods are do to the fact that they will not have to send the, ...Dear Mrs. Newman, we are sorry to inform you your husband has... A) been eaten by large carnivors, ...B) stomped by elephants, ...C) not been located but search parties are hopeful even after 3 weeks he will turn up... letter.
All ends well and we make it back to camp about 4:00 am. After a meal and shower we finally turn it for a little sleep after the smiles and congratulations of my two new best friends fade with the passage of false energy at my safe return. I think they thought I would pee my pants and have sucked all the skin from my thumb instead of been able to paste a big smile and a "couldn't careless" attitude on my face upon their arrival. I'm glad it was dark, my pants dried before we arrived at camp and I had gloves to wear for the rest of the trip.
The killing of the buffalo was great and the reason I planned this trip to Africa. However, the post kill adventure is what has made this trip such an memorable hunt. I will carry those memories with me always and am truly gratful to both of these guys for making it possible. Thank you Don and John. And thank you Piet Hougaard for the extra permit and use of your camp, without which none of this would have been possible.
Perry
