There are a couple of different ways to hunt Zebra.  The easiest way is to find a waterhole that they like to come to, then sit in a blind and wait for them to show up.  The hard way is to go out and chase them, searching first for their tracks, then for the animals themselves.  We would be hunting the hard way today.

Breakfast this morning was the same as yesterday: cereal and toast by myself in the dining hall.  Finishing up by about 6:45, I still had a bit of time before Zwei was supposed to arrive.  I walked back across to my chalet and worked on my journal a bit, then, when 7:00 arrived I gathered my gear and stepped out onto my front porch.  As I closed the door behind me, I looked to my left and saw a duiker (a small antelope) standing in the flowerbed.  He spotted me looking at him, snorted, and fled.  I watched him go, wishing that there had been time to grab my camera out of my backpack.

Watching the little duiker run, I heard Zwei's truck in the distance headed my way.  Giving the antelope a last look, I shouldered my backpack and walked back across camp to the lodge where Zwei would soon arrive.  We said our "Good mornings" when he got there, then I put my gear in the truck while he went into the bar area to fill his cooler with water and soft drinks for the day.  We would, he told me, be going over to Hannes's farm to pick up a second tracker before we went hunting.

We drove across the main road to the farm, then pulled alongside a fence near the skinning area.  Zwei honked his horn, and soon a lanky black man poked his head out of one of the shacks visible across the field a hundred yards away.  Seeing us, he waved, then jogged over to meet us.  "This is John," said Zwei.  "He's an expert tracker; he'll be helping us find a zebra today."  I welcomed John aboard the truck, and we crossed back over to the main camp, this time turning off on a side road before we got to the lodge itself.

"We'll be hunting on Hannes's brother Reiner's place today," Zwei told me.  "There's a skittish herd of zebra in that area, and we might get lucky and find them." 

Reiner's property began just past the Limcroma camp, and as Jacob opened the gate for us to drive through Zwei said, "Last night a couple of guys on tractors came through here and brushed several miles of roads clear for us.  We'll start out by driving those roads looking for fresh zebra tracks.  If we come across some, we'll park the bakkie and follow them on foot to try to catch up with the herd."

That sounded good to me, and with Jacob driving the truck and Zwei, John, and myself riding in the back we began to cruise the farm roads.  We drove slowly, always keeping an eye on the ground in front of the truck to try to find tracks.  We saw sign from impala, kudu, warthog, eland, and wildebeest, but in several hours and of driving we found no zebra tracks.  We went back and forth over many miles of roads without finding what we were looking for.  We had left the swept roads behind when John suddenly cried out that he had seen a zebra track.

We got out of the truck and John carefully inspected the area to see which direction the zebra had gone in.  When it became obvious that the tracks that we were looking at were a day or two old we decided to loop around to a connecting road a mile or so away to see if we could either get ahead of the animals or at least cut down the distance between us and them.

On the next road over we picked up the tracks, finding that the zebra had already crossed.  This time, though, the tracks were a good bit fresher.  We sent John into the brush to follow those tracks, keeping us updated by radio, while we headed over to the next road to again try to get in front of the herd.  We played this game for the next couple of hours, sometimes walking, sometimes driving, and each time we got back on the trail we found the tracks to be a little bit fresher than each previous set.

Jacob stands on a rock, looking for signs of the zebra

Once it became clear that we had finally found tracks made that morning, Zwei and I again jumped ahead to the next road, then we set up in an impromptu blind.  The plan was for John to get on the tracks and try to push the animals right to us.  We sat quietly in the dirt on the side of the road, but the minutes ticket by and the zebras never appeared.

As we waited for John to show up, we looked around and found that we had missed them; the zebra had crossed the road before we had gotten set up on it.  The good news was that we were closer than ever, so Jacob drove Zwei and I ahead again and again we hid ourselves in the brush on the side of the road and began to wait. 

Zwei's radio buzzed with static.  "They are coming, they are coming," came the call from John.  "They are with the eland!"  At Zwei's prompting, I used his shoulder as a brace to hold my rifle on the clearing in front of us.  Within seconds, a herd of eland appeared.  I stared at them in awe of their huge size, and found myself thinking for the first time what a beautiful animal they are.  I kept watching, but the zebra did not show up.  "They turned away," John told us over the radio. 

We got up and hiked a mile or so back to the truck, this time at least knowing which parcel of land the zebra were in.  It was time to formulate a new plan.  This time I got in the driver's seat of the truck and dropped John, Jacob, and Zwei out in a line spaced about a quarter of a mile apart.  I then drove down a side road to a "T" intersection where Zwei said that I should be able to see the zebra cross in either direction.  "Don't shoot," he said.  "Just establish a direction of travel.  Then we'll get on their tracks again."  In theory.

As I watched, I saw warthogs and impala come running out of the thicket, and even a pair of weasels sauntered by, but no zebras.  When Zwei finally emerged from the bush we scratched our heads wondering where the animals had gone.  John called us to tell us that they had turned away again, but that he was still on their trail.

We decided that we'd head back to camp for lunch, leaving John to follow their trail and try to figure out exactly where the herd was heading.  We would meet back up in a couple of hours and give the zebras another try.

Back at the camp, it occurred to me that this was the first time I was really seeing it in the daytime.  After I paused a few minutes to look around, we walked into the kitchen to find Tyge Floyd in an apron.  I saw immediately what he was doing, and I grinned.  He had a casserole dish full of cubed steaks, a dish of flour, and a bowl of milk.  "Chicken fried steak!" I yelled in glee, happy at the prospect of sharing a traditional Southern meal with my new African friends.  Tyge was explaining the meal to Edward as he cooked it, and it wasn't long before we had a heaping plate of steaks waiting for us in the dining area. 

We ate well, knowing that we had some hard work ahead of us.  When we made it back out to the ranch, John quickly responded to our radio calls to tell us that he was still on the trail of the zebra.  He told us where he was, and we soon met up with him.  "They are close enough to stalk," he told us.  In Africa, "close enough" apparently means "somewhere within the next dozen miles."

John and I followed the trail with John, hiking through a beautiful scrub-brush prairie.  John never lost the trail, but it was only occasionally that I could even see what he was following.  Once in awhile I would see a hoof print in the hard dirt ground, and twice we came upon fresh zebra dung.  We walked for at least two hours, and Robert Ruark's phrase "miles and miles of bloody Africa" took on a new meaning.  As Ruark had cursed Hemingway during a particularly grueling stretch of his first safari, I began to curse Ruark.

The day wore on, the occasional fly started to buzz around our heads, and the sun got hotter and hotter.  I was wishing that I had tucked a water bottle in my pants pocket when John suddenly held up his hand telling us to stop.  I saw the twitch of a tail through the thick brush, and Zwei was quickly off in a run to get us into position.  I followed him as quickly as I could, but I never got another look at the zebras.  In a matter of seconds, they were gone.

We put John back on the trail, then called for Jacob to meet us with the truck at the closest road.  Once we were aboard, we drove a couple of miles away and parked, hoping that the zebra herd would cross in front of us.  It seemed to me that we had gone in the wrong direction, but Zwei assured me that we were well positioned if they kept to their course.  We sat in the shade of a small tree for awhile, and still the zebra never came.

"They're with the eland again," came John's call over the radio.  "They've turned again and are heading north."  Jacob started up the truck and drove us to the start of a long, wide "logging" road.  I say logging road because it reminded me of a freshly bulldozed American logging road; the road had obviously been just cut recently, and stumps and branches were visible sticking up in the dirt on the sides of the road.  Jacob parked, hiding the vehicle behind some thick acacia bushes.

Zwei and I started up the logging road, hiking about a mile or so to the far end where it joined another, smaller road.  Finding a somewhat shady spot to sit in, we got positioned for the shot if the animals came our way.  As we sat and waited (and waited, and waited), I was thinking that at least we had finally found a place to hide that was somewhat comfortable.  About then, John called again.  "They're coming, but they're back toward the middle of the road you're on; a quarter-mile back toward the bakkie."

So we ran.  We moved a couple of hundred yards back the way we had come, then sat again.  After a few minutes, Zwei said "I don't think we've gone far enough, let's move one more time."  Moving back about two hundred more yards, we again settled down beside a brush pile on the side of the road.  We sat sweating in the rising heat, looking up and down the road, watching for the herd. 

"To the left," Zwei suddenly said.  I stood quickly and looked in the direction that he indicated, way back to where we had first been sitting.  A herd of eland was running past, using a road perpendicular to ours, and with them were the zebra.  They stopped for a moment as they caught a glimpse of us.  I raised my rifle and got the crosshairs centered on the lead zebra.  "Can you make the shot?" Zwei asked.

"No," I told him.  "It's 500 yards... too risky for a thousand dollar zebra.  We need to get closer."  He nodded, agreeing with my decision, then said, "They're moving again; let's go."

The herd resumed their run, and Zwei did the same.  He headed into the brush in a sprint, running diagonally toward the herd to cut the distance between us and them.  I followed as best I could, ignoring the pain in my back, ignoring the heat and the thorns of the thick acacia bushes.  We ran, and I was surprised that we could occasionally still catch glimpses of the herd moving up the road in the distance. I would have thought that they would outrun us, but they were just loping along by this time, no longer aware that they were being chased.

We quickly got within a couple of hundred yards of the herd, and finally Zwei stopped.  "There," he said.  "Through the brush.  Use my shoulder and take the shot."  I rested my rifle on the shoulder that he offered and got the crosshairs settled on the chest of the only zebra that I could see.  Zwei put his fingers in his ears, nodded, and I squeezed the trigger.

"Good shot, it's a hit," Zwei said.  The herd began running again, this time looping around us in a wide semicircle.  I spun with them, keeping the rifle trained on the animals but unable to tell which one I had hit.  I was just beginning to think that we would lose them and have to track my zebra when they stopped suddenly, standing not sixty yards away from us under a small patch of trees.

Zwei raised his binoculars and began to look at each zebra.  "Which one, which one," I said.  "I've got a good shot at any of them.  Can you see blood?" 

"Not yet," said Zwei, "hold your fire."  I didn't shoot, but I did get my rifle in position and centered on the zebra furthest back in the group.  I had a good shot opportunity at him, and I was thinking that the wounded animal would likely be the last one in the herd.  "There," said Zwei.  "The one standing broadside by himself at the edge of the herd.  He's got blood on his nose."

The one that I was holding on was standing sideways alone and was at the edge of the group.  "The one on the far left?" I asked, as I slipped the safety off of the rifle.  "No, no," said Zwei.  "The other side; on the far right."

I shifted my aim and found the shoulder of the lead animal.  "Take him," said Zwei.  I squeezed and the zebra dropped.  I sank to my knees in joy, having feared that of all of the animals on my list that the zebra would be the one I didn't get.  In camp the night before, Tyge Floyd had talked about sitting down and crying after taking his first kudu.  I didn't cry, but I knew exactly how he had felt at the time.

 
Me, Jacob, and John pose with my zebra.

I got up and walked over to where the zebra lay.  It was a huge mare, old and beautiful.  She oval patches on her back, and the stripes on her neck were thick and perfect.  I sat in the grass beside her and stroked her hide and fully lived in the moment.  I could feel a lump where the first bullet was lodged and soon found the second shot as well.  We cleaned her up for pictures, then began the task of getting her loaded into the truck.

The four of us could not lift her, and Jacob finally resorted to digging holes behind the back tires of the bakkie.  Zwei backed the truck gently into the holes, setting the bed of the truck at an angle, and that way we were able to slide her in.  I sat in the elevated seat all the way home, looking back at my zebra every few minutes.  Looking back at the only zebra I will ever shoot.

Although there was a bit of light left in the day, I looked at Zwei on the way home and said, "That is enough for today.  Let's don't spoil this day by doing any more hunting."  Zwei agreed wholeheartedly.  We had hunted hard today; harder than I've ever worked in my life for an animal, and I was content.

In camp that night we had a supper of gemsbok pie.  I found the meat to be flavorful and tender, and it was a fitting end to the day.  Relaxing around the fire that evening, Zwei handed me the bullets that the skinners had recovered from the zebra.  The first bullet had performed flawlessly, expanding into a perfect four-petaled flower and retaining nearly all of its weight.  The second bullet had deformed after smashing the spine of the zebra.  You could see where it had expanded before hitting bone, and it too had done its job well.  I put the bullets in a small bag to save forever.

Before I close this entry, I want to talk a little bit about zebras and hunting.  I'm not going to try to justify or defend zebra hunting.  The results justify themselves, and to defend something you have to subscribe to the fact that it just might be wrong.  I love zebras. They're one of my favorite animals, and I can sit and watch them for hours.  The one thing I've been asked the most is "why would you hunt a zebra?"  Here's your answer.

Conservation is not always pretty.  Conservation is not about having good, happy feelings toward the nice animals.  Conservation requires work.  It requires money.  It requires death.  That's right.  Death.  Some animals must die so that more will live.  If you want to save an animal, open it up for hunting.  I'll give you an example that Ted Nugent once gave.

The animal rights activists want to save the condors.  Ok, that's a good cause.  Go ahead and save them.  Hunters wanted to save the wild turkey:  another good cause.  One hundred years ago there were eight condors in the wild and about 30,000 wild turkeys.  Today, through the conservation efforts of hunters, there are seven million wild turkeys in America... and still only about eight condors.

Yeah, I know, there are about 250 condors, but the end result is the same.  Conservation applied properly works.  Feel good politics do not work.  When I hunt and kill a zebra, I place a monetary value on that zebra.  The rancher who owns the land that I killed my zebra on gets a portion of that money.  This is good, he thinks.  I got paid for having a zebra on my land, and I didn't have to buy feed for him.  I didn't have to tend to him like I do my cows.  I didn't have to clean up after him.  I will let more zebras run free on my property.

By putting a value on the zebra, the ranchers will ultimately use their land less for raising cattle and more to let wild game run freely upon it.  The result is better habitat for the zebras, and a larger population of zebras for everyone to enjoy.   The same principle works for the other animals: the antelopes, the predators, and even the birds. 

So there's the answer for you.  Zebras are beautiful, desirable animals.  They need to be managed through proven methods of conservation, and I'm happy to have been a part of that process.