Although I was still feeling full from the kudu steak we had had for supper, I went ahead and ate a light breakfast this morning before Zwei arrived at camp.  I knew I would need the extra energy today.  We had some hard work ahead of us.  Yesterday we tracked the wounded gemsbok for over seven miles, and it looked like we'd be doing the same thing today.

Back in my chalet, I sat on the couch and started to pull on my Courtney hunting boots.  Pain flared in my ankle, and I peeled off my sock to see a freshly burst blister formed from all of the walking we did yesterday.  I switched to a pair of New Balance hiking shoes, wanting to avoid rubbing that spot again today.  My boots had been incredibly comfortable throughout all of our hunting, but knowing we had many more miles ahead of us today I wanted something a bit lighter on my feet.  As I pulled on my shoes, I heard the crunch of gravel under truck tires as Zwei drove into camp.

Zwei had John and Jacob with him as he drove into the camp.  I was glad to see John aboard; he had shown his skills as a tracker during our zebra hunt, and I knew that we could really use his help today.  I loaded my gear onto the truck and climbed in.  I noticed that Zwei had his rifle with him today, and I told him not to hesitate in taking a shot if necessary.  In Africa, I believe that it's important that you not worry overmuch about who makes the final shot on a wounded animal.  The point is to bring the animal down as quickly as possible. 

We drove to the back entrance of the ranch that we had been hunting, and I saw how much closer to our camp the place really was.  When we had driven to the front gate yesterday we had gone several miles further down the road than we did today.  Pausing at the gate, Zwei and I got up in the back of the truck and Jacob took the driver's seat.  John disappeared into the brush to try to pick up the trail we had marked yesterday evening.  We began to drive in what I thought was the wrong direction, but as we came out of the woods and into a huge open area we saw the herd of gemsbok on a hill a hundred yards off of the road. 

We stopped the truck, and though the gemsbok saw us, they simply stood on the hill and looked our way.  Every animal has a comfort zone, and if you stay outside of it they won't run.  We were far enough back from the herd that they were alerted to our presence but not yet ready to bolt.  Zwei and I used our binoculars to try to figure out which animal was ours, but we just couldn't see any blood on any of them. 

Jacob moved us a little closer, and finally the herd began to get nervous.  Still unable to tell which animal was the right one, we inched in further and they finally fled.  We then saw one limping, but he was mixed in with the other gemsbok and there was no way to safely take a shot.  Zwei quickly bailed out of the truck and ran to the top of the hill where the herd had been standing.  He gave a thumbs up to indicate that there was indeed a fresh blood trail present, then ran back down to join us in the truck.

We drove for a mile or so, passing a couple of the crossroads on the lease, then stopped and parked when we thought we should have been about parallel to the herd.  Leaving the truck, we proceeded on foot until we found where the animals had crossed the road.  Blood was present, so the three of us started following the trail again.  As we walked, Zwei radioed John to tell him where the animals were now headed and asked him to start moving in our direction.

The trail was fairly sparse now, and the only blood we could see was low on the occasional blade of grass.  The gemsbok was not bleeding heavily, and we began to fear that the wound was indeed pretty superficial.  We continued following the trail, and walked a good five miles before we got another look at the herd.  They were again only barely visible through the thick brush, and again we could not tell which animal was the one we were after.  Before long the herd got wind of us and they took off running.  Again.

The thicket that we were walking through looking for the gemsbok herd

Miles and miles of bloody Africa, I thought again.  Seven miles yesterday, and five on foot already this morning with no end in sight.  We sent Jacob back for the truck just as John pushed his way through the thorny brush and joined us.  John quickly found more blood in the tracks of the animals that we had just seen, so the three of us pushed ahead into the briars, knowing at least that we were still on the right trail.

An hour or so later and a couple of miles further along Jacob showed up with the truck.  We put him back on the trail with John while Zwei and I used the vehicle to try to get in front of the herd.  We saw the gemsbok through the trees several times over the next couple of hours, but it was around 2:00pm or so before we finally got them cornered.

We rounded a bend in the road and there in a small clearing 400 yards away were the gemsbok.  Zwei parked quickly, then climbed up into the back of the truck with me.  We both looked carefully at the animals through our scopes, but we could not tell which animal was hit.  Finally, I saw one with a bit of red on his foreleg.  I pointed the wounded animal out to Zwei, but the scope on his rifle was not powerful enough for him to see what I was talking about.

"Here," I said.  "look through my scope.  It's more powerful and gives you a much clearer view."

We swapped rifles and after a moment Zwei agreed that we were looking at the right gemsbok.  We traded guns again and when our animal moved off by himself Zwei said, "Ok.  Shoot him when you're ready."

The gemsbok was small in my scope and the yardage was long.  When I squeezed off a shot, he never flinched.  Wiping the sweat off of my forehead, I chambered another round.  The gemsbok moved a few feet in our direction, then turned broadside.  Zwei took a shot and this time the antelope stumbled.  I raised my rifle and fired again, and this time I heard the whap of the bullet striking flesh.

Zwei and I each reloaded, hoping to get more shots off, but the gemsbok fled before we had the chance to shoot again.  Zwei jumped down into the cab and started the truck.  I grabbed the roll bar and held on tightly as we sped down the road to where the gemsbok had been standing.  As we pulled up to the clearing, John and Jacob appeared from out of the bush, and the four of us began to look for blood.

We found one bright red splash of fresh blood, but other than that we saw nothing other than the same light trail from the original wound.  Leaving the truck behind us, we got on the trail again and walked behind the herd for at least another five miles.  We never found another patch of fresh blood.  Over the next few hours we caught up with the herd several more times, but as before we could not determine which animal was wounded, even with two new bullets in him.

When the sun finally set, we once again marked the last known spoor by placing a coke can in the road.  We talked for a few minutes amongst ourselves and decided that with three bullets in the gemsbok we were obligated to spend some more time looking for him the next morning.  We drove back to camp, again dejected but at least a bit optimistic.

Each night around the fire a tray of various chips and dip was made available to us to snack on as we waited for Edward to finish cooking supper.  Tyge had left the camp, heading for Botswana to film a buffalo hunt for a group of hunters.  Another hunter would be in camp tomorrow, and tonight we were joined by Magda, Hannes's camp manager as we sat enjoying the warmth of the fire.  Hannes was there too, and we talked a bit about our strategy for tomorrow, planning to give it until about noon before giving up and moving on.

Although I'm not much of a drinker, enjoying only the occasional glass of wine back in America, tonight I refreshed myself with a pair of cold Castle Lights from the cooler, savoring the flavor of the African beer as I looked up at the stars of the Southern Hemisphere.  It was good to be in Africa, and I remembered a small piece of advice Ted Nugent had given me just before I left.  Celebrate every glorious moment, he had said in a note to me.

He was right in that, and through the blood drawn by the thousands of thorns I had pushed my way past, through the sweat of miles and miles of hiking, through the exhaustion of running behind Zwei on weary legs, through sunburn and blisters I kept that advice in mind.  Africa is not supposed to be easy.  If it was easy, everyone would do it.  So I sat by the fire with my beer and celebrated, thanking God for what He had created in Africa.  I thanked Him for the smell of the mopane wood fire, for the sounds of the jackals in the distance, for the antelope provided for us to hunt, and for the beauty of the country that I was seeing.  I thanked Him for blessing me enough to allow me to experience this, even through the heartache of the thought that we would probably lose this gemsbok.

Edward appeared under the dim glow of the lights from the lodge and announced that dinner was served.  We all got up and went inside, Zwei, Magda, Hannes, and me, and feasted on impala steaks, fresh from my kill on the second day of the safari.  The dessert was incredible, a thin orange cake of some sort, and as always I was stuffed and ready for bed by the time we had finished the meal.