One of the best things about hunting in Africa is that there are so many different species to choose from to hunt.  When I booked this trip there were five animals on my list that I specifically wanted to go after.  I knew even then that I would add an animal or two to the list once I got a good look at some of the different antelope species in the wild.

The main lodge building in the Limcroma base camp was filled with trophies of different African animals.  Looking at the trophies day after day helped me to decide which animals I wanted to add to my list.  Nyala was at the top of that list but was way out of my price range for this hunt.  At over two thousand dollars for the trophy fee, I knew I couldn't add anything that pricey.  Springbok would probably be a good choice, but I'd been told that to hunt them we'd have to move a couple hours south.  With the safari coming to an end I didn't want to spend all that time driving to a new area.

Bushbuck were absolutely beautiful.  A smaller antelope, I had never paid them much attention in the past.  Looking at the mounts in the dining hall helped me to see how nice they look.  Again, the price was a bit high for that, and they are a little harder to hunt.  With only two full days left of hunting I decided that if I wanted a fifth animal for my wall I'd better go for something that we could achieve.

Zwei walked into the dining room just as I was finishing my cereal.

"What will it be today," he asked me.  "Do you still want to go after the springbok?"

"No," I answered.  "That blesbok there on the wall behind you.  They make a nice mount.  What do you think about hunting them this morning, then let's try to go collect another impala this afternoon."  This seemed like the best choice to me.  The blesbok would only run about $400, and with impala coming in at less than that I might be able to add two more animals for less than a thousand dollars.

"There is a good ranch," Zwei said, "where we can hunt the blesbok.  Very close."

"Also," I continued, "I have not had the chance to take many pictures yet.  If we can get a blesbok, we'll work toward getting a second impala, but pictures are more important at this point.  Let's spend some time this afternoon or tomorrow getting pictures and video."

Zwei agreed with the plan, so we collected Jacob and proceeded down the road to go hunt a blesbok.  As Zwei had said, it was only a short drive to this ranch.  He had told me that this place was laid out like an orchard, again with many crossroads cutting through the thickets in a checkerboard pattern.  We would hunt the blesbok just like we had the gemsbok.  Drive the roads until we found a herd, then spot and stalk.

We stopped at the ranch house to speak to the owner, a man named Willem.  Looking around the yard I was reminded yet again of deer hunting days in South Carolina.  There were several pickup trucks parked in the grass, and even a couple of four wheelers off to the side.  Under a small lean to a pair of men were in the process of butchering a large antelope.  They already had the skin off, so I couldn't tell what kind of animal it was.

"Kudu," said Willem.  "They shot her yesterday afternoon.  Come, come, look at this.  Thirty aught-six with a 125 grain bullet, if you can believe that.  Look at what it did to the shoulder."

I inspected the damage.  The left shoulder had been perfectly penetrated by the light round.  Kudu are not very tough animals, but I was quite surprised that such a light bullet could perform this effectively on such a big antelope.  More than anything though, it was fun just to be standing there among a group of African hunters.  It could have been any deer hunter's back yard back in the American South on a Saturday morning in November.

Willem asked what we were after, then told us where he had seen some blesbok that morning while driving through his ranch.  We thanked him for the information and for allowing us to hunt on his land.  With me and Zwei seated in the back of the truck, Jacob started the engine and drove us down into the ranch to begin our hunt. 

We cruised the orchard for quite awhile.  The surprising thing was how big it was.  A one hundred acre orchard in America might be considered large; this one was easily a thousand acres or more.  There was a huge open prairie to the east of the orchard, and I could just barely make out the ranch house a couple of miles away across this wide plain.   We drove the roads, occasionally seeing steenbok, impala, warthogs, and even a couple of eland.

At last we spotted a herd of blesbok through the thick, thorny bushes.  When we were within about a hundred yards of the group, Jacob dropped us off, barely stopping to let us get out.  The goal was to keep the truck moving and keep the antelope's attention on that rather than on me and Zwei as we got out of the vehicle.  We crept through the brush, moving slowly and quietly as we approached the herd.  We cut the distance between us and them in half, then stopped to look at them through our binoculars.

Blesbok males and females both have horns, but with Zwei's help I quickly learned how to differentiate between the two.  The males had larger horns, but only by a few inches.  More than anything else, their horns were lighter in color and easier to pick out against the dark shadows made by the heavy brush that they were standing in. 

"There are two good males in this group," said Zwei.  "Let's try to get a little closer and get you a shot."

We moved slowly to our right, staying quiet in the soft sandy soil.  When we finally got a look at a male through an opening in the bushes Zwei told me to use his shoulder as a rifle rest, then get ready to shoot.  I complied, finding one of the big rams in my scope.  "Don't shoot until he is clear," Zwei told me.

A clear shot opportunity never came.  The herd got wind of us and quickly moved away from the area.  The left at a fast trot, not really galloping to get away.  They must have felt that the thicket was giving them enough cover that they weren't really in much danger.  Zwei started after them with me following along behind.  I soon found that they were moving a bit faster than I had thought; we kept on the trail for over a mile before we found them again.

The situation was the same as before, with us looking at the herd through small openings in the brush.  Again I was unable to get a clear shot at the male, and again they saw us or smelled us and left the area.  We kept up the chase for a few hours, the sun growing hot and bright in the sky.  My back was beginning to hurt, and I realized that I was having trouble walking in the loose sand.  With no support underfoot, my back just couldn't take much of this type of walking.  That must be why Zwei decided to start running.

I looked past him and saw why:  the herd was crossing one of the roads a quarter of a mile down from us.  I started running too, trying to keep up with Zwei as best I could.  "Down," he hissed after we had covered a few hundred yards.  "The males haven't crossed yet."

Winded, I was more than happy to collapse to my knees and take a short break.  With my rifle laid across his shoulder, I knelt in the dust behind Zwei, recovering my breath and preparing for the shot.  The herd crossed slowly in front of us, not knowing that we were there watching.  They finally saw us and collectively stopped, every one of them looking our way.

"No shot, no shot," said Zwei.  I was centered on the biggest bull in the herd, but he had a couple of females standing behind him.  The animals stood staring at us, trying to determine whether or not we were a threat.  They must have decided that we were, because they were gone soon after that, moving toward the open prairie.  "Ok," Zwei said.  "We'll get a chance at them now."

We crept to the edge of the thicket, moving slowly to keep from alerting the antelope herd that we were heading their way.  We stopped when we got to the last group of bushes.  The blesbok were standing about four hundred yards away from us across the field now comfortably eating the tender grasses that grew on the prairie.

The occasional clump of bushes dotted the great plain, and we moved to our left a bit to put one of the bigger clusters in between us and the antelopes.  "We will have to crawl," said Zwei.  "We must crawl to the bush, then ease our way around it to get in position for the shot."

And so we crawled.  I slung my rifle across my back, tightening the strap as much as I could so that it wouldn't slide off.  We crawled on our hands and knees for two hundred yards, stopping occasionally to pick thorns out of our palms and pant legs.  It went quicker than I thought it would, and we were soon standing behind the big bush.  We peeked around it, Zwei on one side and me on the other, and saw the blesbok herd about two hundred yards away.  We had cut the distance in half.

The animals were looking our way, so we sat down on the back side of the bushes to hide from them.  The sun was beating down on us, and although the temperature was only in the 70's it felt much hotter than that.  I took the time to put on some suntan lotion and take a drink from the bottle of water that I was carrying in my pocket.

We sat in the heat for a half hour or so, occasionally looking around to make sure the herd was still in place.  They hadn't moved, and we decided that we'd been still long enough.  Slowly, slowly we eased our way around to the front of the bushes.  The blesbok could see us moving, but we were far enough away that they weren't sure what we were and thus were not feeling threatened. 

The shade felt incredibly wonderful once we were around to the far side of the clump of bushes.  We sat in the coolness, staring out across the plain at the blesbok herd.  The herd stared back at us, and we sat there looking at each other for over an hour.  The big male was visible, but his vitals were hidden by one of the many ant hills that were scattered across the prairie.  There was no shot opportunity.

When the male finally shifted, Zwei told me to get in position and take the shot.  Braced on his shoulder, I centered the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger.  The male didn't react at first, and I was sure I had missed.  After a moment or two the herd took off, running down into a tree-lined valley.

"There was movement in the instant before you shot," Zwei said.  "I'm not sure what happened exactly, but it looks like one of the blesbok jumped.  Anyway, let's get Jacob and go look for blood."  He called Jacob, telling him to meet us at the closest road, then we began to jog over to where the blesbok had been standing.

As we got close, I saw something flopping on the ground.  Pointing it out to Zwei, we both kicked it up another notch and ran over to what I had seen.  Unfortunately, what we found was a young blesbok calf with a headshot wound.  The animal died just as we got there, and we both stood shaking our heads.  Pure bad luck.  The blesbok had turned just as I squeezed the trigger, and it caught the bullet intended for the big herd ram. 

"Man, I hate that," I said.  "I can't believe it.  That must have been the movement you saw.  He moved and got in the way."

"Yes," Zwei answered.  "I was afraid that's what had happened.  Couldn't be helped.  I don't suppose you want pictures before we go after the ram again?"

"No.  Make a pretty flatskin though," I commented.  "Might as well have the skinners make me a rug out of him, since I have to pay for that anyway."

Zwei agreed.  We loaded the dead animal into the back of the truck, then started driving over to the area that the blesbok herd had run to.  We got lucky this time.  We came around a corner and there they were, standing in a copse of trees off to our left.  "Come on," Zwei exclaimed.  "Get in position."

I got down and got ready to shoot.  "Where is he, I don't see him," I said.

"Far left, on his own," was the answer.

I saw him then.  He was standing by himself looking our way.  I quickly slipped the safety off of my Remington and centered the crosshairs on his chest.  I breathed out, then squeezed.  I didn't hear the bullet hit the animal, but the shot felt right, just like it had last night on the kudu.  I knew I had him.

I slung my rifle over my shoulder and grabbed my camcorder out of my backpack.  The ram was still up but was obviously hit hard.  I caught his collapse on videotape, also getting a good view of the herd as they ran off.  Turning off the camera, I sat my gear on the ground and joined Zwei and Jacob as they headed over to where my blesbok lay.  He was a big one, Zwei said.  "He will likely score SCI Gold."

Zwei and Jacob cleaned the blesbok up for pictures.  When we were done with the photo shoot I told Zwei, "I think that's enough for today.  We worked pretty hard for this guy, and we can try for an impala tomorrow.  Let's go try to get some video and pictures of some of wildlife for awhile."

I think Zwei was pretty worn out himself, because he quickly agreed to the plan.  We drove back to camp, stopping first at the ranch house to thank Willem for the hunt and to explain about the mistake with the smaller blesbok.  He was quite gracious about it, and he and Zwei worked out a price for the kill. 

In camp we dropped off the pair of blesbok at the skinning area, then drove over to the main lodge to refill the cooler with some cold drinks.  After that it was back across the road to Hannes's house.  "We will go out on Hannes's land," Zwei told me.  "The animals are not as timid over here.  They are not hunted much, and when they are hunted it is always with a bow.  You should be able to get some good pictures."

I was impressed at how beautiful the property was.  The roads were in immaculate shape, and there was wildlife everywhere.  We saw a great many waterbuck, impala, warthogs, kudu, and zebra.  As Zwei has mentioned, the animals were not very timid and we were able to get good pictures of everything.  "We don't hunt here unless the client is really struggling getting his animals," Zwei said.  "If he is having a hard time making the shots, we'll come over here to help him build confidence."

Zwei nudged me on the shoulder.  "Would you like something to drink?  A beer?"  I noticed that he had grabbed himself a Castle Light, so I gratefully accepted his offer.  It was the first time he had brought something other than water or soft drinks along in the truck, but since we weren't hunting he had stuck a few of the African beers in the cooler.  Exhausted from days of chasing gemsbok, then from the difficult blesbok hunt this morning, it was an incredibly wonderful feeling to be riding high in the seat of the bakkie with a beer in hand. 

As I mentioned earlier, I don't drink much alcohol these days, and when I do it's usually just an occasional glass of wine with supper.  I think though that the beer on that ride through Hannes's land was the best I've had in all my life.  I was satisfied with the results of the hunt.  We lost the gemsbok, but we got five other good animals and a sixth smaller one.  If we didn't get an impala tomorrow, I wouldn't even care.  I could not think of a better way to end the afternoon than with a ride like that one. 

A herd of waterbuck

A zebra turns to watch us drive past.

"It's always that way, isn't it?" I asked as we drove past a herd of zebra.  "You work hard for an animal, and through the blood and sweat you finally get him.  Then they are everywhere," I said, indicating the herd with a wave of my hand.  "But I wouldn't have it any other way.  You hunt deer and you see turkeys.  You hunt turkeys and you see deer.  That's just how it goes."

We finished our beer, and as the sun fell from the sky we turned the truck around and headed back to camp for supper.  We were joined by Magda, Eric Sourer, and his client Mike Lenherd, who I was just meeting for the first time.  We gathered around the table and Eric asked us to bow our heads as he blessed the food."

"Come Lord Jesus, be our guest," he said.  "We invite you to join us tonight as we break bread together.  Thank you for the food before us, thank you for the friendships we have made here in camp over these last days, and thank you for the animals you have created for us to hunt.  We ask you to bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and our bodies to your service."

The supper was a traditional South African meal called bobotie, or, "meat pie".  It was wonderfully flavorful, and was one of the best meals that I ate in all my time over there.  It was good enough that I asked Edward for the recipe, which he provided the next day.  As we finished our meal Eric retrieved a bottle of African wine from the bar area and insisted that we all have a glass.  When we were done I think we were all ready for bed.  We bid each other good night, and I retreated to my chalet for a refreshing night's sleep.