AFRICA HUNTER QUEST© 

Chapter 3 - THE ENCOUNTER 

     The intel on GG had been correct. Donny found him at the 200-yard range early Wednesday morning. He was hunched over his rifle, staring intently through his scope. All Donny could see at the 200-yard target frame was a white piece of paper that looked to be no bigger than 8½ by 11 inches. At that distance, there were no identifiable marks visible on the paper that indicated aiming points. “Either the Geezer has radar or one bodacious scope,” thought Donny. 

     GG’s rifle obviously had a fiberglass hunting stock that included a prominent cheek piece. The barrel was short and fat compared to the barrel on his 270 Winchester. Donny judged it to be no more than 24 inches long. The diameter of the barrel near the muzzle appeared to be on the order of ¾ inch, maybe more. A military-style muzzle brake had been fitted. A beefy Pic rail and scope rings that needed to be tightened with at least a ½ inch socket held the scope on the magnum-length action. A bipod, whose legs had been placed in some kind of plywood fixture, supported the front of the rifle. A big, well-worn heavy leather bag with ears that looked to be at least 2 inches high supported the rear of the stock. The ammo box next to GG’s left elbow contained seemingly pulp wood pine-diameter cases with the unmistakable taper and shallow shoulder of the 375 H&H.  

     The cases were neatly arranged in sets of three, with an empty space used to separate them. Each case was topped with a blunt, lead-tipped hunting bullet. “Land torpedoes,” thought Donny. It was somehow fitting that the Geezer was shooting a cartridge well over 100 years old. 

     The Old Man was obviously deep in thought and had apparently not noticed his arrival, or so Donny thought. He saw him stiffen, then turn to look directly at him. Donny sensed mild irritation from the man, but there was no ‘buzz off’ look or discouraging comment made. GG simply sat on his stool as if resigned to the fact that he must be polite in response to the question he somehow knew was coming. 

     Donny swallowed hard and got right to it. 

     D:      I understand you have hunted in Africa. 

     GG simply stared at him. Donny pressed on. 

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     D:      I was thinking about going to hunt plains game. Would my 270 Winchester be okay for hunting a kudu? 

     GG frowned; a true tar baby question. He squinted and stared hard at the young man, trying to decide how to respond. His knee-jerk inclination was to act dumb and say “I don’t know”, then repeat that response for the inevitable two or three follow-up questions and be done with it. 

     GG noted that the youngun was fit, his face still tan even in February. He obviously worked outside, maybe a farmer or construction worker, possibly owned his own business, possibly former military. Regardless, showing up just after zero dark 30 in the middle of the week to apparently speak specifically to him was obviously premeditated.  

     GG did not consider himself to be any kind of expert or authority on hunting in Africa. Maybe the youngun thought he was. There was a possibility the youngun had sense enough to realize that whatever knowledge he had about hunting here in South Carolina equated to no knowledge when hunting in Africa. Even though GG didn’t know that to be true, he had to respect the possibility until proven otherwise. All the same, this encounter would likely fall under the heading of ‘good deeds seldom go unpunished’. However, there were enough positives in his initial instantaneous appraisal that GG decided to take a chance. 

     GG:   Where in Africa will you hunt? 

     “Huh?” thought Donny. 

     D:      I don’t know. 

     GG:   What other animals do you intend to hunt while you are there? 

     D:      Springbok, blesbok, gemsbok, black wildebeest, and zebra. 

     GG:   What is the expected shot distance? 

     Donny was beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

     D:      I don’t know. 

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     GG:   What ammo do you intend to use? 

     “Geeze,” thought Donny. “Why all these questions? Why doesn’t he just answer my question about my 270 Winchester?” 

     D:      A 130-grain poly-tipped bullet with a muzzle velocity of 3200 fps. 

     GG:   Do you hand load? 

     D:      No. 

     GG:   Do you have access to other rifles with different chamberings? 

     “Different chamberings!?” thought Donny. “Why? Don’t you think my 270 Winchester will work?” 

     D:      Yes. A 30-06 Ackley, 35 Whelen, and a 375 H&H. 

     Donny was confused and beginning to get irritated. He heard GG give an almost inaudible grunt as if he were in pain. The Old Man then got up from the bench and walked over to the reloading table situated behind him. He sat down on a range-furnished stool and reached for a dog-eared accordion file that had been reinforced with black primate tape. Without a word, he opened the file, took out an 8½ by 11-inch sheet of paper with 8 equi-spaced small squares on one side, flipped it over and began to write. GG looked up once, said “This might be of help,” but primarily focused on the paper in front of him.  

     His irritation growing, Donny eased closer to the table to see what GG was writing. He could make out an equation. Equations?! He was able to make out at least one book reference. “Geeze, Louise!” thought Donny. “It looks like I am being given a combination homework assignment and take-home test!” 

     When GG finished, he handed Donny the paper and briefly explained what the combination of letters in the equation meant. But Donny wasn’t listening. He was trying to stifle the transition from irritation to disappointment to anger. He did his best to suppress his feelings. He sensed he had basically been given an emphatic ‘strike three’ on his 270 Winchester question. Donny hadn’t been given what he wanted, but at least the old coot had made an effort. 

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     Donny did his best to sound sincere when he thanked the Old Man for his time. He accepted the paper and walked off. GG had not furnished any contact info, and Donny didn’t ask for any.  

     GG watched the Pilgrim go. “Yep,” he thought. “There goes Jack with his magic beans. Bet they get tossed.” He was certain, however, that he had been placed in the youngun’s resource dumpster. 

     Donny got into his truck and briefly stared at GG. The Old Man had gotten up from the table and had once again embraced the rifle on the bench, staring intently through its scope. He had wanted to throw the paper into one of the trash cans at the range before he got into his truck. That would have been too obvious and blatant. He took the paper, folded it in half, opened the lid to the console between the seats of his truck, and dropped the paper inside. The paper then became part of the enclosed collection of data and documentation that supposedly one day would be vitally necessary, but he knew damn-well that it never would. He was just too indifferent to make the premeditated decision to keep it or just throw it away. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he would think of something.

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