AFRICA HUNTER QUEST©   

    Chapter 32 - THE PILGRIM’S SAFARI: DAY 3   

    Donny awakened close to nine hours later. He was sweating, which he figured was a good thing. The last thing he remembered was thinking he would never be warm again.   

    Although the room was finally warm, the tile floor was as cold as the dickens and instantly drove any remaining sleepiness away. There was plenty of hot water for the shower to warm up its tile floor. He had seen the laundry hamper and deposited his clothes, grateful that chore would be done for him daily. Although the sun was shining, he didn’t know what the temperature was outside. He played it safe and put on a long-sleeved thermal underwear top and a long-sleeved hunting shirt. When he stepped outside, he judged that the temperature was in the mid-50s, tops.    

    It was a little after 10 o’clock in the morning. Donny made his way to the main building and found his PH sitting at one of the dining tables with an older man who also looked like he could have played pro ball. His PH saw him, said good morning, and introduced him to the owner of the facility, the person with whom he had been communicating via email. The owner welcomed him and gave him a small sheet of paper with the facility’s Wi-Fi password. He apologized for the signal, but even with a booster there was only so much he could do. They were apparently far removed from the nearest metro area. The owner reminded Donny that he needed to use the converters that were in the electrical sockets, or he would fry his devices. The owner asked him how he wanted his eggs, then went to the kitchen with his order.    

    Donny had coffee and discussed the day’s plan with his PH while the kitchen prepared his breakfast. He would first check his rifle’s zero, then proceed on a hunt to ‘see what they could see’. It would be around noon, and many of the animals would be in cover. They would take box lunches so they would have the full remainder of the day to hunt.   

    The breakfast consisted of two eggs, a generous portion of fried potatoes, a slab of ham, a hotdog, and a cooked tomato. Donny was on fumes, and he gratefully wolfed all of it down. When he finished, he adjourned to his room and collected his rifle, still in the case. He fished out a box of ammo from his suitcase and put it inside his shirt. He also put inside his shirt his sock filled with plastic beads. He donned his fleece hooded sweatshirt, as the wind seemed to have picked up.   

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    His PH met him at the truck. There was a native African standing next to him that was introduced as the tracker. They all got into the truck and drove a short distance to the sight-in range.    

    The ‘bench’ consisted of a large wooden cable spool set on its side. The stool was a plastic patio chair. There was a bull bag on top of the spool to hold the rifle for sight-in. Donny could see a small target frame beyond at a distance that looked to be at least 100 yards.   

    Donny opened his case and gave the range finder to the PH and told him to hang onto it until after the entire hunt was completed. He showed him how to use it. In doing so, he ranged the target frame at about 110 yards. Donny figured it had been premeditatedly set at 100 meters. He opened the big manila envelope in the case, fished out his target, then handed it to the tracker to go down and post on the frame. He then completely removed the bolt from his rifle, conscious his every movement was being closely watched by his PH.    

    Donny opened up the small pouch that contained his modest tool kit and found his Allen wrench for attaching the bipods. He installed his small one, all the while keeping the rifle’s muzzle pointed at right angles to both the target frame and any occupied areas.    

    While the tracker placed the target, Donny again fished in his manila envelope and produced the printout that showed his bullet drop and wind drift at 5-yard increments, out to 150 yards. He pointed out to his PH that his bullet needed to print about 2 inches or 5 centimeters high at 110 yards to be dead on at 200 yards. He also pulled out his extended-range ballistic printout and showed him that he would be about 3½ inches or 9 centimeters low at 250 yards if he didn’t hold a tad higher on the animal.   

    His PH eyed the sheet.   

    PH:    I’ve never had anyone do this before. Is that printout accurate?   

    D:    As far as I can tell based on what I have shot at my own range.   

    By then the tracker had returned. Donny fiddled with the rifle’s position on the cable spool and the height of the bipod’s legs until he was satisfied. He was surprised how relatively comfortable it was. His hand pressure on the bead-filled sock was a

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reasonable substitute for his rear bag. He used the bull bag as a bipod leg stop so he could load the legs. He again noted the scrutiny he was receiving from not only the PH but the tracker as well. He glanced at the tracker’s feet and noted he was wearing hiking boots. Donny smiled briefly, then asked if his team members were ready for him to go hot. The PH nodded his head.   

    Donny put in his earplugs, then inserted the bolt in his rifle. He noted that the wind was almost a pure left to right crosswind. He also noticed that it appeared to have increased in velocity. He reached over into his rifle case and grabbed his wind meter. He took a reading and determined the velocity was a touch less than 10 miles per hour. He decided to hold dead on his target and see where he stood before making any adjustments.    

    He acquired his target, confirmed his level, and did several dry fires before he felt comfortable enough to insert a round in the chamber. The scope had been repositioned for hunting, and he had to modify his head position to get a good sight picture. He knew style points were being rendered by both his PH and the tracker, but he was after technical merit.   

    He inserted a round, then broke the shot and it felt good. He looked through the scope.   

    PH:    Low and to the right.   

    D:    I expected a drift to the right, but not low. Let me try another round to confirm before I make any adjustments.   

    Donny again checked the wind. It was about the same. He went through his pre-shot ritual before again inserting a round. When he broke the shot, it again felt good.   

    PH:    Almost in the same spot.   

    Donny looked through his scope and saw that both shots were at the same level, but were slightly offset horizontally. He was obviously consistently low for whatever reason. Temperature? Who knew?   

    D:    Let’s go down so I can take an actual measurement before I adjust the scope. The drift is about right based on what the ballistic software predicts. The vertical is way off, for whatever reason.   

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    Donny removed the bolt from his rifle and placed it on the spool top. He picked up his small tool pouch and found his small 3-foot tape measure. The team then walked down to the target to examine the impacts.   

    D:    I’m about 1 inch low and about 3/4 inch to the right. The wind drift is    about 1/3 inch for each 5-mph wind, so that’s about right. The vertical is off by 3 inches for whatever reason. I need to be 2 inches high at this distance. I’ve got the info I need for a scope adjustment. Let’s see what happens after I do.   

    When they got back to the spool, Donny cranked in a 3-inch increase in elevation. He again checked the wind. No real change. He dry-fired several times until he was ready. He broke the shot and it again felt good.   

    PH:    High right.   

    Donny looked through his scope and again saw that his shot had drifted nearly the same distance to the right of his first two. The vertical had indeed changed, and was ratcheted about 2 inches above the center of his target.   

    D:    Close enough. Are you happy?   

    PH:    Absolutely. I’ve never seen anything like that before.   

    Donny was well aware that his PH’s last statement could be taken either one of two ways. The first time his PH had used it today was likely in the vein of “You got to be $#!+in’ me”. His latest potentially indicated an epiphany. Donny figured he would take all the credibility he could get, because his field-craft buffoonery was inevitable and could wipe the slate clean.   

    D:    While we are here, I’d like to show you what’s going on with me in the seated position with the tall bipod. Leave the target up and I’ll pretend it’s an animal.   

    PH:    I am keen to see what you do.   

    Donny quickly removed his short bipod and installed his tall one. The bipod had a stud that enabled attachment of his sling, so he installed his sling as well.   

    D:    Based on my practice at the house, I adjusted the lower portion of the legs and will keep that setting. All I have to do is fully extend the upper portion of the legs until they click into place, then rotate the rifle into position.   

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    Donny chambered a round, put the rifle on safety, then used the sling to support the rifle on his shoulder. He walked about 5 yards to the right of the spool, then removed the rifle and held it in the port arm’s position. He squatted down and quickly assumed the cross-legged position, pointing his left knee directly at the target frame. He then reached up and rotated the bipod’s legs into their deployed position. He quickly extended both legs, the click clearly audible as each leg locked into place. He rested the butt stock on his right inner thigh, then rotated the rifle until the bipod’s legs were centered on his left knee. He reached into his shirt and removed his plastic bead-filled sock, and placed it between his right knee and left foot curling beneath it. He smoothly raised his rifle, then positioned both elbows on his knees. He acquired his sight picture, loaded the bipod, flicked off the safety, and squeezed off a shot, all in comfortably less than 20 seconds.   

    PH:    (First mumbling in Afrikaans) That was efficient. Your impact is touching your final zero shot.    

    D:    Got lucky.   

    PH:    That position will allow me to select and prepare a blind directly in the brush. How far did you say you practiced shooting from that position?   

    D:    350 yards.   

    Donny saw his PH nodding his head. He could almost hear the man’s processing gears rapidly spinning. “I’ve given him a tool that he’s gonna use for my benefit,” thought Donny.   

    The PH told him they would begin hunting immediately. It was close to noon and he didn’t expect much activity, but he intended to ‘see what he could see’. Donny asked to be taken back to his room to collect more clothes, as he doubted he would be able to stand riding around in the back of the truck for very long without them.   

    Donny elected to take just the tube neck warmer and hooded sweatshirt. He put the neck warmer down around his neck and did not extend it up over his head. He put on his hooded sweatshirt and figured if that wasn’t enough, he would just tough it out. His PH was in shorts!   

    Donny opened the bolt to his rifle and handed it to the tracker while he climbed into the back of the truck. Once Donny was inside the bed area, the tracker handed

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him his rifle. He closed the bolt and placed it on a rack that had been fabricated on the grillage of the steel tubes that encompassed the periphery of the truck’s bed area. The grillage was about 2 feet high above the truck’s bed sidewalls, comprised of tubes that were at least 2 inches in diameter. The entire tube framework looked hell-for-stout.    

    A steel shelf about 3 feet by 1½ feet extended from the top tube of the frame out over the truck’s cab. Immediately underneath the frame, an electric winch was suspended on the bottom of the frame’s top tube. Canvas-covered pads about 1½ inches thick had been placed on the shelf to form a cushioned shooting platform on which he could rest his elbows to take a shot from the truck should he so choose.   

    Two padded seat frames had been fabricated directly behind the cab, each attached to the peripheral steel grillage. Donny instinctively sat in the right-hand seat, as this was the ‘passenger’ side in the U.S. However, his PH asked him to sit in the left seat, but gave no explanation. Donny did as he was told. His PH then climbed up onto a seat atop the frame at the right rear. The seat was positioned so that his PH’s eye level was at least 10 feet above the ground surface. Donny soon discovered that his PH needed both seat positions on the right to enable hand signals to the tracker who was driving the truck . . .   on the right side! Donny had forgotten that the ‘passenger’ side in South Africa was on the left side of the vehicle.   

    They left the lodge and traveled into the interior of the property on a series of dirt roads. They trundled effortlessly along in second gear at about 10 miles an hour, the truck’s 4-cylinder diesel operating at an rpm little more than idle. Donny’s PH continuously scanned the landscape, searching for animals.   

    Donny was astounded at the variety of topography and vegetation. The property was over 12,000 acres, which Donny quickly estimated was over 18 square miles. There were prominent, widely spaced rocky ridges that were at least 500 feet higher than the intermediate valleys. The ridge slopes were cobble-strewn with variable concentrations of low to head-height brush. The valleys tended to be gently rolling with apparently helter-skelter concentrations of brush. Some of the ridges fronted broad, nearly flat grassland that Donny judged to be well over a mile wide, certainly way wider than his fields at home.   

    Periodic manmade ponds were dispersed throughout the property. Some of the smaller ones had adjacent windmills operating pumps that apparently contributed groundwater to the retained reservoir. Donny saw no fences of any kind. For that matter, he saw no animals.  

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    They had initially traveled within a valley. The road curved and soon began to curl around as it climbed one of the ridges. The brush was thick, close to head high on either side of the road. Donny was startled by a small herd of gemsbok that bolted across the road. There were at least eight of them. He hadn’t seen them approach and he certainly couldn’t see where they were going. The cliché ‘the ground swallowed them’ was never more true. They had vanished. Donny expected the truck to stop immediately. He turned expectantly to his PH, but the man had motioned to the tracker to keep going. Huh?   

    They continued on for at least one-quarter mile until the road once again began to curve on its upward ascent of the ridge. His PH motioned for the tracker to stop the truck.    

    PH:    I wanted to get down wind and out of sight of the herd. We’ll walk back along the road until we find their tracks, then stalk them.    

    Donny got up, picked up his rifle, opened the bolt, then handed his rifle to the tracker who had almost magically appeared beside him. “Not his first rodeo,” thought Donny.   

    Donny dismounted and removed his sweatshirt. He had needed it riding around, but now figured it wouldn’t be necessary with the exercise he knew he was in for. He retained his binoculars, then took his rifle from the tracker. His PH had joined them, sticks in hand.   

    D:    Could I dry fire off the sticks first? I want to do that each time we start a stalk for a muscle memory refresh.   

    His PH’s eyes got wide with astonishment. He handed Donny his sticks and waited patiently while Donny went through his dry-fire ritual.   

    The PH’s sticks were way sturdier than his, with their diameter pushing close to double. They were tall enough to accommodate his height and it took less than a half dozen trials to get comfortable.   

    When he was through, he took three rounds from his pants pocket and fed them into his magazine. He was careful to point the muzzle to the side of the road away from people and the vehicle. As he closed the bolt, he made sure that the topmost

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round was not fed into the chamber. He made sure the rifle was on safe, then shouldered it. He was ready.   

    PH:    I appreciate how you handle your rifle. Too few are as safety conscious.   

    They walked single-file in silence back along the road with the tracker in the lead, followed by the PH, then Donny. Donny noted that the wind had receded somewhat, but was still obviously in his face. The spot where the herd passed the road was easy to identify; its surface was peppered with hoof prints, but surprisingly narrow in extent. The animals appeared to have crossed the road almost in single file. The tracker and PH paused briefly to study the tracks, but without a word, turned to follow them into the bush.   

    When Donny followed and stepped off the roadway, it was as if he had passed through a portal into an alternate universe. The reality of the stalk was absolutely contrary to that portrayed in the hunting shows and internet videos he had seen. A Monty Python “and now it’s time for something completely different” script began to play out where he was the star of an audience’s derision and ridicule for doing ordinary tasks without ordinary outcomes. Like walking.   

    One foot in front of the other. Smooth uniform strides. Upright. Linear. No dodging obstacles. All evaporated once he got beyond the roadway. The frequency of cobbles strewn on the ground meant he had to pick the open spot to place his foot. Oftentimes he didn’t quite hit the opening, producing a clatter from the displaced cobble. Smooth, rhythmic and uniform morphed into herky-jerky. Dodging big-a$$ brush added a helter-skelter element. He figured he looked like a spastic fourth-string running back trying to plant and cut to avoid getting tattooed by very angry linebackers in need of professional help.   

    Dodging the brush was mandatory, not optional. It all had thorns. Big ones. Little ones. Spikey ones. Hacksaw blade ones. All nasty ones. In a flash of cosmic brilliance, he thought he understood why all the PHs wore shorts. To do so served as a constant reminder to respect mother nature or suffer all manner of bad consequences.   

    The thorns enabled the brush to have an attitude…. all of it bad. It wanted to fight, particularly with Donny’s rifle. It seemed to say “So you think you’re a bad a$$? I’ll cut you down to size!” Literally. His 26-inch barrel with suppressor seemed to be an irresistible target. The added wing span from his bipod made every swipe of a limb

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produce a telling and loud ‘slap’ from a belligerent branch. Between the clatter of the cobbles and the slap of the branches, it sounded like amplified Rice Krispies.   

    What galled him was both the tracker and his PH were trying to make it easy for him. They were not straight-lining the gemsbok’s tracks; they were weaving through the brush in the tracks’ general direction, motioning him to go around what they (correctly) interpreted as particularly nasty clumps of brush. They would silently ease through the areas he was being shown to avoid, only underscoring the notion that Donny was, indeed, a bull in a China shop. He could feel himself morphing into the Great White Blunder.   

    To avoid the hand-to-hand combat with the brush, he removed the rifle from his shoulder and carried it at positions varying from port arms to complete sideways to his direction of travel. It helped, but he began to sweat and his breathing became labored. He had a mental image of being in the gym doing some diabolical combination of aerobics and step class. His ‘light’ 10-pound rifle seemed to be growing exponentially heavier. Curling 10 pounds in the gym was absurdly easy. This was not.   

    He contemplated the weight he was carrying. The bipod had to go. It was easy enough to attach if the potential shooting situation warranted its use. This situation certainly did not.    

    The other totally superfluous equipment he carried was his binoculars. It was like GG had said:     he couldn’t see worth a flip. Besides, using them was useless wasted motion requiring regrouping or shouldering his rifle, the motion of which could potentially alert the animal. Even if he could do it efficiently, he sure wouldn’t know what to look for or where, or understand what he was looking at once he found it.   

    And just what was his team looking at?! Donny was tail-end Charley and had long since given up the notion of focusing on anything but the obstacle course directly in front of him. His primary focus had become the ground surface immediately behind his PH. The ground was more rock than soil. He occasionally saw what he interpreted to be a hoof print in the soil, but there was certainly no continuity to enable any kind of evaluation. The data acquisition and synthesis his team was demonstrating were beyond his comprehension. He was Horatio well beyond any of his dreams.   

    He loved it. It was a challenge. The sensory overload was exhilarating. His lack of primal skills was humbling, almost to the point of humiliation.    

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    Donny could not help but compare himself to his prehistoric ancestors wandering around in pure survival mode with only a club or makeshift spear. They had to do what he was now doing simply to eat; he did not. Even with his modern- day rocket spear, there was a good possibility he would become very, very hungry if he had to hunt like he was now doing. He was pathetic. He vowed to get better.   

    Donny refocused on the stalk and found that the pace had noticeably slowed. The tracker had placed his hands behind his back and was leaning forward at the waist, Groucho Marx style. His PH was in a similar crouch position, both arms dangling from the shoulders with no movement as he took his measured steps. His grip on the sticks had shifted to its midpoint, and he was carrying them parallel to the ground. Donny quickly adopted the low crouch that had been assumed by his team, carrying his rifle where it was within about 2 feet of touching the ground. They continued on for about another 20 yards when both the tracker and the PH dropped to one knee. Donny did likewise and stared obliquely at what was in front of them.   

    They had stopped in a small clear space between two large bushes. There was about a 10-yard screen of brush in front of them, beyond which was a grassy area relatively free of brush. He couldn’t tell for sure what the extent of the cleared area was, but he assessed that it extended for at least 50-60 yards directly ahead of them.   

    As Donny knelt, evaluating the landscape before him, he once again became conscious of the wind. Its velocity had decreased and was now more of a crosswind than a headwind. He felt a momentary draft on the back of his neck, indicating at least a swirl or the potential signaling of a significant shift in wind direction. Within about 15 seconds, he heard a muffled sound he attributed to animals running, accompanied by the sporadic clatter of a cobble being displaced. Busted.   

    Without a word, both the tracker and his PH rose up and began walking toward the clearing. They broke out into an oval shaped clearing about 60 yards wide to their immediate front and at least 75 yards long. As Donny looked down at the ground, he saw that it was composed predominantly of soil with a few cobbles. Tracks were clearly visible heading directly toward the brush on the other side of the clearing. When they reached the brush, the tracker moved forward while the PH stopped and turned to Donny.    

    PH:    Gemsbok generally flee into the wind until they traverse a clear area like this. They will stop in the brush on the far side, then turn and wait to see what may

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be following them. With scent, sight, and sound, they can have a 360-degree defensive perimeter.    

    Donny stood there and let what he had just been told sink in.    

    D:    Wow. If they had ARs or AKs, we could have been toast.   

    His PH simply nodded and then turned and entered the adjacent brush. The tracker had picked up the trail, and the stalk continued. Donny noted that the animals had shifted their ‘line of march’ to coincide with the current wind direction. “Warriors,” thought Donny.    

    The trio renewed their serpentine track, threading their way through the brush as before. Donny had a nerd moment, wondering how a human smelled to an animal and why that smell triggered DEFCON 5. Genetic programming? Learned through operant conditioning? “Regardless, not at all flattering to the human species,” thought Donny.   

    They continued on for about an hour. Donny noticed that they were now walking predominantly downhill. The vegetation had changed, with the brush becoming more dispersed and knee-high grass between the brush more prevalent. The ground was less rocky, but the grass seemed to obscure most of the hoof prints. As before, the tracker suddenly slowed down, again assuming his semi-Groucho Marx crouch walk.    

    His PH adjusted his grip on the sticks and bent over as well. Donny followed suit. Within about 20 yards, the tracker dropped to his knee, issuing a silent “Simon says” that both the PH and Donny obeyed.   

    Donny slowly eased up to his PH and whispered.   

    D:    Why have we stopped?   

    PH:    The herd has quit running. They have probably stopped within 300 meters.   

    D:    Wow.   

    They scanned into the wind, his PH glued to his binoculars. Donny was not surprised when the tracker was first to spot the herd. The man had cosmic radar Donny doubted he could ever comprehend. The tracker pointed and whispered

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something in Afrikaans to the PH. His PH aligned his binoculars in the direction indicated by the tracker, obviously fixated on an object. His PH produced Donny’s range finder and took the range reading. Donny couldn’t see anything but brush.   

    PH:    274 yards. I’m going to circle right, then work our way closer.   

    Donny directed his attention to his right, noting there appeared to be a slightly denser brush concentration. His PH pointed to his right and the tracker nodded his head.

        The tracker turned to his right, heading toward the thicker brush. They crouched low and moved slowly between the individual bushes, frequently stopping so his PH could see if the herd had been alerted. The herd had not spotted them, and the wind was still steady, beginning to be more of a crosswind than a headwind.    

    Donny could sense that they had begun to arc toward the yet-to-be-seen herd. His inability to see the animals could be chalked up to understandable, but it irked him nonetheless. He was concerned that a shot opportunity would evaporate as he tried to identify something that was blatantly obvious to everyone else.   

    They spent at least 10 minutes hopscotching toward the herd. When they had reached a particularly tall bush, his PH eased to its side and took a range reading. He then slowly rose up and placed the sticks for Donny.   

    PH:    184 yards. The nearest one front quartering to us.   

    Donny got on the sticks, chambered a round, and peered through his scope in the general direction of where the PH had taken a range sighting. He grunted silently in disgust. He was still at 18-power from the sight-in session, way too much. He slowly reached up and ratcheted his scope powder down to about 6-power and retried.    

    PH:    Do you see it?   

    Donny resisted the urge to shout “Hell no!” He remained silent, panning his rifle back and forth trying to pick out his horned needle in a haystack.   

    PH:    There’s a small tree about 200 meters out, 8 o’clock to the tree.   

    Donny rapidly found the tree and panned left and slightly downward. There it was. Poof. Like magic. He shuffled his feet and drew a bead on the shoulder,

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automatically fixating on the spot he knew where the heart would be. A left front quartering shot.  He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then squeezed the trigger. Nothing. He squeezed harder. The trigger didn’t budge. “Safety, dumb a$$.” thought Donny. He flicked it forward, certain that the gemsbok bull had bolted. The bull had not moved, his gaze fixated in the direction where he thought his adversary was trailing him. Donny again took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he steadied the rifle. He reduced the wobble in his sight picture to an acceptable level, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.   

    There was an immediate, satisfyingly loud ‘thwop’. The recoil was not violent enough to prevent him from momentarily confirming an impact on the shoulder. The bull reared up slightly and its left front leg appeared to go momentarily limp. The bull sprinted forward, its speed obviously limited by a debilitated front left leg. Donny lost sight of the bull as it sprinted away. It had happened so fast that Donny doubted he could have made an effective follow-up shot even if he had wanted to.   

    PH:    Good hit. Reload. Put it on safe.   

    The tracker began a slow dog trot in the direction of the spot where the gemsbok had been standing. The PH took the sticks and fell in behind. Donny slowly chambered another round, saving the spent brass and putting it in his pocket. He put his rifle on safe, then followed. The tracker stopped where the gemsbok had stood, waiting for the team to reassemble. He pointed to a small splotch of blood visible on the grass, then began to walk briskly in the direction the gemsbok had fled. Every 3 to 4 yards, a splotch of blood was visible, seemingly increasing slightly with distance.   

    They had traveled about 150 yards when the tracker stopped and pointed. Donny looked to where the tracker had pointed and saw his gemsbok lying on the ground. His PH motioned Donny forward to stand alongside him. The PH stopped about 50 yards from the gemsbok.   

    PH:    Shoot it behind the shoulder.    

    They had approached the gemsbok from about the 8 o’clock position. Donny got on the sticks and took his time, focusing on where he believed the heart to be. It was to be a slight rear quartering shot. He squeezed off the shot. The gemsbok never flinched upon bullet impact. His PH turned to him and smiled.    

    PH:    Congratulations. Well done.   

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    Donny exhaled in relief. He put his rifle on safe, extracted the spent brass, and dropped the remaining round from his magazine. He put them both in his pocket.   

    He had done it. He viewed the shoulder and saw that both impacts were fundamentally where he had aimed them. Blood was oozing out of both entrance holes, a potential telltale indicator that the heart area had been hit. He estimated that the gemsbok had traveled a little over 200 yards. “200 yards with its heart shot out,” thought Donny. Warrior indeed.   

    The tracker had taken time to shake Donny’s hand, then started off to retrieve the truck. After the tracker’s congratulatory handshake, Donny finally allowed himself to study his trophy. The animal was handsome. Although the horns were not all that long, the bases were thick and gnarly, with the horn rings heavily compressed at their base. He knew from watching videos that this was a very mature bull. Donny knew he had earned him, and felt pride in his accomplishment. He had been harsh in his assigning of style points that had since become irrelevant. Donny turned to his PH.   

    D:    Happy with the bullet performance?   

    PH:    (His PH shrugged his shoulders) For a 270 Winchester, it hit with surprising authority. I couldn’t see any sign of the first bullet’s impact beyond the animal, so it probably is still in there, maybe in the stomach.   

    D:    How about the travel distance after the shot?   

    PH:    Comparable to maybe a little shorter than I would otherwise expect from a 270 Winchester bullet that hit the heart. They’re all different to a large degree. I’m thankful it’s down and we didn’t have an extended track.   

    Indeed. Donny saw that there couldn’t be any more than two hours of daylight remaining. He was grateful that the animal was down and there had been no tracking saga.   

    Within about 30 minutes, the tracker returned with the truck. He stopped, got out with a machete in hand, and began to trim away the small brush and hack at the thick grass clumps directly in front of the animal. The tracker and his PH combined to roll the gemsbok onto its stomach, then tuck its legs beneath it. The PH positioned the animal’s head so it balanced on his nose while the tracker took a damp cloth and wiped the blood from its shoulder. Rolling the gemsbok onto its stomach revealed a

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bulge in the hide in the far side shoulder area, indicating that his second rear quartering bullet had been retained.   

    Donny then got behind the animal for pictures. The PH had produced a camera and was almost lying on the ground composing and taking his photos. Donny had brought his phone and asked his PH to take pictures on it as well. When his PH completed the photo session, the tracker backed the truck up to the rear of the gemsbok. The grillage at the truck’s rear was hinged at the bottom. The PH removed pins from either side that secured the rear section in the upright position, then lowered it to the ground. The tail section of the grillage now formed a steep ramp onto the truck’s bed. The PH unwound the winch cable and hooked it to a ‘D’ strap that he had wrapped around both legs of the gemsbok. In short order, the gemsbok was winched into the back of the truck and the rear grillage ramp was repositioned and pinned in its upright position.   

    They drove to the skinning shed and backed up to a concrete apron at the entrance. In the middle was a beefy steel skinning frame at least 12 feet tall equipped with a gear-reduction, continuous-chain-drive hoist. The skinners lowered the truck’s tailgate and dragged the gemsbok onto the apron. They attached hooks on its rear legs and slowly hoisted it into position.    

    PH:    What mount do you want?   

    D:    Mount?   

    PH:    What pose do you want your trophy? Shoulder? Head?   

    D:    I have no idea. Can you show me examples?   

    His PH nodded his head and led him into the lodge’s great room. The great room had an arched, cathedral-style ceiling similar to Donny’s great room at his house. Trophy mounts of animals were prominently and expertly displayed on the walls. His PH pointed out the various styles, and Donny decided he wanted a shoulder mount.   

    PH:     Do you want the flat skin?   

    D:    Yes.   

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    Donny didn’t really know what he would do with it, but the hide on his gemsbok was stunning. Better to have it and not use it than to want it and not have it.   

    The question about his mount brought focus to an issue he really hadn’t made a decision about:     who would do the taxidermy? He wanted to have a conversation with his outfitter before he made a decision. Donny returned to the skinning shed. He was keen to see how the 180-grainer had performed.    

    The skinners had expertly and quickly unzipped the gemsbok, and they dragged its innards onto the floor. As they peeled away the hide, Donny looked at the interior of the carcass and noted that both bullets had shattered a large rib bone when they had entered the animal. He could find no evidence of his first front quartering bullet penetrating into the far-side ribs. His second, rear quartering bullet had smashed through a far-side rib and had penetrated into the tissue beyond.    

    He looked at the animal’s innards displayed on the floor. He could see where the first bullet had entered the near-side lung. There was a bloodshot area of about 2 inches in diameter surrounding a bullet hole somewhat less than ½- inch in diameter. He could see where multiple bone shards had sprayed into the lungs. The underlying heart had its top perforated by the bullet. A hole and bloodshot zone similar to the one in the near-side lung was visible in the far-side lung. The bullet’s path had hit the forward portion of the near-side lung and the rear-most portion of the far-side lung. The bullet was somewhere in the goo beyond.   

    Donny’s second, rear quartering shot had produced holes in the boiler room similar to the holes produced by his first front quartering shot, but the bloodshot tissue was noticeably greater in diameter. Donny judged the bloodshot tissue diameters to be on the order of at least 3 inches. He didn’t know what the impact velocity for either bullet had been, but the higher impact velocity associated with his second bullet had made a noticeable difference in the wounding as evidenced by the relative increase in blood-shot tissue.   

    The skinner worked his way down the animal past the area where Donny’s bullet had been retained on the far-side hide. Donny asked for the bullet, and the skinner deftly removed it from the hide and presented it to him. It had formed almost a perfectly symmetrical mushroom at least ½ inch in diameter. There was no apparent indication of significant weight loss.    

    His PH had stood silently by watching the skinning procedures.    

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    PH:    Took a chance with both you and the bullet by not waiting for a broadside. With you, not so much. Your chambering produces about the same muzzle velocity as a 7x64 with a 177-grainer, a known proven performer. Even though I’m not fond of the manufacturer of your bullet, I’ve seen enough examples from other chamberings to know it wasn’t going to fail. However, I had no experience with this particular bullet other than with this one animal.    

    D:    And?   

    PH:    Good performance. Plowed straight. Broke bone. Good wounding. No apparent bullet breakup. Reasonable penetration and weight retention.   

    D:    Does my bullet pass muster?   

    PH:    So far.   

    “Tentative,” thought Donny. “He only has limited experience with this bullet, and he wants to see consistent performance over a wide range of conditions before he accepts it. Tough crowd.”   

    The skinners had their job to do, and several trucks had since arrived laden with animals. Donny sensed it would be bad form to have the skinner ‘go fish’ for his first bullet. He had seen what he needed to see. The bullet had apparently expanded well and penetrated like gangbusters on a relatively tough front quartering shot. He had every reason to believe it would perform as well on a full frontal. A broadside shot should potentially be relative cake. “Just focus on the heart and the bullet will git’er done,” thought Donny.   

    One of the trucks had a gemsbok in the back as well. Donny was curious about the details of the hunt, wondering if the gemsbok had presented the same challenges as his.   

    It hadn’t. Not even close. Donny found out that the hunter, equipped with a custom rifle chambered in 7-millimeter Remington magnum, had shot a 168-grain cup and core VLD bullet that a friend had hand-loaded for him. He had shot the gemsbok at about 500 yards from the prone position. They had tracked it for over two hours. They found it bedded down and he had put a finishing shot behind the shoulder.   

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    The hunter showed no interest in an autopsy, fixated on the sundowner awaiting him at the lodge. Donny’s curiosity got the better of him, and he remained to watch the skinning of the 7-mag hunter’s gemsbok.    

    When the skinner suspended the gemsbok, Donny identified three bullet holes. Two were apparently on a straight-line path, indicating the initial broadside shot. Neither hole looked all that big, and neither was making any blood. Donny noticed that the nostrils of the animal were lightly bloodied. The third shot was behind the left shoulder, indicating it had been the follow-up shot. There was a bulge in the hide slightly forward of the animal’s right shoulder.    

    When the gemsbok’s innards flopped onto the floor, a quick inspection of the carcass showed that the broadside shot had miraculously missed the ribs on both sides. The quartering shot behind the left shoulder had splintered a rib bone on the left side and passed through the ribs on the far side.    

    Donny was keenly interested in what the boiler room revealed about the first broadside shot. The impact was high in the lungs, well to the rear, almost completely missing them. The left lung appeared to be just perforated with a hole judged to be less than ¼ inch visible and only a small-diameter bloodshot zone surrounding it, visually judged to be less than an inch. The right lung had a hole judged to be only slightly greater in diameter than the one through the left lung, with a bloodshot zone surrounding the hole no bigger than about 1 inch in diameter. Donny judged the bullet was just beginning to expand by the time it exited the animal.   

    The shot behind the shoulder had produced a wound that looked like a grenade had gone off in the boiler room. There was at least a ½-inch hole surrounded by at least 4 inches of bloodshot tissue in both lungs. The plumbing on top of the heart had been absolutely wrecked.   

    Donny waited patiently for the skinner to strip the hide past the bulge on the right shoulder where the bullet had lodged. The skinner had taken note of Donny’s interest in the process. Without being asked, the skinner presented Donny with the bullet remains.    

    Remains indeed. The bullet had pancaked to almost where its boat-tail began. Donny had no idea how long the bullet had been to begin with, but he guesstimated it had lost around 1 inch of its length. It was splayed in an offset mushroom judged to be an average of about ½ inch in diameter. As Donny was handling the bullet, the core separated from the jacket. “Geeze Louise,” thought Donny.   

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    Donny stood there contemplating the bullet in his hand, trying to put its overall terminal performance into perspective. His immediate thought was that the initial broadside money shot had been a bust. The bullet had obviously failed to completely open, a prospect that GG had repeatedly emphasized. The follow-up shot had produced grenade-like terminal performance, likely performance that GG was trying to avoid at short range with his tipped match bullets. The 7-mag hunter had been lucky. The tracking skill of both the tracker and the PH had saved his bacon.    

    Donny didn’t get much beyond that first impression of bullet performance when his PH walked up to him.   

    PH:    I was watching you while I talked to the PH of the gemsbok’s hunter. That gemsbok traveled over 2-1/2 kilometers. They were lucky to get it. When I first saw your rifle, I figured you were going to shoot a similar bullet. They sometimes don’t expand and can completely penetrate on a broadside shot to the lungs, or almost over-expand on shots to the shoulder. The client misjudged the wind, and it carried the bullet into the lungs. If there hadn’t been some blood from the nose, they probably would have lost it.   

    D:    Do these bullets work okay on the shoulder even though they are prone to self-destruct?   

    PH:    Yes, as long as they don’t hit the shoulder joint. I suspect I had a client lose a zebra because of that. If it hits on the shoulder above the joint, it typically acts more like a bomb. The animals typically travel about 100 yards, a little less if the heart is hit. At close range, those VLD hollow points simply lose too much weight to fully penetrate the far side if they impact on the shoulder.   

    D:    So, your primary terminal performance objective for a bullet is complete penetration?   

    PH:    Yes. If that happens, there will likely be a good blood trail if the bullet properly expands. Good trackers are beginning to be hard to find, so a good blood trail is becoming more essential. Most of the younger generation really aren’t interested in learning how to be a tracker.   

    Donny nodded his head. The PH fraternity’s preference for terminal performance skewed toward penetration associated with solid copper bullets had become

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perfectly clear. The adverse politics of a lost animal were being amplified by the prospect of having less-than-proficient, poorer tracking skills available.   

    His PH invited him to go clean up and then meet him in the lodge for a beverage. Donny took the time to not only clean up, but to also chronicle the day’s events in a journal book he had brought along. He wanted to make a conscious effort to use the day’s events to emphasize any learning points.   

    On his way to the lodge, he passed the fire pit with several hunters already gathered. He could see the ‘drinkin’ liquor and tellin’ lies’ had begun in earnest. His PH offered him a variety of beers or wine. He selected a beer called “Rusty Trigger” to commemorate his failure to flick off his safety for his first shot in Africa.   

    There were five other hunters in camp besides himself. Most were his age or a little older, with one obviously older guy that pretty much seemed to keep to himself.    

    From the buzz of the conversation, it had been a successful day for all, particularly for the gemsbok hunter. He had taken his last animal and was leaving for the airport in the morning. His tale was that of daring-do, taking a sniper-like shot then overcoming the adversities of an arduous trek. Donny noted that he left out the parts where he misjudged the wind and his money-shot bullet didn’t perform worth beans. Donny also noted he boasted the horns on his gemsbok were exceptionally long compared to the other ones that he had seen in the skinning shed. Donny shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”    

    As Donny subsequently found out, the gemsbok hunter was talking to the only other hunter in camp shooting a 7-mag. The gemsbok hunter was trying to impress upon him the importance of a bullet’s BC, pointing out that his bullet’s BC was .628 compared to the other fellow’s .427. He extolled the virtues of high BC:     greater energy retention at extended distances and better aiming margin of error. The other hunter just nodded his head politely, smiling, and never said a word. In honor of that dispensation, Donny decided to call the gemsbok hunter Parrot Man.   

    Donny eased up to the Parrot Man. When there was a break in the conversation with the other hunter, Donny offered him his second bullet as a souvenir. Donny wasn’t surprised when Parrot Man said he wasn’t interested.   

    A BC of .427 had mashed Donny’s memory button. He was almost positive that was the BC of the 175-gainer he had evaluated in trying to assess the validity of the

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outfitter’s recommended chambering and bullet. Donny decided to call the other 7-mag shooter Mr. Cup and Core. He wanted to later ask him particulars about his hunt.   

    Donny caught bits and pieces of the conversations from the other hunters gathered around the fire. All three seemed to be 300-mag shooters. As best he could determine, two shot Winchester magnums and one shot a Weatherby magnum. Donny wanted to find out what bullets each hunter shot and their hunting stories.   

    The outfitter came out to the fire pit and announced that supper was ready. An extensive buffet table was set up along one wall of the dining hall. As the hunters entered the hall, the chef announced the menu. There were lots of fancy names for meat, potatoes, and vegetables, names and ingredients that were lost on Donny.    

    The meat for the evening was zebra. He initially winced when it was announced, suspicious he was going to have horse meat. But since he had never had horse meat, he decided to keep an open mind and give it a try.   

    It was good, far better than he imagined he would have to tolerate. It reminded him of his aunt’s Swiss steak. The sauce made an excellent gravy on his potatoes. The portions were generous, and it tasted good. He was relieved that his presumed sensibilities would not force him to go hungry.   

    Mr. Cup and Core was seated at a table with a lady with no other hunters joining them. When he sat down and introduced himself, he got blank stares. He soon found out that they were husband and wife from Spain, neither of whom spoke English to any extent.   

    A man dressed in shorts soon joined them. Donny quickly found out that the man was Mr. Cup and Core’s PH and spoke fluent Spanish. He also found out that the rifle and ammo had been furnished by the outfitter. The man was primarily interested in hunting wart hogs for the tusks, which seemed to be the trendy thing in Spain. The man was taken each day to adjoining hunting property where wart hogs had been introduced. He shot from the truck and was strictly interested in body count.    

    Although Donny was disappointed he would not be able to have a meaningful conversation about hunting and bullet terminal performance, he was polite and asked through the PH about the hunting experiences that the couple had had and how they had enjoyed their stay at the lodge. Donny was encouraged and pleased at their smiling and enthusiastic responses. They considered the food excellent and looked

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forward each night to being served different game as the entree. Donny also found out that an apparently absolute killer dessert was served after the meal. They were pleased with the accommodations. Donny knew that any vote of approval from a lady was solid gold.   

    After supper, his PH came over and discussed the next day’s hunting plan. He wanted to get a blesbok, and there was about an hour drive to an adjacent property. He wanted to get up early and leave a little before sunrise.   

    It had been a full day. The combined excitement, lingering effect of jet lag, and his backhanded aerobic workout had made him tired. He bid goodnight to all at the table and proceeded to get some much-needed sleep.

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