AFRICA HUNTER QUEST©   

    Chapter 35 - THE PILGRIM’S SAFARI: DAY 6   

    Donny and his PH were up well before sunrise. The kitchen staff would not be there for at least an hour. They had a cold breakfast of cereal, hard boiled eggs, cheese, lunch meat and toast. They picked up their box lunches that had been prepared the night before and set off. There was only a faint glow on the eastern horizon, indicating approaching daybreak.    

    They rode inside the cab. The heat was appreciated by Donny, as the outside temperature was no more than about 50 degrees. It was still dark enough that Donny could not make out the terrain or vegetation density. There were few true hills, so Donny assessed they were in savannah-like conditions.    

    The road began an arc to the left, increasing gradually in elevation. The truck soon stopped, and Donny got out to gather his kit by the dome light of the truck.   

    Donny had installed the tall bipod on his rifle. He knew they would be situated near the top of a hill, likely in a blind constructed in the brush. Any shot would probably be a long one, at least 300 yards.   

    When Donny was ready to go, there was enough light to be able to identify the ground conditions as they walked. Thankfully, there were few cobbles to trip over and potentially cause a misstep. The grass was sparse with a maximum height of only about 6 inches. The random brush was no more than chest high and widely dispersed.   

    They had set off back toward where they had come, but angling up the hill nonetheless. The hill wasn’t very steep, and they made rapid process. The tracker and PH soon dropped to one knee, and Donny surveyed what was before him.    

    It appeared they were no more than about 5 yards from the summit of a relatively narrow-crested hill. The gentle slope up to and over the crest allowed his PH to scan the terrain below. Donny couldn’t see anything that indicated animals were present.   

    PH:    (Whispering) There’s a herd of springbok below, at least 500 meters out. They are feeding at a shallow angle toward us. The springbok are too close to hack out a blind. We will ease in front of a bush and you can set up.   

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    The tracker and the PH crawled in front of an adjacent bush and sat down. The bush was essentially on the slope’s crest. Donny put his rifle in his lap and butt-scooted in between the two, the bush serving to break the outline of all three. He slowly deployed the bipod’s legs, and initially oriented his left leg so it was pointing directly down the shallow gradient hill in a direction he thought was toward the herd. He was embarrassed. He couldn’t see any of the animals.   

    D:    (Whispering) Where are they?   

    His PH pointed in the 2 o'clock direction. Donny fixated at what he thought was about 500 yards. He picked out multiple specks that could have passed for brush clumps in the poor light, except the brush clumps appeared to be sporadically moving. He slightly rotated his position so his left knee was oriented in the general direction of the herd. He then sat and waited.    

    Even in the poor light, the herd appeared to be in an agitated state. It seemed like no more than about half appeared to be feeding at one time. Some of the animals would occasionally dart several yards, then stop and scrutinize their surroundings. Certainly way different from grazing cattle.   

    Although there was some zigzag to their progress, the herd slowly angled in their direction. Donny occasionally asked for ranges on the lead animals to gauge their progress.    

    D:    (Whispering) I have a firm 350-yard zero. Let me know when my targeted ram gets to be about that range.   

    The sun had meanwhile cracked above the eastern horizon. They were looking directly into it, and the herd was heavily backlighted. The wind had also picked up. As far as Donny could tell, it was from 9 o’clock, a readily identifiable left-to-right crosswind. He fished out his wind meter from a sweatshirt pocket, held it in so its propellers were approximately perpendicular to the wind’s direction, then read 7 mph.    

    Donny glanced at his DOPE card taped to the stock, then cranked up his elevation turret to his 350-yard zero. He also noted his value for a 5-mph wind adjustment, and cranked that in as well. He adjusted his scope up to 6 power for a comfortable field of view of the herd and began dry firing at various animals in preparation for the shot.    

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    He found he was having some difficulty in quickly picking out his aiming dot and crosshairs on the backlit animals. His scope had an illuminated reticle that he had never used before. He switched it on and the subtle red tint it gave his aiming dot removed the initial mystery of his exact aiming point. He slowly loaded a round into his rifle’s chamber, put the action on safe, then waited patiently for instructions from his PH. He was ready.    

    PH:    The third animal behind the leader. 342 yards. Take him when I tell you.   

    Donny found the ram, then adjusted the scope up to its full 18-power setting. The springbok looked huge. The ram was shallow left-front quartering, almost full broadside. He was able to adjust his elbow slightly and flex the bipod sufficiently to track his ram. He was almost out of available bipod tracking adjustment when he heard his PH whisper “take him”.    

    The ram had momentarily stopped and was surveying his surroundings. Donny drew a bead on where he knew the ram’s heart to be, then squeezed off his shot. As the trigger broke, he knew it was a good one.    

    He was rewarded with a barely audible ‘thwop’. He saw his ram had been punched hard by the shot and it lurched forward, attempting to flee. The best it could do was stagger about 10 yards, then it collapsed.    

    PH:    Good shot. Congratulations.   

    Donny and his PH walked down to the ram while the tracker went back for the truck. When they got to the ram, Donny could see blood oozing out of the entrance hole, indicating he had likely hit the heart or the plumbing above it. He rolled it over, and he could see about a dime-sized exit hole that was also making blood. The load development and practice had paid off.    

    The tracker washed the blood from around the bullet’s entrance hole prior to taking pictures. After the pictures, the tracker and PH tossed the ram into the back of the truck, then the PH climbed into his perch at the truck’s right rear. The tracker and Donny had their customary rifle transfer once he was also in the back of the truck. They started slowly back toward the lodge, his PH scanning each side of the road for game.    

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    They were indeed in savannah. As the road arced back to the right and down the hill, Donny could see a broad expanse of flat terrain with moderate to widely spaced brush typically taller than head-high. He would occasionally see what looked to be shallow ponds off in the distance. He again saw water buck and sable, but no zebra, kudu, or black wildebeest, the lone animals remaining on his wish list.   

    They were now traveling directly down-wind. It was obvious because Donny felt little to no wind on his face, the direction the truck was traveling.   

    Donny caught a glimpse of what he thought could be a zebra. He turned to his PH to indicate his discovery, but his PH was already looking in that direction through his binos. His PH nodded his head up and down, smiling, indicating suitable quarry had been identified.    

    PH:    Small herd about 400 meters off the road at about 1 o'clock. They have spotted us, so we’re going to travel on for a ways, then stalk them with the wind in our favor.   

    Donny assessed that they traveled at least a half mile before the PH signaled to the tracker to stop. Donny removed the bipod from his rifle, then handed his rifle down to the tracker before climbing down from the truck. He dry-fired off the sticks. When he was satisfied, he stuffed his magazine box with three rounds, chambered a round, put the action on safe, and followed the team into the brush on the right side of the road.    

    They walked briskly in a direction that Donny assessed was perpendicular to the road for a good 300 yards before he sensed an arcing back to the right in the direction of the zebra. As they arced more to the right, Donny was encouraged when he felt the strong wind in his face. The odds of it turning fluky like it had on his gemsbok’s and black wildebeest’s stalks appeared small.    

    After they had arced back in the direction toward the zebra, the pace noticeably slowed. The tracker would periodically stop and survey the area directly to his front. Every time he did, his PH did the same with his binos. The sneak was on. There were no cobbles on the ground, and the brush was widely enough spaced so that Donny could thread his way through without it attacking his rifle. For the first time, he felt like he wasn’t the brass band announcing the parade.   

    The tracker first saw the herd. He stopped and eased down to one knee. Both Donny and his PH followed suit. Donny waited for his PH to raise his binos so he

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could look in the same general direction. It had become an embarrassing ritual: he couldn’t see a damn thing on his own.   

    Donny looked in the general direction of where his PH was fixated. He thought he detected a flash of movement. He saw it again and realized it was a tail with a zebra attached. He was amazed at how well seemingly gaudy black-and-white stripes broke up the animal’s outline in the brush.    

    It was close to noon. The herd appeared to have stopped for its noon siesta. Donny finally figured out he was likely looking at what passed for a sentry, with the majority of the herd members just beyond. He thought he could see one actually lying on the ground, but he wasn’t sure. He figured the sentry was at least 200 yards away.    

    His PH indicated they would be arcing left, as the sentry was in a strong rear quartering position with its nose into the direction of the wind. The tracker got up and crouch walked toward another bush both to the left and forward of their current position. Both Donny and his PH did likewise. At each bush, the tracker stopped, then assessed where the next intermediate bush destination needed to be. Each time, Donny assessed that they had moved more forward than to the left. As they moved, Donny could see that the tracker always allowed for at least one prominent bush to mask their movement.   

    With each pause, Donny could make out more members of the herd. He could also see that they had gathered at the periphery of a relatively small clear space in the brush. At the final stop, he could count eight of them, five standing and three lying down. His PH seemed to be fixated on the one standing directly in front of them. It was facing left, presenting a nearly broadside shot. He saw his PH range the animal.    

    PH:    (Whispering) I’m going to set up the sticks. Your target is the one standing directly broadside to us. 135 yards. We need to wait until the one behind clears off. I will tell you when to shoot.   

    Donny was euphoric as his PH slowly rose and set the sticks for him to grasp. A shot distance of about 135 yards was low risk compared to a typical scenario he had considered during evaluation of his hunting plan. The zebra’s likely body weight was probably only slightly more than the game weight estimate indicated by GG’s empiricism for this shot distance. More importantly, the resultant impact velocity would be north of 2400 fps, potentially resulting in a better wound cavity than he

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had seen thus far. The relatively short shot distance afforded the opportunity to damn-well hit the heart.    

    He set up on the sticks, then peered through his scope to obtain his sight picture. He silently cursed; even though he had gone through his dry-fire ritual, he had forgotten to ratchet the scope’s power down from 18. Instead of slowly easing his hand up to dial down his scope, he jerked it up like a boxer delivering a left uppercut.    

    Donny realized he had made two bonehead mistakes, with his hand movement a potential deal breaker. He couldn’t believe that the Hunting Gods had apparently granted him clemency, as his zebra remained stationary, oblivious to the Great White Blunder buffoonery on full display 135 yards away. Donny quickly fixated on the zebra’s shoulder aim point, then flicked off the safety, convinced the zebra would bolt within the next split second.   

    There was no immediate shot authorization from his PH. Donny stood behind his rifle on the sticks for what seemed like forever. He was hopelessly out of sync with the shot cadence he had practiced at the farm. He had religiously practiced assuming that speed was of the essence, with parts of seconds making the difference between a shot taken and a missed opportunity. The waiting, coupled with the on-going, self-administered brow beating over the scope adjustment fiasco began to give him the fidgets. He occasionally raised his head in an effort to relax.   

    Donny had just lowered his head and reacquired his sight picture when he heard his PH whisper “now”. The circumstances with his scope and the extended wait interfering with his practice-shot cadence had precipitated an overwhelming urge to do a snapshot, as Donny was still irrationally convinced that his animal was about to move. He resisted the urge, but only partially. Although he heard a reassuring ‘thwop’ as the bullet hit, he knew he had pushed the shot high right. He saw his animal bob its head down, then take off like a quarter horse with the rest of the herd. It was then that a feeling of dread nearly overwhelmed him. What was wrong? Was his subconscious trying to tell him he was way off? What?!!   

    D:    Ohhhhhh $#!+!!!!!! I never adjusted my scope back for a 200-yard zero!! I've hit way high!   

    Donny never knew if his PH had heard him or not, as both he and the tracker were dog-trotting toward the spot where his zebra had stood. Donny chambered another round and put his action on safe. He then trotted up and saw that both men were intently focused on the ground that had been chewed up with hoof prints. Donny

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stood a respectful distance away, not saying anything that would break the focused concentration of the men. He could see no obvious blood, and then officially commenced to mentally kick his own a$$ for making such an ugly trilogy of bonehead mistakes.   

    The tracker and the PH headed out in the direction the herd had taken. His PH turned to Donny and motioned for him to follow them.    

    D:    I didn’t re-zero my scope for 200 yards after my shot on the springbok. Not only that, I think I pushed the shot up and right. I know I have hit high.    

    PH:    The impact from your bullet was enough for us to see that it was high and in back of the shoulder. It didn’t look so far back that it would be out of the lungs. You might be okay.   

    They walked about 50 yards and found a splotch of frothy red blood about 1 inch in diameter on the ground.   

    PH:    Hit the lungs. Good.    

    Within a short distance of the blood splotch, the tracker began to veer off the wide trail of hoof prints. Based on GG’s story about his zebra, Donny assessed the tracker was following the specific tracks of the zebra he had wounded. How was he doing it? It was way beyond his comprehension.   

    Donny saw the tracker point to the ground and Donny saw a larger splotch of frothy red blood. As they walked on, the frequency of blood sign increased and the diameter of the splotches began to noticeably increase. Donny’s anxiety began to abate: there was blood and the ground surface was sandy enough that even he could see occasional tracks.    

    But with time, his anxiety returned. Donny looked at his watch and figured they had been tracking for close to 10 minutes. The zebra had been in an all-out sprint, and Donny figured they had already walked at least 400 yards.    

    Donny saw the tracker look up and point. About 75 yards ahead he could see a zebra lying on the ground on its side. The PH stopped and studied the zebra through his binos.   

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    PH:     Congratulations. It may not have been a perfect shot, but it was ultimately an effective one.   

    Donny stood there emotionally and physically drained. He was crashing from the adrenaline high he had been on for at least an hour and a half. This could have ended very, very badly.   

    As they approached the zebra, Donny could see that he had hit high, but not as high as his paranoia had envisioned. Visually, the impact was at about the two-thirds point of the animal. It was at least 10 inches high from where he had aimed. He was also offset at least 6 inches to the right, behind the shoulder. The entrance hole was no more than ¼ inch in diameter and was not leaking blood. Both nostrils of the zebra were stained with blood.   

    As he stood there, he began apologizing to the zebra. It seemed silly and he didn’t know why; it just felt like the right thing to do.    

    His PH told him it was a mare. The landowner was trying to thin the number of zebra on the property. In a nutshell, they ate a disproportionate amount of grass, depriving other species of forage.    

    As his PH and tracker tucked the mare’s legs underneath her and rolled her onto her belly for the picture, Donny could see there was no exit hole. He felt around on the far-side hide to identify where his bullet had been retained. He finally felt a lump and was gratified that his bullet appeared to have plowed straight.   

    After the pictures, the team winched the zebra onto the back of the truck. Donny had no idea of how much it weighed, but the shoehorning that was done to get the rear gate to close was testimony as to how big she was.   

    At the skinning shed, the skinners got to work on the zebra first. Donny had decided he wanted the flat skin to include the mask. It would take a while to skin it, so hanging out to personally retrieve his bullet would be unproductive. He asked the skinners for his bullet, and they both nodded their heads in understanding. Donny may have imagined it, but he sensed he got some measure of respect from the men.   

    When one skinner unzipped the thoracic cavity and the innards spilled to the concrete, Donny almost audibly groaned. He could see that he had almost missed the lungs. Although the blood-shot tissue was approaching at least 3 inches in

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diameter, its periphery had terminated within an inch of the lung’s limits. The actual holes were judged to be about ½ inch in diameter.    

    Donny took out his mini-flashlight and examined the interior of the carcass. The bullet had nicked a rib bone on the near side and smashed through a rib bone on the far side. He eyed the orientation of holes to what he remembered his shot angle had been. He assessed that the bullet’s path coincided with that shot angle. That long ol’ bullet had indeed plowed straight.   

    The other skinner had begun working on Donny’s springbok. The skinner had unzipped the thoracic cavity, and innards were displayed on the concrete. Donny could see that he had pierced the heart. The holes were obviously less than ½ inch. The bloodshot areas on the lungs were assessed to be between 1 and 1-1/2 inches in diameter. Donny could see from the carcass that he had broken both a near-side and far-side rib.    

    While Donny was watching the skinning process, his PH told him that there were no kudu on the property. Tomorrow would be his last full day to hunt black wildebeest. They would then travel half a day to another property where they would hunt kudu. The property was on the way back to Johannesburg. They would have a full day and a half for his kudu hunt. His PH assured him that taking a kudu in a day and a half at this particular property shouldn’t be a problem.   

    The Jonah animal, however, had turned out to be the black wildebeest. It normally wouldn’t have taken this long to spot one that could have been stalked and taken. His PH wanted to hedge his bet by preparing at least one ambush spot for a potential shot just before the noon hour if the morning hunt turned out to be a bust. His PH wanted to prepare a blind in the first brush line in the area where Donny had taken his blesbok. That area was known to be along a preferred trek for several species as they made their way toward shade during the middle of the day. His PH wanted to go prepare it now so it would be ready on short notice. He didn’t want to invest morning spot and stalk time.     

    They climbed back onto the truck and trundled off to the area that Donny now called the ‘angle of harmonic convergence’. Donny was hoping they could spot a black wildebeest on the way so that tomorrow wouldn’t be a ‘now or never’ day. He wanted to have another potential day to hunt his kudu, no matter how straightforward his PH claimed it would be.   

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    They spotted no black wildebeest on their way to the ambush site. Once there, his PH surveyed the vegetation and terrain, finally settling on a clump of brush not quite flush with the inferred old fence-line alignment. He wanted additional cover as insurance so that the only way they could be discovered was by a direct sighting perpendicular to the expected direction of travel. Both he and the tracker hacked out a little bowl in the center of the brush clump big enough for two people. His PH arranged the cut limbs in front of the shooting position so they were about knee high. He had Donny get in with his rifle mounted on the bipod to check for obstructions and interference from vegetation.    

    By the time his PH was satisfied with the blind, it was nearly dark. Donny estimated that there was no more than about 20 minutes of daylight remaining. Donny had them stop at the skinning shed so he could collect his bullet from the zebra.   

    One of the skinners saw him coming and went to a workbench to get the bullet. When the skinner presented it to him, Donny could see right off that it looked almost Madison Avenue perfect. Its slightly oval mushroom was judged to be well over ½ inch in diameter. A generous shank length remained below the mushroom.   

    Donny continued to his room and carried his kit inside. He quickly cleaned up and headed to the fire pit. A Rusty Trigger would taste particularly good tonight.   

    As Donny walked toward the fire pit, he sensed that some manner of drama was occurring. The Cowboy was plainly agitated about something, louder and more strident than usual. He could tell from the Newbee’s body language that he was stirred up as well. Even the Old Salt looked a touch irritated as if the proceedings were interfering with something he considered far more important. Donny noted that the PHs, normally participating in the fire pit ‘after-action reports’, were nowhere to be seen.   

    Donny eased by the fire pit, then headed for the lodge and his beer. None of the three hunters engaged in the topic at hand paid any attention to him.    

    Donny walked into the lodge and saw the PHs seated at a corner table. They were having a subdued conversation in Afrikaans over tea and coffee. If Donny didn’t know any better, it looked like the group had positioned itself as far away from the hunters as the confines of the building would allow. Whatever the issue, it was bad Juju.   

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    His PH looked up and saw him. He got up and politely asked Donny what he wanted to drink.   

    D:    Rusty Trigger.   

    PH:    It is good beer, isn’t it?   

    D:    Yep. What’s goin’ on?   

    PH:    One of the hunters lost a zebra today. They had managed to sneak up on a small herd in the thick jess. Less than a 100-meter shot. His PH could see that it was going to be difficult to thread a bullet through the brush. He told the hunter to kneel and see if he had a clear shot. The hunter said he wasn’t going to do it, something about bad knees from a football injury. He was determined to shoot off the sticks. His PH told him to be sure that there were no branches in his sight picture and to wait until he told him to take the shot. There was a zebra directly behind the target zebra that needed to clear off.    

    Within 5 seconds of those instructions, he took the shot. The bullet hit because they heard a loud pop. The PH doesn’t know where it hit because the shot caught him by surprise. Both he and his tracker did see the zebra drop to its knees, then take off like a scalded jackal. The tracker thinks the bullet hit low on the shoulder. There was virtually no blood. They tracked it for a short while. The ground was very rocky, and the tracker finally lost the tracks in the rocks.  

    D:    Where do they think the bullet actually hit?   

    PH:    Likely on the shoulder joint. What tracks they found clearly indicate that one leg was pretty buggered.   

    D:    So, the man is all bowed up about paying the trophy fee for the animal?   

    PH:       He could have paid for a helicopter to find the animal. Chances are it probably hasn’t traveled all that far. If the shoulder joint was hit, it would be easy to spot from the air. He started spewing nonsense about defective ammunition and insisted he wouldn’t pay any money at all for the zebra.   

    Donny just nodded his head and grunted. “Lordy,” thought Donny. “Poster child ugly American.”   

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    Donny was torn. The last thing he wanted was to be within a conversation bursting radius of the Cowboy. Ignorance had apparently morphed into stupid, achieving the not-so-coveted status of a$$hole. He was making life miserable for the whole camp. Not only that, he was dragging the Old Salt, the Newbee, and him into the highly unflattering ‘those Americans’ category. He and his friends were definitely within the splatter radius being produced by the Cowboy. Enough was enough.   

    Donny reluctantly walked back out to the group, not sure of what to say or how to say it. What he was about to do may or may not be interpreted by anyone as a good deed, but he was damn sure he was going to be punished.   

    Donny eased to the periphery of the fire pit. The Cowboy was no longer seated, but stood facing the Newbee. It was blatantly obvious the man had an 8-day wind on his 7-day clock.    

    C:    The ammo is defective. There’s no way I missed that shot! The ammo worked on everything else. It had to have been a defective bullet or a bad measure of powder.   

    N:     It was a cup and core bullet. Anybody who knows anything about hunting in Africa says a cup and core bullet is suspect to begin with, let alone fired out of a Weatherby anything. The smart play would have been to use ammo loaded with solid copper bullets.   

    C:    Bull$#!+!!!! Everything I have shot with it over here has dropped like it was hit with lightning!   

    N:    It’s deer ammo, for God’s sake! Everything else you have shot over here may as well have been deer. The blesbok are puny whitetails. The red hartebeest is a magnum muley. You have just been lucky shooting them on the shoulder, equivalent to drawing into a straight flush.   

    C:    Nowhere on my ammo box does it say “deer ammo only”. Nowhere does it say “not for use in Africa”.    

    N:    So how many people have you heard say shooting a deer on the shoulder with your chambering and a cup and core bullet is a good idea? The meat damage alone would piss off at least 90% of the hunters I know. You shoot deer in the lungs. I ain’t no expert, but a zebra don’t have no antlers.   

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    Donny could see the Cowboy was now glaring at the Newbee and his fists were clenched.   

    D:    Sounds like that bullet kindly performed like the manufacturer expected it would.    

    The Cowboy turned to face him, squinting hard. Donny could see his jaw muscles flex.   

    C:    And how the hell would you know?   

    D:    Just how far was the shot?   

    C:    Is this some kind of CSI bull$#!+? Who the  - - - - are you?! Sherlock Holmes?   

    D:    I understand the shot was no more than 100 yards. If that is so, the impact velocity would be well north of 3000 fps. A cup and core bullet impacting a zebra’s shoulder joint would pretty much blow up. No penetration anywhere. The manufacturer would tell you the same thing.   

    As far as no clear guidance or warning for the ammo’s use, that falls square on the manufacturer. Its personnel are in no position to say “we told you so”. Their biggest error and omission is assuming all their customers have bat-sense.   

    C:    (Clenching and uncleaning his fists) The one real problem with all that, smart a$$, is I wasn’t aiming at the shoulder joint. I was aiming well above it, the same spot where all the other animals dropped like they had been hit between the eyes with a 20-pound sledge.   

    D:    So, your bullet threaded its way through at least 90 yards of brush without hitting anything? Damn, son, you must be real good! I know I couldn’t do it. Or was it that your ammo was all furnished with Kennedy bullets? You know, the ones that wiggle around and hit all the right spots and miss all the wrong ones? Using a Kennedy bullet would explain why you didn’t hit the zebra directly behind it. You know, the one your PH told you had to clear off before he told you to take the shot?   

    The Cowboy, now red faced, was stuttering and sputtering like a one-cylinder lawnmower engine with a magneto wire poorly attached to its spark plug. Donny could see that the Old Salt was acting like he had just been vacced in his backside with a horse needle.    

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    OS:    You mean you took a shot at an animal without your PH’s permission?!! You are lucky he didn’t whip your sorry a$$ right then and there!   

    If this trip had been all about the hunt instead of all about you, none of this would have happened. There is no doubt in my mind you hit the shoulder joint. That zebra will be easy to find with a helicopter, provided the hyenas don’t find it first. Man-up! Throw away that damn victim card!! The only victim in this scenario is the zebra. Go apologize to your PH. Pay for a helicopter search. Honor the process and the animal.   

    The Cowboy looked around in despair at all three of them. No one had acted like an ACLU lawyer on his behalf, furnishing creative, alternative universe arguing as a defense. Instead of heading into the lodge, the Cowboy skulked off in the direction of his room. It reminded Donny of a little boy who was being sent to his room without supper for being bad.   

    There was an awkward silence. Donny sat down, his beer still intact. He swilled half its contents, then sat staring into the flames.   

    N:    Since I’ve been here, I haven’t truly respected the animals nor the process of hunting the animals on their terms. Instead, it has been about shopping and killing. I made this all about me.   

    OS:    Your values are your values, and what you believe is up to you. I’m not here to judge or dictate. What got me fired up was that bozo’s complete lack of respect for his PH. In addition to his other duties and responsibilities, he is a combination safety and range officer. Not following his instructions is unconscionable. The rest of my outburst is personal spontaneous combustion in the moment, not some holy commandment.    

    N:    Sir, I don’t mean to be impertinent, but it would truly help me if I understood why you come to Africa to hunt.   

    OS:    To compete with the animals as fairly as hunting with a rifle allows. They are allowed to win. If they lose, it must be with minimal suffering.   

    N:    Two-legged carnivores like our prehistoric ancestors?   

    OS:    Yes.    

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    D:    Understanding and paying homage to our primal wiring.   

    OS:    Yes.   

    D:    Up until just now I hadn’t attached all that much relevance to trophies. They had seemed to be an added aggravation and expense because ‘that’s what’s done’. I just realized that my trophies will each have a story that can be told. I want them to be good stories, ones I would be proud to tell anyone, even the anti’s.   

    OS:    When folks are inducted into the pro-football hall of fame, a commemorative bronze bust is cast and placed in a big room with all the others. John Madden believed that when the lights go out at night and the room is closed up, the busts talk with each other. In some ways that’s kindly how I feel about the animals that I have displayed in my house and at the office. When the lights go out at night, I want them to think that I was honorable and fair. I want them to think I earned them rather than took them.   

    All three sat in silence, each subliminally conscious of the primal ritual they were now experiencing, somehow sanctified by the fire’s flames. It was a ritual many thousands of years old, experienced only by true hunters.   

    When the call to supper was issued, the trance was broken. Donny confessed to his ‘oh $#!+’ moment with his zebra and how lucky he had been. Each in turn shared their experiences of the day: the Old Salt and the difficulty of his blesbok slam; the Newbee on his spot-and-stalk zebra.   

    Soon after they sat down to eat, the Cowboy came into the dining hall. He bypassed the buffet, nodding to the ‘gang of three’ as he made his way over to the PH’s table. He stood talking to one, all silent and listening. Soon Donny saw the Cowboy invited to sit down. Peace had been made. The Cowboy was going on a helicopter ride.   

Africa Hunter Quest©, Chapter 35, Page 15