AFRICA HUNTER QUEST©   

    Chapter 38 - THE PILGRIM’S SAFARI: DAY 9   

    Donny knew he had spent the night in the semi-conscious state between wired and comatose. If given the choice, he would have opted for comatose, for at least his body would have gotten some rest. When he finally focused himself into full consciousness, he had almost overslept. This was ‘the’ day, and he was already playing catch up. “Settle down Bevis,” he told himself.    

    By the time he hustled over to the dining hall, most of the hunters had already gone, including AOG. His PH was sitting patiently at a table, nursing a cup of coffee. Donny soon joined him and apologized for his tardiness.    

    PH:    No worries. I talked to the other PHs about where on the property they had hunted and where they were headed today. There are a couple of areas where there has been no pressure for at least a day, and that is where we are headed.   

    Donny wolfed down his breakfast, then went to his room for his kit. In short order, he and his PH were once again perched on the back of the truck and headed out.    

    They trundled along for at least a half an hour. A herd of impala darted across the road and his PH pointed out both an isolated nyala and a herd of blue wildebeest lurking back in the brush.   

    The truck suddenly stopped, reversed for about 10 feet, then stopped again, all without his PH’s input. When the truck stopped for the second time, the tracker and his PH were engaged in a whispered Afrikaans conversation. Donny stood up and could see that the tracker was pointing to the ground as he spoke.    

    PH:    Fresh kudu tracks. Solitary animal. Likely a bull. We will dismount and follow.   

    Donny was stunned. The tracker had apparently identified these tracks by leaning out the window and watching the ground as the truck idled along. It was an insane combination of multitasking and a same-and-different game, played at near warp speed. Simply a Ripley’s “Believe It or Not”.    

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    Donny went through his dismounting and dry-firing ritual. His ritual now included a mandatory check of both the zero and scope power setting. As he practiced his dry firing, he was gratified that his hold was steady in spite of his morning’s caffeine dump and his ramped-up pulse rate.    

    The tracker and his PH were standing on the right side of the truck. Donny looked down and noted the tracks were angling off in the 2 o'clock direction. He immediately assessed the wind and determined it was light but steady, angling in from between 3 and 4 o'clock. They immediately set out following the tracks.   

    The tracker moved purposely, bordering on slowly. The brush was relatively widely spaced, allowing relatively easy and unimpeded progress. As they walked further, however, Donny noticed the concentration of brush gradually increased. Soon he was having to go around individual bushes or having to thread his rifle through a branch maze. True forward tracking progress slowed significantly.    

    Within about 10 minutes, Donny and his rifle were engaged in vigorous combat with the brush. He was in the middle of a barrel jab between branches when the tracker suddenly dropped to one knee. His PH was only a split-second behind the tracker, leaving Donny to serve as a flag pole with his rifle serving at the flag.    

    Donny awkwardly dropped, with his barrel raking through several branches. To Donny, the sound was equivalent to a security siren going off. He cringed, recognizing he may have been the sole-source manufacturer of a “oh $#!+” moment.   

    Both the tracker and his PH were staring intently in the 12 o'clock direction, with his PH already looking through his binos. Donny couldn’t see or hear anything. He felt the wind still gently blowing on the right side of his face, a significant field variable apparently still in their favor.    

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    His PH turned to him and whispered:       

    PH:    Impala. The kudu is beyond the herd. We’re going to have to bypass them.   

    There was a short, cryptic conversation in Afrikaans between the tracker and the PH. The tracker began to ease to the left. The plan was apparently to arc around the impala herd to pick up the kudu tracks beyond it, all the while keeping the wind in their favor.    

    Donny fell back to his customary last place in line. The tracker and PH moved at a very slow pace, mindful of noise discipline and movement restriction to as low a level as possible. Even so, Donny couldn’t keep up. The acrobatics needed to guide his spear-like barrel through the brush limbs sometimes necessitated coming to a full stop. Each time he did, his team gained at least ½ to a full foot. What had started out as a 3-yard deficit soon doubled to 6. Donny felt an overwhelming need to keep up, and his arm movement and step cadence increased in an effort to decrease the gap between him and his PH. He made a particularly rapid retraction of his barrel, trying to avoid a limb-like branch. Instead of retracting it straight back, he rotated it slightly upward, catching a branch above.   

    There was no subtlety to the sound that was made. He may as well have been raking brush to attract a moose. He heard a snort, followed by the muffled sound of the impala herd as it beat feet in gawd knows what direction.   

    His PH turned around and stared at him, his face expressionless.   

    D:    I couldn’t keep up. Maneuvering the barrel to avoid brush branches slowed me down. I got in a hurry.   

    His PH just shrugged as if it was just another day at the office. No fingers had been pointed, and he knew his PH had ‘got it’.    

    PH:    We can attempt finding the kudu track and continue to follow. I don’t know if it ran. If it did, Lord knows how far.  Or, we can abandon this bull and try for another.   

    D:    What do you think we should do?   

    PH:    Try for the track and assess the situation.   

    D:    Let’s do it.   

    His PH and the tracker had a short conversation in Afrikaans. The tracker returned to the spot where he had first spotted the impala to again pick up the kudu track.   

    They continued for a way at a relatively rapid pace, then the tracker stopped. He motioned for Donny and his PH to stay while he reconned the area.   

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    PH:    The tracker will try to determine what the kudu did in relation to the impala herd’s direction of travel. We think it took off in the same direction. If it did, the kudu will run with the impala and may become embedded for the remainder of the day. That would make the stalk way tougher.   

    They stood there in silence. There was really nothing to say. It was gonna be what it was gonna be. Discussing hypotheticals was wasted breath. The tracker returned in about 5 minutes. There was a short cryptic conversation in Afrikaans. Donny could see his PH shrug his shoulders.    

    PH:    The kudu is running with the impala. This will likely not be a stalk with a high percentage of success. I think we need to continue elsewhere.   

              D:    You know the odds way better than me. I want to play your odds, not mine.   

              They turned and headed back toward the truck. Donny looked at his watch and noted they had burned 2 hours on this stalk. There was still time; unfortunately, all of it was crunch.   

    They made their way back to the truck and resumed their spotting strategy. They stopped briefly at noon to wolf down their box lunches, then continued on. It was discouraging. There were plenty of animals, but no kudu. The brush was now relatively dispersed enough so that Donny could find the animals his PH pointed out to him. However, Donny still could not spot animals on his own, even with over 6 days of practice. He figured if he would ever have to do this on his own, he would affirm Darwin’s theory concerning survival of the fittest. Donny was confident he would be only taking out the stupid ones.   

    About mid-afternoon a lone kudu bull darted across the road from left to right about 200 yards in front of them. The tracker immediately slowed the vehicle down and came to a stop where Donny suspected the kudu had crossed the road. They dismounted and he went through his dry-fire ritual. “At least I’m back in the batter’s box”, he thought.   

    As they set out after the kudu, Donny realized it was virtually an exact repeat of the morning’s stalk. The kudu’s tracks were trending at about 2 o'clock from the road, with the wind at about 4 o'clock. The only difference was the wind was barely perceptible. Donny was now sure that such a condition was a precursor to random swirls. The hand he had been dealt was not a good one. The only consolation was

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the brush was spaced widely enough so that Donny could keep his rifle slung on his shoulder as they walked. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Hunting Gods, well aware he could instantaneously lose favor and be punished for some unknown transgression.   

    Donny saw the tracker slow, dropping into a crouch walk, then to his knee. The PH had almost followed in unison. This time, Donny was a photo-finish third. His PH had slowly raised his binos and was scanning his front from about 11 to 1 o'clock. Donny caught a glimpse of rapid movement through the brush at least 150 yards away. He stared in that direction and determined the source of the movement was a blue wildebeest pitching its signature, no-apparent-reason fit. At least he hoped that it what it was doing. He continued to stare and identified movement from adjacent wildebeest and zebra. The spastic contortions of one of the wildebeest had stirred up and otherwise disrupted the feeding of adjacent animals.   

    As they watched, it was apparent that the combined herds were feeding, progressively moving into the wind. Donny figured the kudu had passed directly in front of them, and was now beyond. Once again, it looked like they had to do an end around of the combined herds to resume tracking the kudu.   

    And so it went. The tracker moved slowly to his left, beginning the arc that would take them beyond the rear of the combined herds. Donny was relieved that the brush had not thickened to the point of having to remove his rifle from his shoulder. They slowly threaded their way between the prominent bushes in an obvious attempt to screen themselves as much as possible. Donny was grateful that there were no cobbles on the ground surface producing clatter from a misplaced step.   

    As they progressed, Donny became completely disoriented. There was no apparent detectable wind to judge their direction of travel. If he had detected any wind, there would be no way to differentiate it from a swirl. He sensed rather than knew there was now a curvature in an arc to the right. He would periodically catch a glimpse of the tracker doing broad, sweeping scans with his head as he walked, possibly trying to pick out the herd stragglers or rear-guard sentries.   

    After about 10 minutes, the tracker obviously cut to the right, apparently indicating he believed they were on the far side of the combined herds. The tracker walked what Donny surmised was straight ahead for about 5 minutes, then he sensed a gradual curvature to the left. With time, he felt a slight puff of wind on his face coming from about 3 o'clock, potentially signaling they had likely completed the arc and were now into a partial crosswind following the kudu’s tracks. They continued

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slowly for about 20 minutes when the tracker abruptly stopped and dropped to both knees. Both Donny and his PH immediately followed suit. The tracker crawled on his hands and knees for about 5 yards to peer beyond the prominent bush he had stopped behind. He slowly motioned with his head for the PH to take a look. His PH eased up next to the tracker, then scanned forward with his binos.    

    There was a tense 10 seconds with no definitive communication from his PH.    

    PH:    (Whispering) Kudu. About 250 meters.    

    Donny knew it would be futile to take a peek. He wouldn’t likely see it, and errant movement on his part could spook the kudu.    

    Donny saw his PH and tracker engage in a brief conversation in whispers he could not hear. He saw several brief hand gestures indicating a final sneak from the left side.    

    His PH and the tracker slowly rose almost simultaneously. His PH motioned Donny to follow. They all began a low crouch walk, crabbing to the left, hop-scotching from big bush to big bush to use as concealment.    

    As they moved, Donny noted that the sun was now low on the horizon. He assessed his shot on the kudu would be backlit to a significant degree. He activated his scope’s illuminated reticle. His pulse involuntarily quickened. The shot opportunity was imminent.   

    They paused behind a prominent bush. His PH dropped to his knees and crawled several yards to the left, dragging the sticks as he went. Donny saw him take out his range finder and take a reading, indicating a potential ‘show time’. His PH motioned for Donny to come up beside him.   

    PH:    197 yards. Slight rear quartering. Kudu is browsing on brush. I’m going to set the sticks. Take the shot when you are ready.   

    The PH and Donny slowly rose in unison. Donny took the sticks from his PH and forced himself to be slow and deliberate as he placed his rifle in the crotch. He had set his scope on 3 power in anticipation of his predictable “duh, where is it?” fishing expedition that lamely passed for target acquisition.   

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    Donny quickly found his prize. His PH had positioned him perfectly. He had a miraculously clear shot alley to the kudu, which was on a very modest left rear quartering orientation, bordering on broadside. He quickly found his aim point and slowed the orbiting and wobble to an acceptable degree. He took a breath preparatory to releasing the safety. As he did so, the kudu abruptly shifted its body, rotating it clockwise to continue feeding on an adjacent branch on the bush. What had been a no-brainer shot angle now turned into an ugly, sharply angled left rear quartering one.    

    Donny gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to take the shot. He had told himself back in South Carolina and repeatedly in Africa that an extreme-angle, rear quartering shot was out of bounds. He had seen nothing in the skinning shed that obviously rescinded that assessment.    

    Donny waited what seemed like parts of an hour for the kudu to reorient itself for a more favorable shot angle. Then, for some diabolical reason known only to the Hunting Gods, the kudu slightly reoriented its front legs and turned its head to give Donny a direct, look-behind, ‘stink-eye’ stare. Donny knew there was no way it could miss seeing him; there was no screening cover and he was spotlighted by the setting sun. The animal really hadn’t shifted its body for any semblance of a slam-dunk shot angle.   

    His scope’s sight picture abruptly changed from stop action to fast forward. In a real-time span of no more than 2 seconds, the kudu faced forward and bolted in a 1 o'clock direction, turning a tenuous left rear quartering shot into the much-storied ‘Texas heart shot’. In another 2 seconds the animal was obscured by adjacent brush, rocketing its way to parts unknown.   

    Donny continued to stand behind his rifle, on the sticks, unwilling to concede accepting the booby prize he had just been awarded. No noise, no fluky wind, no sudden movement, no explanation other than some cosmic intervention associated with the flying fickle finger of fate.   

    Donny came down off the sticks. He noted that he hadn’t taken his rifle off safe, at least a backhanded affirmation that his subconscious had decreed he never actually had a viable shot.    

    “That’s huntin’,” he said out loud.   

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    With a faint smile, Donny’s PH nodded his head. Donny sensed both sympathy and respect.   

    D:    Was there a shot?   

    His PH stared at Donny, obviously trying to formulate some manner of PC response. He finally gave up.    

    PH:    No.   

    D:    What if I had a 375 H&H?   

    PH:    With a premium bullet, yes.   

    D:    300 Winchester?   

    PH:    Probably not.   

    D:    35 Whelen?   

    PH:    I don’t know. I don’t have any experience with it.   

    D:    Are the odds good that it would do better than a 300 Winchester?   

    PH:    Probably, particularly with a heavy bullet.   

    The sun was rapidly setting. They headed back to the road. Donny was so disoriented he was bodacious grateful that someone actually knew what direction ‘back’ was.   

    As they drove past the skinning shed, he saw AOG standing on the apron. Donny quickly stowed his kit and hustled back to see what AOG had taken. He arrived at the apron as the skinners were hoisting a kudu. AOG was obviously engrossed with the process.    

    D:    Good looking bull.   

    AOG:    Thanks. It was an all-day deal, and he led me a merry chase. Fluky wind busted us twice. Finally got a shot at about 230 yards. Didn’t wait for full broadside. Just took what I was given.    

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    D:    250 or 225-grainer?   

    AOG:    I had a 250 up the spout. I didn’t want to fiddle around substituting a 225-grainer and potentially lose my shot opportunity.   

    D:    What was the shot angle?   

    AOG:    Left rear quartering.   

    D:    Tracking saga?   

    AOG:    No. The impact staggered him and the bullet passed through. He ran less than 150 yards.    

    They watched in silence as the skinner expertly opened the zipper to the thoracic cavity.    

    AOG:    I was very lucky. A shot off the sticks at 230 yards is pushing it for me. My PH leaned next to me to help me steady my hold. I had to guess at a holdover. Any way you slice it, the shot was not a high percentage one.    

    The innards flopped onto the concrete, and both AOG and Donny walked over to examine what the bullet had done. AOG had hit relatively high on the near-side lung. The bloodshot zone was about 2-1/2 inches in diameter, with the actual hole at least ¾ inch in diameter. The actual hole was obviously the largest one he had seen. The blood-shot diameter was kindly surprising, given the likely sedate muzzle velocity and the 230-yard shot distance. “Overachiever bullet?” thought Donny.   

    AOG poked around and exposed the heart. The bullet looked like it had clipped at least two of the major arteries/veins on top. The far-side lung had been damaged similarly to the near-side one.    

    Donny eased over to the carcass and examined its interior. The bullet had smashed both the near-side and far-side rib bones.   

    D:    Did the bullet plow straight?   

    AOG diverted his attention from the lungs and heart and eyed the carcass.   

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    AOG:    Near as I can tell.   

    D:    Did the 250-grainer perform as you expected?   

    AOG:    Yep.   

    D:    I’m happy for you. I understand what you went through taking this shot. I had a similar scenario this afternoon with a left rear quartering shot that turned so ugly I didn’t take it.   

    AOG nodded his head in silent understanding.   

    D:    At the end of the day, you have to trust your gut. Sometimes there isn’t enough time for any conscious, rational analysis.    

    While I've been here, I have forced myself to go to autopsy school to evaluate terminal performance from my system as well as from others. I suppose the short, analytical answer to why I didn’t take the shot was I hadn’t seen any performance from my system that justified breaking a rule I made before I left South Carolina. I may second guess that later on, but right now, this instant, I think it was the right thing to do.   

    They adjourned to the fire pit, except no one was there. The buffet line had already formed. Donny and AOG got at the end of the line to wait their turn. They weren’t concerned because there was always plenty. Donny overheard someone say that the entree for this night’s dinner was impala.    

    Donny and AOG joined a table with two other hunters. Both were first timers in awe of both the animals and the lodge. The emphatic consensus was that deer camp would never be the same.   

    Donny found out one of them had a 270 Winchester and was shooting the same ammo that Donny used on deer at home. Donny was torn. He finally suggested that the hunter ask his PH if he had his permission to shoot the animals in the lungs. Donny also suggested that if the PH asked why, the best response was that is what the bullets were likely designed to do. The last thing he wanted to do was get between a PH and his client or tell somebody what he intended to do might not work. It was not his hand to play. Besides, what in blazes did he really know?  

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    Donny knew he would be sleeping in late, as tomorrow he would be settling up with his outfitter. His outfitter was due in later that evening. He and AOG exchanged contact information, then Donny retired to his room to work on his journal and pack. He would do his best to sort through what happened with the kudu, and pass whatever final judgments he could.

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