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Rifles, Shooting Sticks and Tight Holes

By Paulus

I am fortunate enough to have had the chance to visit our country’s leading wildlife conservancy once again, a wealth of fauna and flora protected and managed by a dedicated team of experienced conservationists. This area is one of the last strongholds of many of our endangered species, and the efforts of those involved in their safekeeping should be applauded.

A pleasant evening passed at the fireside with some of the caretakers of this haven is always a memorable occasion, often recalled more accurately the following morning, accompanied by intense cranial distress, and severe nausea. I sometimes wonder if these friends of mine have an unconscious desire to maim me - they pour refreshments with a misplaced sense of generosity as though they had suffered wrist injuries as young men and have never recovered fully.

 

One of these friends, Duppie is built of generous dimensions; he is not really aerodynamically proportioned and yet in video footage I have seen him in, in Courtney boots he pirouettes more gracefully than any accomplished dancer. Determined toe pointing, extended strides, all in a move to avoid an eland bull falling on him. This subtle yet graceful choreography would not have been out of place on the Bolshoi Theatre stage, and artistes of repute would be in awe of his grace and beauty. His neighbour, Duke, is another of the dedicated custodians of this conservancy and is currently cultivating a beard that would sufficiently house a colony of ground hornbills. I am reliably informed that he uses a pair of side cutters to trim this tangled growth, and they say that when he does eventually shave, the veterinary control unit will need to monitor the species that emerge.

 

Duppie’s apprentice Adriaan is also a long-time friend and his father once told me with a deep sense of paternal pride that, when he was born, he had the genetics that would have made a Brahman bull envious, with very large ears and... With age he has finally grown into his ears but subtle enquiries to his wife as whether he is now proportionately correct produce nothing but an intense case of blushing.

 

Adriaan is now being tutored by Duppie, as per the regulations controlling a professional hunter’s apprenticeship. With this sort of experience, and assistance from the rest of the community within the conservancy, I see a vast wealth of knowledge passed on that will be greatly beneficial - not only to any aspiring apprentices, but to the wildlife industry in general.

 

Please allow me to now recount a humorous experience back in the days before this apprenticeship commenced. 

 

My son, Nick, and I had been invited down to the conservancy for a few days, and we relish every opportunity to enjoy the outdoors, to revel in the warm sunshine, and to enjoy the treasures that our country offers, so the invitation was readily accepted. Adriaan had been tasked with the duty of procuring some ration meat for the staff, so we walked quietly along the fringes of some dense mopane looking for some wildebeest.

 

With the honesty of youth, Adriaan and my son handed me the shooting sticks saying “Pops, you’re an old bullet and you don’t shoot too good, this is what you carry”. Who am I to argue? I once shot myself in the toe with an air rifle, I am probably the only person to have ever run away from a charging monitor lizard, and even a Marabou stork has stronger legs and a better physique than me, so I grudgingly accepted, silently planning revenge.

 

Adriaan carried his .416 nonchalantly over his shoulder like a seasoned veteran, Nick carefully held his .375 to avoid any possibility of this beautiful Sako being scratched, and we left the Land Cruiser, easing carefully into the fresh foliage. The new leaves had created a dense wall of cover, the cicadas trilling call an almost intrusive cacophony of sound that overpowered the emerald spotted doves demure and musical song. Somewhere, far off in the woodlands the booming growl of a ground hornbill rolled across the land. This multitude of birdlife filled the air with avian song, and a herd of graceful impala filtered out of the woodland into an open area, their sleek coats rippling with good health as they gently browsed on the new buds.

Almost magically, the lumbering bodies of a rather large herd of buffalo materialized from a dense grove of acacia, and they cautiously moved forward to congregate in the open - an idyllic scene of bovine contentment. I consider these animals to be one of my favorite species; they are fascinating and their gregarious behaviour ensures that one always has several animals to watch. We took the opportunity to quietly sit in the shade so we could watch them at leisure and enjoy the antics of some of the calves cavorting on the fringes of the herd. These are the magical moments of any hunter’s life, a chance to savour being in the presence of our wildlife. We discussed their behaviour patterns, the intense thrill of hunting them, and slowly a plan of revenge began to take shape.

I imagined that, with no warning, I must have had several metres head start on Adriaan and Nick, when they both flew past me on a blur of legs, wild eyed and accelerating all the time. The pace was impressive, had they attended the Jamaican Olympic trials both Blake and Bolt would have tearfully resigned immediately, in total humiliation. Adriaan and Nick threw up a vortex of leaves and dust, as this double cyclone washed past me. Some distance later, I stopped running, as my laughter would not allow breath to my lungs. I struggled to breathe and had to hang on my shooting sticks for support, as I bellowed with mirth. Adriaan and Nick took a while to slow, each reluctant to be at the rear, let alone stop, and there was a steady trickle of blood from the back of Adriaan’s head. Their faces were white, and the adrenaline in their bodies made their feet move like agitated racehorses at the start of a race. It seemed as though I was the only one to see humour in the moment. The old bull stared at us, slightly bemused at our sudden departure, I still needed the assistance of the shooting sticks to remain upright, and both Adriaan and Nick gave an impressive oral demonstration on piratical phrase that would not have been out of place on the high seas. They used words that they certainly never learned from their mothers, and were mostly new to me, sounding a lot like a kitten with a stutter that has been approached by a large and hungry dog.

 

When I could at last talk, I asked Adriaan what had happened to the back of his head and with a scowl he said “when I started taking really big steps I pulled the .416 off my shoulder in such a hurry and with such force, the rear sights hooked into my scalp, but I ripped it out anyway, because I needed both arms to try and run faster than Nick”. Another round of laughter ensued and gradually I was partially forgiven on the long walk back to the ‘Cruiser.

 

When we had stowed the weapons and I had relinquished my grip on the shooting sticks, we laughed, again, reliving the moment, the nervous laughter soothing any slightly ruffled egos. It was then that Adriaan once again came to the fore, providing us with more merriment. The older model Land Cruisers have a spring-loaded air vent down by the pedals, that can only be opened by being pushed with the foot, and the outer surface is obviously smooth, as it is operated internally. When these old vehicles were built it was in the days of genuine quality control and the spring could quite easily have functioned satisfactorily in a grizzly bear trap.

 

Nick stood next to me, on one side of the ‘Cruiser door, whilst politely chiding me for my somewhat entertaining sense of humour, and Adriaan leant against the vehicle on the other side of the door, closer to the vent, obeying the call of nature and saying “Pops sometimes it’s really tough to feel the love when….” At this moment he leant on the vehicle and started screaming in the most unmanly fashion.

 

Adrenaline, I have since discovered, affects different people in many different guises, in some it may be a simple flush of goose bumps, others may feel a rush of exhilarating energy whilst it seemed with Adriaan that certain body parts absorbed all the blood in his system to assume “the ready position”. It may have been purely unintentional, what do we know, but a certain part of his anatomy found the vent hole and his body inadvertently closed the vent. The resultant screams rang through the mopane woodlands. His wild “trapped” facial expressions reminded me of a constipated genet with a bowel full of crab shells. With absolutely no disrespect to adolescent little girls, the high pitched screams and shouts caused Nick and I to laugh hysterically, in between breaths - Adriaan cried for help, but we were truly incapacitated with laughter and could hardly stand, let alone free an almost decapitated one eyed trouser snake!

 

Adriaan was desperately clawing at the countersunk vent, his fingernails scraping at the bodywork of the vehicle, damaging the not so pristine paintwork, so that it looked as though it had lost a prolonged and dedicated battle with a particularly muscular and amorous porcupine. Adriaan amazed us with his musical repertoire, it is definitely the only time I have seen someone impersonate Michael Jacksons’ Moonwalk whilst being anatomically restrained.

I told these two young nimrods of the buffalo’s single-minded desire to wreak havoc on any transgressors. I described its ability to instantaneously explode into a blur of action, so that the focus of its attentions could not possibly escape, and as the herd grazed towards us, the first furtive, sidelong glances, searching for accessible trees and avenues of escape, became noticeable. As the herd approached, I cautioned these aspiring bushmen to be on their A game - I was after all unarmed and they would have to control the situation should the need arise. I suggested that we move, as we were now far too close, so we walked away at an angle but the perimeter of the herd was still thrillingly close so that every grunt and bellow seemed to carry a message filled with malice.

 

An aged bull, the victor of many battles, stood his ground, watching us belligerently, he carried an impressive collection of battle scars and reminded me of Schalk Burger when someone tries to take his ball away! I pointed him out to Nick and Adrian, “Look at that old guy, his attitude could change in a second and there’s not even a tree to run to”. Sweaty hands gripped rifles harder and as we walked away, I stole a glance over my shoulder and said “Charges are so difficult to stop, and inevitably wild shots mean a savage goring and a whole lot of sadness for the recipient”. By now the steps were less casual, they had subtly grown longer, so I made a show of another backward glance and said “He looks really mean and angry, he’s really pissed at someone”. After another step, I looked back again and then, with no warning, suddenly sprinted ahead, a truly athletic start, with arms and legs pumping, in an effort to gain distance from the bull, (who was actually calmly chewing cud in the shade).

When Adriaan managed to release his somewhat modified appendage, we applauded his showmanship, his ability to show us first hand valuable life lessons that we should never forget, for example don’t ever put your love truncheon in foreign cavities that have spring loaded flaps. The ground beside the vehicle showed the signs of the struggle, with uprooted grass and turned soil as though a group of Scottish coal miners had fought over a bag of Transvaal charcoal. The drive home was a raucous one - well, from two of the vehicles occupants anyway, whilst from the third there were surreptitious inspections to ensure that all was still where it was supposed to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This young man has now fully recovered and tells us there are no significant ill-effects from the experience. He has rapidly matured under tutorship into an experienced hunter, and I have no doubt that his passion for our wildlife and the outdoors will make him a wonderful ambassador for our hunting industry, and I would be proud to hunt beside him as a client.

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