Valley hunter explores South Africa

This is the second installment of a two-part series by Valley resident Frederic Brown regarding his hunting excursion in South Africa. The first article ran in the Jan. 4 edition of the Frontiersman.

In the late afternoon, we traveled to Ellisras to attend the Bosveldfees (Bushveld Festival). It was a grand evening and I was introduced to a form of "white lightening" made from marula fruit. It was a nasty concoction, tasting a bit like rubbing alcohol, with the kick of an angry bull elephant. I couldn't believe people were actually drinking the vile liquid and seemingly enjoying it. It must be an acquired taste.

While talking after our return, Christo, our outfitter and professional hunter, had stated that a friend always called him at 5 each morning. We decided to play a joke on the man and had one of the servants call him and ask to speak with Frederic Brown. When he said there was no Frederic Brown, the servant argued with him for some time. An hour later we had a tracker do the same thing. By this time the man was starting to get a bit flustered. Waiting a while after the second call, I called him up.

"Hello," I said. "This is Frederic Brown. Have there been any calls for me?" In his best try at English, the frustrated gentleman attempted to explain that he had gotten two calls asking for me and there must be some terrible mistake.

"Calls," I quipped. "Of course there are calls. That's what I pay you for. You are my answering service and I expect you to get the numbers for me."

Christo finally got on the line to sooth the by now totally confused and irate man. It was a grand joke and we were proud of our accomplishment. Good thing they don't have caller ID out in the bush.

On the third day we set out to a different concession in search of waterbuck. The waterbuck is a large antelope with coarse, shaggy hair and a large white circle around the rump. It has thick, front curving horns and is quite regal in appearance.

Immediately we located a herd and began a stalk in the thick brush only to discover it was comprised of females and young. The usually clear blue sky had turned cloudy and the wind was now briskly blowing a cool breeze as we began systematically searching the bush. On occasion we would catch the thick, musky scent of the waterbuck in the air, but the wind changed, constantly swirling the scent from all directions.

At one point we startled a sleeping warthog who jumped in shock and snorted in disgust after identifying us. Fifty yards away, the alarm of the warthog alerted two waterbuck males and they jumped up in a run before we could get a shot.

"I hate warthogs!" I exclaimed. Reluctantly, we searched over and over in an attempt to locate the two again.

Hours, and numerous warthog encounters later, the cross hairs fell upon a male waterbuck standing beneath some trees. Although his full set of horns were not visible, it was my call and I decided to take him. The waterbuck fell to the shot and although he was only average in length, I was delighted with the beautiful animal we had worked so hard to find.

That evening we got word that a nyala was available to hunt, and I was asked if I was interested in it. Not a great deal of coaxing was needed, and although it was not an animal that I was going to hunt, I was not about to pass up this opportunity. The nyala is one of the most unusual and beautiful animals in Africa. It has a spiral horn like the kudu, living in thick brush.

Nyala is Zulu for "the shifty one" and the animal can be quite time consuming to hunt. The male has a white chevron between the eyes, stripes across the back, yellow "socks" and a shaggy white-tipped mane. It is elegant and slender, making it a much sought after and expensive trophy.

We allotted two days to hunt the animal and retired in order to get an early start in the morning.

In less than an hour I had taken my beautiful nyala with a single shot through the neck. We had been searching for the nyala with the landowner, a retired school principal named Neels Troskie.

Neels was an interesting gentleman who walked at a pace averaging some five feet per minute. Neels would turn every few feet and place his finger to his lips, motioning us to be quieter. Realizing that at this pace it may take days to locate any nyala, Christo and I separated from Neels to search.

The three of us had met up again when Christo saw the horns of the nyala concealed within the brush. The nyala was laying in an indentation with only his horns and head exposed as he carefully surveying our actions. We tried to stalk him from all directions, but "the shifty one" lived up to his name and planned his concealment in a place where he could escape though the brush and could not be approached from any direction.

Because of the spot the nyala had selected, I was forced to make a difficult shot. I was glad the gun was finally zeroed, as I had only a very small target area and little time for the shot. But now, in front of us, lay one of the most beautiful animals I had ever seen, and we were exceedingly pleased with our success at locating it so quickly.

The wind and clouds had dissipated, leaving a warm and tranquil day that we spent lounging in camp. Maybe the rest we took that day "foreshadowed" what would be needed during the next few days. I think maybe I should have quit while I was ahead, but we had decided to go to a concession on the Limpopo River, which borders South Africa with the neighboring Botswana, to try our luck at locating a nice, bushbuck ram.

I had asked Willie what the hardest animal for Christo to locate would be. His response had been quick -- a bushbuck. So a bushbuck it would be. After all, we were on a roll, so just how hard could it be to locate one of those little devils anyway?

It is the end of the second day on the Limpopo River and I am in hell. I absolutely hate monkeys. The things jump out of the brush in front of us, and the brush is so high and thick you can't see what is there in the first place. Although we sent trackers through the brush, the bushbuck doubled back between them and us and were running amok. We climbed up hills and down hills, we were bent over half the time and crawling the other half, and I don't even want to know how many miles we covered.

The heat sapped every bit of strength from out bodies and during the hottest part of the day, we rested, trying to get back the energy reserves to continue on. I had only seen one ram and it almost ran me over through the brush. I kept waiting to walk smack into a hippo but no such luck.

Since I couldn't find a hippo to kill me, I was forced to continue the quest for the bushbuck, a slower and more painful death. And to think, I actually asked to do this; it is almost as bad as sheep hunting in Alaska and I don't enjoy sheep hunting. Monkeys -- I hate monkeys!

Returning to camp we were beat. Although the Limpopo River is awesome in its beauty, it is a nightmare to hunt. The vegetation along its banks are prolific with animals and birds constantly coming to water, but I was beginning to see the difficulty in hunting bushbuck. We decided that we needed a rest to refresh us, so the following day we set out to collect a zebra.

We located a zebra immediately, but it evaded our stalk and eventually we came upon a leopard trap with a rather stressed out baboon trapped inside. After freeing the frenzied little ape, we came upon a crippled mare whose hooves had grown deformed, rendering her unable to run fast enough to keep up with the herd. Feeling sorry at her demise, we dispatched her and returned to camp.

The next day we hunted bushbuck along the banks of the Mogol River. The brush was not quite as thick, but the only animals we encountered were warthogs, a couple of nice reedbuck and one female bushbuck. Unsuccessful, we returned and met up with another PH and, loading a hindquarter from the zebra, we traveled atop a high kopje and hung the zebra for leopard bait.

From atop the kopje we had an incredible view of the region. Below us, rock dassies hopped from rock to rock and eagles could be seen soaring in the distance. It was a wonderful and free feeling, gazing out across the veld and breathing in the clean air of Africa. The afternoon was not quite as wonderful.

After towing the zebra entrails behind the cruiser for a scent trail for the cat, we returned to bushbuck hunting in the thick reed and thorn-infested banks of the Tambotie River.

While I had thought hell was the Limpopo, the Tambotie won that title hands down. Cane reeds standing 12 feet tall were the norm, and travel was done bent at the waist through most of the hunting.

After the second drive through the thick brush, we had seen nothing but pigs. I was now thoroughly whipped and not sure I ever wanted to hear the word "bushbuck" again. Upon return to camp after dark, I retreated to my room to take pain medication that would enable me to possibly stand erect once again. I ate dinner quickly in order to go to bed as soon as possible. I don't even remember dreaming that night.

It was our fourth straight day of bushbuck hunting and again we were on a different concession on the Mogol River. The brush was not quite as thick, and during our first stalk we were rewarded by the bark of a ram. A tracker stayed on the trail for more than an hour until the ram finally lost him when it doubled back to the thick brush along the river.

As the evening came we made a final attempt to find our quarry; impala, duiker, blesbok, female bushbuck were all around, but it wasn't until almost time to give it up that we saw the faint glimmer of horns and the back of the bushbuck as he was disappearing into the thick brush.

"Take him now!" Christo commanded, and the .300 roared.

The ram lay only five yards from where he had turned to run -- the hardest prize I had ever worked to secure in Africa. Although he was not a monster, he would just make the record books and was an old ram with worn spiraled horns.

The bushbuck is a particularly fine looking animal -- small, reddish-brown with white spots. Bushbuck are very dangerous and aggressive when wounded and they are known to lay in wait for hunters, and at times killing them with their sharp spiraled horns if given the opportunity. I was very proud to have taken this animal, and taking it was also testimony to the abilities of Christo, Willie and the trackers.

The following day we slept late and, in the afternoon, Christo and I traveled to a concession in the Waterberg Mountains. The area was filled with trophy kudu. In the span of an hour we observed more than 40 bulls ranging from 50 to 59 inches in length. We also observed a bushbuck ram that would score high in the record books, and wouldn't you know it, he was right out in the open less than 30 yards away. It was a grand diversion from the intense hunting we had done the past four days.

That evening I drank sparkling Cape wines and was entertained at dinner by native singing and dancing, a fitting end to a memorable adventure.

There are few places left where a person can travel and have such a good time; Ingwe is one of those places. It is only in Africa where my soul can find peace and it is this inner peace that is found in this remarkable country with its remarkable people that keeps me returning.

Frederic Brown is a Valley resident and frequent contributor to the Frontiersman's Outdoors Page.