My third hunting safari to Namibia
Apr 13, 2020 20:39:13 GMT -5
tsm213, ncountry, and 3 more like this
Post by dreamrider on Apr 13, 2020 20:39:13 GMT -5
AFRICA REVISITED
Written by Ray Scott (dream rider)
After 30 hrs of travelling, I was immensely relieved to stretch my legs on the tarmac of the international airport in Windhoek, Namibia. My euphoria was short lived how ever, when I found out that my two bow cases with all my hunting gear was still back in Sydney, and would not follow me for another four days. I had stopped off at Sydney in order to get a more direct flight to Africa and now I was paying the price. I only had my cabin bag and the clothes that I stood up in.
It was not the way I would have chosen to start my third bow hunting safari with Roger Coomber of Vieranas Safaris. After a short discussion over a light meal, we decided that I could use Roger’s spare bow back at camp, and as I had left a number of arrows behind from my hunt last year, I would be able to use them. Before we set off on the six hour drive to Vieranas, he suggested that we call into the local archery store, Die Jagwinkel (The Hunting Shop) in Windhoek to stock up on a few things.
After the owner, Johan Grobler heard of my plight, he hurried off and a few minutes later returned with a new bow, set at my draw length for me to borrow. Now this guy had never met me before, but was prepared to help out a fellow bow hunter. Thanks Johan you are a true gentleman.
Roger and I had become firm friends during my previous hunts with him, and we spent the enjoyable six hour road trip up to Vieranas, catching up on news and working out plans for the coming two weeks. I was to hunt on Vieranas for ten days, and then on down to another hunting concession, for the remaining four days. I had taken some wonderful trophies off both these places in the past, but this time I was very specific in what I wanted. An Eland Bull was at the top of the list. I had seen two reasonable Bulls on my last hunt, but did not get a chance for a shot. I also had not shot a good Warthog, something I hoped to remedy this time around. A Waterbuck was also high on the list.
Although this was my third visit I had managed to organise a second Safari the previous year. Where I was lucky enough to have claimed a Mountain Zebra, a Springbok and a wonderful Black Wildebeest. But as stated earlier I was after an Eland, hence my third and final safari in Namibia whether I achieved my goal or not.
We arrived at Vieranas late in the afternoon, and after saying a warm hello to Rogers’s wife and business partner Amelia, and their two girls Alexandra and Georgia, it was down to the practice range to get every thing sorted before dark settled in. A very nice dinner and off to an early bed, full of anticipation of the coming hunt.
Vieranas is situated up in the top North Western corner of Namibia, and consists of approximately twenty-two thousand acres. Five thousand acres is behind wire, the remaining seventeen thousand acres is free range. I particularly enjoy the free range area, but have hunted both with great success. I quite honestly did not notice any difference between the two, with a high concentration of game on either. Roger puts this down to the fact that all the neighboring farms are rifle hunters, and that tends to make the surrounding game seek relative safety on Vieranas, which is strictly a bow hunting only area, with only one or two hunters at any given time. It’s a wonderful place to hunt as even he is unsure of what is going to turn up on any one day.
As far as putting an arrow into anything, the first few days were uneventful. Game was plentiful with large numbers of Kudu, Red Hartebeest and Oryx coming into the waterholes, but I had put my blinkers on, I was holding out for an Eland.
Oryx cow
Oryx Bull
Kudu
On the fourth day I was reunited with my missing gear, which consisted of my number one bow, and all time favorite, a Mathews M7. My backup bow was the Hoyt Vectrix, which I had used on my previous two hunts. Both set on 66lb at 27inch draw length.
Both of these bows were supplied by my long time friends, Kevin and Carol Watson of Advanced Archery in Auckland. Just before my departure they had both bows tuned to absolute perfection.
As it turned out I did not need to use the back up bow, the M7 was used extensively and perform flawlessly.
With either of these bows I was using FMJ 300 Eastern shafts, with 125grn Striker broad heads, these weighed in at 500 grains. The 300’s were a bit stiff for my set up, but I prefer a stiffer shaft to maximize penetration. I had used the 125grn Strikers on my previous trips, and found them to be out standing performers on all soft skin game.
Late on the fifth day we were in one of the many blinds that were strategically placed around the property. This particular one was positioned on the edge of a large clearing surrounded by Mopani trees, over looking a water hole positioned approximately 23yards from the blind. These pit blinds are extremely well constructed, firstly a pit the dimensions of the blind is dug two to three feet into the ground .Then using mud bricks the sides are built up to the required height, this in turn supported the roof, and the whole structure was then covered by several feet of earth, making for a roomy, wonderfully cool interior that was impervious to the scorching temperatures outside. (Of course the PH was always sent in first to check for snakes).
Pit blind
I was half asleep when I heard Roger whisper the magic word “Eland”. Following the direction that Roger was looking, I immediately got a serious case of the shakes. An Eland Bull had some how slipped to within 50 yards of us without detection, and was standing there without a flicker of movement.
Nothing had prepared me for the sheer size of him. He was majestic. Standing 1.80 centimetres (6ft) at the shoulder with huge body mass, and the bluish coloring around his neck and shoulders which is always evident in the fully mature bulls. His dewlap was hanging down near his knees and a large tuft of bristles prominent on his forehead. Roger had been studying him through the bino’s. He then leaned over and whispered that he was as big as they get. “A real Dugga Boy, to use the colloquial term that applied to old Cape Buffalo Bulls.
He was at the edge of the clearing under the canopy of some small Mopani trees, with the sun filtering down creating a mottled effect over his tan colored body. It was incredible how he merged into the back ground. I marveled how he became almost invisible while standing there for twenty five minutes with out moving a muscle. It wasn’t until a small herd of Eland cows moved into the water hole, that he decided to merge in with them, trying to adopt the safety in numbers routine, but due to his sheer size, he stuck out like the proverbial sore toe as he towered above the cows.
I was in a high state of excitement as I prepared myself to shoot. Many minutes went by while he drank his fill standing directly front on. This however gave me time to get my nerves under control while I studied the monster. Finally, he finished his drinking marathon, turned and walked away a few paces, he then turned broadside, presenting a perfect shot at thirty yards. It was now or never; the shot was gone almost without any conscious effort. It felt good but looked a little high with good penetration. He bolted for a short distance, and then quietly walked away, giving every indication that he was mortally hit. After a short discussion, we decided to leave him as it was quickly getting dark, with the intention of returning at dawn the next day.
Over a much needed drink that evening, we reviewed the film footage and were both stunned to see that the bull had ducked the string by six inches, thus causing the high shot placement. I had no idea that such a huge animal could react so fast.
Early next morning we found him. He had not gone far, and was probably dead before we even got into the vehicle to return back to camp the night before. To say that I was ecstatic would have been the understatement of the year. Three years I had waited for this, finally all my planning and preparation had paid off. He was everything I wanted in an Eland bull. However, he was not going to make any record books, as his horns had been badly rubbed down, a small price to pay for the trophy of a life time. Several Ph’s who saw the film footage, (when they could stop drooling over him) put him at the quite magnificent age of 14-15yrs. His estimated weight was between 900-1000kg (approx one ton). Roger later told me that there had only previously been four large Eland Bulls taken off Vieranas, and mine was the fifth, with the assurance that he was by far the largest.
The trackers and I with my Eland Bull
In the past I had seen plenty of Warthogs, but the bigger ones had always eluded me. These guys have a real attitude and can be hilariously funny. They come trotting in full of their own self importance. Darting this way and that, jumping at shadows and generally making complete fools of themselves, before finally settling down to drink. If it’s a particularly hot day, they will then proceed to climb into the water hole and wallow in it, emitting contented grunts and snorts. When suddenly as if they had been caught with their pants down at a Church Fair, would scuttle off at high speed with their pathetically scrawny tails standing straight up in the air.
These incredibly ugly animals have one of the keenest noses in the business. If they get the faintest whiff of the hunter, they can do a 180 in the blink of an eye, and be in instant overdrive and out of there before you could say “wait”. The trouble is when this happens the entire area is cleared of game in seconds, and will remain like that for hours. In fact I have often seen large numbers of wary game waiting in the surrounding bush, not coming into a water hole until they got the all clear from the Warthogs.
Water hole and blind from where I took the warthog.
All this can be very frustrating as on this particular trip, the winds were very gusty and shifty, and the big boars were onto us very quickly. We saw several top trophy boars but none presented a shot. On the eighth day one finally made a mistake. He wasn’t the biggest we had seen, but he was certainly good enough for me. Amazingly enough he traveled over 350 yards after a double lung shot. Man those Warthogs are tough.
All too quickly it was my final day on Vieranas, and it turned out to be the most magical day in my fifty years of hunting.
We had decided to go to an area that was surrounded by a large number of kopjes (granite boulder hills of varying sizes and height). These Kopjes provided protection from the strong winds, which were now creating serious dust storms out on the plains. I had fond memories of this wild rugged place, as it was here that I had shot my wonderful fifty inch Kudu Bull two years ago.
Kudu’s are probably one of the most sort after game in Africa. With their long spiraling horns and regal appearance, these wonderful animals are often referred to as the ‘grey ghost’ of the desert, a reputation well deserved with their ability to disappear into the smallest amount of cover right before our eyes.
We were only in the blind an hour, when a huge Kudu bull came in. Roger and I had previously discussed the possibility of a big one coming in, and I had suggested to him, that I was not interested in getting another one unless he was 55inches or bigger, (thinking that I was unlikely to see one remotely near that size). When this beauty walked in Roger started to get excited. His first guess was that he was 53-54 inches. “Very nice” I whispered, but I was still happy with the one that I already had. As the Kudu turned his head, Roger started to get really agitated. “I bet he goes at least 55inches” he whispered, “look at the way those magnificent curls come out from the base; I have never seen anything like him before”. Well I can tell you that really put the pressure on me, almost without thinking, I put an arrow tight in his shoulder through both lungs. After a mad dash, he fell over within eighty meters. Roger and I looked at each other completely dumb founded. Then the Adrenalin kicked in. We were bouncing off the walls with excitement. Just as suddenly I stopped and thought, “oh $$$$” what have I done? I had only recently got my original Kudu from the Taxidermist, and now I had another one on the ground. I had visions of my wife Jan, slowly killing me when I got home. Those thoughts however were quickly forgotten, as I walked up to him. The closer we got the bigger he become, and I started to get the shakes. Roger whipped out his tape measure and with very unsteady hands started to measure him. We could not believe our eyes when the tape stopped at a whopping 58 inches. We were not sure if he would make the top ten bowshot Kudu in Namibia, but Roger said he would certainly be right up there.
We spent a long time admiring the size and symmetry of his horns. “He’s by far the biggest that we have had off this place, in fact he’s the biggest that I have ever seen” Roger said. Word gets out fast in the hunting world, within 24hours Roger had two enquires from overseas hunters, wanting to hunt a 58 inch Kudu. I kid you not.
While all the measuring and photography was going on, the pick up truck was called in, and with very little fuss the Kudu was on its way to camp. Kudu meat is highly prized over there. In fact I was very impressed with the efficient way all the meat was handled. Nothing is wasted, every thing is utilized either by the main camp, or by the staff and their families.
. After a quick discussion we decided to stay in the area for the rest of the day, so we settled back in again. We had just finished our packed lunch when a faint movement out of corner of my eye caught my attention. Barely daring to move I slowly, very slowly, turned my head to get a better look. Where only a few seconds ago there had been nothing, now stood two incredibly beautiful Klipspringer’s. These wonderful animals only stand at 56 centimeters (twenty two inches) at the shoulder and weigh in at less than eighteen Kilo’s (forty lbs). Hardly daring to breathe I watched those lovely tiny light brown creatures timidly making their way down to the water hole, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of danger. One was a very pregnant older Ewe, and the other a very proud young Ram. After delicately drinking their fill, they tip toed back to the point where they had appeared from, suddenly vanishing as if they had never been.
The spell was broken, and we both started talking at the same time. Not quite believing what we had seen. Some time later I realized that it had not even occurred to me to pick up my bow. An opportunity lost perhaps, but on reflection, I know that I could not have drawn back on one of those wondrously rare creatures.
Although I have been a bow hunter for more years than I care to remember, for me hunting is only secondary. Getting out there and witnessing nature at its best is the greatest reward. Roger and I had just witnessed something unique. As long as I live I will regard that moment as one of my most memorable hunting highlights. And who better to have shared it with than my PH and good friend, Roger Coomber.
Thinking that the day just could not get any better, it did. At around 4 pm a bruiser of a Warthog came in. He was a real old boy with his tusks worn well down, but with great bases. He had a big gash down one side, and old scars all over his body. He must have felt the weight of the whole world was upon him as he came into drink. Man he had a belligerent attitude. Darting here and there, trying to pick a fight with his own shadow. He finally settled down, and while he was quartering away I slipped an arrow through his rib cage. He scorched the earth getting out of there, breaking trees three inches thick, as if they were match sticks. He only went forty five yards and was down; my heart went out to that grand old warrior. He obviously had experienced a very eventful life, which was nearing its end. Roger and I both agreed, better to fall to a hunter’s arrow than become prey to the Jackals one dark night, as most of them do when they get too weak to defend themselves.
What a day, I could not have scripted it better. There were two very happy hunters that returned to camp that evening, to have a celebratory drink, and to pack for an early start in the morning on the second part of my safari.
It would take 5 hours to drive down to the other concession, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery going by. We had left at day break and as the day warmed up, I was fascinated to see the wild life coming out to the edge of the road, feeding on the wide grass sidings. Oryx, Kudu, Steen buck and Baboons were out in good numbers, many were oblivious to the car speeding by. The numbers of Warthogs were staggering, we estimated there must have been well over 400 scattered along the route that we took. Many were Sows with piglets that just stood and watched us go by. The boars however, didn’t waste any time ducking under the boundary wires and quickly disappearing into the bush. One old codger, just barely skin and bone with worn down tusks, miscalculated his run and hit the bottom wire square on at speed. Just like a cartoon caricature, he sprung back ending up on his back with all four legs quivering straight up in the air. As we sped past he staggered to his feet and with as much dignity as possible, shuffled under the wire and disappeared. Our laughter was mingled with sadness; we knew he would not last much longer against the predators. Such is the harsh reality of life in Africa.
We arrived around midday and were greeted by the ranch manager Jacko, and his lovely wife Jackomien. After the usual hellos and hugs with these two wonderful people, we all sat down to cool drinks, and enjoyed a very nice lunch before heading out for an afternoon hunt.
This concession is a privately owned game ranch, consisting of well over twenty thousand acres situated approx 150 kilometers east of Windhoek, and is very popular with the rifle hunters. Although I usually try to avoid rifle hunting areas, this place is huge. I have been there twice and would have seen less than a tenth of the place. On my previous hunt there, I had seen Waterbuck, and that was what I was predominantly after.
Some of the wide variety of animals on the concession.
Zebra
Black Wildebeast, Waterbuck and Zebra
They are also involved in a breeding program for the rare but incredibly beautiful Sable. With their glossy black coat, white facial markings and large sweeping horns, they are a prized trophy. But be prepared to rob the bank before claiming one. Costing US $10’000 upwards. Last year I photographed an absolute monster as he walked by. That evening I described him to Jacko. He smiled, and said that he would measure an incredible forty seven inches. Then went on to say that it was just as well I had not been tempted to shoot him, as he was their main breeding bull, and was valued at US $22’000.
Breeding herd of sable.
A magnificent Sable Bull
One of the reasons that I enjoy hunting with Roger is that he is a keen bow hunter like me, and never fails to take his bow with him. On the second day he had already dispatched two Jackals, when an enormous Black Wildebeest came in. As I had already got one on a previous hunt, Roger asked me if I would mind if he could have a crack at him. He had always wanted to hunt one, but as he was busy guiding clients he just never got the opportunity. We decided that for a change he would be the hunter and I was to be the camera man. At thirty yards he put in a perfect center heart shot resulting in a short mad run and the wildebeest was down. After much congratulations and back slapping, it was off to the bar, where a very proud hunter found himself shouting the drinks for the rest of the evening.
Roger and his wildebeest
It was getting towards the end of my hunt, when we went to an area where Jacko had seen a few Waterbuck Bulls the day before. Six hours later we were still waiting. We were in a slightly elevated blind overlooking a large flat area covered in knee high grass, with a large number of small scrubby trees dotted around. We had seen plenty of game, which included a pair of Honey Badgers plus a lovely Steen buck Ram, but just Like the Eland a week earlier, I had my blinkers on. Only a Water buck would ring my bell.
Thinking that we had drawn a blank for the day, we debated moving but decided to hang in there for a while longer. Roger had only just commented that “it’s very quiet but every thing can change in five minutes,” when it did. From behind a small clump of trees two hundred yards away, stepped one, two, no three Waterbuck bulls. Through the bino’s we could see that one of them was a real beauty.
I knew that I wanted him with an intensity that was all consuming.
They moved towards us with agonizing slowness. Taking a couple of steps, stopping to browse, another couple of steps, browsing some more, and so on. For over an hour this went on, my nerves were nearly at breaking point and the light was starting to fade. Finally the big boy presented a broadside shot at 23yards. It took me a long time to get the shot off. My nerves were jangling. My knees were knocking. Roger sensed that I was having trouble, and quietly leaned over and whispered, “Keep the back tension, and it will happen”. That settled me down, and the shot was true. Thanks Roger you are a true friend. He blasted out of there with his two mates in tow, making it to a clump of scrub a hundred and twenty yards away.
After a few seconds we saw him lay down, and when the other two bulls came trotting out, we knew he was down for the count. After much back thumping and congratulations, Roger measured him. This wonderful bull went twenty seven inches and I was absolutely choked.
A very happy guide and hunter
This bought to a close my third sojourn into that wonderful country called Namibia. Where the sky is always blue and the hunting is second to none. I have made some wonderful friends, and those three years of memories will stay with me forever.
Like, the time we saw a large tom leopard shading him self under a Mopani tree fifty yards away, with out a care in the world.
Like, finding the huge foot prints the size of dustbin lids, of three rogue bull Elephants that had passed only a hundred yards from our blind, one of them had killed a black farmer only three weeks earlier.
Like, having a 16 ft tall Male giraffe, eyeballing us through the blind opening at only ten feet and watching his eyes grow round with shock, as it dawned on him what he was looking at.
Like, watching a Sable cow suckling her new born calf only eight yards away from the blind, completely unaware that we were there.
Like, that first experience of a magnificent Kudu bull ghosting up to the water hole with out making a sound.
Like, those fascinatingly ugly Warthogs providing endless entertainment.
And like the haunting cry of the Jackals as they hunted at night.
Namibia, thanks for the memories
Sadly, the road towards home
Written by Ray Scott (dream rider)
Written by Ray Scott (dream rider)
After 30 hrs of travelling, I was immensely relieved to stretch my legs on the tarmac of the international airport in Windhoek, Namibia. My euphoria was short lived how ever, when I found out that my two bow cases with all my hunting gear was still back in Sydney, and would not follow me for another four days. I had stopped off at Sydney in order to get a more direct flight to Africa and now I was paying the price. I only had my cabin bag and the clothes that I stood up in.
It was not the way I would have chosen to start my third bow hunting safari with Roger Coomber of Vieranas Safaris. After a short discussion over a light meal, we decided that I could use Roger’s spare bow back at camp, and as I had left a number of arrows behind from my hunt last year, I would be able to use them. Before we set off on the six hour drive to Vieranas, he suggested that we call into the local archery store, Die Jagwinkel (The Hunting Shop) in Windhoek to stock up on a few things.
After the owner, Johan Grobler heard of my plight, he hurried off and a few minutes later returned with a new bow, set at my draw length for me to borrow. Now this guy had never met me before, but was prepared to help out a fellow bow hunter. Thanks Johan you are a true gentleman.
Roger and I had become firm friends during my previous hunts with him, and we spent the enjoyable six hour road trip up to Vieranas, catching up on news and working out plans for the coming two weeks. I was to hunt on Vieranas for ten days, and then on down to another hunting concession, for the remaining four days. I had taken some wonderful trophies off both these places in the past, but this time I was very specific in what I wanted. An Eland Bull was at the top of the list. I had seen two reasonable Bulls on my last hunt, but did not get a chance for a shot. I also had not shot a good Warthog, something I hoped to remedy this time around. A Waterbuck was also high on the list.
Although this was my third visit I had managed to organise a second Safari the previous year. Where I was lucky enough to have claimed a Mountain Zebra, a Springbok and a wonderful Black Wildebeest. But as stated earlier I was after an Eland, hence my third and final safari in Namibia whether I achieved my goal or not.
We arrived at Vieranas late in the afternoon, and after saying a warm hello to Rogers’s wife and business partner Amelia, and their two girls Alexandra and Georgia, it was down to the practice range to get every thing sorted before dark settled in. A very nice dinner and off to an early bed, full of anticipation of the coming hunt.
Vieranas is situated up in the top North Western corner of Namibia, and consists of approximately twenty-two thousand acres. Five thousand acres is behind wire, the remaining seventeen thousand acres is free range. I particularly enjoy the free range area, but have hunted both with great success. I quite honestly did not notice any difference between the two, with a high concentration of game on either. Roger puts this down to the fact that all the neighboring farms are rifle hunters, and that tends to make the surrounding game seek relative safety on Vieranas, which is strictly a bow hunting only area, with only one or two hunters at any given time. It’s a wonderful place to hunt as even he is unsure of what is going to turn up on any one day.
As far as putting an arrow into anything, the first few days were uneventful. Game was plentiful with large numbers of Kudu, Red Hartebeest and Oryx coming into the waterholes, but I had put my blinkers on, I was holding out for an Eland.
Oryx cow
Oryx Bull
Kudu
On the fourth day I was reunited with my missing gear, which consisted of my number one bow, and all time favorite, a Mathews M7. My backup bow was the Hoyt Vectrix, which I had used on my previous two hunts. Both set on 66lb at 27inch draw length.
Both of these bows were supplied by my long time friends, Kevin and Carol Watson of Advanced Archery in Auckland. Just before my departure they had both bows tuned to absolute perfection.
As it turned out I did not need to use the back up bow, the M7 was used extensively and perform flawlessly.
With either of these bows I was using FMJ 300 Eastern shafts, with 125grn Striker broad heads, these weighed in at 500 grains. The 300’s were a bit stiff for my set up, but I prefer a stiffer shaft to maximize penetration. I had used the 125grn Strikers on my previous trips, and found them to be out standing performers on all soft skin game.
Late on the fifth day we were in one of the many blinds that were strategically placed around the property. This particular one was positioned on the edge of a large clearing surrounded by Mopani trees, over looking a water hole positioned approximately 23yards from the blind. These pit blinds are extremely well constructed, firstly a pit the dimensions of the blind is dug two to three feet into the ground .Then using mud bricks the sides are built up to the required height, this in turn supported the roof, and the whole structure was then covered by several feet of earth, making for a roomy, wonderfully cool interior that was impervious to the scorching temperatures outside. (Of course the PH was always sent in first to check for snakes).
Pit blind
I was half asleep when I heard Roger whisper the magic word “Eland”. Following the direction that Roger was looking, I immediately got a serious case of the shakes. An Eland Bull had some how slipped to within 50 yards of us without detection, and was standing there without a flicker of movement.
Nothing had prepared me for the sheer size of him. He was majestic. Standing 1.80 centimetres (6ft) at the shoulder with huge body mass, and the bluish coloring around his neck and shoulders which is always evident in the fully mature bulls. His dewlap was hanging down near his knees and a large tuft of bristles prominent on his forehead. Roger had been studying him through the bino’s. He then leaned over and whispered that he was as big as they get. “A real Dugga Boy, to use the colloquial term that applied to old Cape Buffalo Bulls.
He was at the edge of the clearing under the canopy of some small Mopani trees, with the sun filtering down creating a mottled effect over his tan colored body. It was incredible how he merged into the back ground. I marveled how he became almost invisible while standing there for twenty five minutes with out moving a muscle. It wasn’t until a small herd of Eland cows moved into the water hole, that he decided to merge in with them, trying to adopt the safety in numbers routine, but due to his sheer size, he stuck out like the proverbial sore toe as he towered above the cows.
I was in a high state of excitement as I prepared myself to shoot. Many minutes went by while he drank his fill standing directly front on. This however gave me time to get my nerves under control while I studied the monster. Finally, he finished his drinking marathon, turned and walked away a few paces, he then turned broadside, presenting a perfect shot at thirty yards. It was now or never; the shot was gone almost without any conscious effort. It felt good but looked a little high with good penetration. He bolted for a short distance, and then quietly walked away, giving every indication that he was mortally hit. After a short discussion, we decided to leave him as it was quickly getting dark, with the intention of returning at dawn the next day.
Over a much needed drink that evening, we reviewed the film footage and were both stunned to see that the bull had ducked the string by six inches, thus causing the high shot placement. I had no idea that such a huge animal could react so fast.
Early next morning we found him. He had not gone far, and was probably dead before we even got into the vehicle to return back to camp the night before. To say that I was ecstatic would have been the understatement of the year. Three years I had waited for this, finally all my planning and preparation had paid off. He was everything I wanted in an Eland bull. However, he was not going to make any record books, as his horns had been badly rubbed down, a small price to pay for the trophy of a life time. Several Ph’s who saw the film footage, (when they could stop drooling over him) put him at the quite magnificent age of 14-15yrs. His estimated weight was between 900-1000kg (approx one ton). Roger later told me that there had only previously been four large Eland Bulls taken off Vieranas, and mine was the fifth, with the assurance that he was by far the largest.
The trackers and I with my Eland Bull
In the past I had seen plenty of Warthogs, but the bigger ones had always eluded me. These guys have a real attitude and can be hilariously funny. They come trotting in full of their own self importance. Darting this way and that, jumping at shadows and generally making complete fools of themselves, before finally settling down to drink. If it’s a particularly hot day, they will then proceed to climb into the water hole and wallow in it, emitting contented grunts and snorts. When suddenly as if they had been caught with their pants down at a Church Fair, would scuttle off at high speed with their pathetically scrawny tails standing straight up in the air.
These incredibly ugly animals have one of the keenest noses in the business. If they get the faintest whiff of the hunter, they can do a 180 in the blink of an eye, and be in instant overdrive and out of there before you could say “wait”. The trouble is when this happens the entire area is cleared of game in seconds, and will remain like that for hours. In fact I have often seen large numbers of wary game waiting in the surrounding bush, not coming into a water hole until they got the all clear from the Warthogs.
Water hole and blind from where I took the warthog.
All this can be very frustrating as on this particular trip, the winds were very gusty and shifty, and the big boars were onto us very quickly. We saw several top trophy boars but none presented a shot. On the eighth day one finally made a mistake. He wasn’t the biggest we had seen, but he was certainly good enough for me. Amazingly enough he traveled over 350 yards after a double lung shot. Man those Warthogs are tough.
All too quickly it was my final day on Vieranas, and it turned out to be the most magical day in my fifty years of hunting.
We had decided to go to an area that was surrounded by a large number of kopjes (granite boulder hills of varying sizes and height). These Kopjes provided protection from the strong winds, which were now creating serious dust storms out on the plains. I had fond memories of this wild rugged place, as it was here that I had shot my wonderful fifty inch Kudu Bull two years ago.
Kudu’s are probably one of the most sort after game in Africa. With their long spiraling horns and regal appearance, these wonderful animals are often referred to as the ‘grey ghost’ of the desert, a reputation well deserved with their ability to disappear into the smallest amount of cover right before our eyes.
We were only in the blind an hour, when a huge Kudu bull came in. Roger and I had previously discussed the possibility of a big one coming in, and I had suggested to him, that I was not interested in getting another one unless he was 55inches or bigger, (thinking that I was unlikely to see one remotely near that size). When this beauty walked in Roger started to get excited. His first guess was that he was 53-54 inches. “Very nice” I whispered, but I was still happy with the one that I already had. As the Kudu turned his head, Roger started to get really agitated. “I bet he goes at least 55inches” he whispered, “look at the way those magnificent curls come out from the base; I have never seen anything like him before”. Well I can tell you that really put the pressure on me, almost without thinking, I put an arrow tight in his shoulder through both lungs. After a mad dash, he fell over within eighty meters. Roger and I looked at each other completely dumb founded. Then the Adrenalin kicked in. We were bouncing off the walls with excitement. Just as suddenly I stopped and thought, “oh $$$$” what have I done? I had only recently got my original Kudu from the Taxidermist, and now I had another one on the ground. I had visions of my wife Jan, slowly killing me when I got home. Those thoughts however were quickly forgotten, as I walked up to him. The closer we got the bigger he become, and I started to get the shakes. Roger whipped out his tape measure and with very unsteady hands started to measure him. We could not believe our eyes when the tape stopped at a whopping 58 inches. We were not sure if he would make the top ten bowshot Kudu in Namibia, but Roger said he would certainly be right up there.
We spent a long time admiring the size and symmetry of his horns. “He’s by far the biggest that we have had off this place, in fact he’s the biggest that I have ever seen” Roger said. Word gets out fast in the hunting world, within 24hours Roger had two enquires from overseas hunters, wanting to hunt a 58 inch Kudu. I kid you not.
While all the measuring and photography was going on, the pick up truck was called in, and with very little fuss the Kudu was on its way to camp. Kudu meat is highly prized over there. In fact I was very impressed with the efficient way all the meat was handled. Nothing is wasted, every thing is utilized either by the main camp, or by the staff and their families.
. After a quick discussion we decided to stay in the area for the rest of the day, so we settled back in again. We had just finished our packed lunch when a faint movement out of corner of my eye caught my attention. Barely daring to move I slowly, very slowly, turned my head to get a better look. Where only a few seconds ago there had been nothing, now stood two incredibly beautiful Klipspringer’s. These wonderful animals only stand at 56 centimeters (twenty two inches) at the shoulder and weigh in at less than eighteen Kilo’s (forty lbs). Hardly daring to breathe I watched those lovely tiny light brown creatures timidly making their way down to the water hole, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of danger. One was a very pregnant older Ewe, and the other a very proud young Ram. After delicately drinking their fill, they tip toed back to the point where they had appeared from, suddenly vanishing as if they had never been.
The spell was broken, and we both started talking at the same time. Not quite believing what we had seen. Some time later I realized that it had not even occurred to me to pick up my bow. An opportunity lost perhaps, but on reflection, I know that I could not have drawn back on one of those wondrously rare creatures.
Although I have been a bow hunter for more years than I care to remember, for me hunting is only secondary. Getting out there and witnessing nature at its best is the greatest reward. Roger and I had just witnessed something unique. As long as I live I will regard that moment as one of my most memorable hunting highlights. And who better to have shared it with than my PH and good friend, Roger Coomber.
Thinking that the day just could not get any better, it did. At around 4 pm a bruiser of a Warthog came in. He was a real old boy with his tusks worn well down, but with great bases. He had a big gash down one side, and old scars all over his body. He must have felt the weight of the whole world was upon him as he came into drink. Man he had a belligerent attitude. Darting here and there, trying to pick a fight with his own shadow. He finally settled down, and while he was quartering away I slipped an arrow through his rib cage. He scorched the earth getting out of there, breaking trees three inches thick, as if they were match sticks. He only went forty five yards and was down; my heart went out to that grand old warrior. He obviously had experienced a very eventful life, which was nearing its end. Roger and I both agreed, better to fall to a hunter’s arrow than become prey to the Jackals one dark night, as most of them do when they get too weak to defend themselves.
What a day, I could not have scripted it better. There were two very happy hunters that returned to camp that evening, to have a celebratory drink, and to pack for an early start in the morning on the second part of my safari.
It would take 5 hours to drive down to the other concession, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery going by. We had left at day break and as the day warmed up, I was fascinated to see the wild life coming out to the edge of the road, feeding on the wide grass sidings. Oryx, Kudu, Steen buck and Baboons were out in good numbers, many were oblivious to the car speeding by. The numbers of Warthogs were staggering, we estimated there must have been well over 400 scattered along the route that we took. Many were Sows with piglets that just stood and watched us go by. The boars however, didn’t waste any time ducking under the boundary wires and quickly disappearing into the bush. One old codger, just barely skin and bone with worn down tusks, miscalculated his run and hit the bottom wire square on at speed. Just like a cartoon caricature, he sprung back ending up on his back with all four legs quivering straight up in the air. As we sped past he staggered to his feet and with as much dignity as possible, shuffled under the wire and disappeared. Our laughter was mingled with sadness; we knew he would not last much longer against the predators. Such is the harsh reality of life in Africa.
We arrived around midday and were greeted by the ranch manager Jacko, and his lovely wife Jackomien. After the usual hellos and hugs with these two wonderful people, we all sat down to cool drinks, and enjoyed a very nice lunch before heading out for an afternoon hunt.
This concession is a privately owned game ranch, consisting of well over twenty thousand acres situated approx 150 kilometers east of Windhoek, and is very popular with the rifle hunters. Although I usually try to avoid rifle hunting areas, this place is huge. I have been there twice and would have seen less than a tenth of the place. On my previous hunt there, I had seen Waterbuck, and that was what I was predominantly after.
Some of the wide variety of animals on the concession.
Zebra
Black Wildebeast, Waterbuck and Zebra
They are also involved in a breeding program for the rare but incredibly beautiful Sable. With their glossy black coat, white facial markings and large sweeping horns, they are a prized trophy. But be prepared to rob the bank before claiming one. Costing US $10’000 upwards. Last year I photographed an absolute monster as he walked by. That evening I described him to Jacko. He smiled, and said that he would measure an incredible forty seven inches. Then went on to say that it was just as well I had not been tempted to shoot him, as he was their main breeding bull, and was valued at US $22’000.
Breeding herd of sable.
A magnificent Sable Bull
One of the reasons that I enjoy hunting with Roger is that he is a keen bow hunter like me, and never fails to take his bow with him. On the second day he had already dispatched two Jackals, when an enormous Black Wildebeest came in. As I had already got one on a previous hunt, Roger asked me if I would mind if he could have a crack at him. He had always wanted to hunt one, but as he was busy guiding clients he just never got the opportunity. We decided that for a change he would be the hunter and I was to be the camera man. At thirty yards he put in a perfect center heart shot resulting in a short mad run and the wildebeest was down. After much congratulations and back slapping, it was off to the bar, where a very proud hunter found himself shouting the drinks for the rest of the evening.
Roger and his wildebeest
It was getting towards the end of my hunt, when we went to an area where Jacko had seen a few Waterbuck Bulls the day before. Six hours later we were still waiting. We were in a slightly elevated blind overlooking a large flat area covered in knee high grass, with a large number of small scrubby trees dotted around. We had seen plenty of game, which included a pair of Honey Badgers plus a lovely Steen buck Ram, but just Like the Eland a week earlier, I had my blinkers on. Only a Water buck would ring my bell.
Thinking that we had drawn a blank for the day, we debated moving but decided to hang in there for a while longer. Roger had only just commented that “it’s very quiet but every thing can change in five minutes,” when it did. From behind a small clump of trees two hundred yards away, stepped one, two, no three Waterbuck bulls. Through the bino’s we could see that one of them was a real beauty.
I knew that I wanted him with an intensity that was all consuming.
They moved towards us with agonizing slowness. Taking a couple of steps, stopping to browse, another couple of steps, browsing some more, and so on. For over an hour this went on, my nerves were nearly at breaking point and the light was starting to fade. Finally the big boy presented a broadside shot at 23yards. It took me a long time to get the shot off. My nerves were jangling. My knees were knocking. Roger sensed that I was having trouble, and quietly leaned over and whispered, “Keep the back tension, and it will happen”. That settled me down, and the shot was true. Thanks Roger you are a true friend. He blasted out of there with his two mates in tow, making it to a clump of scrub a hundred and twenty yards away.
After a few seconds we saw him lay down, and when the other two bulls came trotting out, we knew he was down for the count. After much back thumping and congratulations, Roger measured him. This wonderful bull went twenty seven inches and I was absolutely choked.
A very happy guide and hunter
This bought to a close my third sojourn into that wonderful country called Namibia. Where the sky is always blue and the hunting is second to none. I have made some wonderful friends, and those three years of memories will stay with me forever.
Like, the time we saw a large tom leopard shading him self under a Mopani tree fifty yards away, with out a care in the world.
Like, finding the huge foot prints the size of dustbin lids, of three rogue bull Elephants that had passed only a hundred yards from our blind, one of them had killed a black farmer only three weeks earlier.
Like, having a 16 ft tall Male giraffe, eyeballing us through the blind opening at only ten feet and watching his eyes grow round with shock, as it dawned on him what he was looking at.
Like, watching a Sable cow suckling her new born calf only eight yards away from the blind, completely unaware that we were there.
Like, that first experience of a magnificent Kudu bull ghosting up to the water hole with out making a sound.
Like, those fascinatingly ugly Warthogs providing endless entertainment.
And like the haunting cry of the Jackals as they hunted at night.
Namibia, thanks for the memories
Sadly, the road towards home

Written by Ray Scott (dream rider)
