You’ve all seen it “His and Hers” coffee mugs, “His and Hers” towels, “His and Hers” dressing gowns, etc. etc… Well, my future wife and I didn’t really have any of the typical “his and hers” stuff although…
While she wasn’t opposed to hunting per se, she was an animal lover who donated money to the “Save the Elephants Foundation” every month and the only “animals” she would readily kill were the ticks she’d find on the dogs and horses (which according to her served no purpose at all in life other than carrying disease and making pets sick). Other than that she couldn’t hurt a fly (or spider – which she is terrified of). On the contrary, she tends to see all animals as pets and gives them names as opposed to seeing them as prey. And while I also love animals (medium to rare please with some fries on the side), the profession I have chosen as a career has a slightly different angle on conservation…
So when we moved onto our new ranch “Sabrisa” in Limpopo we reached a compromise: The section below the road where the house is on would be “hers” and the section up on the mountain where the Kudu are on would be mine (“his”). This meant that all animals below the road would get names and become pets and I could do what I wanted on the “his” section.
Well, all of this seemed perfectly reasonable and fine to me at first. After all, the mountain section is about 10 times the size of the section down by the house and is absolutely beautiful but, I was so happy with the fact that I would now have unlimited access to the Kudu, Mountain Reedbuck and Klipspringer in the mountains that I completely failed to consider the fact that the bottom section was the part with the river frontage and as you may know “river” = riverine bush = BUSHBUCK!
The first time I saw “him” was when I drove down to the river to check on the water pump. Now since we moved onto the ranch I’ve seen several Bushbuck during my daily rounds, mostly females, some with young ones and the odd 12 / 13″ ram, not really ready for shooting but that fateful morning changed life here on Sabrisa (and also the peace I should add).
Because, THAT morning was the start of a duel between him and me that I had no intention of losing. I got a brief glimpse of him as I rounded a bend in the road towards the river. He saw me before I saw him though and all I could catch sight of through the brush was his thick and looong set of horns as he scurried away into the thick stuff. He was breathtakingly beautiful with a dark coat, distinctive markings and a neck that was almost hairless, a sure sign of his age.
And for the first time since hooking up with my fiance, the thought actually occurred to me to cheat on her. NO! Of course not cheating as in “cheating with another woman!” But “cheating” as in silently sneaking one of the Bushbuck on “her” section of the ranch without telling her…
I considered taking the odd-six from behind the seat and getting out of the truck to just “have a peak” through the scope and confirm what I already knew at that time. I knew that, that ram was at least 18 inches! But fortunately sanity prevailed and I drove on because I knew that, if I did in fact manage to get him into my scope… Well, let’s just say I really did want to get married to this girl…
Having said that, those were my thoughts until I saw him again, and again, and again in the days that followed. Almost every morning on my way to the river and every evening when Sabina and I went for our daily walk he would be hanging around in the same area. And it was during one of these walks that I gently started pushing the issue with: “What if?” and: “Did you know?” questions such as: “What would you do if I were to shoot an exceptionally large Bushbuck ram here on your part of the ranch?” and: “Did you know that when Bushbuck get really old they start losing the hair on their necks?” Or: “Boy, that ram is so old he can definitely not make babies anymore…“
But alas, she would not budge and the answer was clear and simple: “Darling, we have a deal! You may shoot as many Bushbuck as you want in the mountains but over here the animals have names and you don’t shoot anything with a name!” In spite of all my efforts trying to explain to her that Bushbuck don’t like the mountains – they like the river I got the same response so I decided to let the issue rest. Yet, for the first time in my life I actually considered poaching…
Hunting Odysseus
Well, I started placing the odd-six on the backseat of the pick-up as opposed to in the gun case behind the seat when I drove down to the river but I soon realized that it took way too long for me to get the rifle from there when I wanted to “glass” the ram through the scope. So later I started placing the rifle next to me on the passenger seat and before I knew it the rifle was resting on my lap whenever I drove around on that part of the ranch…
And it was roughly then that I decided to give him a name: “Odysseus”. (the guy with the Trojan horse according to Greek mythology and who, through his unconventional and sneaky tactics made quite a name for himself in the old times) You see, this Odysseus was super sneaky and he was taunting me day in and day out, always showing up at inopportune times (like when my rifle was not nearby or when “she” was with me but NEVER when I was ready for him. And life continued – until that fateful Sunday morning…
That Sunday morning I decided that I was going to hunt Odysseus until I find him regardless of the consequences. And for this “special event” I decided to stash the odd-six and take my .375 with me. I will admit that, as I left the farmhouse, I felt some guilt. We were having friends over for lunch and I had been asked to move the patio table under the trees in the garden but I would be away for half an hour at the most and it was only 8am so surely that could wait…
I hadn’t walked far when I saw a female browsing to my right and was just in time to catch a glimpse of another Bushbuck with its back towards me further away under a tree. Was it him? I couldn’t say for sure but I needed to have a closer look. I got down on all fours and inched closer – wary of not spooking the female that was standing only 25 yards or so from me. The female started moving away from me and I eased myself up to see if the other Bushbuck was still there and there he was! Less than 20 yards from me to my left.
His body was hidden behind the branches but the shape of the horns was unmistakable and there was no doubt that this was indeed Odysseus. So, with my heart throbbing in my throat I pointed the Leopold in the general direction of where he was standing and waited for him to come out. Odysseus moved forward a bit and stopped, showing barely enough of his vital triangle for a clear shot. I waited for him to move forward a little more but suddenly he looked straight at me and I knew that he was not going to give me much more time. It was now or never and I decided to take the shot. After all, I had Mr. 375 in my hands and the little brush that was in front of him would not matter would it? The time had come and this was the final showdown! The moment of truth had arrived between Odysseus and I and I had the upper hand, I thought, as the Leopold’s crosshairs settled just behind the shoulder.
Odysseus went down like a ton of bricks at the Ruger’s bark and I cycled the action. I considered putting another round into him for good but for some reason I opted not to and I stared in amazement at the beautiful animal on the ground already picturing where the full mount would go in my trophy room…
I should have taken that second shot because, without warning, Odysseus got up and came running directly towards me, covering the distance between us at a frightening pace. I got up and picked him up in the scope but before I could squeeze of a shot he changed direction My second shot at a running Odysseus was a clear miss and by the time that I had chambered the third round he had disappeared into the thick stuff. With my heart now hammering in my throat I walked up to where Odysseus had been standing and inspected the scene… There was nothing! Not a single speck of blood or other sign that he had been wounded. I followed his tracks and finally found the smallest drop of blood imaginable.
Dealing with the consequences
Oh man was I in trouble! Sabina would have definitely heard the shots and would have known that they came from her part of the ranch. It was 08:30 in the morning, I had a wounded Bushbuck somewhere out there and our guests were arriving at noon! And I hadn’t even moved the patio table outside! But right now the more important consideration was to find Odysseus. I found another spot of blood a couple of feet from where I had found the first but no more.
My continued search over the next hours yielded nothing and I concluded that I must have hit him too high…
I will not go into detail now about my reception back home. Suffice to say that receptions at the South Pole are warmer than the one that I got. She had moved the heavy patio table on her own and a wonderful spread had been prepared for the guests. And whilst she was as charming as always to the guests, I caught her eye once or twice and knew that I still had a LOT of explaining to do.
I saw Odysseus again the following morning and he was fit as a fiddle. And I’ve seen him again a several times after that. In fact, yesterday, en route to the pump he was standing in 15 yards away from me, staring at me as if he knew something I did not. Of course there was no rifle on the passenger seat beside me… Odysseus got to live another day…