Articles by Mark Neal (UK):

Leon, the kudu, two wildebeest and Me

The wildebeest, Regardt and I

Jim, Jaco, the Pig and I

Articles by Jim Taylor (USA):

Impressions of Africa

Articles by Tom Lindner (USA):

Impressions from a different perspective

A great afternoon of hunting

Articles by Paco Kelly (USA):

The Best of Times - The worst of times

The Best of Times - The worst of times part 2

Articles by Roger Cox (USA):

What happened with the Blesbok?

Articles by Chris Troskie:

Pinpoint Buffalo  (as featured in Magnum Magazine January 2007)

Sabina, SABRISA, Odysseus and I (as featured in Magnum Magazine October 2007)

You’ve all seen it… “his” and “hers” towels in the bathroom, “his” and “hers” dressing gowns and “his” and “hers” washing basins… And sometimes even “his” and “hers” coffee mugs in the kitchen…

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 in Kenya” 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) and 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 – nice but not really ready for shooting. But that fateful morning when I saw him 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 old age. And for the first time since hooking up with my lovely fiancé, the thought actually occurred to me to cheat on her. NO! Of course not cheating as in – 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: 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 – like that one over there?” Or: “Boy, that ram is so old he can definitely not make babies anymore – maybe we should shoot him so that a younger ram can take his place…” 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…

And for the first time in my life I actually considered poaching…

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 during this time that I decided to give him a name… “Odysseus ”. (the guy who thought out the Trojan horse in the Greek mythology and who, through his unconventional and sneaky fighting tactics made quite a name for himself in the old times…)

You see, Odysseus was sneaky! And he was taunting me day in and day out – always showing up at inopportune times – when my rifle was not nearby or… when “she” was with me but NEVER when I was ready for him. And so it carried on day in and day out… until that fateful Sunday morning…

Because THAT Sunday, 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 .375H&H Ruger from the safe… As I left the farmhouse behind me, the smallest twinge of guilt was in the back of my mind. We were having friends over for lunch and I had been asked to move the patio table under the trees… But, after all… 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 his back towards me further away under a tree as I got down on my knees. Was it him? I couldn’t say for sure but I decided to have a peak. So I got down on all fours and slowly started making my way towards where I’d seen the animal – wary of not spooking the female that was standing only about 25 yards from me. After about 10 minutes, the female started moving away from me and I eased myself up to see if the other animal was still there. At first I was disappointed because there was nothing where I’d seen the other bushbuck earlier.

But then he was there! Less than 20 yards from me – to my left under a thorn tree I caught the movement of his horns. 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 so I waited for him to move forward a little more but then he looked straight at me and I knew that he was not going to give me much more time so I decided to take the shot – even though his body was still partially hidden behind the bush. After all, I had Mr. .375 in my hands and the little brush that was in front of him would not really matter… The time had come and this was the final showdown! The moment of truth had arrived between Odysseus and me… and I had the upper hand as the Leopold’s crosshairs settled just behind the shoulder…

Even though Odysseus went down like a ton of bricks at the Ruger’s bark I immediately recycled the action as I’m accustomed to doing and I stayed down. Something was wrong though – maybe it was the way he was kicking – maybe it was because I hadn’t heard the distinctive smack of the hit and I considered putting another round into him for good measure. But for some reason or another I opted not to and I stared in amazement at the beautiful animal on the ground already picturing where I would put the full-mounted trophy in the house – something I will regret for a long time to come…

Because the next moment, 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 change direction and was now running away from me. 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 surrounding ground… NOTHING! Not a single speck of blood or sign that he had been wounded – other than his hoof marks when he dashed away! I followed his tracks into the bush he’d disappeared into where I found the smallest drop of blood imaginable and that was it.

My goodness was I was 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 out… But right now the more important consideration was to find Odysseus …

I looked for more blood and found another spot a couple of feet away from where I found the first but no more so I had to rely solely on his tracks to try and find him. During the follow-up I caught sight of him again once – but he barked and scurried off before I could take a shot. And in spite of looking for Odysseus for the next several hours I could find no trace of him… I concluded that I must have hit him too high and that he would be running for a long time still…

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 seemed to be fit as a fiddle. And I’ve seen him again a couple of times after that too. In fact, yesterday he was standing a mere 15 yards away from me staring at me with a knowledgeable look in his eyes. And I longingly looked at the empty passenger seat next to me…

"Odysseus" - alive

PART II

SABINA, SABRISA, 2 DAMN LEADWOOD POLES, A BUSHBUCK (not Odysseus) AND I.

So “we” (read “Sabina”) decided that the veranda needed a roof and after getting an absolutely ridiculous and overpriced quotation from a construction company I made the mistake of remarking that erecting this roof was so easy that I might as well do it myself…

Boy was that stupid!!! Because before I knew it we were busy planning the construction of the roof by “Chris Troskie Construction Inc.” Well, at first it sounded pretty easy: A couple of gum poles, some corrugated iron sheeting, nails etc… But that was until a friend was kind enough to donate some leadwood poles to use for the vertical beams and suddenly a relatively simple project became a whole lot more complicated…

Because unlike gum poles, leadwood trees are not straight and the task of planting “non-straight” poles so that their tops (which is supposed to support the new roof) are in a straight line is not an easy one. So when I selected the trees that I would use for my project I chose the “straightest” ones of the lot and after digging four holes and lining the trees up to the best of my ability I mixed the concrete and firmly cemented the four poles into Mother Earth – never to be removed again or so I thought… until “she” had a look at the poles day before yesterday and casually remarked: “Darling, why did you use these two ugly poles and not the two pretty ones over there? Please take those two in the middle out and put the nice thick pretty ones in their place…”

You see, the saying goes that leadwood trees grow for a thousand years, then live for a thousand years and then take another thousand years to die. Now who the heck was counting all those years I do not know but what I do know is that those poles are so firmly concreted into the Earth that it may well take me a thousand years to take them out… And now you will ask what the heck does this have to do with hunting…

Well, there’s something about walking in the bush with a rifle in your hand… Anti-hunters will tell you that carrying a gun is a way of making up for an inadequate manhood but we hunters know that it is about more than that and that there could be several reasons why we find it enjoyable. On that afternoon though, after her “innocent” request to replace the poles that I had planted with so much care, precision and effort I had only one reason for taking my rifle with when I walked away from the house… I needed to KILL something! And seeing that according to current legislation in South Africa it is illegal to kill your wife (I’m not sure what the law states about fiancés – I’d better check it out though), I decided to go out and find Odysseus…

I slowly walked up the path leading to Odysseus’ territory, screening the surrounding bush for any sign of him but then the wind changed and I decided to circle around the area that he favors so that I could approach it from the river’s side. In the process I spooked two warthogs and, disappointingly, they burst through the bush – in the direction of where I hoped Odysseus was. And as I turned around to continue with my walk towards the river I saw a bushbuck male under a tree about 90 yards away. It was not Odysseus – I knew that immediately because the ram that was staring at me was still a young one. But even though he was not big – trophy-wise he was beautiful and before I knew it the Ruger was shouldered and I had him in my sights. He was facing me head-on – not an easy shot at this distance without a rest and with the memory of my botched shot at Odysseus still fresh in my mind I stood there staring at the ram through my scope. “Should I or shouldn’t I?” I asked myself. This was NOT Odysseus, the ram was NOT particularly big and for all practical purposes and intent I had NO reason to shoot him. But… we were running out of game meat in the freezer, we have clients arriving at month-end and they all love Sabina’s roasted leg of Bushbuck… AND… I really was upset about having to dig out those damn leadwood poles…

The thought of the poles made my mind up for me and when the crosshairs came to a standstill on his chest just below his neck, I gently squeezed the trigger. Similar to Odysseus, the ram went down immediately as 300gr of Trophy bonded bearclaw found its mark. This time there was no doubt that it was a good hit but just to be sure I recycled the action and kept him in my scope until he lay still.

It was by no means a big ram and I have to admit that I felt slightly guilty about taking him as another year or two would have seen him grow an inch or two. But I enjoyed hunting him, it was a good clean kill, we would have meat in the freezer again and my faith in my Ruger and my own shooting abilities had been restored. Getting back home that afternoon with a dead bushbuck poached from “her” side of the ranch was of course another story and one best left to be told on another day…

PART III – The conclusion

OK, so there I was with (this time) a dead bushbuck and my elation and pride in my own shooting abilities slowly made place for the reality of having to return back home and face “her”. See, Sabina is not anti-hunting: She is just “anti-killing” and believes that nothing should be killed without a reason. Hunting and killing for food, conservation and for purpose of having a mounted trophy is OK but she dislikes the concept of killing just for fun. Well, I hadn’t tested her feelings on killing for revenge (which to a lesser degree this was) so it was quite clear that I couldn’t get back home and tell her I killed one of “her” bushbuck because I had to take out freaking leadwood poles. Look, I knew I would be in trouble for having hunted on her part of the ranch and there was nothing I could do about that. But the question now was for what reason did this pretty (and rather young) bushbuck die?

Well I waited and waited… but the horns of the dead bushbuck at my feet would not grow longer than any of the ones that I had shot before. Clearly I would not be able to convince her that I shot the bushbuck for its trophy-sized horns so that excuse was out.

And whilst there are LOTS of bushbuck on the property I didn’t think I would really be able to get away with the excuse that my killing of the bushbuck was part of a culling exercise in order to support the conservation of the species…

Having killed the bushbuck for its meat might have cut it. Only… there were clients arriving at month-end and they would surely kill enough animals to supply us with game meat for quite a long time. Anyway, most clients enjoy venison but they REALLY like to eat the venison of the animals that they had hunted themselves…

And then I thought back to the advice that fellow AR members were so kind to offer – especially the bit about bushbuck being dangerous and all that… And that they have been known to charge hunters, dogs, vehicles etc… So I summed up the situation:

1.      The bushbuck was facing me head-on when I shot it so in theory it “could” have been charging me… (might be difficult to explain how you shoot something from the side through the rib cage if it were busy charging you)

2.      OK, the shot was taken from about 90 yards – not 10 or 20 as in a real charge but after all – she was no ballistics expert and wouldn’t be able to determine the actual shooting distance…

3.      And the thought occurred to me that I might be able to pull this one off…

So I made the traditional “boeksak” (carry case) of the animal by cutting through the sinewy part of the front legs and pushing the back legs through the holes and I swung the dead bushbuck over my shoulder for the walk home…

She was standing on the veranda watching me – right there by the DAMN leadwood poles as I approached the house and I have to admit that I was feeling rather sheepish as I walked past her to the skinning facilities with the bushbuck over my shoulder (kind of reminded me of being summoned to the headmaster’s office when I was still in school) and I ended up spending more time at the skinning shed than what was necessary.  Then, just as I finally gathered the courage to go and face her, she miraculously appeared in the doorway. She had a knowing smile on her pretty face and in her pretty hands she was holding… wait for this… two Gin & Tonics!!!

“Oh darling!” she exclaimed; “look at the horns on that animal!” that could really hurt you if he were to charge you couldn’t it…?” and then: “I’m sure you shot this one so that Odysseus would have enough food to eat and that this younger one wouldn’t take over his territory didn’t you?” AND THEN: “This is SO great – we were running out of meat in the freezer so at least now we have some again!”

Boy was I flabbergasted? Who was this lady and what had she done with Sabina?! Itb also really threw me when she said: “Please remember to bring me the liver and I’ll cook it for us tonight – with onions and bacon – just the way you like it…”

Well, we had Bushbuck liver that evening for dinner. And the following nights we had… Bushbuck in garlic, Bushbuck in sherry cream, Bushbuck in the oven, Bushbuck on the braai… and guess what we had tonight? … BUSHBUCK stroganoff!  And while I was sitting there… trying my best to pretend that I was enjoying bushbuck meat for the 5^th night in a row… Sabina lifted her glass and casually said: “Cheers to your Bushbuck – it really is a pity we don’t have Eland over here, isn’t it? …”

THE END

Lady Walker…

We decided to name our two new Jack Russels after a well known Scotch Whiskey: “Johnny” & “Walker”. And since the name “Johnny” doesn’t really suit a female, my dog ended up with the name “Walker”…

From the outset, Johnny turned out to be the more intelligent of the two dogs and was the first to sit, stay and lie down on command. Walker on the other hand was different and quite frankly still doesn’t really listen to the basic commands… She would stay when you commanded her to: “sit”, “stay” or “come” and she would come when… well when you had food or some treat for her… In spite of this though; Walker was special. OK, not exactly special in a “quick to learn” kind of way… Maybe more special as in a “missing chromosome” kind of way but special nonetheless…

As I grew up in a home where dogs were to stay outside and guard the property as opposed to lounging around inside the house and being under one’s feet night and day; I do not particularly care for dogs inside the house and I have a real dislike in lapdogs. And with Sabina’s constant attention Johnny soon became just that… a real lapdog that always wanted to be picked up and cuddled. Walker on the other hand was exactly the opposite and found it far more interesting to run around on the ranch hunting anything from butterflies to ostriches and paying very little attention to her owners or anything else for that matter.

Needless to say; very soon my dog’s willingness to show affection to everyone (the gardener, the mailman and practically all visitors) other than myself became a regular and sometimes humiliating topic of discussion when friends or guests were visiting… And over time “Walker” became “Miss Walker” – so named by one of our guests.

Sadly, Johnny made the mistake of wandering onto the neighbor’s property one fateful afternoon and for some reason only known to the neighbor he elected to shoot the poor little puppy (another very sad story best left untold for now…) which left us with only 3 dogs – De La Rey the Ridgeback, Donna the German Sheppard and Miss Walker the Jack Russel.

Yet, while Miss Walker might not be of much use as a tracking dog; she has proven herself to serve a different and very useful purpose in our household …

On the first occasion we were visiting a friend (whom we’ll call Lou) at his game lodge in the North West Province. We were sitting next to the fire in his boma when sudden movement of Miss Walker (who was as usual not lying next to the fire with us but instead busy inspecting her new surroundings some distance from us). Sabina was the first to see what had startled Walker and casually said: “Darling, there is a snake”. I have to admit; this is something that has always impressed me about my European wife… Unlike many other women who would jump onto tables and start screaming in circumstances such as these, she always remains calm and collective… She called Walker and surprisingly Walker came! It seemed that she instinctively new that this was a dangerous situation.

Anyway; Lou (armed with a spade) and I approached the Puff Adder cautiously. What followed was a combination of excitement and comedy as Lou (who was obviously terrified of the snake just stood there, frozen cold with the spade in his hand. “Steek hom!” I exclaimed. “J-j-j-aaa,” he stammered; “Ek wag net vir ‘n kans… mens moet hierdie goed reg steek of hy byt jou”. In the meanwhile; the puff adder decided not to hang around and started moving further inside the boma. Lou finally decided to have a go at the snake but instead of stabbing the snake, he gently dropped the spade on the back part of its body – an action that of course didn’t exactly impress the puff adder which wielded around in a threatening fashion before changing direction and disappearing behind a washing-up basin and table next to the boma’s reed wall… We were faced with a small problem now: The snake was behind the basin and there was only a small gap between the basin and the wall through which we could still see it – when standing on top of the basin; but we couldn’t reach it with the spade anymore. The only option was to try shooting it and I used my 9mm to perform this function – which thankfully put an end to the excitement...

The second incident occurred just last night…

Most of the family; de la Rey, Donna, Carrinno the African Grey parrot, Sabina and I were in the living room. I say “most of the family” because, as usual, Miss Walker was… “missing”. Well, not “missing” in the true sense of the word – she was actually sleeping on her usual place next to our bed in the bedroom... So there we were… Donna on the Zebra skin, de la Rey on the Impala skin, Carrinno in his mom’s lap and Sabina and I enjoying an ice cold glass of Jeripico in remembrance of her father who had passed away on this exact same day – now – 25 years ago…

We suddenly heard a sound – almost like a book falling – coming from the direction of the bedroom and as I instinctively looked towards the bedroom I saw Walker in the doorway looking somewhat confused… The other thing I saw sent cold shivers down my spine as – right next to Walker – was the tail of a…

“SNAKE!” I cried, “Walker COME HERE!” and thankfully Walker made her way towards us… I rushed to get the sjambok and flashlight saying to Sabina in passing: “Keep the dogs away!” Sabina, calm as ever rose from the sofa and picked Walker up into her arms. Armed with my flashlight and sjambok I returned to where I had last seen the snake. By this time it had moved out of the bedroom into the living room and was slithering up the corner of the wall next to my office desk. It was an difficult situation; there was no way for me to reach the snake with my sjambok in its current position and I didn’t want to risk moving the desk as this would mean that I’d have to lose sight of the snake – the species of which up to this point I had not been able to identify. From the little that I could see of its coloring in the flash light and the fact that it was moving around at night time I had reason to suspect that it might be a Mfezi (Mozambique Spitting Cobra) and I was in no mood to get spat at – never mind getting bitten by one of those! “Why don’t you get your gun?” Sabina asked. This option presented two problems: Firstly, it is not exactly recommended to fire firearms inside the house for the risk of ricocheting bullets and secondly, I didn’t want to destroy the wall… But then again – I’d rather shoot a hole in my wall than have a spitting cobra share my house with me AND my pistol was loaded with soft-nosed bullets which minimized the danger of ricocheting bullets… So I fetched the 9mm, took careful aim, hoped for the best and… fired…

A couple of interesting events followed…

On closer inspection; it appeared that my bullet did hit the snake – almost cutting it in two. The only problem was that I was unsure as to whether I had simply shot its tail off or whether it had been a killing shot.

Looking up I found a somewhat comical site. Sabina stood there – totally unfazed with Walker in her arms. But the other two dogs which up to now had been oblivious to what was happening were both standing on top of the sofa looking rather distraught. See; in my excitement I had completely forgotten a very important characteristic of the two big dogs namely that both of them were terrified of gunfire! Carrinno, who up to now had never been exposed to gunshots, was perched on top of de la Rey’s head – evidently also not very happy with the situation.

But this was not a time to worry about dogs, parrots and their feelings. There was a more important task at hand i.e. to make sure the snake was dead. So I devoted my attention to the snake again. Feeling reasonably comfortable that I had more or less immobilized it, I carefully moved the desk away to get a better look… My initial suspicions were right – it was a Mfezi but it was still very much alive. I put down my pistol and got hold of the sjambok. The snake was still partially hidden behind the desk but I nevertheless had a go at it with the sjambok – forgetting in the process that all our family pictures were hanging on the wall next to me and underestimating the length of the sjambok. When the first stroke at the snake didn’t have the desired effect I hit it again and again – and again! All I could hear was picture frames crashing as with each downward stroke of the sjambok I managed to hit another picture from the wall – the snake (par the fact that its back was broken by the bullet) was however left  unscathed.

When I realized that this strategy was not working, I finally managed to pull the snake out in the open where I had a clear shot at it and so ended its torment with a final blow of the sjambok.

At last I had an opportunity to evaluate the damage…It did rather look as if a small hurricane had hit the area where the battle with the snake took place… save the dead snake, seven  picture frames had fallen victim to my wild tirade and were lying scattered on the floor. Six of the picture frames were salvageable but one was not… And whether this was coincidence or not I’ll never know, but there – right next to the snake, and the only frame that didn’t make it, was a very special one… the one that was carrying a picture of… Mr. Harry Friedauer – well known German actor, singer, entertainer and also Sabina’s late father… whose life and death we happened to be celebrating before the snake’s invasion…

Sabina gently put Miss Walker down and took the sjambok from me. Then, solemnly she lifted the sjambok and softly touched first Walker’s left shoulder and then her right with the sjambok’s tip and said: “Miss Walker, by the powers vested in me I knight thee… From henceforth thou shall be known as Lady Walker, protector of the Troskies and Sabrisa Ranch.”