Fun and Frustration

After way too much anticipation and lots of last minute stress about my gun, my Blackpowder deer hunt arrived. I hopped into the truck with a friend heading to the same area early Tuesday morning and we were off. The hunt opened Wednesday morning but I wanted to allow plenty of time to ride the horses into the remote spot I was planning on hunting. I guess the mid-day heat and trailer full of horses was too much for his truck and we broke a serpentine belt and had the radiator overheat just a few hours into our trip. Although it only took a couple hours to get a new belt put on, it seemed like forever and it was all I could do to keep from totally freaking out. We got to the trail head later than I had planned and ended up not making it to the spot I had hoped to be on opening morning. On the bright side, another friend of mine who was in the area hunting bears took a nice boar that evening. We rode to his bear in the dark, took pictures, and skinned and packed it out on the horses on a very dark moonless night. I didn't go to bed until after 1:00 am.

Opening morning I decided to put in a couple hours in a nearby spot, and then I figured we would come back to camp and pack up the horses and ride in the rest of the way. I saw some elk and a 2 point buck, but not much else so I headed back to camp to pack the horses.

After a long ride I made it to my desired destination and got the horses settled Wed. night at about 6:30 pm. I was almost out of light and I hurried out to see if I could find any bucks. Right off the bat I spotted what I could tell from a distance were 2 nice bucks feeding in a little patch of sagebrush. I planned a stalk and before I knew it I was right above where I had last seen them. I couldn't see anything so I wondered if they had smelled/heard me and taken off? Suddenly a buck stood up and looked right at me. It was a nice buck, but the smaller of the 2 so I waited. A couple seconds later the bigger buck stood up. He was really really heavy with deep forks, even though it was only the opening day I didn't hesitate and I raised my gun and took a bead.

I have my rifle sighted in to hit a couple inches high at 100 yards, right on at 150. At 50 yards it actually shoots almost 4 inches high. Couple that with the steep downhill angle, brush covering the bottom half of the buck, and probably more than a little bit of buck fever and I watched in disbelief as my bullet kicked up a puff of dust right above the back of the massive old buck. The bucks bolted, but stopped at a couple hundred yards and waited around taunting me as I tried to hurry and reload my muzzleloader. Just as I got my second shot ready to go, they were gone.

I pulled out my rangefinder and I felt sick to my stomach that I had missed a monster buck at only 65 yards! I can still almost cry if I think about it too much.

The next morning I hoped I might turn him up again, but didn't find him. I had his buddy the smaller buck, a 26-27" wide 4 point with huge backs and tiny fronts come within 80 yards of me, but I held off hoping the heavy guy would show up. He didn't.

Over the next couple days I glassed and passed multiple bucks, some that were pretty decent. I made a stalk to within 25 yards of this young 4 point, but let him go. Even after I stood up and busted him, he circled back to 75 yards to have another look at me and let me snap his photo.

After a morning of glassing a beautiful basin and watching a bull elk chase his cows around I was headed back to camp to let my horse eat and to escape the record heat wave afflicting my area.

While walking back I jumped a buck even bigger than the one I had missed earlier. He stopped at about 80 yards and looked back over his shoulder. I had a dead rest on a tree and the crosshairs right on his back rib when I squeezed the trigger. I heard the loudest "CLICK" I have ever heard. It was too much for the buck and he ran into the bottom of a deep thick canyon. The bolt on my rifle had made a good dent in the 209 primer, but it had failed to go off. The primer was a DUD! I had to watch a 190 class buck with beautiful deep forks bound away wondering what I had done to deserve this kind of karma!

The next day I had a black bear walk to within 5 yards of me before we both startled and he took off. I saw multiple bear tracks, and even took photos of one through my spotting scope.

I enjoyed the country and had a couple more frustrating encounters with big bucks, including a standoff with the heavy buck from opening day at 35 yards. There was a boulder between us and all I could see was a perfect view of his antlers. After several days of hard hunting in the sweltering heat I am sure I was pretty ripe and he could smell me. We both waited to see who would make the next move. He moved, taking just the right path to stay out of sight as he stotted down a ridge into the thick oakbrush where I would never see him again.

It had been beautiful, and I had seen lots of nice animals with chances to take several decent bucks, but it had just never come together on any of the big ones.


My friend showed up with the pack horse and we loaded camp up Saturday after the morning hunt. I headed for home feeling frustrated and discouraged. Right at noon a we jumped a couple bucks right on the trail. I hopped off the horse, grabbed my gun and walked up the hill where they had ran. To my surprise they bucks were just standing there. Without really thinking I took aim at the biggest of the two and pulled the trigger half expecting to miss. Well, as Murphy's law would have it I nailed him and he rolled back down the hill coming to a rest right on the trail.

It was probably close to 80 degrees, so we did the best we could to get the meat taken care of and packed onto the horse. That and several other horse related delays didn't let me get home Saturday night as planned, and I didn't make it home until Sunday afternoon. Nothing went quite like I planned, but I did have a good time.

I still wish I could have put the pieces together on one of the bigger bucks I had seen, but there is always next year...

Finding Mr. Right

I got really lucky and ended up with a great mule deer tag this year. My hunt starts the end of September and man summer seems to be flying by! I have been lucky enough to be out in my hunting area a little bit over the last couple weeks and have seen some great looking deer. I am still hoping to find something a little bigger, but here are some of the better looking bucks I have found so far.

Oryx Oryx Oryx!!!

My Dad told me stories of how tough Oryx are to kill, and how delicious they are to eat. I was lucky enough to learn both of those lessons firsthand. Oryx or Gemsbok as they are also called, have striking black and white faces, heavy front shoulders, thick neck, a long hairy tail, and long straight black horns. Ken took the first Oryx of our trip. He shot his bull on a steep hillside in thick brush. The bull spotted us and started to run, he stopped for a second thinking he was hidden in the brush. The moment of truth arrived as we all heard the click of a firing pin hitting an empty chamber, in this instance that click seemed louder than the expected gunshot would have been. It was quickly followed by a mumbled "s**t" and a furious racking of the bolt on Kens rifle and a fantastic high shoulder/spine shot that dropped the bull in his tracks. We got a flat tire trying to get the truck closer to the bull so we wouldn't have to drag the beast so far.

A couple days later we found ourselves glassing from the top of a rocky hill. I was blown away by the views of the Kalahari stretching out in front of us. Big open plains with islands of brush covered mountains in between.


We saw a herd of springbok down in the open plains, and George and Albert spotted a lone Oryx on the next mountain over. It saw us and went over the top of the hill and out of sight before we had much time to size it up. We got in the Land Cruiser and drove down off our mountain, and around to the back side of the mountain where we had seen the oryx. I spotted it standing perfectly still in the shade of an acacia tree at 210 yards. I held right on and let one fly. It was a good hit, but the oryx turned and ran uphill like it hadn't been touched. I got nervous and let a couple more bullets loose at the running oryx. It again crested the mountain, and we hurried and drove back around to the other side. I went into the thick brush with George and Alfred and watched this tough old beast still sitting up finally take its last few breaths and expire. The first shot had penetrated the front shoulder and gone through lung, liver, and exited on the opposite side of the animal, the second running shot hit right at the base of the tail, a Texas heart shot. Not my favorite shot ever, but about all I had at game that was running away.

What I thought was an old lone bull, turned out to be an old lone cow. Still she had good horns, and was a pretty trophy, but I was hoping to take a bull. As fate would have it, I ended up being part of taking 2 more oryx bulls on this trip. I took one for our guide when he mistook it for a wounded bull and asked me to shoot. When we discovered that it wasn't the wounded one, he apologized and told me he wouldn't count it against me as he had asked me to shoot. The sunset that night was unreal.

The next day we found the wounded bull we had been looking for, and I finished him as well. He had been hit low in the front left leg, but was still up and moving around. A couple more shots from the .338 and he was finished. 3 for 1 oryx for me this trip, not too bad a deal.

Beautiful animals, tough and delicious. I especially enjoyed the oryx Bushman Fondue. Chunks of oryx meat and bread dough deep fried in a cast iron pot heated over an acacia wood fire.

Big Bore

Since my trip to Africa I have been fascinated (Tristie might say obsessed) with African hunting, especially dangerous game hunting. I would love to go back to Africa to hunt the Big Five (Cape Buffalo, lion, elephant, rhino, leopard).

I have also been fascinated with the rifles used for dangerous game hunting in Africa. While I would love to pick up a classic double rifle in 500 Nitro Express, I just can't quite handle paying in excess of $10,000 for a rifle. The $10,000 dollar models are the bargin bin variety, if you want a really nice Holland and Holland double with engraving and all the bells and whistles you are looking at paying around $150,000. That is a little rich for my blood, but I did decide that I could sell one of my AR-15's and pick up a nice express rifle in a dangerous game caliber. I found a great deal on a CZ 550 Safari Classic in .458 Winchester Magnum and bit the bullet and sold an AR. It was hard letting the AR go, but I have others. Now I am the proud (and sore-shouldered) owner of a big bore dangerous game rifle.

.458 Win Mag is capable of killing anything big enough to die including elephant, rhino, hippo etc. It also kicks a little more than your average deer rifle. This picture shows how the cartridge shapes up compared to a .22 and the venerable .30-06.

Today on the range I decided to see what the .458 would do to a slab of rock. I strained my back lifting an 8" thick slab of rock and then set my camera up to see what would happen. At 50 yards the 500 grain bullet completely penetrated the rock and broke it to pieces.

"I am strictly a heavy-bullet man myself. I cannot abide wounding things that could be simply killed if you used enough gun" Harry Selby, Professional Hunter on Robert Ruark's first safari.

Red Hartebeast

The Red Hartebeast is an interesting looking creature. They seem to like to hang out in the lower grasslands in large herds. All the Hartebeast we saw were extremely skittish and didn't stick around long. My friend Ken took a Hartebeast with some really quick reflexive shooting after we surprised an old bull as we crested a Kalahari dune. After several days of hunting I was beginning to wonder if I would ever have a chance to take a Hartebeast bull. We were moving slowing through the bottom of a wash when our tracker George told me that he had caught a glimpse of Hartebeast in the thick brush.

I got ready, and we kept moving. Suddenly a herd of animals started running across the opening in the bottom of the wash. They looked like red streaks, and I thought that once again I had missed an opportunity at the wary Red Hartebeast. Then I noticed a straggler that had not yet crossed the opening, he hung up as he paused to take a fateful look to see exactly what it was that had spooked the others. I didn't waste any time and I quickly took a shot at 330 yards. It was a hit, but he took off on a dead run. I started to question my shot placement considering the distance and haste with which I had made the shot. We moved to the spot where he had entered the bush, and starting tracking. It is amazing to watch the native trackers work. They seem to track as much by instinct as they do by following sign.

Not long into our tracking I saw some pink frothy lung blood. This was followed by more blood, a drop here, a smear on a blade of grass there, we knew he was close.

The blood lifted my spirits, and I stopped doubting my shot. Soon George and Alfred were waving at me to come to the front and be ready. We saw the old bull walking along, I put another 225 grain slug into his front shoulder at 104 yards. He didn't even flinch. I racked another shell into the chamber and put another one in him.

Finally the tough old Gold Medal bull went down. I was so impressed with the trackers. What a thrilling hunt! In its' own unique way the Red Hartebeast is quite handsome.

Ribs

I still have more I plan on posting about my Africa trip, but in the meantime I had to share these ribs. I have always had an interest in barbeque. By barbeque I mean real barbeque, not just grilling burgers. I have made my own barbeque sauce with a "secret ingredient", and I mix up my own dry rub recipe. I rubbed this rack of ribs Saturday night and let it sit in the fridge overnight. This morning at 8:00 am I put them in my improvised smoker and got the heat set to where it stayed right at 225 F. I opened it up and basted them with ginger ale every couple hours, and at about 3:00 pm after 7 hours of smoking I did one last basting with some barbeque sauce and we sat down to eat at about 3:30. Cornbread muffins with butter and honey and fall of the bone smoked ribs, what a lunch!

Before

After

Kudu, How Do You Do?

The morning of my second day in Africa I woke up at 4:30 am and could not go back to sleep. I spent a couple hours writing and drawing pictures in my journal. I couldn't wait to get back out there and see more of Africa. I figured I could catch up on sleep when I got home. Finally the sun came up and we had a bite to eat before hitting the road. I tried a piece of blood sausage for breakfast, and decided that it definitely wasn't for me. It was all I could do to choke it down without hurling. I relegated myself to safer breakfast fare, homemade white and whole grain bread, marmalade, and cheese. Much better.


Ken had harvested a nice Oryx bull the night before, so it was again my turn to hunt. We saw oryx, kudu, and warthog that I could have shot, but they were all too small. George, our tracker, just kept telling me "young one", which meant it wasn't a good trophy and that I shouldn't shoot. At one point I had my crosshairs on a warthog hiding under a small acacia tree, and I was really close to pulling the trigger. At the last minute George convinced me he was just barely too young, and I let him go. I hadn't fired a shot but I sure got my heart rate up.


We were headed back to the farm for lunch when George spotted a good kudu bull standing like a statue in the shade on a hillside. The bull had us pegged, and there was no way we could get any closer without spooking him. We ranged him at 380 yards. A long shot, but I felt like I could make it. However, I didn't want to risk a poor shot and I decided not to shoot.


George and Hans Peter, our guide, had a heated conversation in Afrikaans about what we should do. Hans Peter told me to shoot the the mountain above and behind the bull to see if it would get him to run downhill closer to us. I was worried that I might be missing my chance, but didn't feel like I had many more options. I shot and the bull ran downhill, but right into a thicket of trees where we couldn't see him. Now what? Hans Peter and George went the rounds again in Afrikaans, and it was decided that I would set up for a shot and George would hike up the hill and try to push the bull out into the open. I ranged the areas where I thought he might come out at 300 yards and I set up to shoot. In just a few minutes George had climbed the hill, and the bull, hearing George, decided it was time to move. When he busted out of the thicket it didn't look like he was going to stop, and I was unsure about taking a running shot at 300 yards. However, I only had a small window to shoot before he was over the hill and gone. When the bull slowed down to look over his shoulder to see what had spooked him, I put a 225 grain .338 Winchester Magnum slug in his front shoulder. He stumbled, and I shot one more time, anchoring him for good.


We hiked up the hill in the heat, and I made my way to my bull. The beautiful spiral horns of the Kudu were one of the factors that had most excited me about hunting in Africa, and I couldn't believe that on only my second day of the hunt I had taken the Gray Ghost of the Kalahari.

There was no getting a vehicle anywhere near my Kudu, so after a few photos, Hans Peter radioed the farm and a group workers showed up to help pack out the animal. They made short work of the task, and we were only about a half hour late for lunch.