Antelope Hunt in Northern South Africa

by Per B. Kristensen
Malling, Denmark

Go to
ERIC CHING'S DIRECTORY or ERIC'S HUNTING TRIP REPORT

Summary Hunting Report

Arrival

We had just arrived: My friend and hunting partner Erik, our wives and myself. After settling in our quarters and checking our rifles’ zeroes (70 meters!), our PH, Schalk, suggested that we take a trip into the area surrounding the camp. It was late afternoon and the sun was descending when we left the camp together with our wives and the skinners, Philmont and Jann. Erik and I were both surprised when Schalk told us to bring our weapons. “The one who is to shoot first loads with three rounds and makes safe.” Erik and I had not at all discussed who was to shoot first, as we had not expected any hunting on our day of arrival. Anyway, I took the hunter’s seat next to Schalk, who drove the four-wheel-drive jeep.

The landscape was fantastic. It was winter all right, but to us Scandinavians it was summer. The chill came very quickly, but we didn't notice it as we slowly drove though the meter-high dry savanna grass. We approached the plateau--we could see it from the camp--and the road more and more assumed the character of a bad mountain track. We now drove in shadow and dusk was falling over the area.

I heard something “happen” some distance away on the plateau side, but I hadn't seen anything yet when Schalk stopped the jeep and asked me to follow him. We’d taken only three steps, I’d guess, when he points to some brushes on the plateau side and says, “SHOOT.”

I find the objective in my telescope but all I see is a big gray shadow passing from right to left. Before I'm aware of what I'm aiming at the order is repeated: “SHOOT.” All my knowledge of free trajectory and similar matters was set aside as I fired into the wilderness, aiming at a greater kudu.

It had to be a miss, and so it was. Philmont and Jann had both seen and heard the bullet hitting the rocks. Of course we searched for tracks, but we found no blood or spoor.

The mood on our way home was somewhat depressed and fairly quiet. The hunt had truly begun, but it had been without success. Success met us, however, when Schalk's wife, Terina, served us a meal of wildebeest beef and pasta a la Lasagna. A marvelous meal.

We had bought a package hunt containing six trophies (see Hunting Report). When Erik and I discussed it back home before we left for South Africa, we doubted that it was possible. Seven hunting days and six trophies: it sounded too good to be true. To myself I decided to be satisfied with three trophies, which I found achievable--but we were to learn better.

Day 1

We set forth at about 8 o'clock. The morning air is cold and clear. We head for an area owned by Schalk's father. It is situated approximately 20 km from the camp, so we are heavily "ventilated" in the open jeep.

Today Erik is to shoot first, and our expectations rise as we slowly drive through the bush. We have not gone far before Schalk signals to Erik to get out of the jeep. A herd of kudu has been observed! Philmont points and indicates the distance. They stalk in a wide curve and conclude that it is a female.

The area turns out to be very rich in game. During the morning several antelope species and warthogs are seen. Erik and Schalk stalked the bush many times during the morning, but without any luck. A long hunt for a warthog turns out negative. Not until 11 o'clock do we observe a large group of impalas. Erik and Philmont go for them. Shortly thereafter we hear a shot followed by the unmistakable sound of the bullet’s impact. The first animal of the hunt--a grand impala--had been brought down.

After a well-deserved lunch and a little nap we are ready again. Erik and Schalk take off to the plateau. They see both blesbok and eland, but they are not within shooting range. Together with the junior hunters, Waynand and Jason, and skinner/tracker Philmont, I returned to the area where we started out in the morning. We were going for impalas. It was late when Philmont saw a large herd. We stalked to get nearer, decided on the largest buck, and tried to split the herd. The area was fairly "hunting friendly," range about 70 m, and suddenly it was there, standing alone. The shot bangs and the animal is knocked down on its side, instantly dead.

After the obligatory photo session we head for home after an eventful day. Taking the last turn in the road before the camp we see the flickering light from "the Bushman's Color TV"--the indispensable campfire--and shortly thereafter we are enjoying the equally indispensable Castle beer while we warm ourselves by the fire. A lovely ragout of gemsbok and eland puts an end to a perfect day 1: Two impalas taken.

Day 2

We rose early, had a quick breakfast, and departed at 7 o'clock to Schalk's father's area. I am to shoot first today. We are not after anything special, but hope for kudu or wildebeest. During the nice journey through the area we pass several flat plains scattered with bushes. Here we have shots at ranges up to 100m, between thickets. We had not been there long--the clock says 8.30 a.m.--when Schalk stops and signals to me. After a short stalk it is there: a herd of blesbok. The herd seems a bit disorganized. Most of the animals have left, but "the old one" remains. He is a very handsome blesbok with characteristic hanging ears and beautiful head markings.

Schalk has arranged the shooting sticks and the rifle lies perfectly. "Take your time," he whispers, while I take an extra breath. The cross hairs are on the shoulder and the shot bangs. The animal is obviously knocked down, tries to stand up, but surrenders. The blesbok died before we reached it. The congratulations were overwhelming and a well-deserved morning beer wet our whistles.

The remaining hours of the morning were one long sightseeing trip in the beautiful countryside. We saw many animals, but they were out of shooting range.

During lunch, where we enjoyed Terina's delicious wildebeest sausages together with a cold, foaming beer, Schalk went over the schedule for the afternoon. Erik and Schalk would go to the plateau, and Waynand and I would head for a water hole to catch a warthog. Our ladies accompanied us.

Erik's afternoon was indeed successful. The weather was nice and they had a good view from the plateau. They spend most of the afternoon searching the bush through binoculars, and suddenly something moved below the plateau. They climbed over a few cliffs, and while Schalk prepared the shooting sticks, Erik gets ready to shoot. They exchange a few words regarding the distance and the fall down to the plain. Erik aims and shoots. The kudu falls, rises again, and on the second shot it lies still. A fine kudu bull with 53-inch horns. The next day's distance check confirms the range to be 248 meters. A fine shot.

The skinner is called in and Schalk, Erik, and his wife climb down from the plateau, a very tough and hard trip. (Later on, Erik and Schalk have a discussion regarding range distances. Erik was of the opinion that if Schalk wants a zero of 70 m he ought to refrain from suggesting a sighting point, as it must be assumed that the hunter knows his weapon and the bullet's ballistics better than the guide. Erik's first shot was situated in the foreleg just below the shoulder and Erik meant that Schalk's sighting point was far to low; something tell me he was right.)

I, my wife, and Waynand spend the hours from 2 to 6 p.m. in a hideout made out of 7-8 acacia bushes. I released no bullets, but it was a fantastic nature experience. We saw a warthog through the binoculars, but the sex determination was too difficult, and Waynand kept whispering "wait, wait." And we waited. While we were waiting a parade of wild animals marched very close past. A duiker almost put its nose right into my hand in its curiosity; amazing. Although I didn't shoot anything, this was probably the most impressive nature experience of the whole week.

In the camp Terina spoiled us with yet another nice dinner: roast lamb with rice and salad, and a high calorie caramel pudding.

Day 3

Another day that will not be forgotten. We start out with the usual stalk in the bush. We see both gemsbok and a fine eland. (Unfortunately, eland is not on our program). We take a long break to admire the herd: two big bulls, five hinds and three calves.

From the plateau we observe a large herd of wildebeests, probably the herd that we saw earlier. There is an enormous bull in the herd, a really big one. Our minds tell us "some day we have to go for it." We spend an hour stalking for warthog with no result.

On our way home I'm in the "hot" seat, and I've actually started to look forward to lunch when I spot a gray shadow with a pair of enormous "corkscrews" approximately 40m through the bush. I sign to Schalk who is driving. He is very quick in his judgment. Without leaving the jeep he says, "shoot." Through the binoculars it all looks like one big gray mass, but in between branches and bushes there is an opening that I estimate to be very close to the shoulder. The "corkscrews" also guide me. I swing my legs out of the jeep, take a few steps and shoot. The kudu is killed on the spot. PH Schalk is wild with joy and as happy as the shooter, which is to say, very happy.

Although an euphoric atmosphere carries everybody away, the sight of the proud but dead animal causes a feeling of depression. My wife takes a solitary walk with a beer and a soothing cigarette. After all, she has observed the entire event, and was perhaps a bit too close to find it "exciting." We came in the small jeep, so Schalk drives home to the camp to get a bigger truck with a winch. He returns with wife and dogs, so there is a festive mood when the skinners pull the kudu into the truck bed.

The following lunch was very good, especially as Terina had fried the liver from Erik's kudu. A nice, very strong tasting and satiating meal. The afternoon was a bit short, or perhaps the nap was a bit too long. The day brought no more shots but plenty of visual impressions.

Our chat around the fireplace that evening was good as always. We had both shot a kudu, which was what we had most wished for on this hunt. Our satisfaction was only stimulated as Schalk told us that three American hunters also going for kudus had not had any success during the two previous weeks. [a curious error, as this photo from my hunt shows otherwise.--Eric Ching] Yet another delicious dinner made by Terina: Gemsbok schnitzel with mushrooms and sweet potatoes followed by ice cream and chocolate cake.

Day 4

Our day starts a little late. We either got out of bed too late or turned in too late. In our "diary" there is a remark insinuating "enough beer!!"

Erik, his wife Bodil, and PH Schalk have taken cover in a blind in order to get within shooting range of a warthog. They see hogs, but only females and their offspring. They enjoyed the same scenery as my wife and I had on that spot.

Waynand and I are going directly after the huge herd of Wildebeest. We search all morning without finding them. After lunch we all take off to the area around the camp. Within a short time we get in contact with a herd of about 20 zebras. Erik and Schalk try to stalk in on them without success. It is clear that they have sensed the danger, as they gallop away. We turn towards the wind and try to find the herd again, and we do find it, but our luck fails. The herd smells a rat and disappears with vociferous whinnying. We let them get away today, but we might return.

On our way home we see three warthogs, and Erik and Schalk try to get within shooting range but fail. Although the trophy wall is empty today the atmosphere around the campfire is very cozy this evening. Everybody is participating and the socializing fulfills the day.

This day Terina served chicken with stuffed yellow squash, and mint cakes for dessert. Tomorrow's schedule means early breakfast, as we are going to a new area about 40 km from the camp. There is not enough room in the jeep so the ladies will have a welcome resting day.

Day 5

On our way to this day's hunting ground the conversation was lively. Erik and I agreed that he was to shoot first and that his animal should be bagged before 9:15 a.m. and that I should deliver the next animal before 10:30 a.m. Utopian talk and, of course, the morning didn't go that way. It was an exciting area, very much unlike what we had previously seen. We were told that normally there was no hunting on the land; that seemed promising. There ought to be a very huge hunting potential. It proved to be true.

After a short but hectic stalk, Erik had a perfect shot at a nice gemsbok. It was killed on the spot. However, he received a remark as he had overstepped his time schedule by one hour.

After a few hours' search we had a second contact with the gemsbok herd. Schalk and I tried to get closer, but it was as if the herd felt "spotted," because it mingled with a herd of giraffes. Now we were in a mess. Under no circumstances would we hurt the giraffes, so the shot would have to be perfect. Schalk pointed out an animal for me to shoot, but due to the many giraffes there was no evident shooting line. We continued to wait, the rifle on the shooting sticks. Schalk's patience was obviously shorter than mine, so he ordered a shot at the buck between the legs of one of the giraffes. "But don't shoot the giraffe," he exclaimed.

Actually, it was no problem, as the buck was standing perfectly sideways. The trajectory wasclear--and it had to be so--although the herd of giraffes was pretty busy getting away when the shot banged. It was a fascinating view when the proud giraffes left the site in great uproar with their strange slow gait.

We enjoyed our packed lunches while the skinners butchered the two animals, both fine trophies. The afternoon was reserved to a couple of zebras if we could find them. Some small herds had been observed during the morning so it didn't seem impossible.

A high-voltage line under which the land had been cleared left a nice long and broad track intersecting the area. This was the first time we had a range longer than 100 m through the savanna. However, it was not here that Erik would kill his zebra. The animal didn't seem to accept its fate immediately; it flew into the bush. Later we found out that the shot had hit the shoulder perfectly, passing through both lungs and heart. The original position of the zebra was easy to find and our very competent tracker Jann quickly found a drop of blood--the size of a pea--and then another, and another, and so it went for about 75 m until large lumps of lung guided us further. The animal had walked for about 150 m before it collapsed. A grand Burchells zebra with the characteristic brown markings was killed by a good shot.

It was late in the afternoon when Schalk observed yet another herd of zebras, and we tried to approach them, but the herd disappeared when we arrived at the spot. This was not the time. The scoreboard for the day showed two gemsboks and one zebra.

Day 6

Erik and PH Schalk searched in Shalk's father's area but didn't get within shooting range. They saw many animals but they were too small. They rescued a kudu calf from dying. It had been abandoned by the mother and had scratches already.

Later on Erik and Jason tried to hit a warthog, but with no success. Waynand, my wife, and I searched for the wildebeest herd. After an hour we found it. We left the jeep and started a stalk that turned out to last for over 3 hours. We had just approached them when we heard a sneeze and the entire herd was on its way. However, we got a good look at them as they flew and we had time to spot a very large bull, so the hunt must go on. We inspect a large area. We are reckoning the wind and try again. The temperature has reached +25°C causing sweat to run into ones eyes and making funny floods down one’s glasses. We hear them, but we cannot see them, and we walk softly ahead. Softly is putting it a bit strong, because you feel that the savanna grass crushes under your feet like small firecrackers, and Waynand's order to follow up closely turns into a joke when the acacia thorns grab your cap.

We are close now. Really close. We almost feel their breath. Waynand has prepared the shooting stick. I can see "the big bull"--I believe--but Waynand shakes the binoculars a couple of times and says, "Wait, I can't see the horns." Meanwhile I have positioned the rifle in the shooting sticks. I have the animal in cross hairs, a snort is heard, and the entire herd is galloping away. We have not lost our courage, so after a short rest we approach the herd once again.

The story repeats itself, with the difference that after more than 1 hour of intense stalking we become aware that the wind has turned 180 degrees; the game is over.

Terina's dinner has to make the party. Today it’s wildebeest stroganoff and rice. Delicious. No animals taken today, but a very adventurous day nevertheless.

Day 7

Our schedule tells us that Erik is going for warthog and I--make a guess--for wildebeest. We dropped Erik off by a dried out watering place to wait for a warthog. He observes many animals from his hideout, e.g., impala and kudu, but they are all female. But patience is rewarded. Just before lunch the warthog appears and Erik kills it.

Waynand and I repeat yesterday's success. We're stalking for three hours before we have contact with the wildebeest herd and we manage to get as near as 30 m. We can "feel them," and again Waynand is shaking the binoculars; he says nothing. We try to get in visual contact, but we do not succeed. The fact that they were there is confirmed by the noisy uproar when they disappear.

After lunch we take along our wives. They bring no luck. We saw many animals, but not in our reach. As the last hunting day is coming up, Terina has prepared a grill evening. The atmosphere has a special touch when we gather round the fire, with howling jackals and a "near" full moon to light up the night. We have a barbecue of meat from various games, and to go with it Terina has made pasta salad and garlic bread. One Warthog is on today’s scoreboard.

Day 8

It is our last day, so we are energetic. PH Schalk, Waynand, Jason, Philmont, and Jann...yes, we are all there as we go around the bush for the last time. We take off with the intention of hitting a wildebeest!!

However, Waynand and I go for a warthog. We get in touch with a small herd and we can "feel" it. They slip away a couple of times, but after a short while the hog rests only 30m away--I don't know why. Its behind is facing us, though. Waynand has prepared the shooting stick; "Shoot," he whispers, and I reply, "But I can't shoot it right in the a…!!" "Shoot," he whispers again, and I reckon, "Well, well, if it has to be." I let the bullet go.

That hog has never been as scared as in that moment. The bullet hit the ground below it and the earth sprayed up underneath it, and he ran like hell. Disoriented and at full speed he is coming right towards us. I pulled my rifle out of the sticks and had another go while the hog passed at high speed. I catch it to my left and I fire the second shot. The silence is profound and I proudly tell Waynand that "it's right over there."

We seek intensively, but it is not to be found. Philmont and Jann are in a state of resignation until Waynand slowly walks in the direction of the shot towards the point of impact. At a distance of about 25m a thick branch is hanging down vertically. He touches it carefully; this fresh wound has caused the miss.

We sneak home to lunch, a huge burger and a nice cold beer. After a nap we are on the road again. Waynand and I are leaving for the dried out water hole and we arrange ourselves (not without scrapes) in an acacia tree. Even the stem is loaded with long thorns. We have not been there long before a huge hog with three offspring show up. Waynand whispers that normally a family includes a father, so we are waiting for him. The small family prowls about and at some point they are right beneath out tree. Strange that they do not catch our smell. We have waited approximately an hour when the "godfather" arrives. He is not at all "pretty" and on top he is missing 2 cm of his right tooth. Waynand and I discuss whether to be satisfied with him or to wait for a bigger one. We agree that this is our last chance, and shortly afterwards he remains dead on the field: a fairly big warthog with a nice set of teeth.

We visit the taxidermist on our way home, and we file in our orders on the various trophies. Afterwards we admire his huge collection.

Well, at home Terina is waiting with springbok pie, sweet potatoes, rice and salad. Chocolate mousse for dessert. We evaluate by the campfire. Erik shot a kudu, a zebra, a gemsbok, an impala and a warthog. I brought down a kudu, a blesbok, a gemsbok, an impala, and a warthog. Five trophies each: the package hunt proved right.

Besides the trophies we had had an exceptional week with fantastic experiences in the wilderness. A loveable and unsurpassed staff and extremely good food. Enjoyable evenings by the campfire. How can anybody expect more on a first trip to South Africa?! (Hopefully not the last trip.)

After an intense and successful week we send kind thoughts to our gunsmith, Bjarne Pedersen at "Nystrøm og Krabbe" Aarhus, who made a caliber .300 Win. Mag. especially for Erik and a .358 Norma Mag. for me.