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LALIBELAJune 14, 2003 With my .454 solid on target
and its hammer fully cocked, I waited. Mynhard’s
voice in my ear telling me, “Wait . . . wait . . . wait.”
Then, “He’s in the clear! Take
him now! Take him!
Take him!” My Casull
roared and pushed back into my hand sending the Win. 300 gr. JFP toward my
target, with the reassuring sound of a solid hit returning to us.
The massive bull moved away, slowly, as the herd scattered.
He traveled around 50 yards and settled to the ground. Once again, the end of another
successful hunt, I thought. We
watched the bull, expecting to see his head fall to the ground and the spirit in
him leave so we could claim my trophy. What
happened next surprised, no, shocked us. The
bull rose and started to trot away. We
waved for our truck, jumped in, and followed him.
He ran several hundred yards, staggered, and fell again.
Mynhard and I jumped out of the truck and watched.
Again, the bull rose. As we
continued watching, a second smaller bull approached and joined the one we
wanted. The wounded bull ignored
the smaller bull and faced us. Mynhard
told me to set up and take a second shot, when it was offered.
Looking through my scope, I waited.
The large bull turned to face the smaller one, offering a part of his
side to me. He had turned about 45
degrees away from us, facing the smaller bull.
We were around 50 yards from him, and I had gone fully prone.
The shot was a sure thing. I
had my sights about a foot behind his shoulder, angling toward his heart and
lungs. As I squeezed the trigger,
we could hear the sound of a solid hit. Again,
the bull ran off. I glanced at
Mynhard, and his face showed total disbelief. Jumping in the truck, we
followed the bulls. They ran
through a small grove of trees, heading toward a large, open plain.
As we sped up the truck trying to head them off, Mynhard reassured me
that we would get him. “He has been hit hard twice.
Don’t worry.” When we reached the open area,
I saw the smaller bull to my left. He
was looking beyond us. I turned to
my right, seeing the larger bull running. I asked Mynhard, watching the
bull getting smaller and smaller in my binoculars, “Shouldn’t we close the
gap?” I was told, but not completely
reassured, that once the bull reaches the dense brush on the far side that he
would bed down and we could get him. As he approached the far side,
a new bull joined him. They broke
into the brush and disappeared. We
marked the spot and started to close the three-plus miles.
As we got close, Mynhard stopped the truck and told me to grab the .454
and come with him. We walked a
little over 100 yards, when I was told to stop.
Had we found the bull? Edging closer, I saw a bull and
was told, “It was the one that joined the larger bull.”
I could not see the larger
bull. We crawled closer. Mynhard said, “He was there.
If necessary, get ready and take another shot.”
We had not been able to close
the gap as much as I would have liked. We
were about 125 yards away, and I was not comfortable with the .454 at that
distance. Mynhard had carried my TC
Encore with him. I had asked him
for it earlier, thinking I would have only one shot. The large bull stood up,
facing directly at us. He needed to turn his head to make the shot possible. I
needed to place the shot in the center of his chest, as he faced us. Time was passing, and the sun was casting longer shadows.
My thoughts were on the other two times that the bull had risen, he ran.
I whispered to Mynhard what my
plan was, and he said, “I think you must.” As we waited, the bull turned
his head to our left exposing the spot I wanted.
With the cross hairs rock solid, I squeezed the trigger. At the sound of the shot,
Mynhard yelled “My god, Ron, what have you done?” I looked up to see the new bull
jumping, circling, and swinging his head from side to side.
Had I shot the wrong bull? Facing Mynhard, I screamed,
“What?” He smiled broadly and said,
“You killed him. He went down
hard.” As we walked up, I saw the
bull’s massive shoulder and then the bull.
He was still. His spirit had
left, and I had my trophy. We
walked around the bull and could clearly see the three wounds.
The first wound, on his left side, a large ¾-inch hole, centered just
behind his shoulder. The second
wound, also a ¾-inch hole, on his right side, about a foot behind his shoulder
angling toward the kill area. The
third wound was a small cutting hole in the center of his chest. Looking at Mynhard and not
saying what I was thinking, he said, “He should never have gotten up after the
first shot, let alone the second.” Looking again at my bull, none
of my shots had exited his body. “This is a very strong
animal,” Mynhard said. Checking later, we found only
small fragments of the .454 bullets. Once
they had busted through the ribs, they disintegrated.
I had never had that bullet fail before.
This trip started two years
ago, when I submitted my deposit. My
actual flight started last Wednesday, when I flew out of San Francisco
International. The only thing that
can truthfully be said about flying to Africa is that it’s long.
Arriving at my final
destination, Bloemfontein, I was met by my friend and professional hunter,
Mynhard Herholdt and his lovely wife, Frances.
We retrieved my bags and loaded up for the two-hour drive to Vanderkloof,
where I will start my hunt tomorrow. It was at breakfast on the
morning of the 14th that I found out we were going to one of
Mynhard’s ranches to check the zero on my handguns and to look for a massive
blue wildebeest. The guns had
traveled well, and no adjustments were needed.
Driving around the 6,000-hector
ranch is always a pleasure. There
are animals everywhere. At one
point, we were glassing an open plain where there were at least 250 animals and
a minimum of eight different species. At last, we sighted the herd
that included the blue wildebeest. We
could see the one Mynhard wanted me to target. His shoulder was a foot and a
half above the others. After a
short, intense stalk, we reached the point where I could take the first shot
mentioned earlier. My hunt had
begun. Later that evening at the
skinning shed, several townspeople showed up and seemed impressed.
I am writing my notes late at
night, as I cannot fall asleep. A
quick glance out my window shows everything is dark.
My thoughts are urging the night to give up its hold on the darkness and
allow the sun to bring a new day so I can start another hunt. June 15, 2003 We met at 7:00 a.m. for coffee
and rusk. Afterward, we left for an
area near the town of Luckoff, where we will try to take a common blesbok.
Passing through the Luckoff area brought pleasant memories, as I had
started my last African hunt there. Finally, we reached the ranch
where we would hunt. After a slow,
careful drive up a steep, narrow trail, we reached our hunting destination.
We were on a large, open plateau. It
seemed like all of Africa was spread out at our feet.
It did not take us long to find
the herd we wanted. The problem we
faced was that there were over sixty blesbok in that herd as well as zebra,
gemsbucks, and springbok. The mixed
herd had too many eyes. It was
impossible too get close enough for a shot, without being spotted.
Only once were we lucky enough to get in close, but the animal we wanted
was not with them. Rising slightly
to see over a small mound, the blesbok we wanted was standing out around three
hundred yards looking directly at us. Busted.
He turned quickly and was gone. Today is Sunday, and we decided
to take the afternoon off. We will
take a boat ride on Lake Vanderkloof, this evening.
Had a very enjoyable afternoon and am now looking forward to tomorrow’s
hunt for the blesbok, once again. June 16, 2003 This morning started with
breakfast at 7:30. Deon,
Mynhard’s friend, will join us today. We are going to try to ambush
the blesbok. Yesterday’s stalking
method just did not work. The game
plan is to find a spot, set up, and wait. Deon
will take the truck off the mountain so the blesbok will think we left.
Well, it’s a plan; I did not say it was good. Once at the plateau, we drove
around until we found a large, dry water hole.
The depression created the concealment we needed.
We chose a spot where the maximum shot would be around 200 yards.
Deon wished us luck and drove off. We have all heard of the
best-laid plans of mice and men. We
relaxed in the warm morning sun for about 45 minutes.
Then Mynhard said, “Shit, we
are on the wrong side.” The blesbok herd was coming but
on the more open side. We spun
around and dropped to our bellies, then quick-crawled to the other side.
Thankfully, the bottom of the water hole was free from rocks and thorns.
This time, we did not get a chance to clear the shooting lane.
You take what’s given to you, and do your best.
The blesbok were peacefully feeding beyond 300 yards and had no idea we
were there. Sorry, but we had no
shot. It was just too far.
In the last 30 minutes, a wind came up from our left.
As time past, the wind got stronger and the blesbok moved closer.
We watched the blesbok we wanted. He
had moved closer and was framed by two zebras.
The zebras would not interfere with the shot.
Mynhard felt that he was about 250 yards away, a shot that I have taken
before. The wind concerned me. It
was blowing hard from our left. The
blesbok was standing with his rump into the wind. Mynhard told me to find the
spot where the line of his back crossed the line formed by his rear legs. “Place the cross hairs there and squeeze slowly.” The Encore was rock solid on
its bi-pod, as I squeezed the trigger. At
the sound of the gun, the blesbok took three shaky steps and fell to the ground.
We approached the blesbok. I
could clearly see the entry wound. It
was directly through the heart. Mynhard
had paced off the distance at just over our 250-yard estimate.
I am very happy with my blesbok,
a fully mature animal that we, as hunters, were able to overcome its natural
instincts and judgment. While
everything turned out well, I think I will bring a range finder for my next
trip. June 17, 2003 Today was one of those days
that everything should have been perfect. The
weather was just right, with a combination of the sun’s warmth and the
coolness of the wind. I was the
only problem. We did several stalks
on animals, only to have them spot us or we felt we could do better. Late in the day, after a stalk that included a long walk up a
dry creek bed, we were in the perfect spot.
The black springbok we wanted was less than two hundred yards away and
grazing quietly. With the Encore
solid on its bi-pod and the cross hairs on his shoulder, I squeezed the trigger,
knowing that he was mine. The shot
hit a half a meter to his left. That
springbok wasted no time leaving the area.
Mynhard felt that we should end
the hunt for the day and try for a large black wildebeest he was aware of the
next day. While I felt the problem
was with me and not the Encore, I wanted to shoot it at the range before we went
out again. June 18, 2003
After coffee and rusk this
morning, we headed out to the range. While
Mynhard was making a target for me, I noticed a rock about as big as a baseball
down range some hundred yards. I
had cleaned the Encore last evening and needed to fire the weapon.
That rock was a good target and told Mynhard so.
He gave me the go-ahead, and with my .308 solid on the bench, I squeezed
the trigger. The rock exploded into
dust. Mynhard said, “We don’t
need to shoot any more.” With that, we left for the area
where the black wildebeest was. The
black wildebeest is native to South Africa, and while I have taken one before,
it was with a rifle. Trying to take
one with my Encore would be a challenge. The day progressed with a few
stalks but no shots fired. While
walking across an open area, we could hear the grunts and moans of the
wildebeest on the far side of a kopi. We
knew we were close. Mynhard and I
set up in the tall grass on our side of the kopi and waited.
While waiting, I think every small critter in the grass took a bite out
of me. In Africa, if it doesn’t
bite you, it sticks you. At last, the wildebeest came
into view, and we had a chance to look them over.
There were several in that herd that I felt would make a fine trophy.
That is why you let your PH choose the target.
They are able to see the small differences among the animals.
Finally, Mynhard pointed out
the one he wanted me to target. For
those of you who have not seen a herd of black wildebeest, it would be difficult
to understand why I could not stay with the one he wanted.
The animals in the herd are constantly moving. They toss their heads trying to hook one another, shifting
their place in the herd and kicking up large volumes of dust.
The one that Mynhard wanted me to target was finally in the clear.
Well, his body was in the clear but his head was behind another
wildebeest. The wildebeest were
around seventy-five yards away, when I took my shot.
The entire herd moved away, in response to the shot. They traveled around two hundred yards and stopped.
Mynard said, “I cannot see
the one you shot.” While we waited during those
agonizing seconds, the herd moved away leaving one animal behind.
That lone animal walked slowly, side stepped, and then fell to the
ground. Once again, we had a
remarkable trophy. We spent the remainder of the
day searching for a mountain reedbuck, with no luck.
At the end of the day, we bagged our equipment and headed back to the
lodge at Vanderkloof and a fine dinner. June 19, 2003 Breakfast at 7:30 this morning,
and we are on the road heading for the Eastern Cape.
We stopped in De Aar, as I had wanted a Northern Cape auto license for my
jeep back home. Mynhard took care
of that. Now, I have a personal
license, RON-NC. I also needed to buy a new lens
for my camera. The one I brought
quit working. It jammed between 200
and 300 mm and cannot be moved. The
photo shop in De Aar was not able to help but felt that once we got to
Grahamstown, I would be able to find the lens I wanted.
The drive from Vanderkloof to
Grahamstown was pleasant. Mynhard
was great company. He was a wealth
of knowledge on local wildlife and history. Arrived at the hillside camp
after a short stop in Grahamstown, where I was able to buy the lens I needed.
Was very surprised to see the changes.
The ranch was renamed Lalibela, or “for whom the bees have foretold
greatness.” I had not realized
that the main lodge had burned down last year.
Mark Rippon, Rick’s partner, told me that Rick was ordering materials
to rebuild, as the lodge was still smoking.
The complete lodge was rebuilt in 42 days.
The new office building is a restored house that was originally built in
1910. They have also added a new lodge, called Mark’s Lodge.
This lodge sleeps eight people in four individual chalets.
It can be booked as a unit. Great
getaway. Tomorrow, I will start my hunt
in the Eastern Cape. We will try
for a red lechwe, a beautiful impala-type animal.
Mynhard tells me that one with horns in the 28-inch range would be a
great trophy. We will see what
happens tomorrow. Tonight, a few
brandies, dinner, and some great conversation.
Then to bed. June 20, 2003 First thing this morning, we
are on the road. Driving past
Grahamstown toward Fort Benton, we will end up at a ranch near Adelaide.
Howard Ballantyne owns the ranch we will hunt today.
After proper introductions are made, out on the ranch we go.
At once, we start to see red lechwe.
There was a very special lechwe standing off the road some 50 yards. Everyone agreed that he was big, but we are only five minutes
into the hunt. The decision is
mine. I passed.
Never saw him again. The
game plan was to spot a lechwe worthy of a closer look, do a stalk, and see what
develops. That is just what we did. Each stalk we did would produce an animal that spotted us, was
not as big as we thought, or was not in the right spot for a shot.
Around 4:00 p.m., our tracker spotted an animal that we needed to look at
more closely. As we closed the gap,
we went down on our bellies. The
lechwe spotted us and was moving away at 150 yards or so.
Mynhard then whispered in my
ear, “Look to your left.” Coming in from our left,
totally unaware of us, was a mature lechwe out about 50 yards.
Walking slowly, he passed in front of us at 25 yards.
Without further discussion, I fired, hitting him just below the heart.
He jumped and ran off about 40 yards.
I fired another shot. At the
second shot, he fell. We walked up. The lechwe was still trying to stand. Mynhard told me to
finish him with a shot to the heart. With
that shot, he was my trophy at last. While
not the 28-inch animal we had seen earlier, he was a mature lechwe with his
teeth worn down to the gums. His
horns were at least 26 inches long. My
hand could not wrap around the base of his horns. The spot and stalk of this hunt
has made it the most pleasing that I have had on this trip.
A friend of Mynhard’s and
mine, Johan Dreyer, has two ranches for us to try to take a cape bushbuck
tomorrow. On my last trip, we
hunted for bushbuck. While we saw
them after dark, we never had a chance at a shot.
Will see what tomorrow brings. June 21, 2003 First thing this morning, we
drove into Grahamstown where we met Johan and his lady friend, Mary Jean. They led us out to a farm on the far side of Port Alfred.
This farm is located on the Indian Ocean, and the views from the bluffs
above the family home are spectacular. On
the property is a stone structure built in 1880.
It was built as a beacon for ships bound for Ports Alfred and Arthur.
Sorry to say the ports never opened, but the structure still stands in
remarkably sound condition. I met the owners of the ranch,
John and Elizabeth Ford, and their lovely two-year-old daughter, Sara. The Fords are accomplished horse people and directed our hunt
from horseback. I joked to Mynhard
about hunting from horseback and received “The look.” Well, no horseback hunting this trip. We did a few stalks and managed
to get within 10 yards of a mature bushbuck, but we were unable to get a shot
due to the heavy cover. On one
stalk, we were concentrating so hard on a bushbuck, that we never saw the second
one that barked and blew our cover. After the morning hunt, we
drove in to Port Alfred to meet Johan and his friends for lunch.
After a pleasant lunch at a restaurant on the river, we were back on the
road to the second ranch we were to hunt that day. Wendell and Anne Muir own this ranch. Driving up to the Muirs’
ranch, we see a pickup at the side of the road. Turns out, it’s Wendell and
he’s waiting for us. He had
spotted a “magnificent bushbuck.” His
words. He and Mynhard talked for
several minutes, before I was informed that we would drive to the backside of
the hill and do a stalk on the bushbuck. Wendell
would direct us with hand signals, if necessary. Over the next 45 minutes, we
managed, moving slowly, being careful where we placed our feet, to get within
three to four yards of the bushbuck. While
we could see movement from the bushbuck, we were unable to take a shot due to
the heavy cover. The bushbucks did
not see or scent us. They got up
and moved away slowly. I am sure
that they sensed something was wrong. We
could not find an open shooting lane for a shot.
We walked back to our truck and drove back to Wendell. He told us that he had never seen anyone get that close to a
mature bushbuck. The complement was
great, but I would have loved the chance to take a shot.
The rest of the day was spent
watching a clearing where several bushbucks normally showed late in the day.
Sorry to say, they did not use it this evening.
On the drive back to the lodge,
Mynhard told me that he would need to return to Vanderkloof the next morning.
I was to hunt with Rick Van Jyl, one of the owners of Lalibela, for the
remainder of my hunt. June 22, 2003 Mynhard and Collie left this
morning around 10:00, but I was up at 6:30. Sorry, just getting lazy. We filled out the necessary papers for the trophies taken so
far. I will be going out with Rick
and his tracker, Teckie, this afternoon. Rick
and Teckie have been together for the past 18 years.
Neither has hunted for the last several years. Teckie is retiring, and this will be his last hunt.
It was a pleasure hunting with him.
Hopefully, it was a great last hurrah.
Leaving in the afternoon gave me a chance to have more than coffee and
rusk for breakfast. Today, I got to
eat with the nonhunters in camp. Our
breakfast consisted of real scrambled ostrich eggs and a hash made with warthog,
potatoes and onions, eland sausage, and stewed tomatoes.
Top that off with coffee and juice.
What a pleasant way to start the day.
Rick, Teckie, and I left around
3:00 p.m. today. We were on our way
to the Muirs’. Rick’s plan was
to “climb to the top of the hill and see what is on the other side.”
Actually, we planned to drive around and get the lay of the land.
Rick had never been to the ranch. After
all of the proper introductions were done, we drove around the ranch so that
Rick would feel good about coming back for a good hard hunt. Late in the evening, we drove
around Lalibela, taking photos of the animals.
There is no hunting on the reserve.
The only shooting is done with cameras.
The animals almost pose for you. June 23, 2003 Today, we will be going back to
the Muirs’ for the “hunt.” I
have hunted for bushbuck on this hunt, as well as my last hunt, and while I have
gotten close, I have not taken a shot. Luck
does pay a big part in hunting. Heading
out early this morning after a light breakfast, we make our way to the Muirs’.
Rick told the kitchen workers last evening not to prepare lunch for us.
He will take me to a restaurant in Port Alfred. It is one of his
favorites. I know, the hardship of
hunting in Africa. Once at the Muirs’, we spot
the bushbuck that we saw the day before. Rick
felt that he would stay there if not disturbed.
Wendell told Rick about another bushbuck that beds down near a large
water hole. Rick wanted to see and
try for him if he is as big as Wendell says.
We make our way to the water
hole and after a short time, spot the bushbuck.
We will try for him. He is
big. Dropping below a rise in the
ground, we move up the hillside. As
we reach a spot we feel is across the bushbuck, we ease over the rise. Rick spots him first; it takes a few minutes for me to see
him. The bushbuck is about 75 yards
away and bedded down. Once I see
him, I try to get the cross hairs on his shoulder.
For some reason, I don’t feel right with the shot.
The bushbuck looks blurry. I
am not sure of the shot and tell Rick. He
looks through his binoculars and cannot see anything wrong.
I feel the shot is not right and tell him again.
Rick looks at me and tells me to stay where I am and moves off.
After several minutes he motions me forward, and again, I do not feel
good with the shot. Both of us move
down the hillside and try to get into a position where we can see and take a
shot below the bushbuck. By now,
the bushbuck has gotten nervous and has started to move off.
Rick tells me that we need to move off this animal and try another.
We did walk up to where the bushbuck was, and a low clump of grass was
between the animal and me. I am
sure that this small clump of grass was why the bushbuck looked blurry.
I may have been able to make the shot, but I could have missed or wounded
the bushbuck as well. Rick and I were disappointed but knew that my decision was
the only one we could have made. Once we returned to the ranch
house, Rick told me that we would take a break and drive into Bathurst and go to
the Giant Pineapple. It’s an old
barn on a pineapple farm that was converted into a restaurant. Both of us have the African sampler plate.
Very nice. After lunch, we
drive back to the Muirs’ ranch. We
spend the next few hours waiting for the “road” bushbuck to stand and give
me a shot. Late in the day, the
Muirs’ tracker shows himself and the bushbuck bolts off. There is never a shot
offered. As the day draws to an
end, we drive around the ranch and over a ridge where Rick tells the driver to
stop, for no apparent reason, and bails out to his right.
Rick says for me to follow him. We
crest this knoll and look into a valley. Below,
there is a mature bushbuck walking across the meadow some 200 yards in front and
75 yards below us. Rick tells his
tracker, Teckie, to sit down in front of me and for me to take a shot off his
shoulder. That is, if the bushbuck
stops and offers a shot. I have
never done this and am really nervous. Teckie sits down and says,
“Ron, take the shot.” I place the Encore on his
shoulder. Looking through the
scope, I can see the bushbuck walking closer to us.
The bushbuck stops broadside out around 180 yards, I place the cross
hairs just below his back line with the vertical line across his front leg, and
squeeze the trigger. At the sound of my shot, Rick
yells, “He’s down,” then, “Great shot.” Teckie said, “Right through
the shoulder.” It was getting dark quickly.
We race back to the truck and down the hillside to the area that held my
bushbuck. As we drove down the slope to
where the bushbuck was, Rick said, “He did get up once.
Not sure if he stayed up.” We stopped the truck and in the
fading light moved toward the spot where we last saw the bushbuck. As darkness spread through the valley, I saw the bushbuck.
He was walking very slowly. He
moved into the thick brush and disappeared.
I could hear a crashing and thrashing in the thickets but was unable to
see anything. Rick told me, “It’s time to
go back to the ranch house. We’ll
see what happens tomorrow.” After a “sundowner” with
the Muirs’, we drive back to the lodge. Wendell
told me that he would have a tracker out at first light to check on my bushbuck.
Even with that and Rick telling me that it was a good shot, I am
troubled. While there is always a
chance to wound an animal, it’s not something that I want to do.
Early the next morning, we will make our way back to the Muirs’.
June 24, 2003 I am up early this morning and
on the road to the Muirs’ by 7:00. Mark
Rippon, Rick’s partner, is with me. At
the ranch, we drive into the courtyard and are greeted by Wendell. He invites us in for coffee and rusk. Nothing mentioned about the bushbuck. I guess the blank look on my
face softens his heart, and he says, “Oh, we found your bushbuck five meters
from where you stopped searching.” I asked him twice, “You found
him? You found him?” “Yes,” he said.
“Now, let’s have some coffee.”
It was drizzling this morning,
but the sun was shining in my heart. After
coffee, we walked out to the skinning shed to see my bushbuck. A beautiful secretive creature that just got unlucky. I had wanted a lynx since I
started hunting in Africa. The two
previous trips had produced very little. I
was looking for a mature male. As
we drove to the Muirs’ this morning, Rick had sent out a pack of dogs from the
office, and the handlers would call if they picked up a cat.
Around 11:30 this morning, we pulled off the dogs.
The rain was making it too hard for them to pick up a scent. Mark and I drive into Port
Alfred and have a late breakfast at the seashore.
Mark asked me what I wanted to do this afternoon; my reply was to see
some new country. We ended up
driving south along the coast of the Indian Ocean toward Port Elizabeth.
We stopped at Kenton-on-the-Sea, at a floating restaurant called The
Sandbar. By sheer chance, we met
Mark’s mom and dad. They have a beach cottage in Kenton and were going to The
Sandbar for lunch. While they had
lunch, we had a few Castles, Africa’s most popular beer. Saying our good byes,
we head back to the lodge at Lalibela, for a private game drive. Finished just in time to clean up and go to dinner.
It turned out to be a good day.
Rick tells me at dinner this evening that he will have four packs of dogs
out tomorrow trying to find a large lynx. June 25, 2003 Rick, Mark, and I spend the
morning waiting for a call that the dogs have treed a lynx.
The dogs tree a small lynx, and I let another hunter take it. This afternoon, we drive to a
nearby farm looking for a large warthog. While
we see several, none are in the size I want. As the day draws to a close, I
have the pleasure of meeting Mark’s sons, Jonathan, age 6, and Andrew, age 4.
Great kids. Mom and Dad
should be proud. My hunt is winding down with
only one day left of hunting. Maybe
tomorrow will be a lucky day. June 26, 2003 The four packs of dogs have
been out since dawn, and the only lynxes that have been treed are young ones. It’s now 1:00 p.m., and as time passes, my chances grow
smaller. About an hour later,
Bruce, a friend of Rick’s, asked me if I wanted to drive into Port Elizabeth
for some shopping. I look at Rick.
He shakes his head and says chances are very small of treeing a mature
lynx today. It’s time to give up
and accept Bruce’s offer to go shopping.
Bought some gifts in Port
Elizabeth. On the ride back to
Lalibela, Bruce asks if I would like to meet one of the locals, a man named
Bill. Bill is a 65-year-old farmer
whose family has been on the Eastern Cape from the 1820s.
As we drive up to his ranch house, I find out that there is a small
restaurant and bar on the ranch. After
a few hours, some food, many drinks, and a great many stories, it’s time to
leave. Bill refuses to take payment
for the drinks and starters. All he
asked in payment is to stop back on my next trip and visit. Truthfully, that is something I am looking forward to.
See you soon, Bill. June 27, 2003 It’s Mynhard’s birthday
today. Happy birthday. Tomorrow, I leave for home, but
today is the Grahamstown Art Festival. I
have tried getting here on both of my earlier trips.
While I thought I would get two days this trip, once again, I messed up
and will get only one day. Let’s
make the best of it. My day at the
Art Festival is great. I can only
hope that on my next trip, I can spend more time there.
June 28, 2003 Truthfully, I feel that you
need to be an engineer to get the items packed that you buy.
I travel light by only taking the minimum.
However, after shopping, I never have enough room in my bags.
At breakfast, Rick asks me to
go to an animal auction with him for some photos.
After the auction, I drive into Port Elizabeth for some last minute
shopping and a light lunch. Then to
the airport we go. Once, at the airport, things
get strange. I am told that I can
check my one bag through to Atlanta but will need to check my guns, normal, and
my ammo, through security. Never
done that before. Doing what I was
told, I arrive in Johannesburg. While
I wait, my gun case and the lockable ammo case are unloaded with the regular
luggage. I am standing in the middle of the largest airport in South
Africa holding both guns and the ammo for them. Dumb. Checking in for the flight to
Atlanta, I tell the clerk what I have in my hands, and her reply is, “That’s
nice.” Give me a break. I proceed to the security
check-in and explain that I not only have my guns but I have the ammo for them
with me. I receive a blank stare
from the security people. At last, the one in charge
says, “My god, you could have done a tremendous damage if you were a
terrorist.” Then he smiled, and you could
feel the tension leave the room. He
just checked everything through. I
guess he felt we could solve the problem, once I reached Atlanta.
Hopefully, I will be able to explain and not go to jail.
In Atlanta, my bags were
unloaded with the regular luggage. It
happens all the time. My handgun
case does not look like a gun case, and it’s unloaded with normal luggage.
I walked up to the first police officer I could find and told him I have
guns, ammo, and my normal luggage. He
looked at me for a minute or two then told me to put the ammo in my luggage and
give him my gun case. Then we
walked up to customs and checked through. The
police officer wished me a pleasant trip, and I was on my way home.
Thanks. I arrived in
California and did not have to spend any time in the pokey.
Great trip. This story is dedicated to my
mother, Marie D. Machado, July 6, 1913 to July 16, 2003.
Love you. LALIBELA GAME RESERVE
This private game reserve’s location in the Eastern Cape spans four ecosystems (valley bushveld, grassland, fynbos, and riverine forest), resulting in a breath-taking diversity of flora and fauna. Lalibela brings you the charm of authentic Africa and
is the perfect blend of the formal and informal. Lalibela has two 4-star lodges, both offering service of the
highest standard, world-class cuisine, and unforgettable game viewing.
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© Copyright: Ronald Machado - 2002
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