Under the Southern Cross
Africa 2005
Adventure (ad-ven’cher)
To venture upon daring, dangerous or unknown undertakings.
While a safari can be dangerous by nature, it’s highly unlikely that one to South Africa will be. Professional hunters conduct themselves and guide their clients in a manner that makes a safari to South Africa a truly safe trip. All of my previous African hunts have been that way. Well, with the exception of that one incident. I’m getting ready to go, again, and while I do not feel that this trip will be dangerous, I am concerned about the “unknown” part of the definition.
At the San Francisco/Bay Area Safari Club International dinner last year, I purchased a hunt to the Limpopo area of South Africa. It is an area that I have wanted to visit for many years. The outfitter, Ken Du Plessis of Fraunafrika Safaris, came highly praised by friends. I contacted Ken regarding the hunt. I waited and waited for a reply. All I received was a short e-mail congratulating me on my purchase.
Today, two weeks before I leave for my hunt, I receive an e-mail from Ken stating he will pick me up personally. I am flying half way around the world. Ken, hope you are there.
With these thoughts, I am off. Hopefully, I will enjoy a Castle Beer before the sun sets tomorrow.
“Under
the Southern Cross”
6/6/05
Arriving at Johannsburg, I have no problems passing through the first part of customs. Then, I reach the RSA gun check. It takes nearly four hours to get through. Some of my passenger friends miss connecting flights. While the clerks are polite, there is no concern with processing passengers quickly. There are two clerks doing everything required in long hand. At one point, I am informed that they need to impound one of my two handguns, as only one is allowed. Shortly, this is solved, as a senior supervisor tells the clerks that the handguns are not the same caliber, therefore, both are allowed. Taking both of my handguns and thanking everyone politely, I quickly leave the area. Upon entering the lobby, I find Ken. He has been waiting patiently, since 9:00 a.m. It is now 1:30 p.m. Grabbing my bags, Ken loads up his car. We are off to camp, about a four-hour drive. We arrive at camp about sundown, due to a stop for a meal. Ken introduces me to some of the people in camp. After a light dinner, I’m off to bed. Hope I can remember everyone’s name.
6/7/05, first day of the hunt.
Up at 5:30 this morning. After coffee and rusk, we head for the range to check my two handguns. They are dead on, thanks to my Bear Claw gun case. We are off to an area on the Limpopo River to hunt for a bushbuck. On an earlier trip, I took a great one. There are three species of bushbuck in South Africa. The Cape, Limpopo, and the Chobe. So far, I have a cape bushbuck. I would like to take all three.
This morning, we see several bushbucks. For whatever reason, no shots offered or taken.
On the drive back to camp for lunch, we spot a very large warthog. Grabbing the Encore, I jump out of the truck. The warthog is quickly leaving the area. I squeeze off a shot, and it just misses him. The warthog realizes that being shot at is not in his best interest, and he is off to the races. Truthfully, I did not have a second shot but took one, anyway. A clean miss. We don’t see Mr. Hog, again.
At camp, we have a late breakfast. It is difficult to describe all that was offered. Eggs, three types of meat, fresh fruit, fresh fruit juice, two types of bread, and sautéed veggies. I may stay in camp for the rest of my trip and just enjoy the food. Nah.
Returning from their morning hunt are my co-hunters in camp, Ed and Nina Gammons. Ed has taken a magnificent nyala. Ed and Nina are from Idaho. This is their second hunt with Ken and Franuafrika Safaris.
While on our hunt this afternoon, we saw bushbucks, waterbucks, baboons, vervet monkeys, impalas, and so much more. South Africa is a total treat for an outdoor person’s eyes. You never get tired of just being outside and viewing the wildlife.
Late this afternoon, Mornay, my professional hunter, and Tsele, one of the trackers, spot a large bushbuck. They are trying to point it out to me. I am looking out way too far. The bushbuck is only 50 yards away. When I do spot, it I am so flustered that I blow three consecutive shots, before the animal moves out of sight. Don’t think I ever looked at the crosshairs in my scope. Truthfully, I missed a real opportunity. I enjoy hunting with handguns, but after this botched chance, I am re-thinking them.
Our cook, Chantell, outdid herself tonight. The eland I ate was some of the best tasting meat I have ever had. A few brandies, and off to bed. Tomorrow may hold the key to my handgun hunting in Africa. Sorry, no chance of me giving up my shooting irons.
6/8/05, my first trophy.
To date, I have not taken any animals. I know it’s not my equipment. It’s me. I am back in Africa and need to get my mind in proper order. Yesterday, I know that I was not even looking at my sights when I shot. I have to think of the shot.
This morning, we go to a new location. The cover is very heavy. After walking around for an hour or so and seeing only a very large kudu and some impala, I question Mornay about the shortage of bushbucks. He replies, with a large smile, that we are not hunting for bushbucks but the larger waterbuck, and then says, “I thought I told you.” Oh. We both laugh about that, then get down to the hunt.
A short time later, another tracker, Frans, finds the tracks of a large waterbuck. We start following them and spend the next two hours tracking the waterbuck. I think we could have tracked that animal for the rest of the day and never gotten any closer. As early afternoon approaches we give up, returning to camp for a rest. About 4:00 p.m., we are back in the field, in an area on the Limpopo River. Our plan is to hunt for bushbuck until darkness sets, relax for an hour or so, and go out and hunt after dark. Before you blow a gasket, hunting at night is legal. You see an entirely different species of animals that you do not see in the daytime.
After about two hours, we see several animals but haven’t taken a shot. About halfway through a pass on the Limpopo River, we spot a herd of waterbuck. One of them is huge. Using my .454 and looking at my crosshairs, I squeeze off a shot. The buck hunches up and walks away. I am not able to take a second shot, before he disappears. As a group, we follow the herd. Within a hundred yards we spot, or more truthfully the trackers see, an animal on the ground. The animal, my waterbuck, is trying to rise but seems unable. We move in closer. I am told to take another shot to finish it off. This is what I do, and I finally have my first trophy of this trip. The first .454 shot blew right through both shoulders.
6/9/05
This morning, we see a very large bushbuck. Using all of our combined knowledge and skill, we set up an ambush. Guess what? The bushbuck does not show up. Duh. The positive that comes from this is we find a great place where large bushbucks congregate. Heading back to camp for a late breakfast and a little rest, we decide to return to that spot tomorrow morning. This afternoon, we will drive about 80k to an area that holds chobi bushbuck. The chobi is the third in a group of three I am trying to take.
6/10/05
My notes will be short, as I need to be up in about five hours.
Right now, it’s just past midnight and we’ve returned from a hunt to the Stuffes’ ranch. There were many bushbucks there, but things did not get off to a good start. The drivers were not told what to do, in order for me to get a shot at the animals. We missed taking a shot at a huge bushbuck.
After coffee and rusk, this morning, we are going back to the Limpopo River. At one point, I stood in a dry spot of the river with one hand in South Africa and the other in Botswana.
At 9:00 this morning, my hunt for limpopo bushbuck is over. While walking along the South African side of the Limpopo River, a very nice bushbuck stands up in front of us, 30 yards away. Using the Encore, I take the shot. The bushbuck drops, where he stands. Lots of handshaking, congratulations and photos follow the shot.
I am always amazed how fast a hunt can be over. Days of looking for a trophy, and it’s over in a matter of seconds. Spend the rest of the day relaxing in camp. At dinner, I am introduced to a gent by the name of Charlie. It turns out that Mornay and his family are going to the United States, for some hunt shows. Charlie Joubert is a local P.H. and will prove to be very competent.
I have a few more days of hunting in the Limpopo area then am on my way to hunt with Rick and Sue of John X Safaris. Truthfully, I am looking forward to renewing friendships and being in the Eastern Cape, again.
Late this afternoon, Charlie and I are off to the Stuffels’ ranch again. We plan to spend a relaxing evening then, about midnight, will try to find the bushbuck in the fields.
Most farmers are happy for you to take out some of the local animals. Like deer and elk in the states, the local game can wreak havoc on crops. The other problem is that the animals can become dependent on farmers as a food source. Their digestive systems are not used to the crops produced by the farmers, and this can cause a loss of animals and profits for the farmers. This evening, as we go out into the fields, the winds pick up. The animals are very spooky and bolt at the slightest movement. Some of the bushbucks are completely across a field, some as much as a half-mile away, and they will bolt out of the fields once they see us. I would like to think that they are aware of my hunting skills. Charlie tells me it is really the wind. So much for that.
About 30 minutes before we call it a night, Charley sees movement in the brush surrounding the field we are in. As we move in closer, one of the trackers spots a warthog sleeping out in the open. Warthogs just don’t do that. Looking through my scope, the warthog is big. On my first trip to Africa, I took a nice hog that I am proud of, but this one just blew me away. At first glance, the left side of his body is exposed to me. Once he wakes and realizes things are not normal, he turns and starts backing away. Charley tells me to take him any way I can. The warthog backs away slowly, trying not to be noticed. All I have is the front of his face. Trying not to hit the tusks, I aim between his eyes and squeeze the trigger. At the sound of my shot, the trackers slap my back, and Charlie yells, “Great shot.” I have a tremendous warthog. While his tusks curl up, they also start to come back on a horizontal plane. His left side is longer than his right. Charlie tells me that he is a right-handed warthog. The right side is worn more than the left. His right ear also has a torn, healed scar, where he might have been bitten. While I did not get my chobi bushbuck, I am about as happy as I can be.
6/11/05
We arrived in camp at 3:30 a.m. and hit the sack without fanfare. Everyone sleeps in this morning, and plan on getting up around 9:00. After a typical breakfast, I spend the day around camp relaxing and visiting.
Since everyone is in camp, we have an early dinner. In keeping with our plan of eating what we shoot, tonight we have sable. Ed Gammons took one yesterday, while I was hunting at the Stuffles’ ranch. Sables are magnificent animals, but the trophy fee is very expensive. We joke that the meat we are eating is the most costly of our lifetime. Later, we head out for the night’s hunt. I am finding out that hunting at night is a totally exciting experience. You see animals that you never get to see during daylight. We get back in camp just before midnight. Did not take a shot this evening. The weather has changed. It has become colder and very windy. The animals are becoming spooky. Hope everything gets back to normal soon.
6/12/05
Relaxed around camp, with Ed and Nina, enjoying a nice breakfast and a light lunch. After lunch, we are off to hunt bushbuck again. Sorry to say no luck. Rather than going back to camp, we drive south towards a town named Vaalwater. On the road, Charlie tells me about some art shops that are on the way and wants to see if they were open. Looking at, and buying, local art is an important part of my travels, so I am looking forward to that. Boy, I am batting zero. Nothing is open. As we continue driving south, we stop along the road and have a very nice cold dinner that Chantell prepared for us. We are in the middle of a large valley and the surrounding hills are spectacular. I take several photos, as we eat. As the sun is setting, we are off. Arriving at a ranch, we meet Donie Smit, his wife, Annelize, and their son, Donie, Jr. After some polite conversation, we are off to an area that holds reedbuck. Donie proves to be very knowledgeable of the area. He guides us to a ranch, and after a few words with the landowner, we are off. While driving around the ranch searching for reedbuck, we spot a large brown hyena. Donie tells me that the owner wants it shot. It has been killing the domestic animals on the farm. Using the Encore, I dispatch the hyena, sending it to a better place and making the landowner happy. It is a mature female, with K-9 teeth nearly 2-½ inches long. I am very surprised that it is a very mangy animal. Its coat is dirty and appears diseased. From what I am told, it is a normal physical characteristic. Donie tells Charlie we need to be off, as the reedbuck will start bedding down soon and we may not get a shot.
Driving to a marshy area, we start hunting in earnest. As we reach the end of the area, we can hunt. Charlie and I see a large reedbuck. While I have never seen one, I know this one is big. All I can see are its head and neck. Knowing that it is facing us directly, I place the crosshairs of my scope just below the reed line, and, in line with its neck, squeeze off the shot. Before I have a chance to get back on target, everyone is shouting and Charlie charges off in front of me. Wading into the marsh and standing next to the reedbuck, Charlie is yelling, “Great, great, great.” Then, he yells, “I love it.” Once Charlie and the trackers, Frans and Tsele, pull the reedbuck to dry land, I get a closer look at him. I am very impressed. This reedbuck is a large version of my mountain reedbuck. It has a slender face and very delicate features.
While driving back to Donie’s ranch for a drink and starters, Charlie points out the Southern Cross in the night sky. Charlie comments that I had a wonderful night under the Southern Cross. I find that I am pleased with myself. My hunt is going well. Thanking the hunting gods, I smile towards the Southern Cross.
6/13/05
Today, we hunt bushbuck, again. Charlie and I sit at a water hole. There are many tracks around, and our hopes are high. By lunch, we have seen many birds and one very large water lizard. But no bushbuck. Charlie suggests that we go to another ranch to try for a klipspringer then come back later to this ranch for bushbuck. Klipspringers live in hilly country. The problem was, I did not realize how hilly. Twice, we try getting through the brush and over the shale rock to get above the animals. I think I am in reasonable shape, but this is proving too much for me. Charlie realizes this and suggests we call off the hunt. Sorry, I have to agree with him. After a brief rest, we are on our way back to the waterhole for bushbuck. Charlie decides to try a new waterhole, and we walk out to it. As we approach, he spots a large bushbuck standing next to the new waterhole. We try setting up the shooting sticks, but the foliage is thick and I am unable to stand. The grass is too high for me to go prone. Among our supplies is a plastic chair for the hide; I try to use it as a rest. While the chair is not the best rest, I settle my gun on the bushbuck. As I take my shot, I see the dirt kick up beyond the animal. Normally, this indicates overshooting the animal. To my surprise, the bushbuck falls and starts kicking. Did I get lucky? As I am reloading my Encore, the bushbuck regains his feet and is gone. We search for blood for nearly three hours. No bushbuck. We find the remains of a waterbuck that appears to have died by natural causes and was scavenged. The trackers say that the bushbuck had slipped in the mud around the waterhole, and once it regained its footing, ran about 50 yards, then started walking normally. When you hunt in Africa and wound, an animal you pay for that animal. The ranch’s owner, where we were hunting, wanted to continue looking for the bushbuck. My agreement with Maureen, Ken’s partner, was that I would pay for the animal. If it was found, it was mine. If no one could find the bushbuck, then I would get my money back. That is what happened. No one found the bushbuck. I am using that overpayment for the deposit on my next trip with Ken and his people.
My trip to the Limpopo area is winding down. In a day and a half, I am leaving for the Eastern Cape. For dinner this evening, we dine on my reedbuck with green beans and new potatoes. During dinner, Charlie tells me that there is a large caracal on this ranch and that the cat is killing baby ostriches. He wants to know if I want to go out this evening and try for it. Silly question! Of course, I would. Charlie tells me that my handguns are too large and will tear up the pelt. He suggests that I use a camp gun. It is an old .22 hornet rifle. While I am getting ready for this evening’s hunt, I do not hold out much hope. I have hunted for caracal before, with no luck. We were using dogs to track them. This time, the hunt will be a spot-and-stalk. Our chances, I feel, will be slim-to-none.
Driving around the ranch for just over an hour, Charlie yells, “Over there. Over there.” He is pointing to a spot under a tree about one hundred yards away. All I see is a slight difference in the color of the grass. Charlie said, “It’s the cat. Look, look, look.” Jumping out of the truck and looking through the scope, I can make out the cat. I take my shot. Everyone yells, “Shoot, again.” At the sound of my second shot, I receive the customary slaps on the back and, words “Good shot. Good shot.” proclaimed. The trackers drag out the limp cat. I am very pleased with the cat’s size. My first shot went through both front legs, and the follow up shot went directly through the heart. Charlie said, “The cat was praying he would stay hidden, as he heard I was in the area.” Charlie, being ever careful, took the rifle and shot the cat in the back of its head. It stiffened, then went still. Caracals have the reputation for being formidable animals. They routinely take animals two to three times their size. Charlie did not want to take any chances. He was disappointed that I missed my chobe bushbuck and wanted me to end my trip on a high note. He was very sure we would be successful, unlike me. The caracal I took was a large male cat. Charlie, I could not be any happier.
6/14/05
This morning, a knock on my bungalow door changed the entire hunt. Charlie said that I had two urgent calls from the states. I was not able to reach the first one. It was from my business partner, Monica. I called my friend, Peter Feain, he was the one who told me that my father had passed four days before. Calling my sister, Kathy, confirmed what Peter had told me. I needed to decide if I could be of any help and realized, at once, that I needed to be back home to help my sister with the final preparations and to say my good-byes to our father. I called the Robinsons, my taxidermists, and Rick at John X Safaris to let them know I would not be visiting or hunting with them this year and why. They understood, wishing me the best and invited me back. The people at Fraunafrika gave me the room I needed to adjust my mind to the fact that my father had left this earth and had gone to, hopefully, a better place.
THIS STORY IS DEDICATED TO MY FATHER, GEORGE L. MACHADO, FEBRUARY 10, 1912 TO JUNE 10, 2005. REST IN PEACE, DAD.
* The hunt is over, and I am home. My father is at rest with my mother. I am helping my sister, Kathy, and her husband, Bill, get the family home in order. I enter one of the sheds that is on the property to get something Kathy wants. Entering the shed, I notice a wood carving on the back wall. As I reach for it, something falls against my arm. I feel a sharp pain on my forearm, then a pain on my side. At once, I realize nesting hornets are attacking me. As this reaches my numbed, travel-wracked mind, I take no time getting the hell out of there. Kathy, standing a few yards away, sees the swarm of hornets around me and starts to laugh hysterically. Later, when I question her love for me, as well as her current IQ, she tells me that she has seen me standing, without fear, as a wild animal charged, but she has never seen me run that fast from any creature before. Kathy, you need to know, it’s a guy thing. Don’t bring it up again.