Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Africa End of season.

Hunting in Zambia normally wraps up in October with the onset of the rains, however for those of us that are lucky to witness the start of the wet season it is a dramatic and almost magical time of year. Barren landscapes instantly transform from the stark, grey and ashen to that of a vibrant tropical garden. Carpets of verdant grass decorate the flood plains and the harsh sun drenched valleys are now flush with color and bubbling streams. The rain washes the dust and the grime from the landscape, and the multitudes of impala are almost luminous in their new dry cleaned coats of orange. However nature can be at it�s most violent at this time and the rivers quickly turn to flood and grassy plains with their colorful new shrubs become dank and impenetrable backwaters. For me it was interesting to see the Luangwa like this and the metamorphosis from what was recently dry and dusty savannah.

Buffalo are now on the move as grazing is wide spread and they are no longer dependent on the Luangwa, the river of life. Their big muddy tracks leave an easy trail to follow for man, and indeed Lion.

Bevan is Australian and heads the Lumwana copper mine here in North Western Zambia. Over the phone I had tried in vain to warn him of the late season conditions but he was having none of it and we were to first meet in the sodden village of Luembe, high up in the scarps of the Luangwa valley. The deal was a simple one he bought his own scoff and booze and if shot a Buffalo he would pay a price, if not he would go away with memories of the wild. I also had some other bits and pieces on license which he could take and would feed the camp for the duration of the safari. The hunt would have to be on foot and our needs would be carried in and out of the hunting area.

What I like about the Aussies that I have met is that they seem to be cast in the same mould and nothing phases this tribe as long as there is a cold beer to end the day.

Thor and I conduct the hunting in Munyamadzi and I wanted him to take charge of this hunt as he was less experienced than I, and besides he was from Denmark and well suited to the soggy conditions. A natural hunter, young and fit, Thor had buckets loads of energy and stamina on his side. To my dismay this young billy goat had us climbing up escarpments and frog marching through the mire for bloody mile after mile after our quarry. Torrents of rain would try and dilute our enthusiasm and if we were not cold or wet we were hot and wet, rain or sweat but mostly both. The spoor we followed was often washed away or the Buffalo simply out walked us. Lunch was on foot, biscuits and rain water, the bottled variety was carried for our guest. Now and then nature would grant us some respite and the cool blankets of overcast clouds would keep the sun off our backs and in these conditions the walking was easy and fairly relaxed. We walked the garden of Eden and rejoiced in her wonders.

Today we had picked up the furrow made by a sizable herd and close to camp which was a blessing. Yesterday Thor had us look at four soft bossed bulls in the back and beyond. They taunted us for a few moments by standing fully broadside at some fifty paces. It was a good few moments and I believe we stared them down before they cantered heavily up into the broken hills. Today we were not tracking but simply followed a trench carved by a multitude of over sized hooves. A couple of bulls were tailing the herd and their large tracks had invigorated us. Many miles later and we a lot less invigorated found that the tracks had circled across the remnants of the road and almost exactly where we had started some seven hours earlier. The clouds had dissipated and the heat was extreme. Even the trackers looked knackered as the pace had been quick and the Buffalo had walked the steep ridges of the lower escarpment. Fortunately camp was nearby and it was decided that Bevan and I would break the hunt and Thor to continue on the track. If the Buffalo were found lying up we would join him later. It was not long before Eliam the head tracker jogged back into camp announcing our break had been cancelled as they had come across a couple of bulls not too distant from the road, bedded down and probably like us could not keep up with the pace of the herd. Young Thor was smiling when we met and he had a good look at the buff and they were big old boys. Bevan was not interested in inches.

Hunting is often all about the final approach, the heightened sense of anticipation. You forget the sweat and the so called tears and now fully focus on your quarry. The Buffalo had now become three dimensional not simply a track and you now remind yourself of the dark curl of horn and the black bulk of muscle. Rifles are checked and cartridges are chambered. The sound of metal as bolts are drawn. How can we describe this to others who have never been here? There is a heightened sense of anticipation and electric expectation. Emotions that do not occur in everyday life. The closing scene is about to be played.

The tracks are dismissed and we now rely on sight and sound. Thor knows the location where the beasts lie and we circle into and behind them. The heavy smell of bovine hangs in the air and the bush is oddly still, strangely quiet. Nature behaves herself and rumbles in the distance. We approach where they lie hidden and unaware in the grass beyond the grove of trees. The approach is perfect and our step is carefully placed. Pins drop but we cannot hear them. As big as a buffalo are they can be hard to see in the thick foliage and we almost bumped into a bull who was grazing on an open ridge to our immediate right. We had been too focused. Both Thor and I could see he had the deep hard bosses of age and the young PH quickly placed the sticks and called the shot. Surprisingly the Buffalo collapsed from a bullet to the mid shoulder. Although gallantly he tried to rise it took another six bullets in the chest cavity, one passing through the cheek to finish him. When Bevan was frantically reloading I took a high shoulder shot hoping to severe the spine but it went wide and to no effect. Thor had the beast well covered and was barking instructions and then quickly guided Bevan behind the Buffalo who put a finishing shot through the shoulders. The beast now belonged to our new friend from Down Under.

Surely one of the highlights of hunting is the shear exhilaration and emotive sense of achievement that overcomes one having secured a hard won trophy. The hunt had been everything that Bevan had imagined, and more. His boyhood dreams had now become a reality and the hunter was content.

Thor had the foresight to send Eliam back to camp to fetch a rucksack of beer. It was not cold but nobody seemed to care anymore. The trophy was field dressed and carried out at night. Old Eliam insisted on carrying out the head and although he is nearly sixty he never once rested. I was going to retire him this year but even in my youth I could not do half what he had did that evening.













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Great story and photos!

Thank you for the great post.


ddj

Awesome!

Great post. When I was there quite some time ago, the Munyamadzi was a game paradise. Apparently it's still not bad. Happy to hear it.