It would take 5 hours to drive down to the other concession, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery going by. We had left at day break and as the day warmed up, I was fascinated to see the wild life coming out to the edge of the road, feeding on the wide grass sidings. Oryx, Kudu, Steen buck and Baboons were out in good numbers, many were oblivious to the car speeding by. The numbers of Warthogs were staggering, we estimated there must have been well over 400 scattered along the route that we took. Many were Sows with piglets that just stood and watched us go by. The boars however, didn’t waste any time ducking under the boundary wires and quickly disappearing into the bush. One old codger, just barely skin and bone with worn down tusks, miscalculated his run and hit the bottom wire square on at speed. Just like a cartoon caricature, he sprung back ending up on his back with all four legs quivering straight up in the air. As we sped past he staggered to his feet and with as much dignity as possible, shuffled under the wire and disappeared. Our laughter was mingled with sadness; we knew he would not last much longer against the predators. Such is the harsh reality of life in Africa.
We arrived around midday and were greeted by the ranch manager Jacko, and his lovely wife Jackomien. After the usual hellos and hugs with these two wonderful people, we all sat down to cool drinks, and enjoyed a very nice lunch before heading out for an afternoon hunt.
This concession is a privately owned game ranch, consisting of well over twenty thousand acres situated approx 150 kilometers east of Windhoek, and is very popular with the rifle hunters. Although I usually try to avoid rifle hunting areas, this place is huge. I have been there twice and would have seen less than a tenth of the place. On my previous hunt there, I had seen Waterbuck, and that was what I was predominantly after.
They are also involved in a breeding program for the rare but incredibly beautiful Sable. With their glossy black coat, white facial markings and large sweeping horns, they are a prized trophy. But be prepared to rob the bank before claiming one. Costing US $10’000 upwards. Last year I photographed an absolute monster as he walked by. That evening I described him to Jacko. He smiled, and said that he would measure an incredible forty seven inches. Then went on to say that it was just as well I had not been tempted to shoot him, as he was their main breeding bull, and was valued at US $22’000.
One of the reasons that I enjoy hunting with my guide and outfitter Roger Coomber is that he is a keen bow hunter like me, and never fails to take his bow with him. On the second day he had already dispatched two Jackals, when an enormous Black Wildebeest came in. As I had already got one on a previous hunt, Roger asked me if I would mind if he could have a crack at him. He had always wanted to hunt one, but as he was busy guiding clients he just never got the opportunity. We decided that for a change he would be the hunter and I was to be the camera man. At thirty yards he put in a perfect centre heart shot resulting in a short mad run and the wildebeest was down. After much congratulations and back slapping, it was off to the bar, where a very proud hunter found himself shouting the drinks for the rest of the evening.
It was getting towards the end of my hunt, when we went to an area where Jacko had seen a few Waterbuck Bulls the day before. Six hours later we were still waiting. We were in a slightly elevated blind overlooking a large flat area covered in knee high grass, with a large number of small scrubby trees dotted around. We had seen plenty of game, which included a pair of Honey Badgers plus a lovely Steen buck Ram, but I had my blinkers on. Only a Water buck would ring my bell.
Thinking that we had drawn a blank for the day, we debated moving but decided to hang in there for a while longer. Roger had only just commented that “it’s very quiet but everything can change in five minutes,” when it did. From behind a small clump of trees two hundred yards away, stepped one, two, no three Waterbuck bulls. Through the bino’s we could see that one of them was a real beauty. I knew that I wanted him with an intensity that was all consuming.
They moved towards us, feeding as they went, with agonizing slowness. Taking a couple of steps, stopping to browse, another couple of steps, browsing some more, and so on. For over an hour this went on, my nerves were nearly at breaking point and the light was starting to fade. Finally the big boy presented a broadside shot at 23yards. It took me a long time to get the shot off. My nerves were jangling. My knees were knocking. Roger sensed that I was having trouble, and quietly leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Keep the back tension, and it will happen”. That settled me down, and the shot was true. Thanks Roger you are a true friend. He blasted out of there with his two mates in tow, making it to a clump of scrub a hundred and twenty yards away.
After a few minutes we saw him lay down, and when the other two bulls came trotting out, we knew he was down for the count. After much back thumping and congratulations, Roger measured him. This wonderful bull went twenty seven inches and I was absolutely choked.
This bought to a close my third sojourn into that wonderful country called Namibia. Where the sky is always blue and the hunting is second to none. I have made some wonderful friends, and those three years of memories will stay with me forever.
Like, the time we saw a large tom leopard shading himself under a Mopani tree fifty yards away, without a care in the world.
Like, finding the huge foot prints of three rogue bull Elephants that had passed only a hundred yards from our blind.
Like, having a 16 ft tall Male giraffe, eyeballing us through the blind opening at only ten feet and watching his eyes grow round with shock, as it dawned on him what he was looking at.
Like, watching a Sable cow suckling her new born calf, only eight yards away from the blind completely unaware that we were there.
Like, that first experience of a magnificent Kudu bull ghosting up to the water hole without making a sound.
Like, those fascinatingly ugly Warthogs providing endless entertainment.
And like the haunting cry of the Jackals as they hunted at night.
Namibia, thanks for the memories..........
Ray Scott (dream rider)
New Zealand
Archery Addix Forum Member
