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| October 2004 Issue "Buffalo In The Tall Grass" Article by: Dr. J. Tod Sylvara Kirksville, Missouri |
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Early morning in the Chanjuzi, North Zambia, a few days into a cape buffalo and plains game hunt, the sun is coming up and we have a two
and one-half our drive to the far side of our hunting concession, I am with my hunting partner, Jerry Wait, our professional hunter (PH), a
white Zambian named Allister Norton, a game scout from the government's anti-poaching unit, four trackers and skinners and an ever
ripening Cookson's wildebeest that I shot the day before, all in our Toyota Land Cruiser.
The Regional Chief was expecting visitors and wanted to have a party. He sent word that he wanted meat for the celebration. The
Cookson's wildebeest, a very large bull, is a rare subspecies of wildebeest found only in the Lunguana River Valley where we were, It was
recovered after a long, tough track job, the result of a marginal at best shot, whining or excuses not necessary. The skills of the African
trackers must be seen to believe, they are just exceptional.
Halfway to the Chief's village, the road was blocked by a check point, the anti-poaching unit's camp. We were met by a striking 18 year old
black girl with a green beret and an AK47 on her shoulder. After a brief chat, the gate was swung open and we were on our way. Before our
adventure in Zambia was over, we would see AK Girl again.
In late may, the rainy season was over for six or eight weeks. The tall grass was turning from green to gold, Lamick, our senior tracker, was
lighting matches and throwing them from the vehicle as we traveled down the dirt road towards the Chief's village, burning the tall grass and
brush as we traveled. I joined in grabbing a book of matches and began to light fires as we traveled, occasionally stopping, when there was
a large patch of dry grass so we could light the flames by hand to ensure that it had a good start.. We lit fires for miles along our travel en
route to the Chief's village. The burning is a yearly land management tool they use. That day we burned thousands and thousands of acres.
Finally, we arrived at the Chief's village. There were small grass huts on the perimeter of the village and the village dotted the fields. The
fields were mostly vegetable fields with some cotton fields, cane and rice. A school was the largest building in the small village. Children
poured out of the school and from the fields to come see us. I am sure we were big entertainment and there is a marked lack of
entertainment. The Chief had his own compound on the edge of the village with a bigger house and several smaller buildings and huts.
Here was a young girl sweeping the dirt in the yard. I am not sure why. But she was sweeping. The only vehicle in town was in the Chief's
front yard, a gift from a photographic company who was trying to get rights to some concession areas and the vehicle amounted to graft for
the Chief.
The Chief was obviously pleased with the wildebeest but with arms crossed he left no doubt who the Chief was. A girl with a large
handmade wicker type basket on her head walked past. Her basket overflowed with day old wildebeest guts. Nothing goes to waste in
Africa. This was the real Africa. Huge wild places, vast, primitive, large predators, few people. This is the real deal. Not the South Africa
ranch hunts with all the conveniences. Even though the ranches are big, there are still fences. North Zambia on the Lunguana Rivera, no
fences here, it is truly wild country.
After schmoozing him, we requested to get our picture taken with him which he said was ok, but he wasn't dressed very well. He said he
usually likes wearing his leopard cape and hat. I am sure the Chief is rather snappy looking in his chief attire. The Chief was pleased. So
pleased, in fact, that he said we could hunt on the far side of a small river on the edge of the village which had been the far boundary marker
of our concession. This area had not been hunted for many years; the Chief said, "eight years." He gave us permission to hunt there. We
were very excited about the opportunity to hunt in an area that hadn't been hunted, though our hunting concession was so huge that one or
two hunters at a time would never be able to put a dent in such a vast area. We thought this might be an excellent trophy area since it hadn't
been hunted. We felt like the long trip and the wildebeest may be worthwhile.
We soon foraged the river and began our hunt. My hunting partner, Jerry and I were doing a two on one hunt as usual, meaning two
hunters with one guide. Being able to share the thrill of the hunt and the total experience with each other is by far the most important thing for
us and works very well for the both of us. This may mean a few less individual shooting opportunities, but by far, worth it. If shooting a
maximum number of animals is very important to you I wouldn't recommend this. For us, though, the hunt is about the experience and not a
competition for who gets the biggest or most animals. Being outdoors and sharing the experience is what it is about for us.
Shortly after crossing the river, there were a lot of signs of fresh buffalo. So fresh, it smelled like a barn lot. It appeared to be a large herd.
The tall grass was stomped down and tracks were everywhere. It was Jerry's turn to be the shooter on this stalk, so he carried my 416
Remington Mag and I carried his 338, playing to the wind and walking very quiet. We walked and walked and walked through the tall grass
and mo-panes. Visibility was very short in some places, wondering where the buffalo were and hoping not to stumble into them at short
range. We walked single file for several miles. Allister, Lamick, Jerry and the 416 in the front, trackers, game scout and myself in the rear.
Our binoculars were seldom used because of the close dense cover. The Zambian sun beat down just south of the Congo. It was hot in the
tall grass. We walked four or five miles with several short rest stops and then we moved on through the tall grass.
Then, suddenly, large dark shapes appeared moving ahead of us in the brush and mo-panes, scattered with tall grass. Allister, Jerry and
Lamick moved ahead. I moved to the shade and potential projection of a tree which I am sure I could climb if I had to. Minutes slowly ticked
by and big dark shapes were moving in the heavy brush all around us. There was grunting and snorting. You could smell them, they were
so close. The guys ahead were crawling through the brush, I could see they were close to the buffalo. There was a small group, only 40 or
50 yards in front of them. From my vantage point, I could not tell if they were cows or bulls. The excitement and tension were palpable.
Buffalo all around us. All of us soaked with sweat from the heat, the walking and the excitement. I quietly put a round in the chamber of
Jerry's 338 and wondered if that would be enough gun if things turned bad and we needed a back up. I felt a breeze on the back of my
sweaty neck. The wind was swirling. Then, several very loud threatening snorts and hoofs stomping. Suddenly, the buffalo were gone in a
thunder of hooves, possibly a hundred of them. All now gone in a cloud of dust. So close, so exciting, but no shot opportunity.
It was a long walk back to the land cruiser for more water and a short rest. As we arrived, we could see smoke and flame. The fire we had
started traveled several miles and we moved the land cruiser and ourselves to safety from the flame. Water, a snack, a short rest, and we
were back after the buffalo. We moved the land cruiser up several miles and took a big swing around where we guessed the buffalo might
be, in the general direction they headed. With the breeze in our face, we were back at it.
Not long into our track we were harassed by a barking baboon, whom kept barking and following us. I was tempted to give him the 416
treatment, but didn't. On this stalk, it was my turn to be the shooter so I packed the big gun. Shortly after the obnoxious baboon, we saw a
huge, old, bore warthog lying in a clump of grass. Jerry wanted to shoot it. After glassing and stalking closer, Jerry made a good shot with
his A Bolt 338 and the big-bore was dead. It would make a nice mount and it was wonderful table fare. I watched Jerry shoot a nice warthog
in South Africa last year. But like Jerry always says, you can never have too many warthogs. One of the junior trackers retrieved the land
cruiser and cared for the warthog while we continued the buffalo hunt.
In this area, the mo-panes and tall grass are mixed with some open areas. Soon, we found very fresh buffalo tracks. We had guessed
right on the buffalo's location and traveled several miles, but making the move in the big swing, we were back on them. We followed the
fresh trail to where the tall grass and mo-panes gave way to an open area. There in the open, were at least 100 buffalo to graze for the
evening. We crawled to the edge of the heavy cover and started glassing the herd. This big herd buffalo was in the open with the biggest
buffalo on the far side of the herd. The wind was right and we had a good set up. The biggest bull in the herd was over 150 yards away. I had
read many, many stories about hunting and shooting buffalo and all the stories and experts seem to agree that the ideal range for shooting
buffalo would be between 40 and 100 yards, You don't want them too close because, even if you make a lethal shot, they may still live long
enough to stomp kill you, You don't want to shoot them very far away because the further away your shot, the greater your chance of making a
poor shot which may result in a mad charging buffalo or tracking a wounded buffalo in the tall grass. Neither option is very appealing,
especially after you are up close and personal with a buffalo and realize how big, mean tough and aggressive they really are when you are in
their environment.
We glassed and glassed an couldn't find another really big bull in the herd. There were other bulls, but the one on the far side, was by far
the biggest. I though Allister would say that the bull is just too far, we will come back and get him tomorrow, but instead he looked me in the
eye and said "I have seen you shoot, you can shoot, just make that shot!" We slowly stood at the edge of the cover and set up the bamboo
shooting sticks. I set the rifle, took a deep breath, settled the cross-hairs behind the huge bull's shoulder and squeezed. The 416 barked and
just as I recovered from the shot, I could hear the 400 grand trophy bonded bear claw thump with a loud smack into the buffalo. He hunched,
bellowed and bolted for the tall grass not far behind him. In a flash, Jerry was by my side. He had been watching this evolve a few yards
behind us. Soon, the rest of the herd disappeared. Then, Allister, Jerry, I, and the rest of the trackers stood at the edge of the cover looking at
the empty field. The sun was rapidly sinking. I felt good about the shot but who knows, things happen fast and my range finder said he was
170 yards away. Nevertheless, the buffalo was in the tall grass and we were very short on light. It was soon time that the lions and hyenas
start their evening hunt, and we were in their back yard.
After a short rest and discussion. Allister, Jerry and I turned our scopes on the lowest power, chambered a round and started walking three
abreast across the open field to the tall grass. All the trackers stayed behind except for Lamick who had only shooting sticks in his hands.
Our hearts pounding, we crossed the open to get to the tall grass and start slowly looking and sneaking through. Approximately 40 yards
from where he was shot, the huge old buffalo lay. With three of our sites trained on the buffalo, from behind us, Lamick threw the shooting
sticks like a spear and hit the old bull. He did not move, He was dead, The bull had huge bosses, many battle scars and a hole in his ear.
Allister estimated that the bull was 12 to 14 years old and over his prime.
The most exciting hunting experience of my life was done and now the work of taking care of the buffalo began. Even with six men and a
wench, it was all we could do to get the huge buffalo into the back of the Land Cruiser, We well overloaded the springs and suspension. We
finally found our way out of the brush in the dark and made it to the Chief's village. We made a brief stop there and soon a crowd gathered out
of the dark to see the buffalo. A group of women were touching it, I stood behind them and grunted loud like a buffalo which brought a roar of
laughter from the women. We had a few warm Mosi beers for the long trip home, back to our primitive camp on the Lunguana Rivera. It had
been a truly great day.
and one-half our drive to the far side of our hunting concession, I am with my hunting partner, Jerry Wait, our professional hunter (PH), a
white Zambian named Allister Norton, a game scout from the government's anti-poaching unit, four trackers and skinners and an ever
ripening Cookson's wildebeest that I shot the day before, all in our Toyota Land Cruiser.
The Regional Chief was expecting visitors and wanted to have a party. He sent word that he wanted meat for the celebration. The
Cookson's wildebeest, a very large bull, is a rare subspecies of wildebeest found only in the Lunguana River Valley where we were, It was
recovered after a long, tough track job, the result of a marginal at best shot, whining or excuses not necessary. The skills of the African
trackers must be seen to believe, they are just exceptional.
Halfway to the Chief's village, the road was blocked by a check point, the anti-poaching unit's camp. We were met by a striking 18 year old
black girl with a green beret and an AK47 on her shoulder. After a brief chat, the gate was swung open and we were on our way. Before our
adventure in Zambia was over, we would see AK Girl again.
In late may, the rainy season was over for six or eight weeks. The tall grass was turning from green to gold, Lamick, our senior tracker, was
lighting matches and throwing them from the vehicle as we traveled down the dirt road towards the Chief's village, burning the tall grass and
brush as we traveled. I joined in grabbing a book of matches and began to light fires as we traveled, occasionally stopping, when there was
a large patch of dry grass so we could light the flames by hand to ensure that it had a good start.. We lit fires for miles along our travel en
route to the Chief's village. The burning is a yearly land management tool they use. That day we burned thousands and thousands of acres.
Finally, we arrived at the Chief's village. There were small grass huts on the perimeter of the village and the village dotted the fields. The
fields were mostly vegetable fields with some cotton fields, cane and rice. A school was the largest building in the small village. Children
poured out of the school and from the fields to come see us. I am sure we were big entertainment and there is a marked lack of
entertainment. The Chief had his own compound on the edge of the village with a bigger house and several smaller buildings and huts.
Here was a young girl sweeping the dirt in the yard. I am not sure why. But she was sweeping. The only vehicle in town was in the Chief's
front yard, a gift from a photographic company who was trying to get rights to some concession areas and the vehicle amounted to graft for
the Chief.
The Chief was obviously pleased with the wildebeest but with arms crossed he left no doubt who the Chief was. A girl with a large
handmade wicker type basket on her head walked past. Her basket overflowed with day old wildebeest guts. Nothing goes to waste in
Africa. This was the real Africa. Huge wild places, vast, primitive, large predators, few people. This is the real deal. Not the South Africa
ranch hunts with all the conveniences. Even though the ranches are big, there are still fences. North Zambia on the Lunguana Rivera, no
fences here, it is truly wild country.
After schmoozing him, we requested to get our picture taken with him which he said was ok, but he wasn't dressed very well. He said he
usually likes wearing his leopard cape and hat. I am sure the Chief is rather snappy looking in his chief attire. The Chief was pleased. So
pleased, in fact, that he said we could hunt on the far side of a small river on the edge of the village which had been the far boundary marker
of our concession. This area had not been hunted for many years; the Chief said, "eight years." He gave us permission to hunt there. We
were very excited about the opportunity to hunt in an area that hadn't been hunted, though our hunting concession was so huge that one or
two hunters at a time would never be able to put a dent in such a vast area. We thought this might be an excellent trophy area since it hadn't
been hunted. We felt like the long trip and the wildebeest may be worthwhile.
We soon foraged the river and began our hunt. My hunting partner, Jerry and I were doing a two on one hunt as usual, meaning two
hunters with one guide. Being able to share the thrill of the hunt and the total experience with each other is by far the most important thing for
us and works very well for the both of us. This may mean a few less individual shooting opportunities, but by far, worth it. If shooting a
maximum number of animals is very important to you I wouldn't recommend this. For us, though, the hunt is about the experience and not a
competition for who gets the biggest or most animals. Being outdoors and sharing the experience is what it is about for us.
Shortly after crossing the river, there were a lot of signs of fresh buffalo. So fresh, it smelled like a barn lot. It appeared to be a large herd.
The tall grass was stomped down and tracks were everywhere. It was Jerry's turn to be the shooter on this stalk, so he carried my 416
Remington Mag and I carried his 338, playing to the wind and walking very quiet. We walked and walked and walked through the tall grass
and mo-panes. Visibility was very short in some places, wondering where the buffalo were and hoping not to stumble into them at short
range. We walked single file for several miles. Allister, Lamick, Jerry and the 416 in the front, trackers, game scout and myself in the rear.
Our binoculars were seldom used because of the close dense cover. The Zambian sun beat down just south of the Congo. It was hot in the
tall grass. We walked four or five miles with several short rest stops and then we moved on through the tall grass.
Then, suddenly, large dark shapes appeared moving ahead of us in the brush and mo-panes, scattered with tall grass. Allister, Jerry and
Lamick moved ahead. I moved to the shade and potential projection of a tree which I am sure I could climb if I had to. Minutes slowly ticked
by and big dark shapes were moving in the heavy brush all around us. There was grunting and snorting. You could smell them, they were
so close. The guys ahead were crawling through the brush, I could see they were close to the buffalo. There was a small group, only 40 or
50 yards in front of them. From my vantage point, I could not tell if they were cows or bulls. The excitement and tension were palpable.
Buffalo all around us. All of us soaked with sweat from the heat, the walking and the excitement. I quietly put a round in the chamber of
Jerry's 338 and wondered if that would be enough gun if things turned bad and we needed a back up. I felt a breeze on the back of my
sweaty neck. The wind was swirling. Then, several very loud threatening snorts and hoofs stomping. Suddenly, the buffalo were gone in a
thunder of hooves, possibly a hundred of them. All now gone in a cloud of dust. So close, so exciting, but no shot opportunity.
It was a long walk back to the land cruiser for more water and a short rest. As we arrived, we could see smoke and flame. The fire we had
started traveled several miles and we moved the land cruiser and ourselves to safety from the flame. Water, a snack, a short rest, and we
were back after the buffalo. We moved the land cruiser up several miles and took a big swing around where we guessed the buffalo might
be, in the general direction they headed. With the breeze in our face, we were back at it.
Not long into our track we were harassed by a barking baboon, whom kept barking and following us. I was tempted to give him the 416
treatment, but didn't. On this stalk, it was my turn to be the shooter so I packed the big gun. Shortly after the obnoxious baboon, we saw a
huge, old, bore warthog lying in a clump of grass. Jerry wanted to shoot it. After glassing and stalking closer, Jerry made a good shot with
his A Bolt 338 and the big-bore was dead. It would make a nice mount and it was wonderful table fare. I watched Jerry shoot a nice warthog
in South Africa last year. But like Jerry always says, you can never have too many warthogs. One of the junior trackers retrieved the land
cruiser and cared for the warthog while we continued the buffalo hunt.
In this area, the mo-panes and tall grass are mixed with some open areas. Soon, we found very fresh buffalo tracks. We had guessed
right on the buffalo's location and traveled several miles, but making the move in the big swing, we were back on them. We followed the
fresh trail to where the tall grass and mo-panes gave way to an open area. There in the open, were at least 100 buffalo to graze for the
evening. We crawled to the edge of the heavy cover and started glassing the herd. This big herd buffalo was in the open with the biggest
buffalo on the far side of the herd. The wind was right and we had a good set up. The biggest bull in the herd was over 150 yards away. I had
read many, many stories about hunting and shooting buffalo and all the stories and experts seem to agree that the ideal range for shooting
buffalo would be between 40 and 100 yards, You don't want them too close because, even if you make a lethal shot, they may still live long
enough to stomp kill you, You don't want to shoot them very far away because the further away your shot, the greater your chance of making a
poor shot which may result in a mad charging buffalo or tracking a wounded buffalo in the tall grass. Neither option is very appealing,
especially after you are up close and personal with a buffalo and realize how big, mean tough and aggressive they really are when you are in
their environment.
We glassed and glassed an couldn't find another really big bull in the herd. There were other bulls, but the one on the far side, was by far
the biggest. I though Allister would say that the bull is just too far, we will come back and get him tomorrow, but instead he looked me in the
eye and said "I have seen you shoot, you can shoot, just make that shot!" We slowly stood at the edge of the cover and set up the bamboo
shooting sticks. I set the rifle, took a deep breath, settled the cross-hairs behind the huge bull's shoulder and squeezed. The 416 barked and
just as I recovered from the shot, I could hear the 400 grand trophy bonded bear claw thump with a loud smack into the buffalo. He hunched,
bellowed and bolted for the tall grass not far behind him. In a flash, Jerry was by my side. He had been watching this evolve a few yards
behind us. Soon, the rest of the herd disappeared. Then, Allister, Jerry, I, and the rest of the trackers stood at the edge of the cover looking at
the empty field. The sun was rapidly sinking. I felt good about the shot but who knows, things happen fast and my range finder said he was
170 yards away. Nevertheless, the buffalo was in the tall grass and we were very short on light. It was soon time that the lions and hyenas
start their evening hunt, and we were in their back yard.
After a short rest and discussion. Allister, Jerry and I turned our scopes on the lowest power, chambered a round and started walking three
abreast across the open field to the tall grass. All the trackers stayed behind except for Lamick who had only shooting sticks in his hands.
Our hearts pounding, we crossed the open to get to the tall grass and start slowly looking and sneaking through. Approximately 40 yards
from where he was shot, the huge old buffalo lay. With three of our sites trained on the buffalo, from behind us, Lamick threw the shooting
sticks like a spear and hit the old bull. He did not move, He was dead, The bull had huge bosses, many battle scars and a hole in his ear.
Allister estimated that the bull was 12 to 14 years old and over his prime.
The most exciting hunting experience of my life was done and now the work of taking care of the buffalo began. Even with six men and a
wench, it was all we could do to get the huge buffalo into the back of the Land Cruiser, We well overloaded the springs and suspension. We
finally found our way out of the brush in the dark and made it to the Chief's village. We made a brief stop there and soon a crowd gathered out
of the dark to see the buffalo. A group of women were touching it, I stood behind them and grunted loud like a buffalo which brought a roar of
laughter from the women. We had a few warm Mosi beers for the long trip home, back to our primitive camp on the Lunguana Rivera. It had
been a truly great day.
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