Damned Springbuck!

“That has to be our guide!” my brother-in-law Russ announcing the arrival as he jumped to the window. Amanda, a youthful, South African born, woman stepped from the Toyota we would later dub the “Safari Cruiser”. This was welcome relief from the thought of having to spend another minute in the, four walls with French doors, compound in downtown Bloemfontein. Stopping short of hugging her, we engaged in one of the longest handshakes she will ever experience!

“Guide” is a misnomer; a title reserved for folks that drive tourists around in vans for sightseeing.  Professional Hunter, or PH, as is their title in Africa, was her preference. University was not her calling, a hunting safari she took with her dad proved that to her. She was in her seventh year of the rigorous process of becoming a journeyman PH. It is a matter of experience on your way towards the highest level of the profession - guiding the dangerous game species. She will be one of few women to reach that level. A level that was, indeed, reached by the end of that year.

We arrived at the lodge well before the mid-day meal with our outfitter Ricus de Villiers of White Lion Safaris. Enough time to check our well-traveled firearms at the range. Dead center at 25 yards and, using my 200-yard dot, roughly two inches high at 100. The two shots on the 100-yard target nearly touched right out of its hard-sided case. It was time for an excellent meal, a little rest and an afternoon hunt!

The rather rustic, safari cruiser.

Rested and ready, we climbed into the jump-seats of the safari cruiser. A route along a rustic dirt road that, at times, wasn’t much more than two tracks in sandy-red soil. The scene was not unlike many areas of semi-arid country back home in the west. Instead of our scrub oak, sage, and sumac there were various varieties of acacia; everything had thorns, it seemed. The terrain, generally flat with several awesome plateaus jutting upward majestically from grassland plains.

One of the first of several creatures we encountered was the most impressive animals on the property, the white rhino! There are two actually, a young male and female. At about five years of age, they have another couple years before they will begin to add to their numbers. The ranch owner, who asked not to be named for the sake of the rhinos, had brought them there at great expense. Partly as an attraction for the clients and, partly, as a safe-haven for the specie’s recovery effort. Another example of how management hunting benefits wildlife around the world.

Just a bit further and our PH somehow located several impala about 400 yards into the thick brush. There is a mix of several other plains game scattered throughout the area, making a stalk extremely difficult. Earlier I mentioned that it was my birthday and, with that in mind, Russ decided that the first stalk of the day would belong to me. Something about, “respect for his elders”?!

Bands of zebra and blue wildebeest moved through the scrub that surrounded us as we tried to close in. The alarm of scattering herds and their noisy retreat took the impala with them and, soon, we were alone in the veldt. Secretly, I was glad that this first stalk was a bust. I had not come to grips with the excitement of new surroundings and all the exotic creatures that roamed freely about.

First stalk was unsuccessful.

Loaded up and hunt resumed, it wasn’t long before spotting kudu, hartebeest, springbuck, two species of zebra, and the diminutive steinbock was added to our collective safari experience. In a rather off-hand remark, I mentioned that I might be willing to stalk a springbuck, if the right one came along. My meaning was, if an impala could not be found. We were only an hour into the hunt when Amanda spotted a very good springbuck along with a large herd of hartebeest. Russ’s urging, drove me out of the back of the cruiser and stalking across the veldt once more.

At what looked like just over 200 yards, the herd began to nervously move off. The tall grass required Amanda to set up the shooting tri-pod for a standing shot. I knew the possibility of being placed on a standing tripod but I had no idea how unfamiliar that would feel. I settled in and quickly located the small antelope through the Leupold scope mounted on my Model 70, Featherweight, Winchester chambered in .300 WSM. Just how “small” I had no idea.

Leaning into my rifle on stilts, equally uncertain as to the size and distance of my target, I tried to steady the scope’s crosshairs. Jet-lag and the intimidation of all eyes on me – hunting as a spectator sport?! – began to play a jig in my mind! Crosshairs steadied as I began my shooting sequence of focus, breath and trigger. It was at the trigger part of the ritual that things went roughly south!

As I pressed the trigger to the point of release, I could see the buck step forward, from right to left. Too late! The sear released and a 150 gr. Federal Fusion bullet was on its way! The buck jumped and, with terrific speed and bounding leaps, clicked-off yardage until it was only visible in flashes through the trees and was gone! I was sick! So concerned for the potential wounding of an animal and the less-significant suffering from injured pride.

Plains game often mingle but generally keep to their groups. (Springbuck, foreground - Bontebok, back.)

The tracker and PH pressed on through the brush, past a dirt road that the buck had raced across; all without a sign of contact. No blood was evident, the manner and speed of the buck’s retreat and its track all seemed to verify that no significant damage was done. After the initial relief, I searched for an explanation as to how I could have missed. I felt steady and I actually saw the springbuck leap along with the cloud of dust that burst into the air beyond it. This all seemed to confirm that I was steady and remained on target throughout the shot? Whatever it was, I tried to tuck it behind me during the days that followed.

It had been several days and many successful stalks had taken fine trophies. Confidence in my ability to stalk and successfully harvest game had been restored. I had a good impala and an excellent blue wildebeest salted away. Sipping coffee, admiring an African sunrise from the lodge’s rear deck, I heard the report of gun-fire, well off in the distance. Russ and Amanda returned to the lodge with a gemsbok for a healthy afternoon meal. During our celebration, Amanda announced that the outfitter had decided to offer us an excellent last-day deal on springbuck trophy fees. I wanted another shot – literally - at a damned springbuck!

We would eventually locate a good buck with a small harem of does. A handful of black wildebeest nearby made a stalk a very interesting prospect. Russ had harvested a gemsbok that morning so I was up. Four of us started across the plain as close as we felt comfortable; Amanda and I continued on from there. We began hunched over which turned into the dreaded death-crawl across the rocky hard-pan covered in thorns. Everything in this part of Africa had thorns! The wildebeest had us pegged and began snorting their alarm after over two hundred yards of crawling. The worst of it was that we were still too far for a reasonable shot and our quarry was at full alert!

Black wildebeest had us pegged.

The antelope becoming more agitated with every yard, Amanda asked “What’s your maximum comfort range”? “300 yards.” was my reply. Then it was my turn to ask questions, “How far away are they”? “About that.” was her response. There was no way for me to know! They seemed to be over four hundred yards out, but who am I to say?! I had never seen a springbuck up close and there was nothing familiar to compare them to out in the flat expanse. Taking the word of my PH, we set up the tripod for a seated shot at a small target 300 yards away - or so I thought.

The wildebeest began to move off in their clownish kicks, jumps and starts. The springbuck does began to move away as well. This time I was seated behind a small tripod. I settled the rifle’s scope and, as soon as it was solid, located the buck - still broadside! Everything was good and I gave Amanda a nod as the safety was pushed forward with a “click”! The dot on the vertical cross-hair held high on the shoulder of the small buck as had been practiced many times. My finger pressed the trigger’s face until its loud report jolted against me!

Directly over its back, some distance beyond, the puff of red sand. The buck’s reaction was as impressive as the buck I missed the first day of our hunt! Its effortless leaps and pace were equally impressive! Everything was just like before - a total miss! Amanda, visibly upset, growled sardonically over her shoulder, “Where were you aiming”?! - “I held exactly at the range you told me, 300 yards”! Guide and client were showing signs of exhaustion after nine days of hard hunting. Not in disrespect, each demanding the answer for our loss. Those that have played highly competitive team sports know the banter.

Amanda radioed the tracker, Daniel, to bring the range finder. “Wait, you had a range finder in the cruiser the whole time?!” my frustration intensified. The range finder settled the question as to range - 209 yards!

Amanda was not one to give up; we were equals in that regard. She knew the area and knew where the band was headed. There is a brushy bowl surrounded by two ridges that stretched, running north and south, downward from a large plateau. With a nod to follow, we double-timed our march after that lucky buck! Maybe 200 yards across, thick brush and stunted trees, the springbuck band is still milling around as we set up just over the edge of the western ridge.

Understandably distrustful of my ability and, with all the creatures moving about in the dense cover, noticeably concerned, the PH gave very detailed instructions. Like a puppeteer, she maintained tight, yet professional, control as she peered through the lens of her spotting scope. I assured her that I knew which animal she wanted me to take and that I had been doggedly tracing it about through my rifle scope.

As if counting his collection, the buck moved, back and forth, along the line of does. It was just a matter of waiting until, satisfied with its count, the buck would eventually calm. It had to be in an opening and clear of the females. The buck’s pace began to slow with each pass it took through a select breach in the cover. I could anticipate its movement, could tell he was settling! The window was small, but the entire front-half of the buck would be visible through my scope. Never turning my focus off the buck, I queried Amanda for the range. With the range-finder in hand, “One hundred and fifty-three yards”, was her definitive reply.

I was steady, there was no flutter in my breath or my heart, no lingering doubt in my mind. For this time, the last time, I thumbed the safety forward then eased my finger toward the trigger. I could see the very spot I wanted the bullet to strike, just at the shoulder, the end of the dark lateral stripe along the its side. The buck is moving slowly from right to left, but I am on that spot with each step. It’s slowing, going to stop!

Still nervous, Amanda, whispered a caution to wait until the buck is still. There was no need, for I had been waiting for just that moment and it had arrived! I had been tracking its every step in and out of the cover and now the buck stopped for that brief moment! In that moment, there was no hesitation – none at all. The Featherweight recoiled, its short-mag round punched my shoulder! Throughout, my focus remained on the buck as it dropped from view! There was no motion, the loud report reverberated into still silence. Broken only by Amanda’s report, “Good Shot”!

A gland patch on the male’s back smells like cotton candy - really!

Amanda (PH) and Daniel (Tracker) combined to make the safari a success!

So, it was the smallest creature of my African safari that gave me the greater challenge - the greater satisfaction. To over-come adversity and conquer lingering doubt can be, most certainly, the greater reward.