Letters From Famous Big-Game Hunters

The "Corresponding" Hunter

Continuing my quest to read all volumes of the Peter Hathaway Capstick's "Library of African Big Game Hunting and Adventure" (I currently have seven of the fourteen volumes) I just finished reading "AFRICAN ADVENTURES - Letters from Famous Big-Game Hunters", originally published in 1935 by Denis D. Lyell (1871 - 1946).

The limited information that I was able to find shows that Denis David Lyell was born in Calcutta, India, and that his family was originally from Dundee, Scotland. In 1893 he moved first to Ceylon and then elsewhere in India where he established himself as a tea planter. In 1899 he moved again to South Africa and then in 1913 he went to Nyasaland, currently Malawi, a landlocked country bordered by Zambia, Tanzania and Mozambique, and by all accounts some of the greatest big-game hunting grounds in Africa.

After World War I Lyell moved again, back to his family homeland of Scotland. From the time he came to Africa until his death he became immersed in the hunting world and became a renowned author, writing eight books between 1909 and 1935.

In his last book Mr. Lyell presents extracts from his vast correspondence with other famous British big-game hunters, such as Selous, Karamojo Bell, Stigand, Millais, J.A. Hunter, Sir Alfred Pease, Abel Chapman and others, and from this collection of private documents many unique insights from their more mundane aspects of their lives like how it is almost impossible to make a living from writing hunting books (believe me, I know this very well), to discussions on financing hunting trips, extensive discussion on the merit of the small-bore repeating bolt-action rifle versus the large-bore express guns, quality of ammunition and the amount of field failures, common in English made ammo, but unheard of in German made DWM (Deutsche Waffen und Munitionsfabriken), and going on and on and on.

These three paragraphs in a letter from Leslie J. Tarlton dated March 11, 1926 pretty much summarizes all discussions in hunting calibers since the advent of smokeless powder was adopted for small arms ammunition in the French 1886 Lebel 8mm rifle:

"On the much vexed question of small bores, do you not think it so greatly depends upon the skill and knowledge of anatomy possessed by the individual user as to what constitutes the best rifle?

"Karamoja Bell, I believe, swears by the .256. Personally I use a .275 high velocity, but I also think a great deal of the American Springfield, which with a 220 grain bullet is, I rather fancy, the best all round small bore in the world.

"I think the tendency to go in for 'Magnums' is being overdone, because they sacrifice smashing power for velocity and low trajectory. I have killed one or two lions with my little .275, with shots I did not expect to do harm, but at the same time it seems to me that with these very light pointed bullets one is always a trifle uncertain just what they are going to do in heavy muscles of the larger mammals. Take for example the brain shot at an elephant. I think if you got hold of Bell he would probably tell you that the reason he is so keen on the .256 Mannlicher is that the solid bullet, in addition of being very long and slender, is round tipped instead of the sharp Spitzer tip."

And in a letter from J.A. Hunter dated March 23, 1928, the final verdict is pronounced on the 30-06, despite the apparent British contempt for the so-called Colonials:

"Have used practically every make and calibre of rifles, and have good faith in the .256, .275, .280 Ross (in a Mauser action), .318 and .300 Springfield cartridge. The latter I was loath to try, being American, but the genuine Mauser with 24 in. barrel taking the .300 cartridge and 180 grain bullet is a most perfect small bore weapon with great stopping power."

And who can argue that the 30-06 is the best all around hunting cartridge in the world?

In other chapters there is extensive discussion on hunting ethics, where Theodore Roosevelt behavior while in the "African Game Trails", both regarding the amount and quality of shooting is severely criticized, and game conservation, where the USA is applauded: "That is a country where people have awakened to the value of the big game, and where they are now taking wise steps to the protect it."

Well, this is getting too long, so I will stop before I quote all the book, and deprive you the pleasure of reading the book yourself.

Édoaurd Foà

I just finished reading Édouard Foà's AFTER BIG GAME IN CENTRAL AFRICA, which in the unabridged form typical of late XIX and early XX centuries also says: "Records of a sportsman from August 1894 to November 1897, when crossing the Dark Continent from the mouth of the Zambesi to the French Congo."

I bought this book at Powell's Books during a very pleasant trip to Portland, OR, during May 2014, but just recently had the time to work on it. Of Monsieur Foà five books, this is the only one translated into English. But before making comments and considerations on this excellent read, I would like to introduce Monsieur Foà to those that have not met him before!

Édouard Foà was born in Marseille in 1862 and lost his parents as a teenager when he had to leave his studies at the Collège de Bône in Tunis and found a job as interpreter at the local English Consulate while working at the same time at the post office administration. At 18 he volunteered for the French Army, resigning as a Non-Commissioned Officer  at 23 while serving at Dahomey, current day Benin. From 1886 he was engaged in expeditions to explore the west coast of Africa.

In 1891 he was put in charge by the Muséum National d'Historie Naturelle of a mission to explore southern Africa, and during the two year journey he was able to combine the scientific work with his passion of hunting. 

In 1894 he returned to Africa where during the next three years he would cross the continent from the Zambezi to the Congo, a trip that among other works would result (posthumously) in After Big Game In Central Africa.

Now I would like to report on the firearms that Monsieur Foà selected for this journey into the unknown:

• 1 Double-barrelled 8-bore rifle
• 2 Express 577-bore rifles
• 1 Express 303-bore rifle (Metford)
• 1 smooth 12-bore Winchester six-shot repeater (I believe it to be a Model 1893)
• 1 smooth 32-bore double barrel fowling-piece (for collection of small birds)

All four rifles were side-plate exposed hammer actions, as at the time Monsieur Foà did not believe that the new hammerless actions (either side-lock or box-lock) were robust or reliable enough to endure such a journey, away from any competent gunsmith. By the photographies in the book, all the rifles appear to be of the robust and proven Jones underlever design.

Being so conservative in his choice of rifles (it is understandable that he did not have a Level 8mm as French law regarded and regards military cartridges as War Material), I was impressed to see his selection for a repeating shotgun, which he always kept handy for self-protection against four or two-legged predators!

As for the ammunition, the details are the following:

• 8-bore: 100 "small" cartridges with round 2 1/2 ounce bullets and 5 drachms of powder, for buffaloes and to dispatch large pachydermata; and 100 "large" cartridges with conical 4 ounce 1 drachm bullets and 8 drachms of powder, for elephants and rhinoceroses;
• Express 577: 1,600 express bullet cartridges (6 drachms of powder), with copper tube, weighing 1 ounce 2 drachms; and 800 cartridges with solid bullets ordinary lead, of 1 ounce 5 drachms;
• Express 303 (Metford): 500 cartridges, with solid bullets of great penetration for defense or shots at head (hippopotami, elephants, rhinoceroses), weighting 7 drachms; and an additional 2,400 cartridges with Jeffery bullets (8 drachms), hollow bullet (7 drachms), soft-nosed solid bullets (7 drachms), and soft-nosed express bullets (7 drachms).

All ammunition was supplied by Eley and Kynoch and packed in soldered zinc boxes, ten cartridges in a box.

Monsieur Foà last expedition took place in a time of great transition in the firearms world, black powder to smokeless (chemical) powders, large bore to small bore, lead bullets to engineered jacket bullets, but at early dawn of the repeating bolt-action rifle. By the end of the book it becomes apparent that the 8-bore became more of a nuisance than necessity, and that when other rifles were not at hand, the little 303 Express killed every animal that it shot at when the bullet was well placed, from lion to rhinoceros to elephant.

Let's remember that Alexander Lake in his book Killers in Africa tells us that he used almost exclusively a 303 Lee-Enfield for his hunting, and that he considered that the 270 Winchester with a 150 grain bullet would be a proper replacement for it. Mr. Lake also had a very low opinion of the heavy express rifles as the brutal recoil disrupted proper bullet placement.

Similarly, in Green Hills of Africa Ernest Hemingway uses almost exclusively a 30-06 Springfield by Griffin & Howe during both his 1933 and 1953/54 safaris, shooting 220 grain solids for buffalo and lion.

Another point that I would like to cover is on Monsieur Foà discussions on the Eatable Quality of Animals and the Hunter's Bill of Fare. After long reflection and a rather long time in the bush, he proposes the following menu for when having distinguished guests at camp:

MENU

SOUP

Consommé of buffalo tail. Eland Soup.

HOUR'S D'OEUVRE

White ants, grasshoppers on the point of laying.

ENTREES

Jugged wild cat, elephant's foot à la poulette, giraffe's tongue with caper sauce.

VEGETABLES

Mushrooms, Bonongwe with eland's marrow, Runi, Mtanga with ground nuts.

ROASTS

Elephant's heat larded with warthog fat, rolled rhinoceros fillet, monkey en papillote, agouti stuffed with tortoise.

SALAD

Matako ia tsano.

DESERTS

Fulas, matondos mtduzi, tchendje, and various others.

WINE AND BEER

Moa or pombe and fresh Chiromo nchena.

Shortly after presenting this sumptuous (but for us rather impractical and probably unachievable) menu, he comments that: "For my part, I can only repeat what I have already said elsewhere: if we made a list of everything used for food in various parts of the world, vegetables apart, we should come to the conclusion that everything living which nature has placed in the earth is eatable, and that people fond of it may be found.Was it not with this object that animals were created, like an interminable bill of fare, from which man is free to choose what pleases him?"

By the end of what would become his last expedition, Monsieur Foà's bag was the following:

• Large animals            488
• Small game                520
• Various                       220
• Grand Total            1,228

Édouard Foà passed away on 29 June 1901 at Villers-sur-mer (Calvados) due tropical diseases contract during his previous journeys into Africa, or maybe due to a hunter's broken heart, for no longer being able to enjoy the bill of fare from Africa's hinterlands.

Vacations from Vacations

End of part one

We are always reminded that Ortega y Gasset also equates hunting as "the vital vacation from the human condition," and then I would like to humbly propose that that being true, then bird hunting is a pleasurable and relaxing vacation from such "vital vacation."

So, with such thought in mind I made sure that I booked at least one day of bird hunting, or bird shooting if you are more insular, right in the middle of my all too short week on safari (by the way, I am not sure if the term continues to apply as I was not really traveling during the hunt.)

On Wednesday, 15th July, Richard drove me at some ungodly early hour to a rendezvous at a certain crossroad with Chrisjan Swart who guides for wingshotting & criter calling. While Richard provided me with a basket full of shotshell boxes, Anna made sure that I had a basket full of breakfast, including tea, rusks and biltong.

Chrisjan took us to a farm close to small town of Settlers that had several man made lakes to supply water to several center irrigation pivots. On arrival we met Mexican hunter Luiz and his family with their Spanish guide Antônio and started setting up the rotating geese decoy (that later in the morning would be repurposed to be a rotating pigeon decoy) and selecting a suitable place among the reeds that surrounded the lake.

As the first waterfowl were begining to fly Chrisjan let me in a comfortable bucket with a Spanish 12 gauge side-by-side shotgun, several boxes of AAA (about T size at .20" diameter) 36 grams (1 1/4 ounces) heavy game loads, my breakfast basket a some words of warning: "Be aware of the hippos."

We are always reminded that the hippopotamus is an ill-humored (must be because they fart through their mouths), territorial and aggressive animals, infamous for being responsible for more human fatalities in Africa than any other large animal. Hippos also can run at over 20 miles per hour (while I can't) and I doubt that AAA shot would even penetrate their skin that over two inches tick and from which the famous kiboko or seekoei sjambok is carved. 

Oh well, life needs spice!

I heard some hippos complaining (or farting, who knows?), but never saw one, and by the time the sun was up it was clear that the Egyptian geese were not flying over the lakes, but over some nearby fields, and we relocated. And during the next couple hours we shot at them, shot at then, and...shot at them as they continued to fly away. I guess armour plating and altitude would be the best excuses for such a deplorable display of wingshooting skills.

But a poor soul can only take so much punishment from heavy game loads, and by mid morning we relocated again to try our luck at pigeons and doves. This was clearly a strange morning as the majority of the pigeons and doves were either on vacation or strike as by 11:00 AM I had used a good part of a box of NOBELSPORT 28 grams (1 ounce) 71/2's to bring down exactly two doves.

And then, in the next half hour I shot and retrieved fourteen doves and rock pigeons or speckled pigeons (Columba guinea) with their beautiful red patched eyes. Had I suddenly relearned how to shoot?

We broke for a field lunch which included cold meets, wild game pates and a fantastic Spanish tortilla brought by Antônio (this is the same dish as the Italian frittata, a thick potato omelette that my grandmother used to make and that my wife makes to perfection.) A cold beer provided the perfect pairing for the meal.

After lunch we drove a short distance for afternoon with bird dogs, which included a brace of English pointers and another of German shorthairs. We started to follow the dogs in the knee high grass and not a minute into this hunt a pair of Swainson's francolin took off and I brought them down with a right and a left barrel! A true double on over dogs is the ne plus ultra of shotgunning, and if I remember correctly this was my seventh true double.

As far as I am concerned the hunt could have ended right there, but it didn't. I shot another francolin just before we dived into the thorns and briar, and I was really happy that I had brought my chaps. Every single bush was intended in drawing my blood. We had no luck with birds in the heavy cover, but instead flushed a duiker and a pair of steenboks.

if Biathlon combines cross-country skiing and rifle shooting, then guineafowl combines cross-country running and shotgun shooting. We found a big flock of helmeted guineafowl on the thorny savanna, and the four dogs had a terrible time holding them in the short grass, so we had to run (and I hate running!)

Guineafowls, dogs and hunters started to disperse in all directions in absolutely frantic action. Lots of birds were running, then suddenly part of the flock would take to wing, guns would blaze away and eventually the odd bird would crash. For well over an hour, maybe close to two, we had to combine endurance and speed to track and then flush the polka-dotted grey chickens until they eventually took us on a big circle back to the bakkies.

And while Chrisjan arranged the day's bag for the photo shoot I stripped my chaps and savoured another cold beer to replenish the essential salts, minerals and fluids that I had lost during the mad hunt for these birds that easily out run the fastest pheasant that you may have crossed paths with.

After posing for photos and saying goodbyes Luiz and Antônio departed to avoid driving during night, and Chrisjan took me back to a brush strip formed by two center pivot fields to wait the Egyptian geese evening flights. The decoys were set and we set on our buckets waiting for some distracted bird to come within shotgun range.

While we waited, dusk started to prevail over the departing day and a nice male bushbuck came out of nowhere to feed in the luxurious crop of the pivot behind us. And when the geese came within range and the shotgun barrage started Mr. Bushbuck didn't pay any attention to it. This reminded me of several times when shooting skeet at the Southern Michigan Gun Club and the whitetail were grazing or browsing in plain site and probably under a shower of No. 8 pellets, and they just didn't mind us.

Either the birds were flying lower (most likely) or our shooting improved (least likely) or both, but the truth is that Chrisjan and I brought down three of the most beautiful geese that I ever had the pleasure to hold. They crashed across the field and the dogs made great retrieves.

Coronation of part two

We waited until full dark for spur-winged geese, but they never showed up, and after a long day we collected the gear and headed towards the rendezvous with Richard, at the same crossroad. On the way out of the field we saw some Cape foxes going about whatever business foxes do at night (probably hunting for the same birds we did, but with greater success and a lot less noise).

To say that I had a fantastic day a field would be an understatement. One could point out that the morning was a bust, but the afternoon and evening more than made out for that. The dichotomy just serves to remember us that we were hunting and not shooting, and that the birds will be where they want to be and they will do their best to avoid us, as they do with any other predators.

In the short story "Fathers and Sons" Hemingway says that "When you have shot one bird flying you have shot all birds flying.They are all different and they fly in different ways but the sensation is the same and the last one is as good as the first." The day afield with Chrisjan more than validates Hemingway's observation and I pray to continue to be able to enjoy the sensation.

Interstice

The Closing of the Second Day

On Monday, 13th July, we started towards the Impala hide before sunrise on a cool and comfortable morning. When we arrived it was still dark enough that we needed a flashlight to help us get set. I adjusted the release around my wrist, knocked an arrow and hang the bow from one of the hooks so it stays easily at hand while keeping the broadhead safely away from the hunters.

Richard poured hot tea in a couple enamel cups and opened a container full of rusks, the hard double baked South African sweet bread, that is almost like hardtack. In order to preserve the teeth, one should dunk the rusks in tea, coffee or milk before eating it. I love rusks and tea in the morning, especially when hunting. Hunting and rusks in morning and hunting and biltong later in the day are just perfect combinations.

The first visitors of the day were a herd of Impala, but there was not a mature ram among them, and sometime later they were pushed away by the arrival of Warthogs, a sow and several immature pigs. They stayed around for a sometime, but again no trophy, which in this case would take the form of nice tusks.

After the Warthog departed a herd of magnificient Eland came to water. There were several cows with their long and slender horns, and a handful of bulls with much heavier spiral horns. The Eland moved around and divided their attention between the water and some feed that Simon had left for them. The cows were a lot more wary than the bulls, and by going round and around they eventually winded us and the herded stampeded towards the bush.

The Wharthog came bag, probably the same animals as before, and by around 10:00 AM me started back to the lodge (actually Richard and Anna's home) for brunch, or was it lunch?

We came back in early afternoon, and the only visitors were giraffe. Shorty is the male, Strippes the female, and then Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2. Baby No. 1 was almost as tall as his mother. The giraffes are Anna's pets, and they decided not to name the babes any more, as she had a hard time when they sold the previous ones.

Apart from a large diversity and number of birds, no other animals came to the hide that afternoon, but the day ended with a gift of a beautiful sunset that almost made me wish that like Le Petit Prince I could relocate my chair to watch it again.

When planning for this trip, I started to consider which animals I would like to go after. I really wanted a nice Impala and a long tusked warthog, and also Red Hartebeest and Blue Wildebeest would be very high on my list. But in hunting, under ethical and sporting conditions, and especially under the self-imposed limitations associated with bow hunting, the hunter should understand that he who is too picky may go home empty handed.

And although Buffalo Thorn is high-fenced, like almost all hunting properties in South Africa, there is no canned hunting in its one thousand acres. There are three water throughs within the four hides, and the hunter can only be in one of them at a time, the animals can move freely anywhere in the property, and many species can go for days without water.

As I mentioned before, the situation is not intrinsically different from bow hunting for whitetail in Michigan or hunting black bear over bait in Ontario. The surroundings are clearly different, and diversity of species and number of specimens bring constant entertainment to any hunter that loves nature.

During dinner Richard mentioned that he was concerned that for the past two days I had not had the opportunity to take a shot. I assured him that irrespective of that I was having a wonderful time, but that in order to change our luck I would take the first " trophy" that came along the next day.

The Way Hunting Should Be

Bait and friends

In Green Hills of Africa, Ernst Hemingway when pressed by the approaching raining season says that “it is not pleasant to have a time limit by which you must get your kudu or perhaps never get it, nor even see one. It is not the way hunting should be.” The problem is, paraphrasing José Ortega y Gasset, that “in our rather stupid time” we do have time limits for almost everything we do, especially for taking a “vital vacation from the human condition.”

So, in order to avoid feeling pressed by time I just decided that during my week hunting in the Limpopo I would not be a slave of time, and this would only be possible if I really accepted that “the hunter does not hunt in order to kill; on the contrary, he kills in order to have hunted,” and specially that although the kill consummates the hunt, one does not necessarily needs to kill every time in order to have a great hunt.

This more relaxed attitude allowed me to enjoy the hunting much more, and also take time to spend with friends and their families during the week, have long relaxing conversations during the all too frequent meals that almost put an end to my diet, appreciate the people that welcomed me to their home, and learn as much as possible, from conversations, observations and even actions.

So, on my first morning, Sunday 12^th July, I did not set an alarm clock and when I woke up the sun was high in sky and I walked out in my pajamas to great Fanie and Pieter and their families, Ana and Richard. By mid-morning I finally got dressed in more appropriate safari clothes (meaning the same green Bermuda shorts and shirt that I use on a warm weekend around my home) and climbed in the Land Cruiser to drive around the farm, visit each of the four blinds (Buffalo Thorn or Wag-'n-bietjie, Kudu which is the only one without a “water hole”, Impala or Rooibokke and Waterbuck or Waterbokke) while distributing some supplemental feed to help the herd during the dry South African winter.

But even an unpretentious drive can bring surprises, especially when we encountered a small bachelor herd that had at least two Kudu with horns between 55 and 60 inches. Back in 2005 on my first safari I shot an Eastern Cape Kudu that is a beautiful representative specimen for the area, but the Greater Kudu appears to be much larger. Although I love hunting Kudu and in my opinion it is the most beautiful of all antelope and perhaps of all antlered or horned animals, I had already decided that I would not hunt for Kudu this time. My goal was to relax and enjoy a relaxing hunt, and not to drive myself to my physical and psychological limits in a quest for Kudu. But when you see the magnificent animal the heart accelerates, the trigger finger trembles, and your previous resolution is brutally tempted. Oh well, I did not have my bow with me, so it was not so hard to resist temptation.

The Limpopo semi-arid bosveld is both beautiful and diverse and each turn of the dirt road or clump of thorn bushes could hide a new surprise. I knew that bow hunting in Africa would have certain similarities to bow hunting for whitetail deer in Michigan or bear hunting in Ontario: sitting in blind, be quiet and wait…and wait…wait. But it can also be very different, since the hunter will have the opportunity and pleasure to watch and admire a greater number of species and specimens of large game animals in one morning in Africa than in many seasons back home.

Anyhow, after the recognizance drive we came back for a very large breakfast that may or may not have involved a couple beers (it is always after five some place in the world), and then shooting some arrows on a target formally to sight in the bow, but really to allow Richard to evaluate if the hunter (in this case, me) would be able to kill cleanly and not injure and inflict suffering to his animals. And during the it became clear to me that Richard really loves his animals.

By midafternoon, after a nap to fight the jetlag and while Fanie started the braai Simon drove Richard and me to Wag-'n-bietjie, the closest blind to farm compound. In order to not disturb or alarm the animals, there is very little walking on the farm during hunting season. The hunter is driven on the open Land Cruiser to the blind, and after the hunter is inside the blind the door is closed from the outside in order to prevent the temptation to roam around. Along with biltong and drinks, we would also have a couple pee bottles and a radio to call Simon to come and retrieve us, either after a shot was taken or when it was simply time to go.

Soon after we were imprisoned in the blind and Simon left the parade started. First came the birds, doves and pigeons, sand grouse and francolins, and then the boisterous guinea fowl. Shortly after, I was introduced to Bait. In order to bring new blood line and avoid consanguinity, it is the practice in South Africa, where most huntable private land is high-fenced, to introduce new animals to the herds. Bait was one of a couple young impala rams that roamed around the compound, and was clearly recognized by a red tag in its right year. His close friend traitor had the tag in the left year. I only gave them their names towards the end of the week, for whenever we hunted Wag-'n-bietjie either one or both of them would be the first animals in after the Simon left in the Land Cruiser.

Afterwards a herd of Red Hartebeest arrived, but no mature male came close to the water. As the sun started to dip behind the trees that separated Wag-'n-bietjie from the open veldt the wary Blesbok came in. While the hartebeest were almost relaxed and stayed around munching on the feed and licking salt for a long time, the blesbok very cautious and suspicious, and as soon as they drank their fill they hightailed back to the security of the open veldt. During all the time Richard would calmly explain the behavior of each species, how to differentiate between male and female, young and mature animals. He would also patiently answer to my never ending torrent of questions.

By the time the blesbok departed it was becoming too dark to shoot, so Richard radioed Simon to pick us up and after the first cold Carlin Black Label we sat for dinner with roulades (pork, smoked pork and pork belly), roasted corn and squashes. To put the night to bed we polished the remaining Macallan while making plans (or would we better call them dreams) for the following days.

8,571 Miles Close to Home

A Warm Bonfire Turns Night Into Home

On Friday 10^th July 2015 I left my home at Old Mission Peninsula in Traverse City, Michigan, USA (44°52’41”N, 85°31’46”W) and after about twenty-four hours of not necessarily comfortable travel I arrived at Richard Hobbs’ Buffalo Thorn Farm, not far from Modimolle, in the Limpopo, Republic of South Africa (24°47’59”S, 28°37’21”E).

The planning for this trip started over one year ago, when Pieter and Fanie began to scheme my return to South Africa after our weekend in the bushveld at Falmouth in April of 2012, which took place on the front end of a business trip.

It is amazing how a short weekend of hunting and comradeship in the great outdoors can forge the strongest friendship knot. While Fanie and I worked together for several years at the same company (which I left shortly after that weekend) and had the opportunity to create strong personal and professional bonds, Pieter and I only met for very short three days that many years ago. But those three days could as well have been three decades!

Besides basic luggage and an old Hoyt Razortech bow with all the necessary supporting elements I brought a single bottle of The Macallan Fine Oak 15 Year Old Scotch which amanzingly enough survived the first night! But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Fanie and his family picked me up the the Johannesburg OR Tambo Airport and then we drove about two hours to Buffalo Thorn to be met by a warm bonfire tended by Pieter, who was talking with Richard and his wife Ana, both of whom I would get to know and admire over the next week.

After an embrace from Pieter, at least as warm as the burning fire, and proper introductions, I had the opportunity to quench my thirsty by sipping from a cold bottle of Carlin Black Label after a ten year hiatus.

Dinner main course was buffalo stew and dessert was a fantastic English style pudin with custard. Ana's cooking would set me back almost a pound per day over the next week!

Before the stress and strain of the trip and the amber warmth of The Macallan drove me into the land of dreams, we set around the bonfire telling tall tales and small lies, and the feeling I had was that I was just 8,571 miles close to home.

Killers in Africa

I just finished reading "KILLERS IN AFRICA, The Truth About Animals Lying in Wait and Hunters Lying in Print" by Alexander Lake, published in 1953, and while it is an absolutely entertaining book, it raised some questions about another book, from one of my favorite "non-serious" writers, Peter Hathaway Capstick. But more about that later.

Mr. Lake was born in Illinois and raised in Michigan, and moved to Africa with his father (or family) in his teenager years. He apprenticed under prominent hunter Nicobar Jones and made a life out of hunting and guiding during the first half of the twentieth century.

According to Mr. Lake there is very little real danger in hunting big-game (by big game we should understand as "the ones that bite back!"), but "Each man was mauled or killed through his own ignorance, or careless, or reckless, or a poor shot, or hysterical, ir dependent on native gunbearers for support." Or in the words of the great Brazilian writer Jorge Amado, "those that are not competent cannot get established."

Besides the Big Five (Leopard, Lion, Buffalo, Rhino and Elephant), the book covers Hippos, Crocodiles, Snakes, Baboons and Antelopes. Mr. Lake's closest calls came while hunting chacma baboons and that reminded me of a history that Ed, a professional hunter that I met during my first time hunting in Africa with Mankazana Safaris. Ed told about a Norvegian hunter that was a police sniper and that would come to Africa and spend most of his time hunting baboons, because it was so close to hunting people! Ed was very clear about how afraid he was of the viciously dangerous baboon, particularly when they had to enter thick bush after a wounded baboon, 12 gauge pump gun in hand.

Regarding animals that are called "plains game" nowadays (what a misnomer), Mr. Lake says that "There is satisfaction in African antelope hunting beyond anything the big-game hunter will ever know. There can violence, too, for wounded kudu, sable, or bushbuck can be ugly customers whose slashing hoofs and sweeping horns can kill as surely as lions' fangs and claws."

Mr. Lake rightly did not believe in "shock" killing power and did not favor big-bore or double Express rifles ("Don't kid yourself that you can hit a big-game beast just anywhere with a .600 Nitro-Express and drop him cold every time."). He advocated careful bullet placement, and preferred "a military Lee-Enfield .303. If deprived of my .303 I'd be perfectly happy with a 6,5 mm Mannlicher-Schoenauer and a 160 grain bullet; with a .270 Winchester and a 150 grained soft-nosed bullet; or, for that matter, i'd be satisfied with any good modern rifle of comparable size."

One of my favorite passages in the book is when he is teaching a young prospector named Sachse how to hunt and engages on a discussion with other members of the expedition and says: "True hunting is never butchery. It's almost one hundred per cent sportsmanship. A true hunter has a sympathetic bond with animals. He tries to kill quickly and cleanly and never permits a wounded animal to suffer for long. Just now Sachse spoke of an 'urge' to hunt. Shows he's normal. Hunting's an atavistic urge and usually a healthy one."

The other is his discussion about the proper diet for a person that wants to hunt in Africa. "Unless you've been on a good meat diet and eaton your food well salted, you'll find yourself strangely weak and listless when energy is most needed. If you're a man who lives exclusively on fruits, vegetables, and grains, chances are you won't be able to endure a prolonged African hunting trip." And for a couple pages he goes on about the importance of carnivorous diet. I apologize for my good vegetarian friends in India, but I just love it!

But back to Capstick! The structure of Capstick's "Death in the Long Grass" (1977) is REALLY similar to that of "Killers in Africa" (1953), but a quarter century later. And if you read the Snakes chapter in both books you will find frigthening similarities on the stories about a matting couple of black mambas, especially when both snakes' heads appear over the long grass! I really love and cherish Peter Hathaway Capstick books and the way he writes, but for a long time people have questioned if he wrote fact or faction, and of all the adventures that he wrote about happened to him or to someone else. Well, in this case, evidence is against him.

In any case, I will read again Capstick's books and will look for more Alexander Lake books as well! And I recommend you to do the same, as both have had significant more hunting experience and write much better than I.