"The smell of the campfire, the maniacal call of hyena, warm whiskey in an enamel mug, a galloping herd of wildebeest kicking up dust against a golden sunset, the feel of a light breeze on a sweaty face." (from my story The First Big Hunt)
This is how I have encoutered Africa, and it being the place of my birth, is in my blood. My name is Jep and I have put my experiences hunting in Southern Africa down on paper and I would like to share these short stories with you. I have made a compilation of four stories available to you for $10 (US).
I can be contacted at:
fax: +(27)18 294 4217
mail: Southern Arican Hunting Stories, attention Jep, P.O.Box 640, Potchefstroom, 2531, South Africa
THE FIRST BIG HUNT
Around three o'clock in the afternoon, we looked for shade and took a break. I put my feet up against an Umbrella Thorn tree and drank the last of my water. I was sure that this time Sam had lost the herd but was too proud to admit it. Sam and Mopani, who had moved toward a thick clump of mopani bush to find the spoor, suddenly hissed at us and pointed into the thicket. There, in an opening, were part of the buffalo herd with a few cows grazing, and on a rise about fifty paces away, a huge bull, with a good boss and deep horns.
"Which one?" I whispered to Clarry, but his attention was already on his target. He lifted his 458 Bruno and fired, I heard the bullet ricochet. Then I swung my sites on to the target, chaos ensued, buffalo were running every where, they seemed to be dropping out of the trees! Without warning, one took the lead and the rest ran in the same direction, I charged after them to get a shot at the passing herd. Behind me I heard two shots, and through the dust and noise I saw a bull bring up the rear, he seemed to be staggering a little, it must have been Clarry's. I decided to take him down, aimed for the neck and fired, he did not even flinch, but turned and charged at me. He was coming fast, his hooves churning up mud, and his head strained up to get me in his sites. As I lifted my two-power scope everything seemed to be happened at double speed. I swung the cross hairs of the scope onto the charging beast's wet nose so that I could slide a bullet under the boss into his brain. The fifteen hundred pounds of fury aimed straight at me, were closing in at twenty paces, my rifle was sited in at fifty. I fired but the bullet it went in too low. It had no effect; I might just as well be using a 22 for the impact it had. I couldn't understand it, and loaded again without dropping the rifle from my shoulder, and fired again, still he came! I heard a shot thunder from my left, the beast staggered as Hennie came into view, he was reloading as Rod ran up and gave the bull a final shot in the ear. Up to that point I hadn't been scared, I tried to light a cigarette, but the damn matches kept on breaking!...
CUSTOMERS AND OTHER CREATURES
THE HUNTER'S STARS
The following are titles available in my compilation of short stories:
..."At daybreak, after a quick cup of coffee and a rusk, we were off in the Land Rovers. Around seven o'clock we picked up the spoor of a herd of buffalo that had crossed the border at least three hours previously. Tracks of nocturnal insects were imprinted over the spoor, and spiders had already spun their fine webs over them, it was going to be a long walk to catch up with the herd. We filled our water bottles, shoved extra apples into our pockets, checked the spare ammunition, tightened our bootlaces and set off. Sam was focused on the spoor clearly marked in the soft sand when, to our astonishment, he moved completely off it. Uncle Hennie asked Mopani, " Did he party too much last night?" "No," was the reply, "he is thinking like a buffalo." "Oh!" we all said in unison, as if we understood what he meant, and trudged on with our doubts of Sam growing with every step. Half and hour later we met up with the herd's spoor again, Sam had made up for lost time by taking a short cut. We followed the tracks for a while. The sun was hot and the insects were irritating us. Sam moved off the spoor again at an angle, he had been right once but we doubted if he would be lucky again.
This is the comic, yet tragic (for the the hunter that is) tale of the blue wildebeest; how it earned its name and the frustration it causes many a broken hunter.
The antics of the average American soap opera pale in comparison to what goes on in the average South African gun store. I have written a not too serious account of the characters and situations that have occurred in my gun store over the years. BEWARE this is not for the feint harted!
I have always been fascinated by the African night sky, with stars so vivid that you feel as though you can reach out and pluck them out of the sky. It's a shame that many hunters who are so overwhelmed by the dazzling night sky, know very little about the stars. In this story I give the reader a "crash course" in African astronomy, with a whimsical twist.
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