ROAD HUNTER

Hancock’s first encounter with maneating lions.

IT WAS JUNE – winter in South Africa –and temperatures plunged into the 20s. Shortly after dark we began playing predator calls on a speaker system.

Instantly, hyenas started calling, their eerie sounds echoing across the land. They didn’t bother the donkey. After seven hours of calling, we were tired. “We can take a nap; the sounds of the lions killing the donkey will wake us,” Hancock whispered.

Minutes later, as we sat shivering in the extreme cold, the crunching of bones broke the stillness of the starlit night. Then a thundering roar, mere feet from our blind, sent my heart racing. Without our knowing it, a pride of four lions had silently come to our calls, killed the donkey and started feasting. One lion, less than 10 paces from our ground blind, let out another resounding roar. A lion’s roar can be heard from over a mile away. Hearing it so closely physically shook me.

“We’ll wait for all the cats to start feeding, then I’ll turn on the light,” whispered Hancock. Fifteen minutes later, he turned on the flashlight. My .375 was in the shooting sticks. I had no trouble seeing the four lions, but they were laying side by side. If I shot the near cat, the bullet might pass through and cripple one on the other side.

Finally, a lion stood and I hit it right behind the shoulder. The pride took off in a flurry of dust. Hancock got back on the call and a few minutes later, three cats returned. Again, the shot was