A Case of Rattled Nerves By Chris Chimits

By Chris Chimits

The tracker raised his arm, and we stopped. He had seen big, deep tracks cutting across the red dirt road, and with fresh sign from a Cape buffalo, he immediately focused on tracking the animal through the thick vegetation. We followed closely behind. The veld looked very different from what I’m used to, as we were hunting in January, the middle of the South African summer. The verdant blackthorn bushes were dense, so stalking would be easier, but shooting lanes would be difficult. Unlike when hunting in the winter months, the temperature and humidity was also higher.

The first big bull we saw on Day 1 with his harem.

We had been slowly tracking for almost two and a half hours when we finally found the bull lying down in thick green foliage. I hadn’t quite gotten on the sticks when he stood up and stared me down. I flipped the safety off on the .416 Rigby and focused on his left shoulder. The bull was quartering towards me at roughly a 45 degree angle and, with inexplicable lack of foresight, I failed to adjust for the quartering angle and sent the big 400-grain Barnes TSX bullet into his shoulder at the back of his front leg instead of moving it more towards his chest. The black form disappeared from sight into the thick foliage, and all I could hear were his hooves pounding the red dirt and my own heartbeat drumming in sync! As bad as that was, I had no idea what kind of stress lay ahead of me, but I did know that I had a case of rattled nerves.

My first encounter with a Cape buffalo was much earlier in life. I had just gotten my very first job mowing a lady neighbor’s lawns, and started my weekly effort. As I mowed around to her side of the yard, I came face to face with a huge black animal that was mounted on the side of her garage under the carport. It stared down at me like it hated me, and even though I knew I was safe from any harm, the visage terrified me. After finishing her lawns, I asked her about the big mean-looking animal, and she told me it was a Cape buffalo from Africa. “Someday, maybe you will hunt one,” she said. The seed was planted, but five decades would pass before I faced one in the flesh.

I had hunted several times in South Africa and each time, I went after plains game. I finally made the decision to hunt buffalo and told my friend and owner of Mabula Pro Safaris, Christo Gomes, that I’d like to give it a try. We made arrangements to come in September of 2020, but Covid-19 shut the country down from March to mid-November, so we had to put the hunt on pause. Christo called me at the end of November and said their country had opened up for international travel, so we quickly arranged to hunt from the first week of 2021.

We went out in the afternoon of our first day there and saw many spectacular buffalo including one massive bull running with a dozen cows and several calves. Christo said it would be difficult to get close to him with so many animals around him. Also, their preference at Mabula Pro Safaris is to hunt older, solitary bulls that have been driven out of the herd. We kept looking. By the end of the day just before dusk, we stumbled onto another big old bull that was alone. Christo said it was at least 45 inches. That evening at the lodge, I questioned him and my PH, Fransua Stoltz about the two bulls. Both men liked the second bull better, so we made a plan to go after that one.

In January, the sun comes up very early, so we were in the field at 5:30 a.m. looking for the second buffalo, but could not find him right away. The tracker, Admire cut his tracks leading out from the spot where we had found him the night before, and we started off slowly. After four and a half miles, we caught two glimpses of him, but did not get any shooting alleys to open up. The temperature was a sweltering 95 degrees, so we elected to go back to the lodge, eat, cool off and rest before going back out in the afternoon.

By 3:30, we were at the bakkie ready to go. After a couple more hours on the tracks, we finally saw him and snuck into a good shooting position. The big bull was lying down in the shade of dense bushes and trees. When he spotted us, he stared for a moment, and then stood, watching us intently. I swung the crosshairs onto his left front shoulder and squeezed. We heard the bullet hit his body and saw him jump, wheel away and take

off. Fransua quickly grabbed the sticks and moved back towards the dirt path we had taken earlier. He thought the buff would cross the road shortly and he was right. I was on the sticks again and ready to shoot when the bull ran across the path. I put another shot low in his shoulder, and he disappeared into the veld. I didn’t even notice the fierce recoil or sound of the Rigby that was so apparent when sighting it in!

I have read enough stories on hunting African buffalo to know that going after a wounded bull in thick bush is one of the most dangerous situations a guy can find himself in. And I had done this to myself, my PH and his tracker. We went into the bush and slowly followed the tracks, guns at the ready. This continued until it started getting dark. My nerves were shot! Fransua suggested that we quit and come back early in the morning to resume the tracking, and I gratefully agreed. My emotions were running at top speed, thinking about getting charged or not being able to find the animal. He assured me that we would find the bull, as Admire From left: Tammie, me, Christo Gomes and Fransua Stoltz down in the front.

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had tracking skills beyond comprehension, but I still felt very upset about wounding it.

After a long, sleepless night, I was ready before daylight. I felt tense and nervous thinking about the mess I had made, and was assuming the worst.

We got right back on the tracks and went for two and a half hours. I would jump at any little sound, thinking about the wounded bull bearing down on us through the thick undergrowth. During the slow, tedious process, Fransua whispered that the bull’s right rear leg was failing because his hoof was splaying outwards, and the track was not as deep as the left rear track was. I could sense that Fransua was becoming increasingly tense as we got closer, and noticed that he was carrying his rifle up high at the ready position. I did the same. At this point, we picked up the unmistakable but pungent aroma of buffalo, and my heart really started pounding.

Admire had gotten out ahead of us and was out of sight, but quickly moved back to within view with a huge grin on his face and his arm up in the air gesturing for us to come! He spoke quickly to Fransua in his native language, so I had no idea what he had seen, but I did like the big smile. Fransua turned to me with the same look on his face. “Your big bull is just up ahead… and he’s dead!”

To say I was relieved was a massive understatement! My heart felt so light, I jumped up in the air towards him and grabbed him on the way down! Same with Admire. I grabbed and hugged him too! We went and verified that the bull was indeed dead, and settled down to take some pictures. Christo came out after we radioed him and brought a bottle of South African sparkling wine and several champagne glasses. We were drinking by 8:00 am! In my defense, it was 10:00 p.m. on New Year’s Eve back home in Reno, Nevada, so I didn’t feel bad at all. In fact, I was jubilant!

The rest of the hunt had a very different vibe to it. I was back on plains game and did not feel the same pressure as I did with the Cape buffalo. We bumped into a spectacular 30” golden wildebeest, and, “Those big wide ones don’t come along all that often,” whispered Fransua. That was all the coercion it took, and we were stalking him down to an 85 yard shot. He was in a tight group with two other bulls, so I had to be careful not to hit either of them. I noticed that my normal shooting skill and mindset had returned without the rattled nerves that I had experienced on the buffalo hunt.

Christo wanted to leave the Mabula lodge in the Limpopo the next morning and take us to the Mankwe lodge in the Kalahari as the animals there were also in awesome condition and quite relaxed with no hunting pressure on them for more than a year due to the Covid shutdown. We traveled for ten hours and got to the desert which was absolutely spectacular from all the rain. The camel thorn trees and blackthorn bushes were in full leaf and looked beautiful. All the pans were covered with bright green grass. My good friend and spectacular PH, Gerrie Vorster was able to join us there and guide me

Together with my wife and the awesome bull.

A typical Kalahari sunset on our last day there.

From left: Our tracker Admire, Martin Muller of African Sun Productions, me, my wife Tammie (behind Gerrie) and Gerrie Vorster in the middle of his yodeling lesson.

throughout the Kalahari part of the safari. I have hunted with him several times on previous safaris and he stays with us in Reno, Nevada during the SCI shows there. During one of the slower moments at the Kalahari, he felt compelled, for some unknown reason, to teach us all how to yodel! I was afraid it would scare all the animals away and damage everyone’s ears, but we survived the lesson and gave him the crap he deserved when we got back to the lodge where we enjoyed that kind of fun and banter every evening!

The first animal we got was a massive old solitary blue wildebeest bull with horns that looked like a buffalo’s! I had never seen such heavy horns that were also really wide, so we put an effective sneak on him and got him down with a 60-yard poke.

I had gotten an impala on my very first safari a dozen years ago, but it was a modest one at best, so I had told Christo I would like to find a really nice one if possible. He laughed. “There are many impala in the Kalahari that will make your mouth drop!” He certainly wasn’t joking either. After a very interesting and clever stalk Gerrie put together that got us unnoticed to within 180 yards of a big bunch of impala, I took a shot at an awesome 27” buck and he piled up behind a thick blackthorn bush.

I was really excited to see what a beauty he was, but we rushed through the pictures as the temperature was over 100 degrees and the sand he fell in felt like 200 degrees. During the hunt we had seen a beautiful roan antelope, and showed Christo pictures of it that night at dinner. He told us that he thought that the animal would be a 30 incher. I had not planned on hunting a roan, but I didn’t have one, and that I couldn’t resist it. (My wife thought my resistance was waning badly, so I told her I thought I was coming down with Covid, but she wasn’t having it!)

We spotted the roan with binoculars and started after him, but I’m certain that this cagey bull somehow knew we were no longer just looking at him, but had developed malignant intentions. He took off repeatedly every time we got anywhere close to him. After several stalks, we finally caught him facing us, and Gerrie urgently whispered “Shoot!” I took a quick 130yard attempt at him and hit him solidly in the chest. Tracking him was so easy because of where I hit him, that I could have followed him without Admire’s help

There was a hunting property about 30 miles from the Mankwe lodge. No one had hunted it for several years, and the lodge was closed, but Christo had seen a lot of good red hartebeest there. I like their peculiar look and said I wanted to go after one if possible. With Christo, everything is possible! The next morning we were on the road after he had made arrangements with the owner. Christo was correct there were lots of hartebeest, but they were skittish and alert. Gerrie finally got me an opportunity at 275 yards, and I shot at a nice bull that was moving at a pretty good pace. We thought I’d missed him as the bullet went right through the body and saw it hit the ground beyond him. As it turned out, it went through the center of his heart and split it in two!

This trip was easily my favorite safari despite the Covid-19 restrictions at the airports, and it was all the more enjoyable for being able to share a spectacular hunting experience with my wife and good friends at Mabula Pro Safaris. I am planning on returning this coming September with several other friends from Reno, but only after I get that big 46” buffalo mounted with the same fierce look as I saw on the neighbor’s buffalo so many years ago, when my nerves got rattled the first time!

The roan was totally relaxed until he realized our intentions.