by Franco Giulietti

An African Tribute

Arthur selected an impala and nyala hunt. It took us on a scenic drive to the Graaff Reinett region in the Eastern Cape. On our way I stopped at an old friend whose farm has been in the family since the early 1900’s. He lent me two trackers, Ndlamini and Sipho, for the safari and gave us some kudu biltong to Arthur’s delight. Our journey ended late that afternoon when we arrived at two deserted veldt huts hidden away at the bottom of the majestic Sneeuberg Mountain.

We unpacked and checked all the hunting gear for the next day. I had Arthur practice a few shots to see if his rifle’s scope was set for the necessary distance of 200 meters. Then it was time to unwind. The two trackers skilfully produced an enormous barn fire with multiple yellow split tongues reaching up at the African sky. Background vocals of the farm labourers drifted towards us on an easy breeze. Lady Africa cast her spell and we were all mesmerized. We chatted till late, holding on to a magical evening for as long as possible. But eventually we had to let go. We needed enough sleep for the next day’s hunt.

Early the next morning, the flirtatious aroma of freshly brewed coffee on a campfire woke us. After enjoying several cups of coffee with buttermilk rusks we promptly got dressed in our camo, collected rifles and ammo and off we went. The sun was just settling on the horizon, showing off an impressive display of colors. Africa was romancing us, the game hunters. We set out into the wild bush with the two trackers short on our heels. Ndlamini was a friendly altimer with a constant toothless smile and Sipho was an enthusiastic youngster bursting with love for the veldt.

We walked for about 25 minutes before we caught first sight of a herd of impala about 200 meters to our left. There was about 20 impala in the herd. I urged Arthur to move as quietly as possible. The direction of the morning breeze was in our favour. The impala wouldn’t sense our sent in the wind. Cautiously we moved closer to the unsuspected impala.

True to the nature of vegetation for impala the acacia karoo trees are plentiful. One particular old tree, colossal in size, provided enough cover and allowed us to get as close as a 100 meters to the herd of impala.

I told Arthur to settle down and catch a breath. We had enough time as the herd of impala was unaware of us being there. They were too busy browsing on the tender shoots of the acacia.

I chose a firm branch for Arthur to use as a steady rest to take his shot. As I positioned myself to get a clear view through my binoculars I advised Arthur to aim for the shoulder. Then I selected a superb looking ram for him to shoot. The horns were a decent size, maybe even Rowland Ward.

Seeing that it was his first time, emotions of excitement and anxiety rushed through Arthur’s plump frame. I could see his trigger finger trembling as he tensed. Now Arthur, when you’re ready, aim and shoot. The shot thundered across the land. I could see Arthur’s shot was spot on. The herd of impala scattered off in all directions, leaping through the air up to 2 meters high and 6 meters long.

The targeted impala’s slender legs collapsed instantly. Arthur was beside himself. He finally experienced the thrill of the kill first hand. All excited we knelt down at the dead impala, inspecting the shot and yes, it was a heart shot. What a splendid way to start romancing the god of hunting. My newfound friend had a perfect shot first time. I praised him with this achievement.

In the wild it is an unwritten law to capture a moment like this and I promptly handed the camera to Ndlamini explaining what he must do to take a photo of Arthur and myself. To my own shame, I must admit I had no trust in Ndlamini’s photographic skill, picturing in my mind photos with huge finger black-outs. I was so wrong. Proud to be the photographer, Ndlamini acted out a few photographer moves and took photos of Arthur and myself with the impala. Then it was the two trackers’ turn to pose for a photo with Arthur and the impala.

Ndlamini and Sipho took the impala back to the huts where it was skinned and prepared for the taxidermist under Arthur’s watchful eye. We measured the horns and the god of hunting smiled upon Arthur. The horns did indeed make Rowland Ward.

The next day proved to be more challenging for the nyala are not so easy to spot in the thick bush that they prefer to dwell in. We started out early and by 10h00 we still haven’t seen one nyala. We saw the field signs as we went along. Thrashed bushes, horned up soil and droppings 1.5 cm long with a small bump at one end and a hollow at the other. I explained all this to the curious Arthur.

After a while I finally motioned Arthur to stop. I pointed towards my left and there, surrounded by nature’s very own camouflage, stood the nyala motionless, invisible to the untrained eye. I whispered to Arthur that this is not the one. I couldn’t see a mane or horns. Also, the nyala was a chestnut color instead of a grey or dark brownish color which is characteristic of the adult male. Somewhat disappointed we turned away and continued our search for the trophy male.

By lunchtime we stopped our search for a well-deserved rest. We settled in under a huge tree with plenty of shade and enjoyed some refreshments. It’s senseless to look for nyala this time of day seeing that they are only active in the morning and afternoon, and into the night. They rest during the middle of the day and after midnight.

I told Ndlamini and Sipho to keep a look out for the nyala while Arthur and I were resting. By now Arthur got to know all about the scorching heat of the African sun. The acacia karoo trees provided the only escape to a little shade.

Our rest came to an end when Ndlamini called us, pointing his weathered finger excitedly towards the west. The nyala was about 450 m away along the dry riverbank. I checked the direction of the wind. We had to circle down wind to the riverbank and then made our way towards the nyala using whatever cover was available. At roughly 200m from the nyala I saw through my binoculars that it was a magnificent adult male with a perfect set of horns. This will be Arthur’s trophy.

I looked around for a comfortable rest for Arthur to steady his rifle. Then I saw an old anthill approximately 70cm high which was ideal. Arthur assumed his position. As I looked through the binoculars waiting for the shot I admired the magnificence of the animal. When you are ready Arthur, claim your trophy. Once again Arthur’s rifle thundered across the land. An absolute silence followed. The birds were no longer singing. They became the silent witnesses of the chase to follow. Through the binoculars I could see the splat of dust just behind the shoulder and I knew it was a good shot.

The nyala disappeared in the thick bush. Shock and disappointment covered Arthur’s face. I motioned Arthur to follow me to where we saw the nyala. I then looked around in a radius of 5 meters for signs of blood or stomach contents, because this will tell me where the animal was shot. I suspected a lung shot when I saw the splats of pinkish blood. When Arthur saw the blood he was even more upset. The idea of being responsible for a wounded animal running around in agony didn’t please him at all.

I explained to Arthur that when you shoot an animal in the lungs, it still rushes off only to collapse a few meters away. The nyala only felt a shudder through his body and acted on impulse to run. Being a lung shot, the lungs can no longer oxygenate the blood, therefore the brain is starved of oxygen and eventually the nyala would faint and then die. It will not experience any pain. After hearing this, Arthur was a little more at ease.

I told Arthur we must wait a few minutes before we pursue the wounded nyala. We must give it time to settle. If we chase after it now, the nyala may keep on running and would make it even more difficult to find it.

We followed the blood trail, broken twigs and increasingly bigger drops of blood. Then I saw a bush about 1 m high with pinkish blood around the top. The height of the bush and the pinkish color of the blood confirmed my suspicion that it was a lung shot. I told Arthur we’re getting closer. Then we found the lifeless nyala about 150 meters from where Arthur shot it. I showed Arthur the lung shot and congratulated him. Arthur personified relief and pride.

This time it was Sipho’s turn to play photographer. We all posed and smiled for the honor of memory lane. With the photo shoot at an end, Ndlamini and Sipho headed back to the huts with the nyala. Arthur and I collapsed against an old tree, utterly exhausted! The birds were singing again, life goes on.

After this hunt Arthur was hooked. Hunting was no longer a boyish dream. It became a life style which gave both Arthur and me a treasure cove full of memories. One definite lesson to learn from Arthur is to live your dream. We don’t know how much time is allocated for each one of us. Arthur sadly died at the age of 53. But, he had no regrets. He grasped the moment. He took action. He went on that first African safari hunt and kept on coming back for more. Arthur lived his passion.

How many of us can say that today?

I dedicate this article to Arthur, my dearly missed friend.