by Franco Giulietti

Buffalo: Not for the faint hearted

The African Buffalo or Syncerus Caffer is one of the Big Five who has challenged many big game hunters, only to walk away victoriously. Listen carefully to hunters’ tales told around a camp fire under the African sky; they all testify the most dangerous mammal of Africa is the buffalo; they all warn against the deceitful appearance of this peaceful grazer. Buffaloes have clearly earned their bad reputation of being unpredictable and dangerous when cornered. Perhaps it’s this bad reputation which entices so many hunters to seek out the menacing buffalo.

The buffalo is a colossal animal weighing in at an average of 750 kilograms. Both male and female have horns, but the males’ horns are more robust and heavier. By observing the buffalo in a natural habitat, you’ll notice that despite their aggressiveness, they are peaceful amongst themselves. Although, this does not mean they don’t fight each other on the odd occasion.

For a split second the buffalo may remind you of a domestic cow, but then you’ll notice the alertness, you’ll feel the pressure of intimidation when looking into his eyes, and you’ll become aware of the ominous smell that hangs in the air. Buffaloes prefer a habitat with reeds, high grass or thickets for cover. It is an amazing sight when they move through thickets quicker than we would walk through high grass hunting pheasants.

A buffalo hunt clearly divides the men from the boys. I’ve been on a few buffalo hunts and I have seen hunters rise to the moment of victory to claim their buffalo trophy; and I have seen hunters surrender to the defiant buffalo to walk away with a bruised soul. One of the memorable encounters I’ve had with a buffalo was when I cautiously made my way through the lowveld bush searching for a buffalo bull that left the herd. The fact that he left the herd made him vulnerable, but it also meant he was old, grumpy and very dangerous.

I started pre-dawn following the bull’s tracks with the help of an expert tracker, Thando. I felt confidant with Thando by my side. He was one of the old school trackers who grew up close to the land and have become many new comers’ mentor in the bush. We came across a small river and decided to go west up the river. As we reached the beds of reeds, it was clear that we were facing a dilemma. According to the fresh tracks in the black riverine mud the old loner was somewhere in the dark patch of reeds straight ahead. There were no exit tracks. This was not good.

The reeds provided perfect protection for the buffalo and with almost zero visibility this loner has emerged as a deadly foe. There was only one path leading into the reeds and seeing that we couldn’t exactly ask the bull to give up his protection so that I could have a safe and clear shot, we had no choice than to follow him into the reeds. I couldn’t help feeling like a lamb being taken to the slaughter house.

The very moment we decided to go into the reeds, a Bateleur eagle soared effortlessly above us. Thando’s face lit up and he whispered to me: “Good omen, good, very good. You’ll be safe.” Apparently according to African folklore the Bateleur eagle or Chapungu is the mediator between God and men. Prayers were carried on its wings to God, and when the Chapungu remains silent, your prayers were answered. But if the Chapungu flap his wings and calls out, then you’re in trouble. Rather go home and come back another day.

I regard myself as a pragmatist; I don’t believe in folklore and superstition, but I must admit, I did wish it would be true. Enough of folklore; I had an estimated 750 kilogram menace waiting for me. The plan was for me to enter the reeds, while Thando position himself on a higher bank to look out for any movement in the reeds. By pointing with his long stick, he would indicate the buffalo’s position as he moved, giving me at least a warning and a fighting chance.

It’s extremely difficult to be stealth while moving through the reeds. I feared the old loner knew exactly where I was and I had no clue where he was, how close or how grumpy. Not even the constant companions of buffaloes, the oxpeckers, gave his position away.

Suddenly Thando pointed anxiously and wild with his stick. Then I heard rapid movement of hooves coming towards me. This was the defining moment. I could hear him breathe before I caught a glimpse of the buffalo storming towards me. I realized the bull didn’t know where I was when he slightly changed direction and suddenly stopped. With my rifle raised I slowly moved closer in his direction. I mutely told myself only fools enter into a blind buffalo hunt.

Finally I saw the tip of his horns; then his massive boss appearing above his rump. I aimed cautiously, trying to see through the reeds. My target was the nape of his neck. I fired and the buffalo dropped down with a thump and loud cheering from Thando.

I wasn’t celebrating and had no desire to go closer. I waited for proof that the old bull was really defeated. Then it came – a sorrowful, drawn-out bellow rose above the reeds, and then the silence of death. The danger has passed. For the first time I relaxed; I was victorious and finally went closer to admire my buffalo trophy. The bull was about 6 yards away when I shot him – much too close for comfort, but I was lucky. Or was I; perhaps there is more to the Chapungu than meets the eye.

Thousands of thoughts crossed my mind as I looked down on the fallen buffalo. The outcome could have been so different. It could have been my lifeless body lying on a bed of bent reeds. The old bull was a magnificent animal; plenty of scars told the story of a hard life fighting other buffalo for respect; fighting lions for survival, and the magnificent ebony colored horns spoke of his pride. This buffalo bull demanded respect and admiration even in death.