The Hunting Blog

Elegantly decked out in terracotta, chocolate and cream, springbok stand out vividly against the arid landscapes of southern Africa. Whether travelling in an elegant trot, or ‘pronking’ stiff–legged with their white dorsal flag out, they are always a delight to see. They are often very skittish, and long shots are more common than not.

If springbok have a fault it’s that they still exist in such numbers that many people take them for granted – and that’s our problem, not theirs. There are various color phases and subspecies, but the one I’ve always hankered for is the big boy, the Kalahari springbok. They are very much the giant of the race, not just in horns but body size generally.  That, plus the wild desert landscapes they inhabit, makes for an interesting prospect. It’s no secret that they are also a seriously good game meat, something I make a point of checking out on every visit.

This hunt took place on the vast Khamab Kalahari Reserve, some quarter million acres right on the border between Botswana and South Africa. The southern half of the reserve – up to seventy kilometers from camp – is the kind of laser-flat, empty landscape where sloppy stalking falls apart. There’s little cover apart from dry grass, and there are eyes – lots of eyes. My PH Hans ‘Scruff’ Vermaak spots a likely ram in a large herd and we make enough ground for a touch and go shot.

Suddenly I’m up on the sticks with a vintage rifle, and it takes only a moment to pull back on the rear trigger to ‘set’ the front. Then the classic experience of springbok hunting kicks in – getting a clear angle on the right male among all those milling bodies.  The slightest touch and the shot will be away, but there’s nothing. I’m watching those lovely lyrate horns, focused on just one thing.  Slow breath. Stay with him, yes, he’s doubled back, and doubling back again and…crack. For a split second a gap opens up and the little 7×57 speaks. Scruff is on the Leicas and calls it instantly. “You missed him.”

Yes, there it is folks. Heartbreak, served up on a platter after a 14,000 kilometer journey. I cycle the butterknife bolt, trying desperately to get back onto him among all the chaos. Those big horns are distinctive, he should be there – but he isn’t, and my heart beaks again.

“No, he’s down. He just didn’t react – congratulations!”

And just like that the world is right again.

Pete Ryan

It’s early afternoon on the Rooipoort Wildlife Reserve in South Africa, 106,000 acres of arid acacia thorn paradise. The heat has been building, the kind of heat that puts big pigs on the lookout for a lovely mud bath. Mad dogs and warthog hunters go out in the midday sun – time to go scouting.

I’m with Hans ‘Scruff’ Vermaak, former president of the Professional Hunters Association of South Africa, lifelong DSC member and general good guy. It’s scorching, but a scrape of the boot shows that we have the wind on our side. After twenty one years guiding he’s pretty relaxed in the face of game,  so when I see him light up there must be something afoot. (A hint for new players, when your PH goes into overdrive like that, it’s time for action right here, right now.)

He’s there alright, the heavy swinging head of a massive boar clearly visible across two hundred yards of dried mud. There’s not a shred of cover, the boar is getting antsy and that pair of Egyptian geese looks ready to spoil the party. Up go the BOG shooting sticks I’ve lugged all the way from New Zealand. I’m field testing the Swarovski Z6 1-6×24 on a custom .375, and those wonderful Austrian optics don’t disappoint. The classic number 4 reticle settles briefly, then everything is lost in recoil. By the time I’m back on, all that can be seen through the scope is a slight kick from one leg. Even that is lost as a big paw slaps me on the back and I turn to see Scruff’s beaming grin.

The boar is down, and he’s an absolute beast. Long and very heavy, everything intact for once, even the bottom tusks are impressive. At a glance it’s obvious he’ll go gold medal.

The heat is still oppressive but the memory of that day – of that exact moment – will last a lifetime. Thanks Scruff, and thank you to every PH who has given me such a moment.

- Pete Ryan

A while back I promised an update on a light rifle for Africa. Well, it’s built now, and while it may not suit everyone, it suits me just fine.

The heart of any rifle is the action, in this case a small ring, double square bridge Mauser built in 1949 by BRNO. Why that one? Well, it has integral scope mounts milled into the receiver, making a QD mount very easy. Alaska Arms makes a beautifully machined steel model that locks on like a limpet but flips off in a second, perfect for those occasions when a scope isn’t needed.  I grew up on open sights, and sometimes going old school can be essential or just fun. There are other retro touches there that are hard to resist – the double set trigger, the barrel band, that wonderful butter knife bolt.

Calibre is very much a personal issue. The job description – a light rifle, easy to carry all day, mild to shoot, good for camp meat and light to medium game – is a pretty broad one. To be honest almost any light centrefire would do just fine…but if that’s true, why not have a little charisma and style as well?  The 7×57 (or 7mm Mauser, or .275 Rigby, depending on your preference) is an African legend. It also happens to meet the requirements exactly, and can even offer a few improvements. OK, with light 140g bullets, it’s the impala master. But if something bigger pops up, a quick switch to the nifty 156g load from Norma (loaded well above most American made ammo) or better still the long-for-calibre 175g loading from Federal, and a steady marksman can get by on much, much bigger game.  A wonderful all rounder with lots of history behind it.

That decision made, the cosmetics were easy. Satin blue, not high gloss. Stock based on the early Rigby and Holland designs, albeit with a little less drop at comb for personal fit. The scope was a problem for a while, with some special demands driven by the spacing of the action, the distance to the rear sight, and eye relief. Ultimately a little Leupold 2.5-8×36 solved all that nicely. The end result is light, easy to carry and shoots like a dream.

I don’t do safe queens, this rifle goes to Africa soon as the weather cools. It’s story began sixty five years ago in the ashes of post-war Europe, but is only now entering its most exciting chapter.  I hope it’s a story that goes on for a long, long time yet.

Pete Ryan 

Lots of guys go to Africa with a bushbuck in mind, but many give up on them when they find out what’s involved. Some get plumb lucky and simply chance across a nice one…but more often than not a good ram will mean days spent spooking around thick riverine growth and pussyfooting through gloomy thickets.

Challenge is the name of the game with the little bushbuck. There are many species and subspecies, ranging from the dark, almost black specimens of the Cape to the exotic Menelik’s bushbuck of Ethiopia. They survive in patches of cover and on farms long after the more vulnerable species have gone, thanks to their excellent senses and furtive habits. There’s something very pure and classical about hunting them – heavy cover, sharp hearing and an intimate knowledge of terrain versus your own skills. Spot and stalk works, and so does still hunting. Either way you will earn your trophy and may even find that the little sharp-horned buck punches way above his weight when the safari is over and the trophies are in the salt.  To me the heavy horned old fighters are a great trophy, but for others the longer, less worn youngsters might be preferred.

They are interesting animals. Color and markings vary wildly, though the harness-like rub mark around their necks does not. Their characteristic deep bark is the signature sound of thick African cover. Horns and faces are often marked by savage fighting, and many a hunter or his dogs has been neatly skewered by those dagger horns. Not a joke – bushbuck will charge if wounded or cornered and they can make it stick too. I have yet to meet a PH or tracker who has found a mature ram killed by leopard or other natural predator, though they are unfortunately often taken in poacher’s snares. Like some deer there is no such thing as a fully tame bushbuck ram.

Choice of rifle is very personal. In theory a .243 would probably do the job nicely, but I prefer a larger, heavy projectile at moderate speed. It’s not needed for the game itself, but the plain fact is that such a bullet has the best chance of getting through twigs and other vegetation without varying off course. There’s another good reason – bushbuck are often hunted in a nightmare of cover, frequently by watercourses. That’s the same sort of country that holds large predators and surprise encounters. I had just that experience with a female elephant and her new calf, which thankfully resolved itself without anyone getting hurt.

You don’t need a .375 or .416 for bushbuck, but it wouldn’t hurt if you walk onto a nasty situation in their home patch. A low powered scope that gathers plenty of light would be just about ideal. There may be limited opportunity to judge the trophy and shots can be fleeting, but that’s part of the challenge of the solitary little warrior – pound for pound the punchiest of all the spiral horns.

Pete Ryan

The Hunting Blog – Impala are a common game animal in any safari that involves savannah, and that means many hunters take them for granted. It’s a mistake, because those tan skins shaded with cream and black are among the most lovely to be found in Africa, and the rams (a male impala is a ram, not a buck) are elegance personified. In early winter when the rut is in full swing their hoarse croaking never fails to raise a tingle of excitement. During this frenetic time males are dazzled by hormones but ewes remain alert, so while you make your moves on a trophy, some canny old girl may still bust you with a wheezy snort of alarm.

Some make the mistake of comparing the very large-horned Eastern impala from Tanzania and the like with the Southern impala found across South Africa and nearby countries. It’s hardly a fair comparison as they are different species. The Black Faced impala is an unlikely proposition for a first time safari, but they (and the intermediate types) are interesting animals in their own right.

Whatever the species, look for solid bases, ridges that extend well beyond the beginning of the upward curve, and above all good long tips. The male illustrated is an exceptional Southern, just shading 26 inches.

All the world wants impala venison, and for good reason. Tender and lacking strong gamey qualities, it is along with eland one of the great delights of camp life. Predators agree, and impala, along with warthog, make prime leopard bait.

So here’s to the cheap and cheerful impala, the most underrated game animal on the Dark Continent.  It’s a lesson that is usually learned too late. Long after the safari has faded from memory, a crate will arrive from a distant port, and out will come an array of horns. Interesting in their own way, but already dull grey-black museum pieces. If you’re very lucky, somewhere at the bottom will also be a folded skin. When you open it, you’ll hold in your hand the sleek terracotta colors of pure, wild Africa, still lively and sleek as they were among the camel thorn.

And then you’ll remember everything.

Pete Ryan

The Hunting Blog -

There are phases in understanding Cape buffalo.

At first the fearsome reputation makes them intimidating to anyone on foot and up close. Then the penny drops that undisturbed buff are not that different from flighty cows.

Eventually – and this is the bit that takes some luck to get through – the third stage kicks in. Yes, left to themselves buff are mostly like cows…except for the odd psychopath with issues. Trouble is he’ll look just like all the rest, and when things go downhill they go down fast.

Bottom line is when you get the nose in the air and a hard stare don’t push it. The odds are he’ll simply run away…but maybe he’s the one in a hundred that won’t.

Of course, if you choose to take the shot, one of you is going to finish it. It’s not always possible to say which of you that will be.

That gambling element is just one reason why I love buff.

Pete Ryan

more here

In Argentina the provinces of Cordoba, Buenos Aires, Entre Rios and La Pampa have the eared dove, the torcaza, in numbers beyond counting. Cordoba is the famous one and may have more than twenty-five million doves, while the total across the continent probably runs into the hundreds of millions. The breeding cycle in a warm climate can run up to six times a year. They are often mixed up with larger wild pigeons, the spot-winged and the picazuro. Compared to doves the latter seem heavy in flight, with a slower wingbeat, but it’s deceptive. There are the usual feral pigeons too, the pombo.

There’s no need for clever hides when hunting here, just a good spot in amongst some tall grass bordering a cut grain field. Decoys laid out to the usual rules — a place to land in the set, facing into the wind — might help, but they aren’t essential. Being on the general drift of a flight path is the main thing. A light gun isn’t as important as one that has light recoil, so a 20-gauge with mild loads is just about ideal.

I enjoyed my stint, and the use of a fine gun didn’t hurt. It turns out doves have a slightly liverish meat that is tasty enough but nobody could possibly use what they shoot. The good news is that leftover game goes to local people, some of whom are pretty hard-up.

Pete Ryan

The Hunting Blog -

If there is an underrated member of the African antelope clan it must be the waterbuck.

Those heavily ridged horns are beautiful and selectively hunting a good bull is a real challenge. What is little understood is that they are not only tough with each other – a senior bull is merciless in punishing any challenge from juniors and may even kill them – but that they can be just as aggressive with humans. A cornered or wounded waterbuck is more dangerous than many realise.

That shaggy grey coat has a strong musky odour. Many locals will tell you that this helps repel predators, but that seems dubious. I’ve found a number of waterbuck carcasses that had been eaten by cats. Many a PH will tell you that the smell helps to repel mosquitoes, and that sounds more likely.

Interestingly the taint is held within the coat, and does not flavour the meat if skinning is done carefully. That means hooks and a gambrel – field preparation is certain to cross contaminate the meat with the pungent skin oils.

This is a very good common waterbuck just shading 30 inches. An excellent hunt for a classic, if underrated game animal.

Pete Ryan

Fly Girl’s Blog -

A while back three of us fished one of the many small streams that flow into Lake Hawea, deep on New Zealand’s South Island. I’ve fished it before, finding a mix of rainbows and browns in the 3-6 pound range. After going deep for ‘bows in a bottomless pool we moved upstream to a riffle that looked perfect for a big, bushy Royal Wulff. It’s a go-to fly just about anywhere, particularly useful in faster water where its buoyancy and visibility have few equals. The stream here has pace and delicate dries just don’t cut it in that kind of water.

You have to earn these fish. Cast, mend, tip down and concentrate. Nope. Try a little closer to the foam line and….nope. Fly is still dry, put a little more double haul on it and go closer to the wall…and what the hell is that?  A great head has just risen vertically out of the water, right to the fins, and the fly is gone. There’s something not right about the whole thing, but that can wait. Hold, wait and…bang!

Fish on.

It’s not a long fight but what comes up in the net is bizarre. He’s a massive brown, as long as my arm, but thin. In New Zealand a spawned fish is called a slab. (A slab is also a case of beer, so be careful how you use that.)  He must have been great once but now is something of a ghost. After a quick picture I put him back and he moves off, slowly at first then with confidence. I feel a little bad for having caught him when he’s obviously recovering.

Is this the ugliest trout ever? No. He’s a perfectly splendid fish. I love ‘em all…even when they’re down on their luck.

Fly Girl