You don’t feel recoil when shooting African Game

[WalkedUp]

 

We originally hoped for three days shooting but in the end we only had two. I am very regretful of that as the shooting was by far the best part of my trip to South Africa with my three boys. The outfitter Evert Birkenstock (from SD) was away due to slippage of dates on my part but he had set me and my brother in law up with two of his PHs. They came and collected us from our accommodation and shared a drink as we raced across the orange-red dust roads in the Bakkie. Cala and Christopher were lovely guys: knowledgeable, safe and entertaining. They had plenty of exciting stories and historical knowledge.

Before any stalking we had to pass the 100 metre shooting test with Old Trusty, a 60-year-old BRNO chambered in .308” WIN.  I volunteered to go first as the more experienced shot but pulled the first effort, grappling with the very heavy trigger. The bullet hole was within the ‘pass’ zone of the target but sat a few inches high and I wasn’t happy. I requested permission to use the hair trigger and the next shot was a bull. My brother-in-law went next and I was nervous on his behalf. Needing to prove yourself with a strange rifle, after a hectic day, in a strange country saps your self-assurance. Thankfully he put two shots into the ‘pass’ area but he wouldn’t be proud of either.

That first evening we had elected to go for Blesbok and I let my brother-in-law shoot first. I didn’t mind missing out if we lost the light. When his chance came it was a horrible opportunity, I could barely look. The lone Blesbok buck had been spotted in woodland, downhill on a rocky outcrop, slowly filtering through trees, with the low African sun behind it, quartering away. The shot was slipped as my toes curled but it was perfect, taking out the heart. The antelope dropped on the spot and was unresponsive when we reached it. My brother-in-law was delighted and joked that he “doesn’t waste good shots on paper”.

My chance came up as a herd of Blesbok were spotted in the last of the day’s light. I set off behind Cala, who was barefoot and faster than greased lighting across the veld. Over 6ft, wearing boots, with a wool flat cap, and carrying the rifle I was sweating heavily in the exertion to keep up and keep quiet. The PHs wanted me to snipe a buck with a long shot as it would be our last chance for the day but I said I would rather close the distance, for sporting and ethical reasons. Accepting that if they spooked I was going to blank. Closing the distance involved crossing open ground. We used a knoll as cover, and planned to use as a shooting vantage once we we summited on to discover that the herd had sensed danger and headed into some very thick thorn scrubland a couple of hundred yards away. We stayed put to let them settle whilst Cala plotted a route to intercept them on the outside of this copse. We quickly and silently stalked across, keeping cover between us and the many sets of watchful eyes and pricked ears. We had made it halfway without making a sound when suddenly three pied lapwings startled beneath our feet, the waders screaming loudly as they broke into the orange African sky. With the alarm sounded we clamped against the blood-coloured dust and yellowing veld for a few minutes. The gentle breeze was still in our favour and no movement was spotted out of the thicket so we could continue. Approaching the edge of the copse you could faintly hear the distant but distinct snorts and whistles of the restless Blesbok. A few does filtered out into the veld, I got Old Trusty up on the wooden shooting sticks hoping for a buck to join them at circa 100 yards. Suddenly there was a crashing noise as a big buck darted out of the back edge of the copse, in the opposite direction to everything that we were expecting. We had no cover and were stood out like a sore thumb from that side. The beast spotted us in horror and turned to a halt, facing us directly at 60 yards. I had no time to wait for a broadside shot, and as agreed with Cala, pirouette to take a front on chest shot with my body twisted around the sticks, my swayed legs near-collapsing. The buck reared up on the shot and disappeared towards the cover. The sound was solid and Cala congratulated me. I must have looked as anxious as I felt (for turning down the long, relaxed broadside) as he then asked “Do you feel the shot hit right?” I said that although the shot felt good, that I may have pulled it high given the reaction of the beast. We walk towards the shot location and as we do set that 15 yards away is the Blesbok belly up dead. The shot couldn’t have been truer if I had drawn it on with a marker pen. I was very relieved and we collected the antelope to retire for a few quick beers.

 

The next morning I headed out for a Blue Wildebeest with my eldest son, 9, in tow as he wanted to try for an Impala. I reasoned that it would be unlikely that he would actually shoot but even being out in the bush as an observer is exciting. Christopher has a huge collection of taxidermy and trophies. My two youngest sons wanted to admire them so accompanied us for the drop off, the plan was that they would then leave and get on with their day. Annoyingly the brakes on my Toyota failed on the journey over the rough terrain. I limped it to the rendezvous but my wife was unable to take it back to base: we were all stuck on Christopher’s ranch. The PHs advised that Impala are very skittish and generally encountered in the open, so my son would need to be able to hit a heart-lung shot at over 100 yards with a 22 centrefire, from sticks. Targeting Blesbok would be a better bet as, given time, we could probably get within 50 yards of a young one in the woods, close enough to drop it. The only issue with that is that Blesbok are tough animals, so the shot would need to be with .308” WIN. I was unsure that my son could shoot such a large cartridge but Christopher and Cala had a plan and confidence, I dismissed my trepidations and agreed to their proposal. 

 

The shooting test was set up at 50 yards and rather than ‘Old Trusty’, a .22LR bolt action rifle was used. Due to arcane UK Section 1 laws was my son’s first time ever firing a rifle. His experience to date being a junior PCP air rifle and his .410” shotgun. As we had 50 rounds of rimfire ammunition there was time to get him acquainted. From the off he just kept hitting bulls so after half a dozen shots we quit, with my son full of confidence. An hour later we were on thr shoot and a young Blesbok buck was sighted in the shadows, 50 yards away. On the journey we had switched the rifle, the rimfire being secretly traded for the fullbore. A dry fire cycle was undertaken under the pretence of asking him to “check the trigger”, giving him experience of the let-off pressure of this rifle. The buck firmly in his sights, broadside but my son took his head off the stock to turn to me and double-check the aim mark: “Front edge of leg, a third of the way up?” he questioned for reaffirmation, knowing that was correct, I nodded and as he turned back the buck had heard us converse and skipped away silently. Two hours later the heat was baring down and my son was rueing why he had stopped to ask that question. In the intervening period a few Blesbok had been sighted but none stayed around long enough to allow us to get into range. We have all been there, replaying with regret the pause letting the beast escape and my son was evidently no different. 

 

At one point a beautiful Eland came within 60 yards and after he had identified it my son asked if he could shoot one of thise instead… “Noooo way!” Was my reply and we continued seeking our quarry. Our patience was eventually rewarded as a lone old buck was spotted in an opening the far side of a thicket. The hole in the scrub presented a small window to the animal at 100 yards. Hazy in the midday sun, the Blesbok turned partly away and then, momentarily paused. Without hesitation my son let loose the rifle. He didn’t notice that it had been a .308” WIN, he didn’t notice the power of the round being twenty times that of the .22LRs he had trained with. The shot split the Blesbok’s aorta from its heart, the old beast’s front legs gently folded into a kneel, then sitting down, before laying elegantly upon the spot it had once stood. It was a phenomenal shot for a 9-year-old, the PHs’ plan had worked fantastically. You don’t feel recoil when shooting at game in Africa. My son couldn’t speak and looked almost on the verge of excited tears after a long, hard, hot day. The drama and pressure of the shot had been immense, but he kept his nerve. We all shook his hand and my chest filled with pride. “Your dad will be annoyed as it is a better buck than he shot” was Cala’s cutting remark, my son topped it with “Yes and he had to use the hair-trigger.”Moments later we walked to collect the fallen beast, as I rushed forward in excitement Christopher pulled me back: “It is his animal, let him find it”. We watched in silence as they wound through the long grass to the animal. The beauty of its pelage and physique was admired with three pairs of tiny, loving hands caressing the silky hide. The midday heat was immense so we took the carcass back to larder rather than shoot on. At camp we broke from the sun with a braai of Blesbok tenderloins and Blesbok sausages. The meat was delicious and eagerly devoured over cold beers and exchanges of shooting stories. There was a small issue with a lost key to the gate and then messing about with my hire car to diagnose and top up the brake fluid. Everyone was tired and so I left the Wildebeest for the next trip and decided to drive my family back rather than risk a late finish when the daylight would start to fade. I have unfinished business in Africa but some of the best memories a father can enjoy.

[oowee]

Cracking trip all around. Good to see all of the family involved. Well done to the boys. 

I am over with Evert on Sunday for ten days. Africa is addictive and I think this is our 8th year on the trot. Not for the feint of heart, but if you get chance i would recommend close up baboons. Not with the family. 

My daughter is also going over in July for a special tour with Evert. 

[London Best]

11 hours ago, oowee said:

Not for the feint of heart, but if you get chance i would recommend close up baboons. 

Great stuff. I’ve done a few Baboons but never at really close range.

 

 

Edited April 17 by London Best

[Weihrauch17]

4 hours ago, oowee said:

Cracking trip all around. Good to see all of the family involved. Well done to the boys. 

I am over with Evert on Sunday for ten days. Africa is addictive and I think this is our 8th year on the trot. Not for the feint of heart, but if you get chance i would recommend close up baboons. Not with the family. 

My daughter is also going over in July for a special tour with Evert. 

......

Edited April 17 by Weihrauch17

[WalkedUp]

On 16/04/2024 at 20:43, oowee said:

Cracking trip all around. Good to see all of the family involved. Well done to the boys. 

I am over with Evert on Sunday for ten days. Africa is addictive and I think this is our 8th year on the trot. Not for the feint of heart, but if you get chance i would recommend close up baboons. Not with the family. 

My daughter is also going over in July for a special tour with Evert. 

How did you get on?