Sporting Classics Dispatch by Jason Vincent:
Eastern Cape, 57 Miles NNW of Port Elizabeth, South Africa
May 17, 9:15pm Local Time
We were short a man this morning after John Hill had a bad reaction to South Africa’s fermented grapes of the red variety last night. You’ll have that on occasion. As it turned out it was a good hunt to sit out if you weren’t functioning at one hundred percent.
We started glassing the hillsides for kudu at daylight. Each morning the bulls leave the cover of the valleys and move higher to feed and we were hoping to catch them as they moved into the open hilltops. Scot Burchell knows these 75,000 acres like the back of his hand, so it didn’t take long for us to spot a very nice bull. We started our stalk.
Scot Burchell glasses into the valley below for kudu.
After a short walk to get into shooting position Justin Holt set up a prone shot as it appeared the bull was headed to a perfectly bald patch just beneath the crest of a hill. Things couldn’t have gone more according to plan as the bull stepped into the clearing while Holt settled in behind his scope. Just as he flicked off the safety on his rifle a young bull stepped right into his sightline. As quickly as things had progressed, we all watched as the large bull cut left and disappeared over the top of the hill. As Holt made the rifle safe, the three of us carefully chose our best colorful words to voice our frustrations. When we were done we decided to half circle around both kudu and hike to an elevation on the mountain beyond the bulls to see if we could look back onto the far side of the slope where they’d eluded us.
As we arrived at the bottom of the mountain Scot let slip that he’d forgotten how steep this small section was but that we needed to be in this specific spot, so we’d have to carefully to hike/climb our way up. After a thirty-minute trek we made it high enough to glass the bottom of the valley. No kudu. The grey ghosts had lived up to their namesake and vanished. Having hunted them before I’d experienced this bewilderment more than once.
As we took advantage of an opportunity to catch our breath and come up with a plan, movement caught Scots eye. He threw his binoculars onto his shooting sticks to quickly stabilize for long range spotting on the next ridge as he said he was looking at a small nyala bull and a nice warthog. Holt and I quickly got into our binoculars to have a look right about the time Scot said “Boys, a very large nyala bull just stepped out.” I saw the nyala bull and I wasted no time getting set up for a prone position shot across the canyon.
After a few minutes of watching the nyala bull feed he finally stepped completely into the open. I flicked off the safety and slowly squeezed the trigger on my McWhorter 300 Win Mag. As the rifle recoiled I could hear the telltale sound of the Berger bullet making impact. I looked through my Zeiss scope and I could see the bull was dead in his tracks.
The Mcwhorter Rifle, Zeiss scope and Berger hunting ammo really set a hunter up for success.
After a long hike down into the valley and up the opposite mountain we finally arrived to the nyala. The bull was old and had ivory tips on each horn. His legs were that beautiful gold color nyala are known for and his side stripes were pronounced. To me, he was perfect.
It’s amazing how a good finish like this can wash away three days of tough hunting in an instant.
Sporting Classics Dispatch by Jason Vincent:
Eastern Cape, 57 Miles NNW of Port Elizabeth, South Africa
May 16, 9pm Local Time
It’s been a tough three days of hunting. Three mornings ago, Justin Holt (Raleigh, NC) put a long but careful shot on an impala ram at the base of an unnamed mountain range that we’ve been traversing each day. Through the binoculars the shot looked good, but we located very little blood before starting our track. We finally located a sizable piece of lung tissue about a mile into our hike, but we were still losing the track regularly. None of us could understand how we’d find such little blood after an obviously substantial wound. Five miles later and extremely tired, we finally found the ram. Both lungs were completely destroyed. Myself and John Hill (Fairfield, TX) scratched our heads. Luckily the animal expired in an area accessible to the Landcruiser.
Justin Holt with his impala after a five mile track.
The next morning, I lined up my crosshairs on a very large impala ram. I felt good about the shot as we watched the animal stumble. To my surprise the ram stayed on his feet and ran straight up a hill to a large table top thicket. Again, very little blood was located. We spent three hours tracking the ram that seemed to have been the subject of a flesh wound. He finally crossed a trail I was on I was able to shoot him to finish the hunt. Examining the ram revealed a centerline shoulder shot that went in two inches too high but still managed to leave a massive exit wound. There was less head scratching this time as we’d already decided the impala is just a very tough little antelope.
John Hill running calculations before his long-range warthog shot into the valley below.
Yesterday evening proved to be a memorable hunt as we watched John Hill take a very large warthog from 565 yards with one shot from his McWhorter rifle in 7STW. McWhorter, Zeiss and Berger bullets sponsored our hunt and John has been using all three to make one-shot kills that are nothing short of amazing. It was great to finish the hunt without a long track.
John Hill with his warthog.
Today was slow. We stalked several herds of blue wildebeest, but we didn’t take a shot at any of the bulls, we went looking for a cape buffalo bull that we never located, and we were out maneuvered by some nice kudu we went after. Justin Holt did manage to take an impala ram with bad genetics out of a herd, so we did return to camp with some meat.
The most important thing is that we’re laughing a lot and having a great time. We’re all experienced hunters and none of us came here wanting this to be easy.
A large leopard track we stepped across while stalking my impala.
Dispatch 3 – 5/15/2019
By Katie Wolf
We asked Joe what the hardest animal is to hunt on the Eastern Cape. He told us, amongst the PHs, the Bush Buck is the holy grail. Small and skittish, they slip through the brush unnoticed by an oncoming hunter.
An uneven two track lead us to a vast valley covered with thorn bushes and pockets of clearings with a looming mountain in the background. Originally glassing for Kudu, our amazing PH, Joe, spotted a Bush Buck sunning atop a cliff face on the mountain nearly a half mile away.
It was my dad who wanted to shoot the Bush Buck while I was after Kudu and Warthog. He took the suppressed 300 wind mag from my shoulder and we began our hunt.
From one bush to another we climbed our way up the steep mountain. Finally within range, Joe separated the shooting sticks providing my dad with the perfect rest for his uphill shot. The gun fired and the Bush Buck tumbled down the hill falling nearly 40 yards from where he originally stood.
The star of the show was our tracker, Booi. Throwing the Bush Buck on his shoulders, he trekked down the mountain through the bushes bringing our hunt to a successful end.
Dispatch 2 – Part II – 5/14/2019
By Katie Wolf
Yesterday I was the one holding the rifle and stalking the animal while my dad stayed back and watched through the lens of the binoculars. Today, the roles have flipped.
Only a few hours into daylight and we had our sights on a bull Kudu. His horns shining in the sun as he walked through the brush was his giveaway. Dad followed Joe as they weaved through the thorn bushes into the thick brush where the Kudu remained, unaware of the danger that closely followed.
When the number of bushes thinned, and the open space grew, I made the decision to stay behind, allowing my dad his best shot at hunting down his dream Kudu. With a birds eye view from atop a cliff, I watched as Joe and dad made their way across the land until they were within range of the Kudu. Stopping just shy of 300 yards, dad placed his rifle on the shooting sticks. When I heard the song of the rifle followed by the beat of a hit, I knew the Kudu had fallen.
Dispatch 2 – 5/14/2019
“Three gemsbok just there.” PH Scot Burchell has eyes like a hawk but his “just there” would trick someone into thinking that the animals would be easy to get to. Having hunted with him a year ago I knew better.
After a solid hour of walking up the mountain we were starting to slow down for a quiet stalk to close the final one hundred yards.
At sixty yards I left Scot behind as crouched down and slowly tried to close the range even more. I was carrying a Henry lever-action 45-70 with iron sights so I wanted to get up close and personal. A tree ahead looked like the perfect spot to set up my shot so I angled in it’s direction. I never made it.
Caught in the open between the brush where I left Scot and the tree I was headed to, the larger of the three gemsbok turned and looked directly at me. Was it a rock I kicked without realizing? It didn’t matter, I was busted. I pulled the hammer back on the rifle as I threw it to my shoulder and fired.
I couldn’t be certain where the bullet hit but it sounded solid as the animal took off in a dead-run. I quickly stood up as I worked the lever on the rifle and fired a second shot that went to no-man’s-land. Still swinging the rifle left I worked the lever once more and fired a third and final shot that sealed the deal.
As the dust was still settling I took my hat off and wiped the sweat from my forehead. A feeling of deep satisfaction set in and I looked up just in time to see the sun drop below the horizon.
Dispatch 1 – Part II – 5/13/2019
By Katie Wolf
Sitting in the back of the truck, we headed down the rocky road leaving dust in our path. Our goal for the day was to hunt down a Gemsbok. We continued to drive until mountainous grasslands were on both sides of the road. Rifles in hand, we began our trek. Joe put his hand up signaling me to stop. There was a herd of Gemsbok just up ahead.
What most people might consider an amazing opportunity turned into our demise. A Sable decided to join the herd and unfortunately, it was him that spotted us spooking the herd sending us on an hour stalk.
Once more finding the herd, we position ourselves within range. Only 150 yards away, I rest my rifle on shooting sticks, look through the scope, and hold the crosshairs on the chest of the bull Gemsbok. It wasn’t until we got back to the truck that I realized why I missed. The elevation dial had been inadvertently adjusted for a 400 yard shot rather than zeroed in at 100 yards.
Giving ourselves one more chance we head back up the mountain. Again, Joe gives the signal that he has spotted a Gemsbok up ahead. Watching where we stepped to avoid any twigs that might snap, we made our way to the Gemsbok until we were well within range. The lone bull stood grazing unaware of what was lurking nearby. Like a routine drill, Joe pulled out the shooting stick once more. I pressed my cheek down against the walnut stock, breathed in, out, and held. This time, when the shot rang out, the Gemsbok dropped.
Dispatch 1 – 5/13/2019
It was a long trip to South Africa made more frustrating by bags, guns and ammunition being misplaced by the airlines. It was nothing a little home-cooked South African wild game and a few cold beers couldn’t wash away. One good night of rest and we were itching to start hunting early.
We spent this morning glassing for a specific warthog that Scot came across before we arrived. The massive boar showed himself for just a moment before disappearing with a lady friend, not to come back out of the thick brush.
Throughout the morning a lone blue wildebeest bull meandered around the top of a ridge at a distance of around six hundred yards. Not an incredible amount of mass in his horns but he was old…and wide.
We decided to angle toward the wildebeest to gain some elevation for a shot. Paying close attention to staying downwind we finally hiked to a parallel spot across a valley from the bull. John Hill ranged the animal at four hundred and ten yards before carefully settling in for a prone shot.
Within a few seconds the bull was on the ground having expired after Hill’s bullet entered his vitals. A quick end for an old warrior. We’re off to a solid start now.