The stalk had been long and tiring, across two rocky ridges. The greater kudu bull we had tracked and caught mere glimpses of had proven once again why they’re known as “the gray ghosts of Africa!”
I was bone tired, weary and thirsty, but thrilled to once again be in Africa. When we finally conceded we were not going to be able to get a shot, we were at least three miles from our Range Rover, affectionately called the “bukky.” Gray of dusk quickly turned to black of night!
“Mind where you place your feet!” warned the PH. “This area is lousy with cobras! Do be careful too, not to step in any holes.” His words had not yet sunk in, when his “torch” went dark. “Not to worry, the moon will be up in about thirty minutes!” OK…
The PH, two trackers and I stumbled forward, navigating by the stars through solid inky darkness! I was wearing knee-high snake boots, although I wondered their worth if we encountered a nocturnal cobra, which could easily strike me between the eyes…
We walked abreast, two feet apart, mostly feeling our way Forward.
“YEEEIIIIIIIII!” screamed the PH as he was propelled into the sky. As he went airborne, I heard grunts, squeals, then felt something brush my left leg. I kicked sideways and nearly knocked one of the trackers to the ground. He screamed. I screamed! Then just ahead I could hear something running away through grass and brush.
Having landed with a thud, his flashlight once again shined. My PH let out a rather bluish string of select words ending in “bloody pig!” Then he began laughing, realizing only pride was injured.
“Should have known there were pig holes in this area because of all the wart hogs we saw when we came through here following the kudu,” he said. “Rather like walking through a mine field. Bloody things sleep in aardvark and porcupine holes. Back into them with only their head exposed. I stepped on one’s head, likely a sow, she booted me skyward.” He hesitated, “Least the bloody torch now shines!”
The remaining two and a half miles were uneventful. Just as we reached our ride back to camp, a nearly full moon made its appearance….
Over breakfast the following morning, “Serrr,” my PH said, “would you mind terribly dispatching a wart hog this morning for the field staff? They have expressed an interest in wild pork, and after my last night’s launch, I would take sincere pleasure in seeing you shoot one of those bloody warties!”
We headed to the bush. I remembered my first wart hog taken years earlier in the Eastern Cape of South Africa with my .44 Mag Ruger Super Blackhawk Hunter shooting Hornady’s 240-grain XTP. That one had fallen to a rather long stalk, after we had seen several run across a dry pan, their antenna like tails hiked high into the air. I wanted one badly. Being from Texas where many African animals had been introduced on private lands, the wart hog, was back then, one of the few animals not yet found in Texas. Wart hogs, to me, represented “True Africa”! Alas, today wart hogs can be found in limited numbers in the South Texas Brush Country.
“Wart hog!” my PH pointed. “Big boar, right side of two-track, three hundred yards out, just to the left of the tallest camel thorn! Let us put him in the pan and the salt!” I grabbed my Ruger Number 1, .300 Win Mag, shoved in a 180-grain Hornady then followed my PH and tracker.
Our tracker, aptly named Cautious, carried my shooting sticks. We moved quickly into the wind, sun at our back. Soon we were within a hundred and fifty yards. I knew I could take the long-tusker from there but decided to cut the distance a bit more. Moving cautiously forward I watched the solitary boar continue to feed, oblivious of our presence.
“Fifty yards!” whispered the PH. Cautious set up the sticks. I waited until the old boar turned broadside, then placed the Trijicon’s crosshairs on his shoulder and gently pulled the trigger. The old boar went down in his tracks. I immediately reloaded and got back on target, looking for any movement. There was none!
Moments later at the boar’s side I accepted a congratulatory hand from my PH. Reaching for Cautious’ hand it seemed he was licking his lip in anticipation of the feast that lay ahead. Both upper tusks were massive and long, easily eight inches showing. Bottom tusks were both intact and razor sharp! “Excellent! Bloody nice boar!” complimented my PH. “The staff will be most thankful for the meat!” He continued, “A bit gamey for me. Much prefer, if we are going to eat one, that it be a half-grown pig.” Having had both old boar and young pig in the past, I agreed!
A couple of years later, again in Namibia, hunting with Omujeve Safaris, primarily for Cape buffalo, we decided to take an afternoon “off” from buffalo and see what plains game we might be able to find. Once again, the staff was asking for a wart hog.
We drove many miles, saw a considerable number of elephants, sable, roan and other species found in the Zambezi Strip (formerly the Caprivi). We attempted several stalks, but the wind which earlier in the day had been steady and only from one direction, turned extremely fickle. We planned several stalks, including three on wart hogs, approaching down wind. But before we could get within reasonable range, the wind switched and blew at our backs.
Next morning, I placed both my Ruger .375 Guide Rifle, loaded with alternately Hornady’s 300-grain DGX (Dangerous Game Expandable) and 300-grain DGS (Dangerous Game Solid), and my Ruger American .30-06 loaded with Hornady’s 180-grain Superformance in the back of the “bukky”.
We had hardly gotten out of sight of camp when Cautious spotted a distant wart hog. Sun at our back and wind in our face we were soon within one hundred yards. The tracker set up the sticks, I rested the Ruger American, then settled crosshairs on the wartie’s shoulder. I gently pulled the trigger. The old boar dropped. The staff ate well that night!
During the past twenty years I have been to Africa numerous times. I am thinking it is time to return. Something tells me the staff is probably hungry for one more wart hog!