Animal Encounters - The Buffalo

As I mentioned in an earlier blog I have never been a trophy hunter.  While spending time in the bush however I would occasionally shoot something for the “pot.” Often while in a camp with a lot of laborers the demand for meat was high. Returning to camp after a five day “R&R” at the end of the month my provisions would include a few cans of corned beef (bully beef in the local jargon), but it was pointless to try and take fresh meat.  We rarely had access to refrigeration.

In early October of 1967 I was sent to the Matetsi Safari Area, west of the town of Wankie (now Hwange) and directly north of the Hwange Game Reserve. I had to test a new portable shortwave radio antenna and update several maps showing the locations and conditions of game fences and access roads in the area.  The Matetsi Safari Area was then, and still is today, heavily populated with big and small game including elephant, Cape buffalo and black rhino.

After a long overland drive from Salisbury (now Harare) I called in to meet up with the regional Veterinary Officer, in Wankie, Chris Steyn.  He had assembled his regular team of workers who were going into the Matetsi area to repair game fences and roads. They would be showing me the way.  The area is very remote and for the most part covered with dense vegetation, acacia and Mopani trees and shrubs. Rivers and streams here are dry in the winter months (May through August) up until the rains would begin in late October. The standard 7 ft. high game fences (with 8 strands of high tension wire and 10 – 12 inch thick Mopani posts spaced at 10 meter intervals) had been erected across this region in past decades to restrict the large scale migration of elephant and buffalo into rural areas of human occupation.  Small animals, such as impala and warthog could pass through the fences easily.  Some of the larger antelope species such as kudu and sable might be momentarily impeded but would pass through the fence or jump over the 7 ft. high top wire.

Chris Steyn, as a senior Veterinary Field Officer, had the authority to shoot buffalo and elephant within 200 meters of the game fences.  This policy was intended to drive them away and be a deterrent for the animals to reduce damage to fences; something that elephant in particular could do, and often did. Buffalo, would at times get their heavy horns caught in the wire and with a sharp twisting action, would snap it.  Fence maintenance and repair was an ongoing, labor intensive and expensive job. Before setting out on the drive through the hills and over the narrow bush roads of Matetsi, Chris told me that if I should see a buffalo within sight of a game fence, I should take the opportunity to shoot it.  His laborers would welcome a supply of fresh meat. As I would come to realize later, he had also told his foreman to try and locate some buffalo for me to shoot.

We had been on site in what is called the Matetsi Game Corridor for a couple of days. One morning I was following the tractor and trailer with four or five men with me in my Land Rover. They were clearing an old road and fence line when we heard the sound of a buffalo herd running in the distance. The foreman sent a man in that direction to see if he could see any of the herd. A while later the man came running back to us and signaled to me to follow him and bring my rifle. I had a .375 magnum with me, fitted with a telescopic sight.  I didn’t especially like a telescope for these conditions, preferring an open sight instead. The sharp recoil of the .375 would jar the scope out of alignment at times. There was no time to even consider changing at that moment however.

Two men walked ahead of me for about a quarter of a mile and pointed in the direction of an open grassy “vlei.” An old, and very large, Cape buffalo bull was grazing toward us with his head down.  I began to quietly make my way toward the buffalo through waist high Mopani shrub which offered the only cover.  My two companions had fallen back and, I assumed, were taking their seats for whatever was to happen in the next few minutes.  Eventually I came to within about 50 yards of the bull, surprised that he had not heard, seen, nor smelled me and was apparently unaware of my presence.  I sat down quietly and took careful aim, with the idea of taking just one, fatal shot to the spine in his exposed neck.  What I didn’t know until later, was that my telescope had been jarred out of alignment and was shooting about 4 inches to the right at 100 yards. 

The old bull - loaded on the trailer

Within an instant of pulling the trigger, I knew the shot would not be fatal because the huge animal bucked like a rodeo bull and instantly began to run directly towards me (or should I say – us).  I snapped another round into the breach and with a clear shot at his heart, because his head was now raised as he ran, I fired again.  My second shot only had the effect of turning him sharply to his left and he lumbered across my field of sight about 20 yards away.  Operating on instinct, I fired into his lower chest just behind his shoulder, hoping to hit his heart, and instantly I saw bright red blood spew from his nostrils. I had pierced his lungs.  He continued to run at a gallop without slowing, quickly disappearing into the mopani shrub.  I remember standing there watching and having the terrible thought that “oh shit - now, I have a wounded buffalo on my hands.”

In the middle of this most intense moment of my life I turned around to see where my two guides were and saw them both about ten feet up, clinging to a tall, very thin mopani tree, and looking at me with wide eyed expressions from about 50 feet away.  I laughed out loud at the comedic sight. To their credit, they too laughed – probably with relief.

Now we still had to go after the buffalo which most hunters will tell you is the most dangerous animal to hunt when wounded.  I took a few moments to reload my rifle and we picked up the spoor. The bright red blood on the ground confirmed his wounds were mortal.  We stopped every few minutes until we heard a thumping sound. Then we saw his dark shape through the shrub bush.  One of his legs was moving up and down and a hoof was hitting the ground in what was a final reflexive movement.  It was with relief that I walked up and put a final round into the back of his neck.

There were a lot of happy men soon surrounding the carcass which had to be cut into sections to load onto the trailer for the return to camp.  Before cutting the meat into strips for salting and drying, it was weighed, piece by piece,  at over 1,500 lbs. (In his prime this old boy probably weighed 1,700 pounds or so.) We were able to find two of the bullets I had fired. During the post mortem I found that my first shot had missed the spine, but had penetrated the neck, touched the heart and lodged inside the pelvic bones. I still have this slug in a small box. The second shot had also touched the heart and lodged in the pelvic bones. The third shot which had pierced the lungs as he ran across my field of vision had passed through his body.  This was an old animal, and his worn teeth told us why he was somewhat thinner than he should have been.  He may have lost some hearing as well.  These old bulls will eventually wander farther away from their herds and fall prey to predators in the area.

The horns were big (see photo above) and I kept them in a garage or storage room for years, until eventually selling them to a merchant for a few dollars before leaving Zimbabwe 12 years later. I heard that the ground-up powder from these horns is used in traditional African medicinal remedies.

Over the 44 years since my buffalo encounter I have rarely spoken of it.  It was one of only a few occasions in my life when I found myself in a situation where I would rely on instinct, with no chance to think about my actions.  To a degree the incident reassured me of my capabilities and I gained confidence.  Under pressure I did not panic but stood my ground.  No one can predict how they will react in situations like this and I am glad I responded appropriately.

Buffalo meat, salted, cut into strips and drying.

Two bullets removed from the carcass.

Animal Encounters - First Elephant

As a Field Entomologist in Tsetse Control in Rhodesia (1967-68), much of my time was spent in pretty remote areas of “the bush.”  I would write to my parents, who were living in South Africa at the time and describe my employment as “working in a zoo,” only there were no cages. I had a camera with me, but took far too few photographs.  I also always had a rifle with me.  Occasionally I could provide a little fresh meat for our camp and only once did I almost have to use my .375 magnum to protect myself.

During the height of the rainy season, from December through March, movement in many back-country areas was limited by wet and often impassable roads. The weather from April through October was about as predictable as weather could be, sunny dry days, cool clear nights.

As anyone who has been “on safari” in Africa can testify, when around wildlife there is always an unexpected event or sighting around the next bend in the road.  It may not occur for many, many, hours, or even days, but it always leaves an indelible memory.  Just as you begin to wonder where the game is, it pops up to excite and amaze you. This was certainly my experience as a young, enthusiastic lover of all wild places and animals, suddenly finding myself in a professional situation that few have an opportunity to experience in their lives. Growing up through my teen years, I was able to join my dad on occasional hunts for small game. These were always enjoyable and taught me solid lessons, but I have never been, nor would I ever describe myself as a “hunter.” The main lessons I learned were how to shoot well and how to treat a firearm with great respect.

Being in Tsetse Control did not give anyone a license or permission to hunt.  We were able to shoot only in clearly designated areas and under strict guidelines. There was never an attempt to take on the role of the professional game rangers and wardens of the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management.

One of the most memorable days of my life was the first time I saw elephant in the wild.  I had seen them many times in game reserves, from behind a fence or from the safety of a car but never while on foot.   I had spent several weeks on a spraying operation in a remote area on the southern edge of the Zambezi Escarpment due south of Lake Kariba.  These operations were conducted for 25 consecutive days, beginning on the first day of each month.  Everyone would go for “R & R” from the 25^th to the 31^st to make up for the weekends that we had worked. Field Officers would return to Salisbury (now Harare) for a well deserved break, and to re-provision for the following month. The laborers; most recruited from local villages, would return home to their families and their chores.

Elephant footprints (spoor) in sand

On this occasion, in August 1967, my boss Bill Casey had arranged to take me to a Tsetse Research station called Reckomechi.  I rendezvoused with Bill in the small town of Makuti and left my Land Rover at the local Government depot while we continued in his vehicle.  From Makuti, the two-lane paved highway descends almost immediately into the Zambezi Valley in long sweeping curves through dense bush.  The valley floor is flat and the most noticeable change in vegetation is the increased number of baobab trees; those huge grey hulks that seem as though they have been thrust into the earth upside down.  As the highway flattens out to cross the valley floor north to the Zambezi River and the Zambian border post called Beit Bridge, we turned right onto a dusty road heading east toward Mana Pools, the renowned Game Reserve.

The dirt road is straight, except for a few times when its geometrically perfect bearing was impeded by an old baobab tree; then it would bend just enough to skirt the obstruction.  After about 30 miles on this hot, dusty road we passed the turn to Mana Pools and soon arrived at Reckomtjie, a loose assemblage of metal prefab buildings which served as labs, offices and accommodations.  We met the Tsetse Officer in charge and his wife and as the late afternoon shadows began to lengthen, Bill Casey suggested we take a walk to the nearby Reckomtjie River.  So, we made our way through the small vegetable garden at the back of the house and followed a narrow path descending into the river.  The river, as is typical in this area, was lined on either side by huge, old hardwood trees, teak, ebony and ironwood.  The wide sandy river bed appeared completely dry although from the holes that had been dug by elephant, there was obviously water not too far below the surface. We reach the bed of the river and crossed a narrow sandy area before climbing up onto a large earth mound, about 10-12 feet high, fortified by a number of large trees. It was literally an island in the dry river bed which was about 40 yards wide at this point.

Looking directly north, the sand ran straight into the shade of overhanging trees, as though disappearing into a tunnel.  Behind us, to the south, the river bed ran up against a vertical red earthen cliff as it turned to the left and began its ascent into the distant hills. I could imagine how it might be during the rains, when thunderstorms would build over the higher country and the rushing torrents would spill into the valley along this dry sandy highway.  Bill and I sat down on top of our “island” and enjoyed the peace and quiet for a few minutes.  Before long we saw the grey, ambling hulks of a herd of elephant begin to appear out of the shadows to the north.  They were walking purposefully, in single file, with an old matriarch in the lead. As they got closer, we could see there were perhaps twenty animals in the group, mostly females, with several calves and a few immature males.  It reminded me of the tame elephants I had seen as a young boy at Ringling Brothers Circus, when the elephants would enter the big top and walk around the ring holding each other by the tail.

Now of course they smelled us and the column slowed briefly. Then they separated into two lines, with one row passing on our left and the other to our right.  From our small hilltop, we could almost have reached out and touched them. As they passed, we were close enough for them to see us, and a few lifted their trunks to test the air.  I realized that, in the excitement of the moment, I had been holding my breath.  I also remember how quietly these huge, gentle animals were moving.  As the last one passed, we turned to watch them continue up-river and soon disappear around the bend below the cliffs.

This herd had come out of the vast Mana Pools Game Reserve and, had probably not been poached or hunted.  This explained their acceptance of the smell of humans and the fact that, despite the presence of young in their herd, we were not perceived as a threat.  In the near future I would encounter elephant in other parts of the country and in different circumstances where the smell of humans would throw them into a panic. The following morning, I walked up-river from this spot and saw where the herd had excavated holes in the riverbed and exposed pools of water.  During this time of the year, when rain would not come for many more months, elephants provide a source of water for many other wildlife species by digging into the dry river beds. 

Water revealed by elephant in a dry river bed.

It’s 44 years later and I still have the sharpest memories of that late afternoon in the Reckometjie River.  That was the moment when I began a love affair with elephants and started to develop an understanding of just how remarkably intelligent and gentle they are.  

Next - encounter with a Cape Buffalo, and then a black mamba and an eland.