A mate’s terminal diagnosis sent Joe Norris on a mission to Africa
This trip was like no other and came about after my good mate was diagnosed with a terminal illness and we decided a last hunting safari was in order before he became too sick. All Trevor’s old mates from his younger days were contacted and most were keen to join us. Between medical appointments, treatment and so many other things, the trip was ‘on again off again’ several times but eventually morphed into a group of 12 who journeyed to South Africa.
Along with myself this consisted of four father-son pairs including Trevor and Patrick, Owen and Liam, Graeme and Michael, Rory and Ethan along with Trevor’s older brother Bobby, his nephew Jay and his cousin’s husband Billy who’s local to the White River area and would be catering for the group.
Billy did the organising with outfitter Pieter Henrico from Hezekiah Safaris & Tours out of White River and we were asked what we wanted to hunt. I’ve always been keen on a Cape buffalo and even bought a .375H&H double rifle some years ago with a view to doing just that, yet due to the uncertain nature of that trip I didn’t have time to arrange the necessary paperwork to take it with me.
When the outfitter sent the pricelist of available animals on the concession in the Mpumalanga area near Kruger National Park, I thought I could scratch together enough to be able to afford a buffalo. I then discovered those prices were for South African residents only and, as an Australian, I’d have to pay double. This put the buffalo well outside my budget so I reluctantly contacted the group and made it clear I wouldn’t be hunting one after all.
Apparently foreign hunters have to pay basically double for everything including accommodation. Non-South Africans are also required to hunt with a PH (professional hunter) and any meat taken is the property of the outfitter with only trophies belonging to the hunter. South Africans can keep any meat they hunt. From my perspective this was all about being part of what was looking like Trevor’s last safari so, hunting or not, I was just happy to be part of it.
Due to the size of the group Pieter contracted freelance PH Andrea Potgieter to assist, along with her daughter Bonita (also a PH) and Marius de Beer. I asked Andrea about her Pink Impala business and discovered that as well as being a guide, she writes for a South African hunting magazine. She specializes in guiding female hunters, so for any ladies looking to hunt in Africa and concerned about being the only female in camp, contact Andrea as she’s a very capable PH.
Along with concession owner Chris Bezuidenhout and his son Christian, we split into small groups with some sitting in hides and others driving around until game was spotted, then dismounting the ‘bakkie’ and stalking on foot. Chris and his son are great people and stepped up to keep the hunt going when Pieter picked up an injury. Ernest is Chris’s leading hand on the concession and a great bloke to be around, as his infectious good humour really lifts the spirits.
We’d all met up in Johannesburg after flying from our respective countries and travelled by minibus to White River. At a fuel stop on the way I was amazed to see buffalo, rhino, sable, zebra, gemsbok and eland in a paddock behind the servo as a tourist attraction. After spending the night in White River we drove to the concession and I couldn’t believe the lodge. It had everything including a swimming pool and individual bungalows with spa tubs set in natural bush. It was first class and the firepit was a popular spot every night as winter temps dipped to single figures.
After introductions to Pieter and his PHs we set out to check guns and scopes and talk through some shooting instructions and safety drills with the young fellas. I was supposed to sight in Owen’s .375H&H which had just been fitted with a new suppressor but, as luck would have it, his scope chose that moment to fail and couldn’t be adjusted so he’d to borrow a rifle. The four young guys hadn’t been hunting before so this was a great chance for them to learn from their fathers.
When we returned to the lodge Pieter asked: “Who’s after the buffalo?” Apparently he wasn’t told they were too expensive for me and had booked the concession on the strength of someone taking a buffalo. This put the whole trip in jeopardy as the concession owner is paid for animals taken as well as accommodation and, with buffalo being the big-money trophies they are, it meant there wasn’t the profit in the deal he’d been led to believe.
After some protracted discussion a deal was done where Trevor would hunt a buffalo, so the trip was saved. Still, it left a sour taste in my mouth as I’d made it clear buffalo was off the table from the start, though this hadn’t been relayed to Pieter. Trevor’s like me and had always wanted to hunt buffalo so I guess karma works in mysterious ways.
The first day I spent in one of the blinds overlooking a watering hole in the hope a big warthog would show up. The concession is thickly timbered and at first glance was almost like lantana in places, though being winter the leaves had fallen from most of the bush. Before heading out we were warned there was a pet warthog named Frankie and were to take care not to shoot him, as he was totally free-ranging and could turn up anywhere.
I was sitting in the blind with one of the concession workers, coincidently named Frank. I’m hopeless at sitting still and had several naps while waiting until eventually a warthog did show, though he wasn’t keen on walking in and must’ve sensed something wrong (pretty sure I hadn’t been snoring). Frank touched my arm and indicated the pig was coming but insisted I wait until we’d a good look at him before giving me the all-clear to shoot.
The stand was elevated so it was possible to shoot from all sides, just as well as the pig walked around us before Frank told me to place the crosshairs of the .243 behind his shoulder, aiming for the opposite front leg. I squeezed the trigger on the rebuilt ex-army Mauser, the suppressor coughed and the pig instantly hit top gear but only made 30m before crashing to the ground.
I didn’t realise at the time that Frank wouldn’t let me shoot as he wanted to make absolutely sure the warthog wasn’t Frankie. We climbed out the stand and walked to the pig which was much bigger up close and would make a great replacement for the one I had at home. Frank radioed for a pick-up and after taking photos we carted the wart hog back to the lodge.
Meanwhile Trevor had been trying to get close enough to shoot one of the many buffalo on the property. This isn’t as easy as it would seem at first glance as, while they look like cattle, they’re as clued-up as any deer I’ve pursued and once they realised they’re being hunted just disappear into the thick stuff. There were three big old Dugga boys in the mob and, true to their nature, were highly dangerous and constantly harassed the workers as they went about their business.
So dangerous are they in fact that when Trevor went after one he’d three PHs backing up. If you do shoot one and don’t cripple him immediately, he’ll charge and you’ll have to defend yourself. But buffalo also back each other up and even if you do drop your target on the spot, his mates are just as likely to charge anyway so it’s no joke and should never be taken lightly.
Due to failure of the scope on Owen’s .375H&H we didn’t have a suitable rifle for dangerous game and would have to use one of Pieter’s. It was an ex-military P14 which had been re-barrelled into a .458 Winchester Magnum and was fitted with express sights and a hexagonal barrel. It really was a good-looking rifle and surprisingly easy to shoot.
Trevor had stalked up to the buffaloes’ regular hangout and found them in residence. Due to the fact there was a whole mob he’d to spend considerable time trying to get close enough to use the open sights and avoid being spotted. After sneaking from bush to bush they’d closed to within 60m
but now didn’t have a clear shot at a bull. Trevor was on the sticks but had to wait more than minutes as the buffalo milled around doing what they do.
Of course if he’d a clear view of the buffalo they also had a clear view of him so he couldn’t move or they’d have spotted him instantly. Pieter had told Trevor the best shot placement was to break the front shoulder joint and had gone through this before the hunt, so Trevor was acutely aware of the perfect spot to hit with one of the huge 510-grain soft-point projectiles.
Time stood still and adrenaline kicked in as he waited for the bull to give him a shot. Eventually it moved clear of the mob as the PH whispered: “If you want him you can take him.” With shaking hands Trevor lined up and squeezed the trigger on the big .458 to send a projectile on its way. It hit exactly where it was meant to and smashed the shoulder joint, entering the chest and rupturing the heart and lungs. The buffalo staggered but didn’t go down so Trevor cycled the rifle but short-stroked it and jammed a round in the breech.
As he tried to clear it Chris handed him his rifle, a .458 Brno with low-powered scope, so Trevor put another round into the animal’s chest. The buffalo lost interest in charging at this point and as it lurched down an embankment, Trevor was able to place an ‘insurance’ shot between its shoulder blades. Thankfully the rest of the mob decamped for places unknown and left the bull to it, saving the PHs from mounting a defending action.
The shots were heard all over the concession and, as there’s no mistaking such a large calibre, we all knew Trevor had opened his account on the buffalo and awaited the radio call before rushing to the scene to join the celebrations. I was thrilled to see my good mate take the Black Death, on foot up close and personal with open sights too, as I believe it should be done.
Later that day Owen and his son Liam were working the far side of the concession where Liam took a nice nyala bull to open his hunting career and what a way to start, one of the prettiest and most expensive plains game available. Next morning Trevor was on hand when his son Patrick opened his account with another nyala bull, then Rory’s lad Ethan took a young wildebeest and Graeme’s boy Michael an impala, so all four boys were ‘blooded’.
Somehow during the celebration it was announced that as a rite of passage the young blokes had to eat the testicles of their animals. It was explained this is a tradition among African hunters and even the PHs backed the fathers. They were very convincing and if I didn’t know them better I’d have believed them too, so the boys agreed they wouldn’t break from tradition. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I did that night.
Owen and Jay had been hunting hard for a kudu and spent a lot of time climbing some seriously steep country. Jay’s a veteran of the Afghanistan war where he lost a lower leg though it doesn’t slow him down, so when he shot a really nice nyala bull it was well deserved. Owen took a warthog and blesbok and, being a local, was able to keep the meat as were Rory and Ethan when they both landed a wildebeest. Billy took a kudu and impala, meaning no-one who hunted left empty-handed.
- Next month: Joe’s fortunes take an upturn on the hunting front