Category Archives: Bowhunts

The Good Hunt

by Jorge Amador

 

Very interesting project, you can see the details, and send your contributions, in their webpage THE GOOD HUNT

From the webpage:

We love to eat meat, but are we prepared to get blood on our hands by killing animals ourselves?

David Petersen, of rural Colorado, has been doing so for decades. Every year at the end of summer, he spends a month in the wilderness near his mountain home, hunting elk. Most years he succeeds in killing one, which provides him and his wife of 32 years, Caroline, with healthy, delicious meat throughout the coming year. Unlike most hunters, Dave hunts with a traditional longbow, a weapon demanding great woodsmanship and experience if one wants to have any success at hunting. Maximum accuracy range: 20 yards. Many elk pass near Petersen unharmed as he will only shoot if a perfect situation presents itself and he is sure of a fast, humane kill. When this happens, Dave — usually alone and in the dark — field dresses and debones the meat on the spot and in several trips packs it back to his hand-built cabin farther down the mountain. Not the easiest way of hunting, or of earning your dinner, but David enjoys the honesty involved in the work.

Calling himself an old hippie (born in 1946), Petersen has Marine Corps tattoos on his leg from his days as a helicopter pilot, is an award-winning conservationist who loves Hunter S. Thompson, is eloquent in speech and writing, and has a decidedly philosophical bent. In sum, Dave is a hard one to pin down or categorize. It is safe to say, however, that ethical hunting is what most clearly defines him. In his extensive writings (he has authored more than a dozen books of his own, and edited several more for the likes of Edward Abbey and Pulitzer-winner A.B. Guthrie, Jr.), Petersen reflects on a wide range of themes, but returns most often to the vivid stories of his hunts and related wilderness adventures and the intimate participation this has allowed him in the natural workings of a living wilderness. These stories hark back to the oldest human lore and remind us of a time when mankind still lived in harmony with the natural world. Dave’s woodsmanship, mastery of the hunting craft and deep connection to the animals he hunts reveal a beauty in this tradition that only a lifetime of thoughtful dedication and love can achieve.

Dave’s story made a great impact on me, opening the door to what transformative experiences hunting and a life lived on the edge of wilderness can potentially provide. After two years of correspondence, I recently crossed the Atlantic to visit the Petersens. As loudly as Dave may insist that this will not be his last hunt and that he intends to keep hunting “as long as I can do it right,” it is unfortunately clear that age and the encroachment of “progress” on what remains of truly wild country in America are working together toward bringing an honorable lifelong tradition to a close. Consequently, I feel a strong sense of urgency to record this year’s hunt on film.

With this in mind, Dave graciously agreed to allow me to come and film his annual longbow elk hunt during the last three weeks of September. We will be heading into some prime elk habitat, on private land and public, at the peak of the rut. This means we will have an excellent chance of capturing the spectacles of elk mating season up close and personal as well as seeing black bear, mule deer, turkey, grouse, and other wild being that roam the forest. The Good Hunt will follow this master huntsman at close quarters as he discusses a lifetime dedicated to traditional bowhunting, wildlife and public lands conservation, the study of wild nature and an uncompromising way of life that most can only dream of and some can’t even imagine.

Petersen proclaims that hunting has been his best teacher in life and stands as a subculture and metaphor for what he calls “the mother culture.” What is right with hunting, he says, is right with America. And what is wrong with one is wrong with both. This is an honest man, unflinching and eloquent in proclaiming his “natural truths.” To learn more about Dave, who hunting friends call “Elkheart,” check out www.davidpetersenbooks.com

Why support this film?

As David Petersen’s writing and philosophical mentor Edward Abbey once phrased it, “Hunting is one of the hardest things even to think about.” Just so, and let me state clearly that this is not an advocacy film to promote hunting. As Dave states clearly in his writing, what the hunting community needs is “not more hunters but better hunters.”

The Good Hunt will follow one autumn’s traditional bowhunt, fair and simple, and let the viewers — hunters, non-hunters, and anti-hunters alike — decide for themselves what life lessons to draw from the experience. To facilitate a deeper level of conversation, David and I will join other hunters for a few scenes of campfire conversation about the tougher questions regarding hunting. There will also be scenes of Petersen home life, conversation with Caroline, preparing and eating wild meat and more.

As an urban non-hunter who eats very little meat, my interest in this story is the hunting experience itself, one that has formed mankind throughout history, fed the imaginations as well as bodies of cultures around the world, and stands yet today as a primary link between the manmade and natural worlds. In a present-day context, Dave’s hunting and explications of it interest me because they are honest, egoless and direct; because they feed the soul as well as the body; because they challenge me to consider difficult questions about my own lifestyle choices without falling into moralizing. Dave’s hunting and his hunt for meaning and truth in life inspire in me a greater commitment to the causes I believe in, and I’m certain The Good Huntwill do the same for open-minded viewers across a wide spectrum. If you have come this far with me, please consider supporting our film.

Sincerely,
Christopher Daley

Last teaser

The sunny Spain

by Jorge Amador

Some days after the roe deer in the spanish mountains. Spring here is sunny, long days and marvelous hunts…but not this time.

Hunt was done at 1.500-1.700 meters, around 5.500 ft.  At first daylight

One hour later

Around 10:00 AM, return to the camp as hunting in this state is illegal when snow covers all the ground (yes, spanish hunting laws). The three days hunt was over in a few hours.

Well, a bad bowhunting day is still a good day

“TOP END” Buffalo II

by Dennis Kamstra

The first day of the hunt was an exciting one. We spotted several buffalo as well as a few scrub bulls and wild donkeys. We passed on all the buffalo because both Barry and Kim had seen larger bulls during their pre-scouting trips.  This initial trip into hunting country gave us a feel for what was to come – Rough four wheeling for two hours or so, following by 5 to 6 hours of walking and spotting. We generally walked 10 to 14 miles per day.

On the second day of the hunt we had a little excitement. After fording the Milton River we came upon a small group of wild hogs. They were all walking in single file, into the wind, and oblivious to our presence. Bill and I were able to run right up to the last hog in the line when she whirled and gave a grunt that stopped the whole procession. We launched our first volley of arrows hitting two of them. Bill’s arrow completely penetrated one boar and hit a small piglet running with the group. This piglet took great exception to an arrow in its side and began to squeal with a volume the likes of which were disproportionate to its size. This squealing had a very unsettling affect on the rest of the group. Bottom line is that they started charging Bill and me. In unison, we both looked for a tree to climb and discovered that there were none! Barry and Kim were observing all this through binoculars at several hundred yards distant. Although I’ve certainly seen larger hogs in my day, I don’t remember any being more determined. We were both equipped with very heavy arrows made for the buffalo hunt and they became very useful at this point. Bill turned one boar with a well placed shot which left the sow that was coming directly at me. My choice was to run or shoot and I decided on the latter. Thank God I actually hit her where I was aiming. The 860-grain “Grizzlystik” tipped with a 190 grain Grizzly head entered the hog right between the eyes and exited behind her ear. With their numbers greatly reduced that rest of the group decided to run off which pleased us greatly.

This whole fiasco made for a real confidence booster regarding our equipment. Bill was shooting an 80-pound Black Widow and I was carrying my trusty old 80-pound Stotler longbow. Both of us carried arrows made for this trip by Bob Burton of Whispering Wind arrows. Bob had made some Purple Heart shafts for Bill’s previous trip for Cape Buffalo in Africa. Since they worked well on that trip (nice buff and giraffe), Bill ordered more for this hunt. Bob could not find additional purple heart shafts for me so he came up with an option of resin impregnated Poplar shafts that produced a finished arrow weight of 1140 grains. In addition to these arrows, I was field testing some new heavy carbon shafts called the Grizzlystick from Alaska Bowhunting Supply. I really liked the advantage of the heavier wood arrows, but the Grizzlysticks are almost indestructible, which means a lot on a trip where you can’t run downtown to get more arrows. I’ve purposely hit a granite bolder with a Grizzlystick and had it recoil 20 yards in the opposite direction. In fact, I’ve broken three Judos on one of the arrows I’m still shooting. True to form, the one I shot through the hog’s head is still in my quiver. No matter what shaft I use, the business end always carries the 190-grain Grizzly broadhead when I hunting dangerous game. This one inch wide, three inch long head has served me well over the years.

While Barry and Bill continued to pursue one large bull they saw the second day of the hunt, Kim and I struck out for some new territory that was not previously hunted. The chance to hunt truly virgin territory really appealed to me. From the topo maps for the area, Kim found a long string of small ponds all connected and that eventually drained into the Milton River. From the map, it was apparent that we could walk over twenty miles from the first pond to the river. We drove (if you could call it that) as far as the terrain would allow and logged in the waypoint on our GPS’s. Then we struck out on foot towards the coordinates pulled from the map. Once we reached the water holes we started seeing buffalo in large numbers. One impressive bull was traveling with over 20 cows and calves, which made the ensuing stalk even more difficult. With so many eyes and noses covering his backside, this bull simply grazed with impunity. Finally the inevitable happened when we spooked an unseen cow and the whole herd bolted in a thunder of hooves and a billowing cloud of dust. Back to the string of water holes, we parted some of the dense vegetation to reveal a large group of buffaloes all circling a small pond. While I was busy looking for a trophy in the bunch, Kim stabbed me in the ribs and whispered that the herd bull was in the water ten yards below me. Sure enough the entire herd was watch His Nibs take a bath. All I could see was his nose and horns above the water. Slowly nocking an arrow, I figured all I had to do was wait for the King to walk out of his tub and I would smack him. After a mere 5 seconds, one of the cows grunted in alarm and this peaceful scene erupted into utter chaos. The bull dog-paddled to the opposite side and lunged onto the bank. Standing completely broadside he stared right at me with his nose held high and on full alert. I could see Kim’s 500 Jeffery come to bare and heard Kim whisper “take him”. The distance (around 30 yards) was a bit more than I had hoped for and the fact that he was on full alert, looking right through me made me uncomfortable with the shot. Years of disappoint has taught me never to take a shot that I was not completely comfortable with. Hence, I passed on the shot and was immediately second-guessing the wisdom of what I had just done. I could tell that Kim was disappointed as well.

We had been hunting hard for four days and this was the best opportunity to date. It was with a heavy heart that we finally returned to camp well after dark. Two gins and tonics helped a lot as Bill and I compared the day’s excitement. Bill and Barry had spotted the big bull they were looking for but it had given them the slip after a long hot pursuit. After one of Sonia’s great meals and several glasses of fine Australian Cabernet, I was prepared for a good nights rest and whatever tomorrow might bring.

On the fifth day of the hunt, Kim and I decided to retrace the route of the previous day and continue on into uncharted territory. We did stop on the way to make a stalk on a group of wild donkeys. This heard was more curious than spooked at our presence, which probably attests that we were the first humans they have ever seen. This was their undoing, because I smacked the biggest jack right through both lungs. We watched him fall within sight. The Grizzlystick had struck again. Once we got close for the photo session, I was surprised at the size of these donkeys. The one I shot was in very good flesh and not a tic on him. I was soon to discover that this was true for the water buffalo as well.

As we continued our hunt I knew the donkey had been a real confidence builder. I was now determined to find a good bull and put him down. I’ve found that this feeling happens to me a lot in the field. Sometimes it takes several days of hunting to get into sync with nature and the correct frame of mind for what had to be done. I was now hunting with more intensity. Kim was in the lead weaving his way through heavy palm fronds and low brush. I was scanning the country to my right when I turned to see Kim frozen at mid stride. He was looking right at me with his index finger pointed to our left. As he slowly brought the big Jeffery to his shoulder; my eyes shifted to the direction that the half-inch bore was pointed. There taking a nap in the mud was a fine water buffalo.

He was only 20 yards below me and looking at Kim which gave me an opportunity to nock one of my 1140-grain woodies. I remember thinking- “If he would only stand up”. As if on command the bull slowly came to his feet, still looking directly at Kim. Then I was thinking- “ Just turn a little, so you will be quartering away”. Again, he obliged. It was like my friend Monty Browning likes to say- All the pegs were dropping in the right holes. The only thing left to fill the final hole was for the buff to move his front leg forward to expose a chance at the heart. I could tell he was about to bolt, but I forced myself to wait. Finally he turned his big head in the directly of his exit. In doing so, he made one step with his front leg- Time to drop the hammer! I was already aimed and at half draw when he moved that leg, so it only took an instant to come to full draw and release. As luck would have it, the arrow hit exactly where I was looking. I could hear the metallic click which is the tell tale sign of hitting bone.

When the bull exited the small mud hole he had only one inch of white crown dip visible below the fletching, which meant the arrow had penetrated 22 inches (it’s a good thing to know exactly how long your arrows’ crown dip extends and the distance from the nock to the end of your fletching). It was all over in a split second and now it was time to be silent and wait. I was determined to wait a full 30 minutes. At the end of 12 minutes we heard the bellowing of an animal in distress. After four long bellows, all was silent. I continued to wait out the full 30 minutes before taking up the blood trail. Kim was in the lead with the Jeffery extended. After walking exactly 63 paces, I saw Kim drop to one knee and on full alert. Through the thick brush I could see the head of a buffalo on the ground looking at his back trail. Kim motioned for me to move slowly to the left while he stayed in position for a shot if necessary. Kim wisely had me move to see if the buffalo would move his head to follow my motion, indicating he was still alive.

Thankfully, he stone dead! It’s hard to express my feeling at that moment. During the caping process we did a little autopsy and discovered that the arrow had completing blown through a rib (which was sizable) and pierced the top end of the heart.

MyWaterBuff

Somehow the trip back to the vehicle was not as grueling as I had imagined and back at camp, it was cigars around with scotch substituted for the gin and tonics. Cathy and I spent the next day fishing for Baramundi, which is a great sport fish similar to our bass. These fish get up to 30 pounds in these relatively small ponds. We were successful with the Baramundi and also saw fresh water crocodiles and five-foot sharks all in the same pools. We were 80 kilometers from the coast, so that is some indication how high the water gets during the wet season. That evening Bill and Barry were late of the cocktail hour so that was determined to be a good sign. When they finally arrived, Bill announced that he had finally hit the big bull they had been chasing all week. He felt the arrows’ entry angle was a bit back but a lethal hit. They tracked the bull for over six miles in four hours. Each time they jumped bull it would run again. Not wanting to loose the bull or make it suffer, Bill asked Barry to bring it down with a rifle. This was a very ethical gesture on his part because unlike Africa there is no wounding policy in Australia; you simply carry on with the hunt. Anyhow, Barry hit the bull four times with a 404 and it still refused to stop. When it was too dark to continue the track, they had returned to camp. The next morning the whole camp went out to help pick up the spore. It was hard tracking with very little blood. We were starting to get that sick feeling of loosing a fine trophy when Barry gave a shout. He had found the bull dead, approximately 2 miles from where they left the track the evening before. The Purple Heart shaft was still in him and it had penetrated deep. The arrows’ entry was right behind the shoulder, but our speculation was that bull was angled a little towards Bill when the arrow hit. Regardless, it was a happy ending and we were all grateful that we didn’t give up on this magnificent bull.

The whole experience was something I will never forget and will be forever grateful to Barry, Kim and Sonia for showing us the wonders of Australia’s Top End. Now if I can just sleep for the rest of this flight it might make it more tolerable.

Blood trailing guide

by Jorge Amador

All your hard work and practice has paid off you just shot the deer you have been after for the last month. You know you made a good hit the buck was close to broadside, maybe a little quartering too, but penetration was good, the shot angle was steep because you had to hang high because the buck’s rub line trail came off the side of the ridge and the only straight tree for your climber was down in the saddle. Question is did I get both lungs or one lung and the liver? These questions have plagued hunters for years and in the heat of the moment hunters tend to get down and track there deer to soon pushing the deer often resulting in not finding there deer they worked so hard to harvest. DPG’s Blood Trailing Guide is loaded with answers to your questions; it slows you down and tells you what to do based on where you shot your deer.

From Drifter Pack Guides

“TOP END” BUFFALO I

by Dennis Kamstra

NOTE: All the text has been written by Dennis Kamstra, but all the pictures in this part, are from my friend Mario Bregaña.
Jorge Amador

As I write this, I am flying high, literally and emotionally. I’m at 37,000 feet, on a flight from Sydney, Australia to Los Angles; and I am still experiencing the rush from a very memorable hunt. Thought I would get all the details in print before I forgot them. I just completed a Water Buffalo hunt in Australia’s Northern Territory, known locally as the “top end”. I must admit that the memories are still lingering because I finally made one of those shots about which we all dream. Even taking my vanity into consideration, I have to say that I just completed a hunt the ranks near the top ten per cent of my bow hunting experiences. Being a little long in the tooth with several hunts under my belt, I can assure you that this is worthy of note.

Australia is getting to be a very popular destination for bow hunters. The word is getting out about the fantastic hunting opportunities in all of the South Pacific. The Water Buffalo of Australia’s Northern Territory is one of the few dangerous game species available in this part of the world. You can throw the Crocodile and wild hogs in this category as well, although the Crocodile cannot be sport hunted at this time. Although my hunt was booked with Barry Jones of Buffalo Safaris Ltd., I had also arranged for Randy Cooling and Patrick O’Brian to hunt with Graham Williams of Outback Safaris and Dr. Jan Seski to hunt with Glenn Giffin of Muckadillo Safaris. All these hunts were conducted during the same ten-day period. My hunting partner on this trip was Dr. Bill MacCarty. Bill’s wife (Hogan) and my wife (Cathy) were to accompany us on this hunt and the camp amenities available with Barry Jones was instrumental in picking this outfitter. Although our wives can rough it with the best of them, I felt the women would enjoy the experience more with air-conditioned cabins and hot showers available. As it turned out, Hogan had to cancel at the last minute, so I was glad that Cathy had the extra comforts available.

I must begin by stating that most of us have no concept of the vastness of Australia, let alone the remoteness of the top end. The previously mentioned Dr. Jan Seski probably said is best when he told me that the top end of Australia is just like the “old Africa”, where one can drive and walk for days without experiencing any humanity and the game is oblivious to human existence. Dr. Seski went on his first Australian safari last year and immediately rebooked for this year as well. Jan will have a hard time beating last year’s hunt, where he took the new world record Banteng (with bow), two buffalo, two huge Spanish goats, and several wild hogs.

One of the down sides of this hunt is the distance of travel. From my home near Portland, Oregon, we flew to LA, then on to Sydney, then to Darwin, Australia. From Darwin we arranged for a charter to fly us into hunting camp. All this amounted to 20 hours in the air and 32 hours considering layovers. Thank God for sleeping pills and Cabernet Sauvignon.

Bill, Cathy and I made the best of it in Darwin by renting a car and driving to a nearby location on the Adelaide River that promoted sights of the famous Saltwater Crocodiles. I’m not much into tourist activities, but I have to admit it’s pretty exciting when the first mate of a small boat puts a pole in your hand with twelve foot of line baited with a pound of pork and declares we are going croc fishing! These salt-water crocs are in fact the largest crocodiles in the world (some reported at 28 feet in length!). I was soon to discover that they would come completely out of the water to snap at my offering of pork. The occasion was definitely a photo opportunity.

After cooling our heels in Darwin for two days, we were anxious to get into hunting camp. There was an issue with weight restrictions on the charter flight. We were allowed only 480 kilos (1056 pounds) including people and gear. This sounds like a lot until you consider the weight of 5 people (pilot, co-pilot and the three of us) equaled 915 pounds. It was either a crash diet or some repackaging. So, with the bare necessities we were off to Wongawara, a cattle station on the southern border or Aboriginal Land. It was amazing to fly for almost two hours without even seeing a road. Wongawara is a working cattle ranch that covers 500,000 acres. The cattle are restricted to approximately 3,000 acres and the balance is wild and wooly open territory. The owner, Rudy, commented that he has never been on 80% of his own land. Naturally he has flown over it, but land travel is restricted by the lack of any roads. Four wheeling over rocks and fording major streams has a way of limiting ones exposure to such country.

At the end of a rough-cut landing strip, Barry Jones, his wife Sonia, and guide Kim Walters greeted us. As we soon learned, Sonia was to be the chief cook and bottle washer in addition to her duties as clothes washer, and maid; all of which she did with the utmost of perfection. That evening, Barry explained that several species could be hunted during this hunt. Aside from our main objective, the Asiatic Water Buffalo, wild hogs, wild donkeys and scrub bulls were on the menu. Like the water buffalo, the other species were all introduced by early explorers during the 1800’s. The scrub bulls are essentially domestic cattle that have gone feral over the years. I can tell you that the experience has done little for their dispossession. Unlike the buffalo, these bulls have been known to charge on sight and are considered quite dangerous. The buffalo will generally run at the sight of humans, but once wounded they are as formidable as their cousins, the Cape buffalo of Africa are. However, if surprised these buffalo can charge on sight as well. These facts were the reason for Barry and Kim’s arsenal. Large caliber rifles are required to stop these animals when they are on full charge. My guide, Kim, was totting a 500 Jeffery as his back up rifle. This cannon was loaded to deliver 6000 foot pounds of energy!

WATER BUFFALO OF THE PAMPA

by Dennis Kamstra

My curiosity about South America finally persuaded me to book a bow hunt for the buffalo of the pampa plains of Argentina. Having never been to that part of the world, my visions of Argentina were formed by the “Discovery Channel” on TV.

I was surprised to find that Buenos Aires had a strong European type culture with old country charm mixed with the hustle and bustle of a progressive industrial city. This town was the home of my outfitter (Rodolfo Grizas), plus twelve million other soles. For a hick from the woods of Washington state, a metropolis that big was quite a transition. My wife (Cathy) and I were whisked off to neighborhood restaurant for one of Argentina’s famous Bar-B-Q’s. The Argentineans are big meat eaters and they enjoy their biggest meal of the day at around 2PM (like most European countries).

We were joined on this trip by Paul and Susan Sullivan, also from our home state of Washington. Paul was interested in hunting Axis deer, doves, ducks, and partridge; while I was in sole pursuit of the Asian Water Buffalo. I remember seeing a film of Fred Bear hunting these buffalo along the Amazon delta in Brazil. These are huge animals; close to a ton in weight. Although they did not exhibit the extreme temperament of the Cape Buffalo of Africa, these animals have been known to dislodge more than one goucho from his horse. There were all types of stories concerning the close calls of charging buffalo. All this adds to the “pucker factor” of hunting dangerous game. One always seems to pay just a little more attention to the small details when hunting game that can fight back. One does not simply pay attention to the wind direction; he simply does not move unless it is perfect. After the shot, one does not leap for joy; but instead he freezes like a stone to avoid detection. To me, hunting dangerous game with bow and arrow is the ultimate rush. It may not be for everyone, but you can’t beat it for finding your inner resolve.

Paul was to be hunting about 400 kilometers from my hunting area. So we separated with the understanding that we would meet later in the week for a little bird shooting, if time permitted.Cathy and I traveled south from Buenos Aires into the Argentine pampa. The pampa is a huge flat delta area, formed by the run off from the mountain country to the west. This area is predominantly cattle country. We were to be the guests of Manuel de Anchorena the Argentine ambassador to England (retired). His estancia (ranch) was to be our home while hunting on his vast land holdings. To say that the accommodations were opulent, is an understatement. Manuel was quite a sportsman in his own right. Although his great passion seemed to be polo, he had an extensive trophy room that housed the results of many hunts

My hunt started with the introduction to my guide (Jesus), and the explanation of my equipment. The longbow is not a common weapon in this country, nor is any archery tackle for that matter.
When ever I hunt outside the U.S., invariably I’m viewed with skepticism about my choice of equipment. Naturally, a demonstration is requested, which is nothing more than a thinly veiled challenge to the actual killing power of a bow and arrow. These demonstrations are certainly stressful because you must hit the target with reasonable accuracy in order to give your guide some type of confidence that he is not wasting his time. But, that does not compare to the stress of the ultimate show down with the animal; so one must take it all in stride. Even after you have proven your ability to hit what your aiming at, there is no way to convince people of the killing power of an arrow. They just have to see it for themselves.

The language problem between Jesus and myself was a major barrier. Even though the Manuel did an excellent job of interpreting the type of hunt I wanted to conduct, Jesus had plans of his own. The first day of the hunt was ruined by misunderstandings about how to best get into shooting position of buffalo. Jesus thought I should sit in one place while he busted brush in an attempt to jump the animals towards my position. While this was no doubt effective, I preferred slipping up on unsuspecting game, rather than taking a pass shot at spooked animals. Although I saw some nice buffalo on the first day out, the shot opportunities did not happen.

Back at the ranch, I tried to plan a different approach for the next days hunt, with the help of interpretation. On day two, Jesus was right on my shoulder all day. The swatting of mosquitoes and smoking of cigarettes made our approach almost impossible. I tried to explain the need for stealth and non-aromatic stalk; but it was to no avail. Back to the ranch for another “strategy session”. What I really wanted was to be left alone in buffalo country and be picked up at the end of the day. This was going to be a problem, since they were concerned about my safety. I consented to a plan by which Jesus would carry a rifle as back up, but would stay at least 200 meters behind me.

On the third day, I had a great time slipping though the brush by myself. However, the constant shifting of the wind caused problems. I could hear buffalo crashing out ahead of me, but I never actually saw one. Naturally, Jesus blamed my tactics. He was rapidly loosing confidence and patience with the Yankee bow hunter.

By the fourth day, I had a pretty good idea where to find the buffalo. It was just a matter of time, and some good luck. So, I set forth with the same approach as the day before. This time I asked Jesus to stay behind in the truck. I was surprised when he agreed. Rain had fallen during the night and as the horizon began to blush with the rising sun, the dew point was reached and a thick fog descended over the swamps. With the help of my handy GPS, I set a course towards the area of the previous days hunt. Today I was determined to get in close and wait for the buffalo to move into me. With that in mind, I brought my “shaggy camo” suit, a unique three dimensional suit made by Rancho Safari. I had found this camo to be very helpful in previous hunts.

Since I had a lot of open ground to cover, I picked up the pace as I cut through the fog. I was mesmerized by the eerie colors caused by sun’s attempt to burn through the mist. Then I saw shapes in the distance. The shapes looked like grave markers in some ancient cemetery. I froze while fishing out my binoculars for a closer look. Sure enough, thirteen buffalo all in a row with their heads in that unique, down the nose, arrogant stare. They had caught my movement but had not yet figured out just what I was. I eased down into a sitting position doing my best imitation of a pampa bush. I was caught out in the middle of an open grass plain. There was nothing to do but wait out the situation. After a good hour of intense staring, the buffalo seemed convinced I was some type of innocuous growth and simply laid down.

Two more hours passed while the sun continued dissolve the fog. Then, one by one, the buffalo came to their feet. They started to mill about and were feeding right in my direction. I just knew this good fortune wouldn’t last. However, here they came; just like an elephant train.
For a moment I thought they were going to walk right at me, giving me little opportunity for a broadside shot. But the hunt gods decided to steer them past me, at an angle. I couldn’t believe my good luck. The lead cow passed by me at thirty five yards. The wind was brisk and right in my face. All I had to do was to get into shooting position. Ever so slowly, I extended my bow arm and locked my elbow. Rising to one knee, I picked a spot on buffalo number five (the biggest bull). I drew and released in one snap-shot movement. The hit seemed a little high, but only the tip of my nock was visible behind the shoulder. The bull jumped side ways alerting the rest of the herd. I remained motionless. Two buffalo ran up to their agitated comrade and stuck their noses into the blood running his side. With a snort, they ran off, followed by the rest of the herd. The arrowed bull turned to reveal the two blade Magnus just poking out the opposite side.

MyArgentineWaterBuff

He ran ten yards and fell on one front leg; got up, ran another ten yards before crashing to one side. He was down for good! After admiring my trophy, I set off to get Jesus. I found him fast asleep in the truck.

After the monumental job of skinning, butchering, and preparing my trophy; we headed for a rendezvous with Paul and Susan. Paul had collected a fine Axis deer and was anxious to begin his bird hunt (his real passion). Rodolfo’s boast of 250 rounds per day proved a bit extreme, but we didn’t miss it by much.

All in all, it was quite an enjoyable adventure. One I would recommend. However, even a rudimentary command of Spanish would be quite helpful, as English is a rare commodity.

Equipment used:
80# Stotler Elite take down longbow
“Six Hex” wooden arrows by Whispering Wind
Two blade, 130 gr. Magnus broadheads
“Shaggie” camo, by Rancho Safari (a face mask is a must, because of the mosquitoes)

Arrangements for this hunt were aptly handled by Bowhunting Safari Consultants ( 1-800-833-
9777).

THE LORD OF ROCKS

by Jorge Amador

This is the story of a very special safari. The pursuit of a coveted trophy finally obtained through the diligence and skill of a good friend.

In late April I returned to Africa with the intention of bringing down a Klipspringer. Who would have told me that I would take a seat in the very last IB6051from Madrid to Johannesburg. In a plane filled to bursting point, I finally reached my destination. From there I took a domestic flight to Polokwane, my final destination in the Limpopo Province

At the airport waiting for me was my friend Luis Diez and Tabengwa. An eternal smile, deep eyes and several tribal scars make up the face of this exceptional tracker from Old Days Safaris, with whom I have the pleasure of sharing hunting days in the last few years.

-Hi Moses. Is everything okay? Today is going be a bloody day! He said laughing.

This is their way of wishing me luck. We climbed in the Toyota and headed for the “koppies” the name used to describe small rocky hills that dot the savannah here and there. They are home to klipspringer, dassies and of course leopard.

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On a sandy track, about five kilometres from our destination we left Tabengwa at the vehicle. We would not see him till later in the morning, when the sun beats down hard on the sandstone ledges, forcing every living creature, human or animal, to seek shelter under the shade. Moving in silence, following the footsteps of Luis Jnr, my PH, who moves like a fish in water through the sea of ​​thorny Acacias and Mopane trees that separate us from our first objective, a group of five small koppies in the shape of a “U” where we have previously spotted Klipspringers.

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We started the climb with caution, avoiding to step on a loose rocks that may roll and alert animals of our presence. We peeked over the summit ever so carefully but this time we were unlucky, nothing but silence. Luis threw stones at the trees below us to see if something was lying in the shade. Only a Hornbill flew up alarmed. We climbed down and made our way back over all the koppies again with the hopes of locating some animal bedding down, which would allow us to creep close enough for a shot.

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The first hour and a half passed by unnoticed. We climbed a Koppie that was somewhat higher than the others. From here we could see a small rocky hill which gradually descended. Afoot the hill, several hundred feet away, a herd of Impala were drinking at a ground dam. To our left, on a rocky ledge, there was a group of dassies. They were lying on the rocks basking in the sun. Luis approached me and said:

- Try one.

- Which one? I replied.

- The one on the left.

To the left of the group, I could see a dassie that stood out from the rest in both size and  colour. The dassie lay on a large slab of rock. I ranged the distance: 45 meters separated us from them, my maximum shooting distance. Luis urged me to try it. This was a matter of trust; he wanted to know if I would be able to take the chance if a Klipspringer presented itself. Before going to bed I had repaired the damaged scope with adhesive tape, fixing a nail in place of the damaged screw. The following morning I tested the bow at the shooting range without problems up to 30 meters, but 45 meters at a steep angle was something else. In short I had to try, so without thinking twice I pulled the string, aimed gently and let the arrow fly. I saw the bright blue feathers impacting behind the shoulder.

-Perfect shot Moises!!

Shortly after taking some pictures, we climbed another koppie where Luis assured me we would find a couple of Klipspringers. We see the two animals feeding below us, for a long time we thought about how we could stalk closer but the place where they were was very difficult to approach, so we decided to relax and enjoy watching their movements between the steep cliffs while preparing the strategy for the following day.

The morning was very windy with some clouds but no rain. Before 5 am we were in the Toyota on the way to the koppies. We again left Tabengwa at the Toyota and continued on foot. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon when we reached the top of the Koppie where we had seen the Klipspringers the previous day. We made no noise, peeking over the edge we could see one Klipspringer. It was a female and took off as soon as it saw us, once it was a safe distance away she stopped and made her alarm call. Immediately the male appeared at the same spot where the female had been standing.

I must confess that the sudden appearance of the ram caught us by surprise. I immediately knocked an arrow drew the bow without ranging the distance or taking the steepness into account. The first arrow flew five feet above the head of the Klipspringer who still had no idea what was happening. It was then that I ranged the distance. The animal stopped on a large rock 68 meters away, but the angle was so steep that the actual distance separating us was only 42 meters. Hastily I knocked a second arrow and shot again. This time the arrow impacted underneath him. The element of surprise was lost.

The Klipspringer started jumping from rock to rock, speeding away through the bushes surrounding the base of the Koppie were we were. Then Luis blew his little whistle that he had just pulled out of his pocket. The animal stopped immediately and retraced his steps. I knocked a third arrow. I aimed at the Klipspringer which was still coming closer; finally he stopped on a large rock and stared at us. I let the arrow fly and it flew directly towards its target. The Klipspringer ran into the thicket disappearing behind the bushes. The release had been so fast that I wasn’t sure what had happened. I thought the arrow had nicked the Klipspringers neck before falling onto the ground. Luis looked through his binoculars repeatedly, while I tried to knock another arrow on the bow.

- Moises look through your binoculars! Look at the sand beneath the rock where it stood.

- That is a lot of blood right?

- Yes, and there is an even bigger puddle a little higher up.

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It took well over 20 minutes until my nerves calmed down and we decided to climb down. When we arrived at the spot where the shot was taken, we saw numerous blood drops, the shot could have been much better than what I had originally thought. Luis followed the blood past the tree behind which the Klipspringer had disappeared, the Klipspringer lay a few metres further. He lay on his left shoulder seeming to rest peacefully awaiting our arrival. The embrace with Luis will be something I won’t ever forget.Together we had defeated the “Lord of the rocks.”

by Moises Dominguez  Boza

Zebra with a bow is tough!

by Dennis Kamstra

To the locals, they are little more than a striped donkey, but for me the Zebra are beautiful animals.  I think they make one of the best pedestal mounts of all the plains game. I have hunted both species on several occasions and have come away with a lot of respect for this cunning animal. I consider the Zebra to be one of the most difficult animals to take with bow and arrow. Their since of smell is right up there with any of the plains game and their hearing and eye sight are phenomenal.  Couple all of this with the fact that they usually water at night and even then, not with regularity. When they do come to water holes during daylight hours, they usually come running in when other species are watering, providing them cover and early warning systems. They come to water very nervous and seem to be constantly moving. They drink quickly and run away as fast as they appeared.

This pretty much sums up my appraisal of bow hunting Zebra- They are a tough animal to take with a bow.  Perhaps I’ve just been unlucky or hunted them in the wrong places at the wrong time, but I’ve hunted them in Namibia, Zimbabwe, and all over South Africa with the same results. I have taken three females of the species with a bow, but have yet to anchor a stallion. It may never happen, but I will die trying!

My first experience hunting Zebra came in Zimbabwe where I was to hunt leopard over bait. I had heard that Zebra was a preferred table fare for leopard and I wanted every advantage I could get.  After 5 days without even getting close enough for a decent bow shot (less than 35 meters), I gave up and took a wart hog for bait. I probably should have asked my PH to pop one with a rifle so I could get on with the leopard hunt, but I think that killing “bait” animals is all part to the hunt and something that should add to the total experience of a leopard hunt.

Stalking Zebra has to be one of the most difficult ways to take one with bow and arrow. Consequently, it must be the most rewarding. I say “must be” because I have not yet been successful with stalking.  This is probably because my stalking capabilities are woefully inferior to any local tracker. If the terrain lends itself to stalking, this has to be the ultimate achievement for a bow hunter. It is also helpful to stalk them early in the season, when leaves are still on the trees and brush.  At least the foliage will conceal your approach for most of the way.

Probably the best way to take a Zebra with a bow is from a pit blind. Two of my Zebra kills have been from a pit. Tree blinds are also successful, but movement is more difficult to conceal and probably more important; the angle of the arrow flight is not conducive to maximum penetration and vital organ shots. When shooting from a pit blind, the angle of the shot is “up” and the rib bones are more thin and soft at the lower part of the anatomy.

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I did take my last Zebra from ambush which was fun way to hunt. By observing spore we determined that a specific herd of Zebra used the same passage to and from water. This was a natural funnel with thick thorn bush protecting both sides. Rather than dig a pit blind (which is time consuming and hard work), I decided to try a “Gillie-Suit” made by Rancho Safari, Ramona, California. I have used this camouflage garment successfully in North America for Pronghorn Antelope, deer and elk and knew it worked very well to conceal a bow hunter in open spaces. I simply found a good background of thorn bush and sat on a three legged stool with a swivel seat, allowing the Gillie Suit to drape over my legs and the stool like a full length dress. I mention this stool because it has been a very important part of my hunting gear when using the Gillie Suit. Besides the obvious comfort provided by sitting on a stool rather than on your knees, this stool allows me to turn and shift positions without making noise or showing any quick, awkward  movements that are a dead give away to all game animals.  I purchased this collapsible stool in America (Cabela’s  Outdoor Store) for $50 US. It is expensive but weighs only 5 pounds and the legs telescope in for easy carrying. The seat has a fiber bushing that allows for noise fee movement. I’m a real believer in the combination of this stool and the Gillie Suit. I will mention that this suit is not something you would want to walk in for any distance. It becomes very hot and it catches on every thorn you walk by.

With this combination of equipment I was able to situate myself a mere 15 meters from where I suspected the herd of Zebra to cross. I had a tracker make a big circle, up wind from where we had earlier spotted the Zebra herd. Within 15 minuets, I could hear the thundering of hooves coming my way.  Because the gap I had chosen for a shooting lane was quite narrow, the Zebra had to pass in single file. The first three animals came by on a run so I never had a chance to take a shot. However, the good news was that they did not pay any attention to my position as they passed. The next Zebra came by at a slow walk and I placed a wooden arrow just behind the leg crease as it extended its leg for the next step.  I’m embarrassed to say that I had no idea if it was a stallion or a female (to me, the sex of a Zebra is difficult to determine unless both sexes are standing next to each other).  Once the arrow had stuck it produced a panic alert to the rest of the herd and five more came flying by at mach -1, leaving me in a cloud of dust. However, I was able to determine that the last animal in the group was obviously a stallion. His thick neck and jug head made him stand out. I kicked myself for not waiting for the obvious male to present a shot, but I was pleased to have taken any Zebra with a bow under those conditions. It was very exciting! If the truth be known, I just didn’t have the patience to wait for the “trophy animal”. I just took the first good shot opportunity I had. Perhaps on a future Zebra hunt I can put it all together and finally anchor a stallion.  Meanwhile, the female Zebra graces a favorable spot in my trophy room. She had made it only 60 meters before piling up with a slice through the heart. Once in a while everything works the way it should!

MyZebra

Dennis Kamstra
safariden@aol.com