HALF HALF HALF A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE A LIFE

BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO BUFFALO HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING HUNTING

22 GAME TRAILS • Summer 2012

b Y J o f i e l a M P R e C h t b Y J o f i e l a M P R e C h t b Y J o f i e l a M P R e C h t

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JJJust before my 11th birthday, my father asked if I wanted to shoot a Cape buffalo. Can you imagine my response? I was jumping up and down inside, but asked, “Really?” With my father, a reward was always followed with a condition, and this was a fantastic motivator for a young man. The condition for the buffalo hunt was that I must be able to handle a big-caliber rifl e in a dangerous situation.

“You never know what could go wrong,” he said. The next time we went to the shooting range

on our family’s hunting estate, I had to shoot fi ve rounds with my father’s rare Mannlicher-Schönauer .458 Winchester Magnum.

The next weekend found me dragging my father to the range, my small sweaty hands clutching fi ve massive .458 rounds. At stake was a buffalo hunt − my reward for handling the punishment of the big rifl e. My father has

an almost complete collection of Mannlicher-Schönauer rifl es. These precision Austrian rifl es are some of the fi nest, smoothest bolt-actions that you could ever lay hands on, and they are deadly accurate.

Nothing could stop me now. We put up a target, and taking the .458 Mannlicher-Schönauer in my small hands, I proceeded to load all fi ve rounds in the unique revolving (spool) magazine.

“You may kill the buffalo easily with one bullet. But if you don’t,

the next fourteen .470s serve mostly as a minor irritant.”

− Robert Ruark, from Use Enough Gun

“You may kill the buffalo easily with one bullet. But if you don’t,

I was expecting recoil, but I was not expecting that level of pounding! The big rifl e pushed me backward, and I had to catch myself from falling fl at on my back. What a rush!

Again, I shouldered the Mannlicher, worked the bolt and found the target over the sights. Four rounds later, I put the rifl e down. All the rounds had been fi red and my father was convinced. He scheduled our buffalo safari.

Traveling with fi rearms even in 1992 was a challenge. We were planning to drive north to Grootfontein and then veer northeast, crossing through all the diverse habitats that Namibia has to offer until reaching the Caprivi Strip, Namibia’s wettest region.

this buffalo is Jofi e’s fi rst, taken in 1992 when he was just 12 years old.

on that fi rst buffalo hunt, Jofi e took three others, including this big dagga boy.

24 GAME TRAILS • Summer 2012

fPohalf a life of buffalo shooting

The challenge was to get our rifl es through 40 miles of Botswana before entering Zimbabwe, our fi nal destination. Traveling in Africa is challenging and frustrating sometimes, and we could not obtain permits for the 40 miles of sand road through that country. Our rifl es had to stay behind.

We spent a night at the elegant Elephant Hills Hotel, in the historic town of Victoria Falls. Listening to roar of the falls that the locals call “the smoke that thunders,” we ate delicious beef steaks and had a good night’s rest before the real adventure began. After driving into hunting camp on the shores of Lake Kariba, we stayed in a comfortable chalet-style camp. My memories are of beautiful bougainvilleas and a huge green fl ood plain with the very low lake several hundred yards from camp. It was October, and it was extremely hot and humid. So hot, in fact, that we got up several times during the night to take a cool shower and return to bed, soaking wet, to cool off.

The main event had arrived. We had to use rented rifl es supplied by the hunting camp. Although the rifl es were of the same vintage as my father’s Mannlicher-Schönauer collection, these rifl es had seen too many safaris and had doubled as hammers, doorstops and shovels. Held together with fencing wire, they left a lot

to be desired. At the range, we fi red at a tragically pock-marked baobab tree and had to take a hammer to the open sights to get them to match the line of fi re.

Our family is of the opinion that Zimbabwean PHs have the most stringent qualifi cation exam in Africa. Not only is their theory intensive and all encompassing, but the practical that they must endure far surpasses any other professional hunting standards in Africa.

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Our PH left it open to question as to whether he attended this rigorous process, however, as he was terrified of elephants and made several bad decisions, frustrating my father to no end.

The mopane bees were already thick when we took up the tracks of a bachelor herd of buffalo bulls. After a hellishly long and wearisome time on the track, we found a bachelor herd of dagga boys in the bottom of a ravine. The Zimbabwean PH would not let me shoot, as the border of the hunting area was right across the dwindling steam, and the sun threatened to slip behind the horizon. I was frustrated at the chance of losing the bull.

My father started arguing with him, and all 12 years of my worldly experience stepped forward and simply said, “I will kill the bull where he stands,” And kill him where he stood, I did. The shooting sticks went up, with the wire-wrapped, battered old .375 H&H ready to go. With the open sights, I drew the bead on the bull’s shoulder and started squeezing. I grew up with the European-style “double-set triggers,” similar to the aforementioned M-S, where the back trigger finely sets the front trigger so that you barely have to touch it for the shot to go off. This squeezing was a new concept.

My father stood huffing and puffing behind me, video camera in hand, whispering in my ear “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” “I am shooting!” was my response. Finally, the shot broke the silence in the otherwise tranquil ravine. The bull fell forward, closer to the trickle of water forming the boundary of the hunting area. “Shoot” was the command, as I jacked in another solid and shot again at the shoulder of the downed buffalo.

A quick 30-yard move to our right put us above and behind the now barely moving bull. With a quick shot to the spine, we cautiously approached my prize, and with some disbelief, the PH shook my hand. The two shoulder shots you could stick your index and middle fingers into with ease, and the spine shot had gone exactly where it was supposed to. We had no still camera, so after a brief inspection, the skinning knives

26 GAME TRAILS • Summer 2012

came out and we caped the animal where he lay. A long branch was cut. With trouser belts, we secured the skull and horns to the branch, and took turns carrying the load for the long trek back to the truck. With no flashlight (a tool permanently on my hunting belt now), and roaring lions in the vicinity, it was close to midnight when the triumphant hunting party rolled into camp. Sleep was not a problem that night. What a wonderful memory.

On a sad note, the shoulder mount of the buffalo and the video of the hunt burned in our Main Lodge fire in 2000. Destiny was at work and that dreadful fire was the main catalyst that brought me home, after completing hotel school, to the hunting life that I love so much. It even started my PH career − my destiny was planned out for me. The only memory I have left of the hunt is a photo of me grinning ear to ear with a blood-covered buffalo head and cape at the skinning shed at midnight. gt

half a life of buffalo shooting

Ph Jofie lamprecht took this best buffalo of his career in 2010.