By Mike Arnold
My English friends refer to this type of behavior as “stating the bleeding obvious”. It’s one of my coping mechanisms during stressful situations. Like the one I was currently amid in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. A 1000 yard, adrenaline-fueled, jog through semi-open brushland, for my first chance at a kudu was the cause of the current stress. We were hurrying because we had very little daylight left. Even with the light-gathering ability of the Nightforce scope mounted on my 7mm Remington Magnum, I was running out of the illumination required for me to see any animal, even one that was kudu-sized.
But, back to my “obvious statement”, whispered to my PH, Arnold Claassen: “There’s an impala staring at us!” Now, understand that only seconds earlier Arnold had stopped our progress, specifically because of the staring impala. Arnold slowly turned his face in my direction and presented me with an [understandably] annoyed look. To his credit instead of stating “No sh--, Sherlock!”, he quietly replied, “I see him!!” The impala, who by this time had apparently had his fill of the bleeding obvious, stamped a front foot, snorted loudly, and took off like a rocket. I figured that was it for the kudu that I had yet to see, but Arnold continued with our crouch-legged jog.
Before beginning our 1000-yd journey, Arnold and Jambo (our tracker) had set their radios to the same channel. Jambo remained on the hillside from which they had first spotted the bull. (After the fact, I asked Arnold if he knew the size of our bull before we began our odyssey. His answer, “From that distance, I had no idea how long his horns really were, but his neck looked thick.” Typically, even with detailed directions from PH and tracker, I couldn’t see the kudu from the hillside.) From his vantage point, Jambo spoke softly into his radio, the mate of which remained glued to Arnold’s ear – except, of course, when it was necessary for him to remonstrate with his client. I could barely hear Arnold’s gentle whisper into his radio as he led us from one stand of vegetation to the next, always using Jambo’s instructions to keep us blocked from the kudu bull’s line of sight.
As Arnold and I scurried through the underbrush and between bushes and small trees, I concentrated on trying to place my feet into the tracks of my PH, and wincing every time I picked up the clumping noise that my American hunting boots were making. And, no, I had not followed the advice of numerous experts to ‘buy soft-soled boots’ before coming on my first safari; an oversight I will correct before my next safari. But, now there was nothing for it, but to attempt to miss as many sticks and dry clumps of grass as possible so as not to add even more racket to my passage.
We had covered about 800 yds when we came to a slight rise. Arnold put his palm down to bring me to a halt, and once again listened intently to his radio. He shifted direction slightly and, crouching even lower, headed for a small stand of trees. As we came up to the stand, he slowly slid around the left-hand side, at the same time raising his binoculars. They had barely reached his eyes when he slowly lowered them, took one step forward to get clear of the vegetation and set up the shooting sticks. As I slid my rifle into place, Arnold whispered, “159 yds straight in front of you”, immediately followed with, “Do you see him?”. Now, please understand, Arnold, Jambo and I had developed into a well-oiled, hunting team. They spotted and judged the trophy animals within seconds, and then they spent the next half an hour trying to get their client to find said trophies. So, as I looked through my scope at a blank field of view, mild panic set in, but then miracle-of-miracles I picked the bull out, moving across my field of vision. Then, just as I managed to place the crosshairs on the bull he walked behind a screen of vegetation. I really was panicking now, as I desperately searched for a gap in the vegetation that the bull might walk through. I finally located a break just as the bull stepped into it. The surrounding vegetation screened the bottom half of the bull, so holding in line with his shoulder and as close to the top of the vegetation as possible I squeezed off the shot. At the shot, something happened that I have read about for years, but never experienced. A resounding ‘crack!’ echoed back from where the bull had been. As I came down from the recoil, I chambered another round, but when I looked through the Nightforce the bull had vanished. I looked at Arnold’s grinning face and he said “that was a fantastic shot!” My response of “I hit him?” probably was not exactly what he expected. “He went straight down, and his legs contracted as he fell.” It turns out that the crack (or ‘slap’ to use the term often seen in hunting literature) I heard was from the 175 grain Nosler Partition hitting the bull’s spine.
Arnold grabbed the sticks and we quickly headed for where the bull had been standing. When we reached him, I finally had the opportunity to look at his horns. Arnold looked at the animal, looked at me and then said, “This Eastern Cape bull is too good for a ‘first kudu’. We should have gotten you a mid-40’s bull. This guy is way too big.” He seemed to find my retort, “well, if you think it will work, I’m willing to try mouth-to-mouth”, humorous. Arnold was probably correct. Though I know I will try on subsequent safaris, it might not be easy to best this bull’s long, symmetrical horns with their impressively thick bases. I knelt and ran my hands over my first-ever kudu, my first-ever spiral horn species – beginning with his beautiful horns, and then across his magnificent cape.
Before Jambo and a local worker arrived to help with photography and field dressing, I had Arnold kneel beside this wonderful trophy. Arnold does not like being in photographs, but as far as I was concerned, this bull was at least as much his and Jambo’s as mine. With those photographs completed, there was still one more that was necessary. On the first day of my safari, I mentioned to Arnold that I had a tape measure with me, just in case I was successful in getting a kudu. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. It was clear that he had some serious reservations about his newest client. I laughed and quickly assured him that he needn’t worry. The tape was there because my wife Frances and I had picked out a spot in our house for a kudu “just in case”. However, we had determined that it could only be a certain size, or it would not fit. As I knelt in front of Arnold’s, Jambo’s and my ‘1000-yard kudu’, stretching the tape measure stolen from my wife’s sewing room in front of the bull’s head, I relished the thought of the text message (with attached photo) that I was about to send Frances’ way – “holy crap babe, this one’s way too big!!”
You can check out Mike’s new book, BRINGING BACK THE LIONS: International Hunters, Local Tribespeople, and the Miraculous Rescue of a Doomed Ecosystem in Mozambique by going to bringingbackthelions.com.