Impalas at play.

After waking up at 6:00 AM to get out of the camp right when the gate opened, we headed off toward Letaba. From our previous day’s experiences we decided dirt roads were the way to go, and that more wildlife viewing was possible, since fewer cars go on them. We turned left on the first road we came to and not more than a couple of kilometers in, we spotted a figure walking away from us. My dad said, "Jim, I think it’s a hyena!" We got closer and saw a long tail with black and gold spots, and my dad corrected himself and said, "No, that’s a leopard!" In Africa, lions, leopards, elephants, cape buffalo, and rhinos are known as the "Big Five". According to books we had read, the leopard is the hardest animal of the five to see in the park. I immediately got excited, as we pulled up alongside of it to within arms reach from the window and kept moving our car along with it!! I quickly got a picture from my camera and then I grabbed my dad’s camera with the telephoto for another. I had to figure everything out myself on the camera, since my dad was driving and snapped a few quick pictures. I kept watching the leopard stare at us as he walked, and I stared right back, as we both were mesmerized with each other. After we had finished taking pictures, we stopped the car and watched the leopard as she went into the brush off to our right. That picture that I took on my camera came out perfect, and it was probably the closest I could have possibly been to a leopard, and the photo ended up being the best of the trip. Further down the road, we came across a troop of baboons that were "monkeying around" in the trees and we got some nice pictures, including one of a baby hanging from a tree.

Then, I caught a glimpse of a catlike muscular figure, and said to my dad, "that has to be a leopard, it’s too big, and we are in the wrong terrain for it to be a cheetah." It was our second leopard of the morning. Most people that come to Africa never see leopards, because of their shyness. But we seemed to have a charmed trip: we saw two in one morning! Then, not twenty minutes later as we rounded a corner, we saw cars stopped in both directions, and then an immature male lion crossed the road a couple of cars in front of us. I was disappointed that the lion didn’t turn around for a photo opportunity, but I took a nice photo of his rear anyway. Then we entered an open plains area where we saw, giraffes, zebras, wildebeests, and of course, more impalas. It was our first time spotting giraffes, zebras, and wildebeests, so we got some nice photos, including one of a baby zebra.
Because of the warm climate, animals breed all year round. After another hour, we came to the crossing of the Letaba River. The river was low, but was not dry, so we were able to see some wildlife. On the bridges in Kruger, you are allowed to get out of your car and walk around and look over at what might be below. We looked out on both sides and saw hippos, and a few crocodiles as well.

We got up and left early again as we had the previous two mornings. No more than five kilometers outside of the camp we saw a car stopped. We slowed down, and looked off to our right where it looked like a party. Two groups of hyenas, and about 60 buzzards were feasting on a dead elephant. One group of hyenas was trying to chase off the other group, since it was their territory, their find. We made the mistake of rolling down our windows to hear the sounds, and the stench from the elephant smelled worse than twenty skunks. We stayed there for a few minutes watching the food chain at work, and then headed on. We were close to an exit, so we suspected that the elephant was poached, but who knows? We drove uneventfully to the Luvuvhu River just south of the Zimbabwe border. Still in the park, we took one last loop. On this loop we saw a female nyala, two crocodiles, and tons of buffalo patties. Then we drove in this thick jungle like area, and I caught something brown out my side of the car. It was a huge male lion just hanging out! I told my dad what it was and we backed the car up for a photo. The excitement was building since I wanted to see a lion more than any animal in Africa. I was so excited, my hands were shaking when I took the picture on my camera. Thank goodness for autofocus. My dad wanted me to take a slide on his camera, but my hands were shaking so bad that I told him I couldn’t, so he leaned over me and took one himself. Fittingly, that was the last animal we saw in Kruger, and we exited the park, content with what we had seen. It had been a great stay in the park, but it was just a warm up for what lay ahead. We were going to be hunting in an area just like it, but with only leopards and snakes to watch out for.

This concludes the portion of the journal by Jimmy Bollinger. Pictures from this segment of the story are in Mark's portion which starts below.

At the exit to the park, the rangers checked and removed the tags that had sealed our gun cases. We inquired about the dead elephant, and were told that they had heard about it, but had not yet received a report concerning its demise. Poachers in the park seemed a likely conclusion.

We hurried northward towards the small mining town of Messina, a little behind schedule due to all of the mornings’ game sightings. Just north of there, on the South African side of the Zimbabwe border, we were to meet Mathew from HHK Safaris, who was to be our Professional Hunter (PH, in safari speak). Upon reaching Messina, we stopped for gas, and the attendant, seeing we were Americans, worked extra hard to clean up the accumulated dust and dirt of over 1000 km and 4 days of "gravel roads" in Kruger. Not only did he clean the windows, but he also poured several buckets of water over the car to remove the first few layers. I gave him the expected big tip, 5 Rand (85 cents US) instead of the customary 2 Rand. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was a rental, and I was getting ready to turn it in. I asked for directions to the Post Office, as Jimmy had a number of post cards that he wanted to send back to the states. I got a vague description in limited English, as most whites in the region speak primarily Africaans, and the black speak primarily Shona. Fortunately, we were able to find it a couple of blocks away, and we parked right in front (on the left, of course). Like post offices everywhere, it was a real slice of life. Most memorable were the African women dressed in bright colored prints, and also one young mother, who had her cute 1-2 month old baby bundled straddle-legged on to her back in the traditional way, using what appeared to be a terry cloth towel. It made an interesting contrast of the old and new in Africa. We drove out to the border, which was every bit the chaos that Graham, the proprietor of HHK Safaris, had led us to expect. At this point, the enormity of what we had done began to sink home - we had traveled nearly half way around the world, then driven to a remote border post, to meet someone we had never seen at a specified time, but no exact location, in the middle of hundreds of people. I took a deep breath, as I was unsure as to how we would find Mathew, but quickly I formulated a plan. I pulled over to the opposite side of the road from where everyone was amassed under awnings, waiting, selling goods and wears, and God knows what else (I sure wasn’t going to ask!). I felt a hundred eyes from dark faces wondering what those stupid white people were doing standing in the baking hot sun. Soon, their entrepreneurial spirit returned and we were accosted by a woman who I finally interpreted through the language barrier wanted to trade me Zimbabwe dollars for my South African Rand, a basically illegal practice in South Africa (it must be done by a bank, which of course charges a fee). I finally managed to repel her without resorting to violence, and just as I was recovering from the fracas, up pulls a British green Toyota Land Cruiser and out jumps a tall, lanky, good looking young man, who in proper British English says, "Hello. I’m Mathew. You would be Mark and Jimmy?" As I shake his hand gleefully, I feel a tremendous sense of relief washing over me. I mean, what if he doesn’t show up? What if we can’t find him? I had tried all week to push this worry to the back of my mind, and I thought I had been successful, but my reaction let me know that I’d been carrying it around, after all.

Mathew told us that going through Customs was going to be a hassle, and he didn’t exaggerate. The R.S.A. (Republic of South Africa) side went relatively smoothly, just a lot of forms about the vehicle and guns. We got waved through, and crossed the new, modern bridge over the Limpopo River to the Zimbabwe side. In the parking area in front of the Zimbabwe Customs building, we were instantly surrounded by a throng of obviously very poor people looking to extract money from us by whatever means they could. Mathew paid a kid to watch our truck, with the promise of an equal amount if we returned and everything was safe. Inside, people constantly approached us; some offered to sell us the forms we needed to complete (which were available for free), others offered to assist us in filling them out (for a fee), others just begged. I had to repeatedly remind Jimmy to not be his usual nice self and not flash his US passport or money. One particularly enterprising lad assured us that only with his help could we get through Customs with our guns. It was dreadful - it was like the pack of hyenas that we had seen around the elephant earlier in the day in Kruger.

Finally, we cleared Customs and drove into Zimbabwe border town of Beitbridge. We stopped for gas, and there we were joined by three black men, two young (in their twenties) while one was around 50. We learned that these were Mathew’s native trackers. They hopped in the back of Toyota Land Cruiser, and we headed north. Mathew told us, over the drone of open windows while driving 120 km/hr, that we would be hunting on the 1,000,000-acre Lemco Ranch, which was located about 150 km from the border. When we arrived, I was not at all prepared for our accommodations. Expecting a safari tent, we found a compound of stone and stucco buildings, all with thatched roofs.There was a main building, that housed Mathew, as well as the cook and support staff, individual guest quarters, and a central building that had a seating area, bar and dining room, all open on one side, overlooking a immaculately mowed lawn leading to the banks of a dry river bed below.

Mathew led us to our "hut," which contained two twin beds and a dresser/closet, all beautifully finished in solid African rosewood. A small Oriental rug between the beds tastefully accented the ceramic tile floor. The room also had its own bathroom and shower, the latter a large walk-in affair, with the exposed exterior stone walls forming one corner. It felt a little sheepish as I looked at Jimmy and said, "I don’t think were going to be roughing it."

Our first duty was to check our rifles, to see if the scopes had been jostled by the trip. One of mine was shooting a little off, a problem that I corrected the next day. After a quick late afternoon snack, we met at the Land Cruiser where the trackers joined us and we were off for a brief evening hunt. We spotted one nice kudu bull, but never really got a good look at him. At dinner, we met the only other hunter in camp, a dentist from Racine, who was on his 9^th trip to Africa. He was after a leopard, which involves a night hunt over bait, so we didn’t see much of him, or his PH, Howard. For dinner, we gorged on eland loin, complimented by a nice South African red wine. We all turned in early around 9 PM, and I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow after the lights went out, signifying that the generator had been shut down for the evening.

Our "hut" also called a Rondawel

We were awakened at 5:30 AM as functionality returned to the lights we had left on the night before, signifying the generator supplying the camp had been restarted. Around 6 AM, "Shorty", who served our meals, was at the door to give us our wake up call. As we stepped out into the chilly pre-dawn darkness, a cheery fire greeted us. I poured a cup of hot tea and felt the welcome heat on my legs. We then sat down to what would become a daily event, breakfast of bacon and eggs, with toasted homemade bread. In the way of hunters, we ate quickly with little conversation, and soon we were off in the Land Cruiser, with Jimmy sitting up with the trackers on the high seat above and just behind the cab of the pick-up like vehicle. It wasn’t long before we were into game, which was signified by one of the trackers rapping on the top of the truck to notify Mathew to stop. We spotted a nice herd of eland, the largest antelope in Africa, with the largest bulls over 2000 lbs. Mathew tried to talk me into taking an exceptional bull, but I turned him down. The elands looked too much like big beef cattle to me. Soon, Jimmy was off with Matt stalking a zebra. As I watched, with the trackers, they crawled for about 150 yards to get into position to shoot. As they lined up the shot, one of the elands, which had been observing the whole scene, had grown curious about those funny animals crawling in the grass. She had circled behind them to get into a down wind position to make an assessment. When she caught wind of them, her worst fears confirmed, she ran off in a huff. Taking her lead, the other elands loped off behind her, which alerted the herd of zebras, who took off at a full gallop, making their peculiar barking sounds which we would hear again and again as we matched wits with these crafty creatures. There was nothing to do but shake our heads as we ambled slowly back to the Land Cruiser.

It wasn’t too much longer until Mathew jumps out of the vehicle, points at Jimmy, and makes a commanding gesture for him to follow. In front of us are a group of warthogs, one of Jimmy’s planned trophies. They move towards the pigs; the pigs move; they advance, the pigs retreat. This strange two-step continues for ten more minutes before the pigs finally take off. Mathew is obviously disappointed - "Jaws," he calls it, "the mother of all pigs." When he tells me how big the tusks were, I share his disappointment.

Not too long to dwell upon it, for soon we come upon a herd of impalas, and Jimmy is again off with Matt on the stalk. As I anxiously watch the action unfold through my binoculars, it at first appears to be a replay of the warthog play - advance, retreat. Twice Jimmy is set up preparing to shoot, just as the impala ram moves. An inexperienced hunter, Jimmy needs that extra moment to get his shot away, and it seems the impala ram is not going to give it to him. Finally, the ram waits too long, and we hear the sharp crack of the .25-06 shatter the silence of the morning. It looks like a good hit, but the ram bounds into the bush. Matt tells me that he, too, thought it was a good hit, but the trackers think it was hit only in the leg. When they begin tracking, it is soon apparent that it is indeed a leg hit. Since the chances of tracking down a three- legged impala are less than 2%, we reluctantly abandon the search. It’s with long faces that we head back towards camp after an eventful, if not fruitful, morning. But there is one more act in the morning’s action. We stop suddenly as a kudu bull is spotted along side the road. Matt and I bound out, and stalk towards the bull. He sets up the shooting sticks, and I place my rifle into position. The kudu is only 50 yards away, and looks huge through the scope. However, he is facing almost directly away, looking back over his shoulder, a poor angle for a shot. We wait to see if he’ll turn, but instead, he walks slowly into the bush. This early in the hunt, I decided to pass on the shot, hopeful that a better opportunity will come my way.

The evening hunt was relatively uneventful. We spotted a few kudu, but all have horns that are either too small, too narrow, or without enough depth in the curls.

A very cold morning hunt leads to nothing being spotted until around 8:30 AM. By nine, I am on my second zebra stalk of the day. I have one at about 150 yards, and it appears broadside, with just a little grass in front of him. Matt tells me to take the shot, and shortly the .340 booms over the savannah. The zebra is hit, but it appears not as well as we hoped. Soon, the trackers are on the blood trail. First, they tell me they think the front leg has been hit. I am beginning to wonder if it is a standard line. I tell Matt no, if anything, I might have been a little high. So the tracking continues - soon, they are finding bubbles in the blood - a lung hit. Tracking is painfully slow through the high grass, as the zebra has remained with the herd - not a good sign. We spot another safari vehicle, and Matt sends Tofa to catch them so that we can enlist their trackers as well. Soon, we have five trackers trying to follow my wounded zebra as it runs with the herd. At this point, the trail seems lost, but finally, we regain it. It seems the zebra has done a 270^o turn around a tree and separated from the herd - a good sign. Soon, he rejoins. Bad. At one point, we find a piece of lung tissue - good. Then, the blood trail runs thin - bad. Emotionally up and down, as we track in the mid-day sun, soon we are all drained. Finally, after over four hours, we reluctantly abandon the search, knowing that the zebra has been hit hard, but not hard enough. Mathew chalks me up as another victim of the curse of the zebra, which he tells me is one of the hardest animals to bring down on the savannah, and the one they most often fail to track down after shooting.

The afternoon hunt is uneventful - we see several nice kudu bulls, but not the one we want. We are all still physically and emotionally drained from the zebra search, and not hunting with our normal spirit.

With all of our big game hunting complete, we enjoyed a loaf day. After sleeping in, we drove over to another part of the ranch, where we saw the Cape buffalo herd that Howard had somehow brought back from the island. As we stared at the 30 head in the 2 acre enclosure ringed by high fence masked by nylon sheets, I couldn’t help but think that they didn’t appear anywhere near as fierce as their reputation. However, I was reminded that one could easily think the same of our American buffalo, bison bison, unless you have seen what they are capable of doing. We also glassed some sable antelope, their long, curved horns sweeping back from their ivory and ebony heads like 4 foot scimitars. Sable and buffalo weren’t on the list for our initial plainsgame hunt, but maybe next safari.

That afternoon we went out for a dove shoot, a particular favorite of the trackers, since they got to benefit directly from whatever was taken. I was happy to be on the shooting end. Matt had told me that most of the hunters that they got in were not accomplished wing shooters, and then I remembered that Jorge had mentioned something along the lines: Jorge 2, guinea fowl 25. Matt told me that the the trackers liked doves better than guinea fowl, so the plan was that we would go and sit at water hole and await the evening flight. I told them that I would do my best to hold up my end on doves, but that the guineas were a lot bigger and easier to hit. Soon, we were at the water hole, and as the sun dipped lower into the evening sky, the birds began to come in. Tofa sat at my side, and as each bird went down, he would dash out and retrieve it, just as I had done as a boy. Soon, the pile was growing perceptibly. "I know I hit that one," I groused as one kept flying after the shot. "Lung shot," replied Matt, who saw the bird go down after it left my field of vision. Jimmy later told me that Lucas had found where the bird had gone down and tracked it until he found it. Soon, too soon, the sun sank below the horizon and the birds stopped flying. The final tally was 13 doves on 27 shots, a respectable performance. The trackers were very happy, only saying that they wished more birds had been flying.