We had an understanding. We are so different, but yet our pasts are so similar. At age five Danie was playing rugby with seven-year-olds. At age five I was hunting at the level of seven-year-olds. My dream had always been to play rugby. His dream was to hunt. So different, yet so similar ... We had done both – one career coming to a success-ful end and the other still under way.

It was 5.42 am as we headed out for the hunt. On the main road we passed

a photographic vehicle. Curiously, a GPS was mounted on their wind-

shield. The thought suddenly struck me: a cellphone and

GPS, this was the ideal combination to direct

poacher traffic to

We were crawling on hands and knees towards our quarry, a buffalo bull, also known

among hunters as the ‘Black Death’. Danie Rossouw and I were alone.

With a stare intense enough to kill an All Black or a Wallaby rugby

player, Danie was ready and focused, bolt-action rifle in

hand ...But wait, I am jumping the gun

...

rhino spotted during the game drive! Did the ‘guide’ not drive in the same general area every day? Surely he did not need a GPS to do this? The de-structive nature of photographic tourism is either not understood or swept under the carpet. But that is a discussion for another time ... There is place for both parties.

Hunting with a rugby legend like Danie was indeed an honour. Those of you that know me might think that I am a big guy. Well, Danie stands four inches taller than me and makes yours truly really look small; my double looked like a .22 in his hands!

Danie and I were sitting behind a termite mound, adrenaline coursing through our veins, target acquired. All

We chose one, the other was three per cent & the double rifle

Danie Rossouw and PH Jofie Lamprecht with the buffalo he hunted.

GAME & HUNT OCTOBER 201668

we needed to do now was go in and face our quarry. We started to crawl towards the buffalo bull, all our senses focused on the animal we were stalking. Danie was ready with the bolt-action rifle.

On the other side of the mound we could hear the bull pushing his way through the undergrowth. This was really thick stuff; you could hardly see 20 paces ahead. I mo-tioned to Danie to stay right on my heels.

As we ploughed through the coarse white sand with our bare knees we edged closer. Every so often we would stop to glass and test the wind, ash bag in hand. The white leadwood ash floated steadily in the right direction, indi-cating that the wind was in our favour. Every few minutes the ash bag would indicate how much trouble we were in; a tornado of ash would swirl around and then settle in the right direction.

Closer and closer we went, carefully trying to avoid every leaf and branch. Winter season meant a lot of dry debris under our feet and knees and everything made a noise.

Playing it safe with a doubleGlassing again, we found that the buffalo had gone. With

the help of Leica optics I concentrated on the thick bush in front of me. I saw the glossy shine reflecting off the boss first and then the black mass of the dagha boy’s bulldozer body. We had a problem; we were not going to shoot him lying down, as it was simply too dangerous. And if he stood up, there would be some branches directly over the vital triangle on his shoulder, left and right. No plan. I made up my mind. I turned to Danie and whispered that he was going to use my double on this buffalo. I had recently started putting a soft in the right barrel and a solid in the left. This provides more versatility of the bullet as well as more impact on the usually better first and not-so-easy second shot.

The one buffalo had a real nice boss.

We had an understanding. We are so different, but yet our pasts are so similar. At age five Danie was playing rugby with seven-year-olds. At age five I was hunting at the level of seven-year-olds. My dream had always been to play rugby. His dream was to hunt. So different, yet so similar ... We had done both – one career coming to a success-ful end and the other still under way.

It was 5.42 am as we headed out for the hunt. On the main road we passed

a photographic vehicle. Curiously, a GPS was mounted on their wind-

shield. The thought suddenly struck me: a cellphone and

GPS, this was the ideal combination to direct

poacher traffic to

We were crawling on hands and knees towards our quarry, a buffalo bull, also known

among hunters as the ‘Black Death’. Danie Rossouw and I were alone.

With a stare intense enough to kill an All Black or a Wallaby rugby

player, Danie was ready and focused, bolt-action rifle in

hand ...But wait, I am jumping the gun

...

rhino spotted during the game drive! Did the ‘guide’ not drive in the same general area every day? Surely he did not need a GPS to do this? The de-structive nature of photographic tourism is either not understood or swept under the carpet. But that is a discussion for another time ... There is place for both parties.

Hunting with a rugby legend like Danie was indeed an honour. Those of you that know me might think that I am a big guy. Well, Danie stands four inches taller than me and makes yours truly really look small; my double looked like a .22 in his hands!

Danie and I were sitting behind a termite mound, adrenaline coursing through our veins, target acquired. All

We chose one, the other was three per cent & the double rifle

Danie Rossouw and PH Jofie Lamprecht with the buffalo he hunted.

WILD & JAG OKTOBER 2016 69

This is the first dangerous-game animal that I had shot in self-defence. I hope and pray that this will never happen again. When following dangerous game in Africa for long enough, one’s luck is due to run out at some stage.

The nostalgia of a double-barrel rifleNow the question remains: double or not? Other than the functionality of being able to shoot twice in quick succes-sion in dangerous situations, the double offers a classic feel that helps one relive the old times. Ejectors or not, calibre, weight, type of wood, maker, side-by-side or over-and-under

(ok, not so much), and so forth – it lets the carrier feel like it is the good old days, the days when PHs like Black, Selby and Finch-Hatton followed their quarry through the African wilderness; the times of Roosevelt, Hemingway and Ruark ... If one could just experience this nostalgia for a few fleeting moments when hunting in the African bush, it is worth it.

And of course, as the above story has proved, a double is really helpful in dangerous situations.

How long will we still be allowed to fulfil our primal desire to hunt dangerous game? Who knows? That is a discussion for another day ...

An unexpected charge led to two buffaloes

being downed.

I pulled the back trigger, the left barrel with the solid in it, and then gave him the other. Then I took Danie’s bolt-ac-tion. We were now 20 paces from our quarry. The wind was starting to swirl in the late morning. We did not have long. The bull was still lying down, unaware of our presence. Gripping Danie’s shirt in my right hand, my instructions were clear. We slowly got up and advanced towards the bull. As we took the second step, the buffalo suddenly noticed us. He rose in typical ruminant fashion; hindquar-ters first, and gave us the you-owe-me-money stare.

Danie raised the double to his shoulder and took a second to line up the sight. He had only fired this rifle twice before. He gave the buffalo the left through the branches and then the right as he disappeared into the thick cover. We walked closer and Danie turned around. “Take your double,” he said. He did not have bullets for it and my instruction the day before was that if we were following up a buffalo, I would need my own rifle.

I dropped two solids down the pipes with a thud. Walking slowly, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. After 30 paces we heard a death bellow and then I saw a huge buffalo. Immediately I grabbed Danie and pulled him to the right so that he could see him. The buffalo was thrashing a bush, his heavy bush breakers sweeping back and forth. “Get ready!” I whispered urgently. At that moment the bull turned and came straight at us on short, stumpy legs with murderous intent in his eyes.

A dear friend of mine, Kevin “Doctari” Robertson, has done research on the percentage of a chance one has of surviving a buffalo charge – it is a mere three per cent.

This was our three per cent ... Raising my double, I pulled the trigger too quickly. I felt the bullet should have hit halfway between us and the buffalo – in the sand. As the recoil of the rifle recovered, my sight picture was that of a buffalo falling and presenting a shoulder. I gave him my left. Reloading while advancing with Danie at my shoulder, he

administered the coup de grâce through the shoulder blades, spine, heart and lung with one shot. My first bullet had flown true ...

BrothersBut why did this buffalo charge? As the adrenaline levels stabi-lised, I heard a noise from where our attacker came. We scram-bled through thick cover, ready for action. Danie’s buffalo lay just ten paces from his fallen brother. Time to regroup. What the hell had just happened? Upon approaching, I could only see one bull. Now there were two. Where had this old man come from?

Reliable ammunitoin is a must when hunting dangerous game.

GAME & HUNT OCTOBER 201670

This is the first dangerous-game animal that I had shot in self-defence. I hope and pray that this will never happen again. When following dangerous game in Africa for long enough, one’s luck is due to run out at some stage.

The nostalgia of a double-barrel rifleNow the question remains: double or not? Other than the functionality of being able to shoot twice in quick succes-sion in dangerous situations, the double offers a classic feel that helps one relive the old times. Ejectors or not, calibre, weight, type of wood, maker, side-by-side or over-and-under

(ok, not so much), and so forth – it lets the carrier feel like it is the good old days, the days when PHs like Black, Selby and Finch-Hatton followed their quarry through the African wilderness; the times of Roosevelt, Hemingway and Ruark ... If one could just experience this nostalgia for a few fleeting moments when hunting in the African bush, it is worth it.

And of course, as the above story has proved, a double is really helpful in dangerous situations.

How long will we still be allowed to fulfil our primal desire to hunt dangerous game? Who knows? That is a discussion for another day ...

An unexpected charge led to two buffaloes

being downed.

I pulled the back trigger, the left barrel with the solid in it, and then gave him the other. Then I took Danie’s bolt-ac-tion. We were now 20 paces from our quarry. The wind was starting to swirl in the late morning. We did not have long. The bull was still lying down, unaware of our presence. Gripping Danie’s shirt in my right hand, my instructions were clear. We slowly got up and advanced towards the bull. As we took the second step, the buffalo suddenly noticed us. He rose in typical ruminant fashion; hindquar-ters first, and gave us the you-owe-me-money stare.

Danie raised the double to his shoulder and took a second to line up the sight. He had only fired this rifle twice before. He gave the buffalo the left through the branches and then the right as he disappeared into the thick cover. We walked closer and Danie turned around. “Take your double,” he said. He did not have bullets for it and my instruction the day before was that if we were following up a buffalo, I would need my own rifle.

I dropped two solids down the pipes with a thud. Walking slowly, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. After 30 paces we heard a death bellow and then I saw a huge buffalo. Immediately I grabbed Danie and pulled him to the right so that he could see him. The buffalo was thrashing a bush, his heavy bush breakers sweeping back and forth. “Get ready!” I whispered urgently. At that moment the bull turned and came straight at us on short, stumpy legs with murderous intent in his eyes.

A dear friend of mine, Kevin “Doctari” Robertson, has done research on the percentage of a chance one has of surviving a buffalo charge – it is a mere three per cent.

This was our three per cent ... Raising my double, I pulled the trigger too quickly. I felt the bullet should have hit halfway between us and the buffalo – in the sand. As the recoil of the rifle recovered, my sight picture was that of a buffalo falling and presenting a shoulder. I gave him my left. Reloading while advancing with Danie at my shoulder, he

administered the coup de grâce through the shoulder blades, spine, heart and lung with one shot. My first bullet had flown true ...

BrothersBut why did this buffalo charge? As the adrenaline levels stabi-lised, I heard a noise from where our attacker came. We scram-bled through thick cover, ready for action. Danie’s buffalo lay just ten paces from his fallen brother. Time to regroup. What the hell had just happened? Upon approaching, I could only see one bull. Now there were two. Where had this old man come from?

Reliable ammunitoin is a must when hunting dangerous game.

WILD & JAG OKTOBER 2016 71