Day 1.
Uncle Clive was the first up at about 5:00 am and the next thing I knew, coffee was served "in sleeping bag". Wow! What service!Whilst some slept in (as most of the hunters and guests were exhausted after a very taxing week), I took a leisurely jog, and the first hunters left the camp on foot to be in the veld before first light. By the time I returned most of the sleep-in-lazy-heads were up and so we took a leisurely game drive around a section where we knew there were no hunters. We are at the moment experiencing change of season and I wish I could capture the brisk morning air combined with the smell of Bushveld in a bottle and market it to the world. The drive was quite refreshing and we found a spot where Kudu had obviously spent the night. We spotted a massive Kudu Bull, who quietly melted into the bush like a ghost. We returned to camp and settled down around the fire for another "Boeretroos" (coffee) and chat.
Shortly afterwards Raymond and Uncle Clive arrived. They had found a blood spoor and had followed a recently wounded Blue Wildebeest for several hours. As none of our party had fired any shots that morning, we had a mystery to solve. They needed extra eyes, and so we set off to see if we could find the wounded animal. I mentioned that, whilst out running, I had heard shots and was surprised when I heard a second shot come from the river. Maybe some other hunters were around, as it was a holiday weekend and we were, after all surrounded by hunting concessions.
Unable to locate the wounded animal, we reported the incident to Uncle Hennie. After we had established that the Wildebeest had in fact been shot from the adjacent concession, and another uneventful search, we returned to camp for "brunch". By now we were all hot, sticky and sweaty, so after brunch we ventured down to the Limpopo for a swim. On the way to a "safe" bathing spot we saw some leopard tracks, and posted a lookout in case we were to be surprised by hippo or crocodiles.
The cool water was extremely refreshing in the heat. Some soap and shampoo did the rounds, but as the soap was not on a rope, it never reached me - poor Wayne - he was forever reminded of the fact that he lost the soap in Limpopo.
On returning to camp and it was time to zero my rifle. Unfortunately we had not had the opportunity to put in a few range sessions before leaving for the bush. Raymond and Rod had decided earlier that a .243 was the right rifle for me to use on my first hunt. There was a bit of sentiment attached to this, as it was the first rifle Raymond had owned and he had shot a Warthog with it at about the age of 8.
Growing up as a farm girl, I used to shoot a bit with my Daddy's .22. But he was not a hunter and this was so long ago, I think it would be fair to say that it was the first time that I held a rifle since I was 8. (Won't mention the years, as it will give my age way). My grouping were good, and after a "couple of clicks to the left and up", the rifle was considered zeroed and ready for me to practice. A lot of instruction followed about breathing in, letting half a breath out and then squeeze the trigger with one's finger in the correct position.
I did not hit the bull's eye so to me I was not too sure if I could do this. (I am a bit of a perfectionist.) I really did not want to wound an animal and made it clear that I would not take a shot unless I was sure of a one shot kill. This made the guys very happy, as we already had one wounded animal on the place, although it was through no fault of ours. They assured me that all the shots I had taken at my target would be in the heart / lung area and provide a one shot kill. Still not happy that I did not hit the "Bull"…….
Friday evening ended up a quiet one next to the fire and I settled down early in my spot next to the fire. My last thoughts were clearly on hunting, and I was now resolved to the thought "Tomorrow I'm going to hunt my Warthog. |
Self catering