Safari success story
Transport yourself to the magical biosphere of the Kransberg massive in South Africas Limpopo province. We had just finished a successful Buffalo hunt with our safari guests a father and son team from the UK.
Our plan now was to hunt for plains game in the stunning Kransberg area - blesbok, impala and warthog were high on the list with one of each for father and son.
Day one had proved very successful for 'dad'. We had been up from first light, a quick cup of coffee and off we went. Hunting in a tall patch of grass next to a beautiful stand of bluegum trees Warren the professional hunting guide spotted some warthog feeding. He checked with his binoculars - then a double check and then very slowly opened up the sticks and with one smooth motion 'dad' placed the rifle into the V and took aim through the scope.
"The biggest grey shape on the right” whispered Warren, “the wind is perfect, he doesn't even know we are here so take your time and let him turn".
It seemed like an age as we all stood motionless watching the warthog through our binoculars then Warren said "take him now". A solid thump and the warthog was off through the grass, everyone was watching. Our guest had already reloaded and positioned himself for a second shot and at 30 metres the grass ceased to part and everything was still. What a beautifully ugly animal the warthog is! The next half an hour was spent taking pictures and reliving the stalk of this wonderful male warthog. Our guest was over the moon and myself and Warren were so happy for him, he'd made a perfect shot.
The next few days were very productive and being able to hunt in such a stunning area of South Africa is an absolute bonus.
So the day had come for our second guest (the son) to go for his warthog. The wind had picked up and was giving us a little bit of trouble and we had failed on two stalks in the morning but it had still been exciting and challenging. It was time for lunch and with a traditional Boerewors on the menu, (derived from the Afrikaans word Boar meaning farmer and Wors meaning sausage). This can't be beaten at lunch time in the bushveld especially when accompanied by a cold beer followed by a quick nap.
Later in the day Warren took us to an area of quite heavy cover, mixed scrub and rocks, and whilst the wind was better we still had to keep our wits about us, so we resumed our steady walk and stalk.
Warren had spotted two warthog in an open piece of ground but getting to them was going to be tricky. We were in a thicket and would have the advantage for about 50 metres but then it was open ground. We huddled together at the end of the thicket and Warren briefed us on his game plan. In short 'dad' and myself should stay where we were and 'son' and Warren would belly crawl out into the open and try for comfortable shot. Warren explained that both were shootable males, so it would be a case of which one presented itself for the cleanest shot.
Like a pair of greased weasels they were on the ground and away. As we looked on I said "I think they're going to do it". From our view point they had stopped and were getting settled in for a shot, but it still looked a long shot with both warthog feeding away from them.
“Peeeesh bop” (shot) and the sound of a strike, the warthog on the right was suddenly away in a cloud of dust and dashing off at full speed. It ran straight out into the open plain and just kept going.......the one on the left had stumbled and headed for us and the thicket. We marked where he had entered the bushes and we were all on the blood trail of the warthog and were now where it had entered the thicket.
We slowly ventured into the thicket following the blood trail with us all focused on finding the warthog. The further we went in the more blood was showing on the grass and the sand. Warren stopped and put his hand up and just stood motionless intently listening. We heard a rustle and pig like grunt. Warren turned to us, put his finger to his lips, then gently opened the shooting sticks - our guest side-stepped Warren and placed the rifle in the V. Nothing, no unusual sounds, just those of the bushveld... then that sound, a low rumble, the sound as if someone is sawing a piece of wood - and if you have hunted in Africa and you have heard it - it's never forgotten, the low warning sound of a leopard!
Warren turned to me wide eyed and in return I did my teeth out, cat scratching at a door impression - he returned the gesture with a slow nod.
Warren lent over and was whispering in our guests ear, 'dad' turned to me and I just put my finger to my lips signalling to keep quiet....we just stood..... everyone was now eagerly looking straight ahead. Another quiet rustle and there it was - the leopard had risen up onto a low branch, an amazing sight of pure gold. The leopard gave us all a slight backward glance over its shoulder, fell back lightly to the ground, arched it's back and with a curl of its tail disappeared into the Bush.
A spectacular sighting and one never to be forgotten. Slowly we moved forward and we found the blood patch of our guests warthog with the leopards tracks around it.
