One Heck Of A Ride

89 Zimbabwe 1981 Thick-bossed Cape buffalo, author’s first, was taken at very close range. that the buffalo were moving regularly between a cane field and the marsh but we had to leave them for the next day. It was dark when we dropped the hippo meat off at the lodge and returned to our camp. We began at the cane field the next morning and tracked a lone buffalo across the marsh and through a thicket of wait-a-bit thorns. The bull obviously knew we were following him because he was waiting a few yards off a trail to ambush us. We were almost on top of him when Chris spotted him. We were in a tight spot, well within that buffalo’s comfort zone. “Shoot him!” he yelled. All I could see was a dark shape behind the brush nearest me. We were so close that in my scope I couldn’t tell if the bull was facing us or going away. Chris kept urging me to shoot, and I did. Twice. The animal was out of sight and I was reloading for a third shot when we heard a thrashing in the brush and a deep bellow. When we cautiously approached the animal, Chris had me fire an insurance shot. It wasn’t needed, however. My first shot had broken its spine, anchoring it. It was a good bull, shot at close range and in self- defense. Chris sent one of the trackers to drive the vehicle closer, and he not only returned with the Land Rover but he also had recruited a couple of cane-field workers to help load the buffalo. After they gutted it, and before everyone helped wrestle the beast into the back of the Rover, Chris reached inside the bull and cut out the filets that we ate with eggs and toast for a late breakfast when we returned to camp. That afternoon, we were driving around when Chris spotted a herd of zebra and tapped on the cab for the driver to stop. The zebra were running slowly when I swung my .458 like a shotgun, moving the barrel past a zebra while keeping the horizontal crosshair on its chest as I squeezed the trigger. I fired at the instant the zebra ran behind a small tree I hadn’t seen and the 500-grain solid bullet blew a chunk of wood off the tree as it passed through it and knocked the zebra off its feet. The zebra quickly got up and ran off. Chris and the trackers had trouble following his tracks because there was no blood, but we finally caught up with it and put it down. Its hide is now on the floor of my trophy room in our home in Lompoc. After leaving the zebra at the skinning shed,