Hunting in South Africa.

Talking to a friend about South Africa, where I grew up in the 1970s, the subject of hunting came up. A white resident can not own or possess a firearm, for self defense or for sport, like target practice or hunting. Only an indigenous native can. This has been since black independence (1994) when Nelson Mandela became president. So a white landowner has to hire a black scout/tracker for his game Ranch to take out hunting tourists to guide the visiting hunter who is also allowed to have a bolt action, single shot long rifle for hunting. So my friend was telling me about a friend of his who went to South Africa on a hunting trip recently, and it went from an ordinary, but exciting, African hunting safari into a completely wild experience, that the hunter was not expecting. Basically he was a farm boy, who lived rural in the Sierra Nevada mountains of Northern California, and hunted deer, ducks and geese. He wanted to hunt something bigger and exotic, like a wildebeest, or a large antelope, maybe a Cape Buffalo or a lion. And he was prepared to pay for the experience. And pay through the nose he did! But he thought it was going to be worth it. It was a large private game reserve, stocked with lots of wild game, from antelope, wildebeest, lion, giraffe, rhino, warthog, hippo and elephant. The owners put him up in luxuary in a lodge, catered all the food and drinks, with many servants to look after his needs. Early in the morning they set out with an armed guide and 2 armed trackers. And he had his hunting rifle that he brought over from the States with him. They started off driving deep into the reserve in a land rover until they crossed over some tracks of a large Wildebeest. Then they got out of the vehicle and started following the tracks on foot. It was hot and dry, with flies buzzing. Mosquitoes attacked them incessantly. As they progressed, the scat was getting fresher, which meant they were getting closer. No talking was allowed. They were all careful to be quiet, no tree branch snapping. All of a sudden the lead tracker stopped, and consulted with the other tracker and the senior guide. After a while the guide came over to the American hunter and filled him in with what was happening. They had discovered new tracks that had been crossed by the Wildebeest tracks, and he pointed the tracks out to him. They were human tracks, smooth treads, size 12, a large man. The smooth treads were anti tracking boots used in the Zimbabwean war from 20 years ago. The guide explained that they belonged to a poacher, and did not belong there. He pointed out two other smaller tracks, also smooth treads. There were 3 poachers involved. The guide told the hunter they were going to abandon the Wildebeest hunt and instead were going to follow the poachers, and kill them. That was their mandate from the owner of the game reserve, who is his boss, and the mandate from the government, who sanctions the interception and elimination of criminal poachers. The American was shocked. He never expected to be hunting humans, and armed humans at that who could/would defend themselves. He didn’t sign up for that, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. The trackers immediately started following the poachers tracks, and he had to go with them or be left behind. So he went along. The mood got really serious very quickly. The stakes were a lot higher now. He could be in a shoot out soon. It could end badly for him, for sure it would end badly for someone. It didn’t sound like arresting the poachers was an option. The trackers and the guide chambered rounds into their rifles, and told the American to do the same. He did so. He was told that as soon as they caught up with the poachers They were to open fire, shoot to kill. No hesitation. The poachers knew what the law was, death to poachers, so they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot first to defend themselves. The American was shocked. This was real life African style. A part of him deep down was thrilled and excited. This was amazing. This was really happening. This wasn’t hunting sport, this was hunting for survival. This was for real.

After 2 hours of tracking, they caught up with the poachers. They could be heard talking a little in front of them, low murmurs . The tracking slowed to a silent crawl, the experienced trackers and guide going first, and the American hunter bringing up the rear. Hand signals were used now, no talking. Finally the poachers came into view, all their attention aimed in front of them and away from the trackers. They were taking aim at 2 bull elephants with large tusks. The trackers knew that was the poacher‘s quarry, they had seen the spoor for quite some time, and knew that was what the poachers were after. They had bolt action rifles and pangas, the local word for machete. They were wearing camouflage uniforms to blend in to the bush. The guide and the 2 trackers took careful aim, and the guide shot first, hitting his target, the large man. Then the 2 trackers opened fire, both hitting their targets. They ran forward to the poachers. The large older man was dead, both of the younger men were wounded and gave up without any further resistance. They were disarmed, and tied up. No medical attention was given to them. The American joined them, and the walk back to the Land Rover began. The American was shaken, but as he later told my friend, was exhilarated. He had just witnessed frontier justice in action. Something he had not expected, and probably would never see again in his life. When they got back to the Land Rover, they piled in the back and drove into town and turned the two captured poachers over to the police., with directions given for finding the dead poacher. The 3 rifles were turned over. Then they went back to the lodge. The American left the next day for home. His hunt was over, and his hunting days were over. He had lost the taste for the sport. This experience was too real for him.

This story is based on actual events.