Date of hunt:November 28th thru December 2, 20006
Location:Loibor Serrit or Lobo on the Masai steppe, Tanzania; east of Tarangire National Park
Safari Company: Adam Clements Safari Trackers
Booking Agent: Mark Young out of Cody, WY
Animals taken- Cape buffalo (41.75″), white bearded wildebeast, Cokes hartebeast (17″), Grant’s gazelle (23+”), impala, zebra. Six of the seven allowed on license warthog was not taken due to dispersal of game populations with the rainy season
Armament:Winchester Model 70, 375 H&H, Leopold fixed 4X scope; Swift 300 grain A frames in front of 76.5 grs IMR 4350. Also used one round of 300 gr A Square Monolithic Solids (Holy Crap! What a bullet!!)
Overall Impression
The entire Tanzania Bundu Safari crew is outstanding in every way. I have absolutely no complaints and heartily recommend their company and concessions. Equipment, food, lodging, PH and camp staff are all first rate. Hunt conditions were, let’s say challenging. The short rains started, according to Chantelle, Adam’s wife on November 6th. They morphed into monsoons or Texas toad stranglers and it was still going on when Snowy Mountain Hunter (my partner and companion) and I left Kilamanjaro Airport last Friday evening. Prior to the hunt, we spent a couple of days on photo safari in Lake Manyara National Park and Ngorngoro Crater. Outfitter was again, Tanganika Trekkers. EVERYONE SHOULD DESCEND INTO THE CRATER AT LEAST ONCE IN YOUR LIFE. It is a world class destination like my beloved Yellowstone.
The Hunt
We turned off the asphalt at 1:10 in the afternoon and clawed and tugged our way into Lobo at 9:40 that evening. Hmmmmm? I mention it only as it became common place. Each subsequent day out of camp was reminiscent of a bunch of good old boys from down south going to the mud bog races everyday. Whew, what a ride!! My PH, Paul Horsly, drove like a raped ape just to be certain we didn’t get mired in the dreaded black clay. We laughed all the way and shimo kubwa (big hole) became one of my favorite and most used swahili terms. Sometimes I added a little English, like big sumbich, or f— me running, etc., etc.
The first monring I managed to knock down this Coke’s hartebeast. The shot was an honest 275 to 300 yards, but one shot through the front half of the big hairy part and trophy fee tally clock was running.
However, a couple of mud holes later and toward evening, I managed to miss a zebra, TWICE, at not over 200 yards. I quit in disgust and headed for the obligatory sundowner at the Lobo lodge. My devoted crew started to have doubts about this eupe mtu (white man). And it was evening of the first day, and the PH said it was good.
Paul and I spent the next two nights stuck in the bush. The first night was at a place called Kimatoro, a flat plain about 5 miles west/southwest of Lobo camp. The pictures are self explanatory. It is particularly open country with the current depth of mud somewhere below 5 feet or so. Nevertheless, although not tucked away at night sleeping in a land cruiser in a pouring rain enabled me to experience a different side of Africa. Impressions? night sounds, the inquisitive nature and patient helpfulness of the Masai people, the Southern Cross AND the Big Dipper on that first night, billions of mosquitoes and me with the malerone tucked safely away in the tent at Lobo, no lights visible in any direction, hyenas doing their thing, and then next morning while waiting for the tractor to come in and pull us out I killed a nice wildebeast bull that was running with 7 zebras. We walked him down about two miles to close the “deal”. Again, with no cover, it was about 225 yards. Holy Crap!! but the talley book is running. It was about 7:30 a.m.
By the way, this wasn’t where we got stuck at Kimatoro. This was the better part of the road.
When we got back to the Land Cruiser, which I have now christened the Antichrist, a Masai woman had shown up with what appeared to be a yellow mop bucket full of porridge. It was fresh and made from maize and goats milk. Breakfast in bed, so to speak. I sensed that I might be being tested a little bit, as Paul asked me if I wanted any of it. Yep, I accepted. Hell, I’d already had a severe case of Tanzania two step so I didn’t figure it would get any worse. I politely tooked a couple of swigs and noted the muffled guffaws, smiles, furtive looks among the Masai warriors and elders sitting back away from the porridge pot. I guess it meant that I had passed, but I was secretly proud of myself. None of that drinking blood shit though! I’ve go my limits.
WE spent all day with the tractor, pulling and pushing, breaking tow chains, getting the tractor stuck, yada yada yada. Somewhere after dark, we came roaring around a frog pound and some kind of big nasty bush. I hollered at Paul, “Lots of water here.”
Paul, “Huh?
Mike, “Lots of wa—-.” Yep, floated the differentials again and the tractor right on our ass into the same water hole.
O.K. second night in the bush. Impressions? Very vivid, but the most distinguishing was a beautiful full moon floating above puffy white clouds, the deafening croaks of thousands of different frogs, and the Masai village about 100 yards from our dug in position. Paul is half Masai, and I think it really added to this whole safari experience. At 3:00 a.m. we walked over to the boma and sat down with the warriors and elders, spears gleaming in the moonlight, voices muffled and conversation minimal. They were cooking stick meat on skewers over an acacia fire, the wildebeast I had shot the previous morning. Yep, I carved off a hunk with a knife and had a late dinner with the Masai. Whew, what a night, an no bugs.
But did I mention the snakes? I have read ad nauseum for years about you guys who have been to Africa 50 times and never seen a snake. Well, I call bullshit! My tally (without trophy fee) one black mamba, three cobras, and one boom slang on the front porch of my tent. Holy Crap! Don’t forget this was seven days. I won’t detail these encounters, but me and Indy, Why did it have to be snakes? I hate snakes. I went from being known by my faithful native staff as Babu Mike (gray haired old fart) to Mtu Wa Nyoka (White Snake Man) Oh how comforting. There was another they told me about later. Kind of like what Babu don’t know won’t hurt him. Holy Crap! I hate snakes.
The days blend together. I haven’t got a clue what day it is, but somewhere along the way I killed a very nice Grant’s gazelle. We tracked him down, again, out on the Kimatoro plain. Made a hell of a shot, pretty close to 300 yards. The sight picture was good, the let off was crisp, and he dropped like a sack of spuds. Never mind it was some X” distance left of where I thought I was shooting. Old White Snake Man is a killing unit baby!
Then there was the buffalo, Nyati, soon to become Mbogo. We waited for the road to dry some so we could get in to where reports had them hanging out. It was worth the wait. The herd was somewhere around 700 head. Spot, stalk, parallel the track, check the wind, watch your flank, feel the thunder under your feet, hear the ominous (to me) bellowing, think of Ruark’s quotes, and finally bare down on the beast. Distance according to Paul was about 110 yards. I have learned to trust him completely and I let drive off those damn sticks. Personally I think it was only 109 yards. First shot was mid ships in the shoulder, probably too far forward. Broke the shoulder and angled into the body cavity somewhere but it cut him out of the herd. Game ON! Walking quickly and reloading the magazine. He’s stumbling and his head is dipping down on occasion. Finally he stops and is broadside facing right, same broken shoulder. Fired, shot over. F—!! Game Still On. Walk and reload and never lose sight of him. Finally, he’s had enough. He turns to face us. Paul says if we take a couple of more steps he’s gonna charge. O.k. so stopping is a good idea. He turns mostly sideways and I let drive, as it turns out with the A Square solid. It went as it’s supposed to through the lungs. He walked or stumbled about 15 feet and collapses, bellowing for all he’s worth. He’s trying his damnedest to get up and continue the fight be he can’t. We close the distance quickly and I spine him at about 20 feet. Death bellow and he lays his head down. Wow! That was incredible! I’m not big on measurements and told Paul right from the beginning that I just wanted mature animals taken fair and square. The deed is done and he measures about 41 3/4″ with bosses at 11 1/2″, about 11 years old and 1200 pounds or so. I won’t go on with the last cobra story. I hate snakes! Now that really scares me.
Time to go home. There are a lot more stories and memories. I will think about all of this often and for much time to come. The safari was everything I ever thought or hoped it would be. Expensive? You bet you bippy and worth every damn penny. Will I do it again? Maybe, maybe not. This was much to satisfying to start thinking ahead. Like a good Merlot, or porridge in a mop bucket, it needs to be savored for its own rewards.
PH’s Wayne Clark and Paul Horsly. As we say in Montana, men to ride the river with
Best advice I can offer
I spent all summer shooting off cross sticks at an 8″ paper plate with an orange target dot on it. I got pretty damn good with too, BUT you need to start at 200 and 300 yards off sticks. The shots were much longer than I anticipated. Remember what Mel Gibson told his boys in the The Patriot when they ambushed the Brits, “Aim small, miss small”. Fortunately, I didn’t have to write a check for animals lost. Lastly, go with the flow and have fun. Leave your Type A personality in the urban world you exist in.
There is no such place as too far, and no such thing as too ready.
Lala Salama,
Yellowstone