After an incredible night in Gaborone watching the opening game of the World Cup, the boys were back up before sunrise and feeling a little worse for wear. The night before had lasted well into the morning and, for something different, we were drawing straws for who was to drive the first leg. Next destination was a small town called Wartburg about 2 hours north-west of Durban. We were off to see our mate Renton who manages the family Crocodillagatorshark Farm; it had been a long time since the lads had seen Renton and it was a fine meeting. Not to waste any time, it was off to their nearest watering hole the “Amble Inn” a very small bar in the middle of nowhere, which had a large screen TV with Supersports, strange memorabilia on the walls and a kayak hanging upside down with several ladies underwear attached to it, not to mention the bartender, Des.
Des was an interesting old chap full of tricks and riddles to boggle any worthy drinkers’ mind. Des was a Rhodesian war vet and had just about all his fingers blown off by a grenade which he used to great advantage when confusing the tipsy Aussies.
Again, the lads all awoke feeling a little worse for wear and for something different had another drive ahead, but first Renton had mentioned the previous night that he had a problem in that a Crocodillagatorshark had escaped from one of the pens a few months ago. It was now in the lower dam of the farm and needed to be culled before it reached the river. “Fives alive” was played and Jas got the first honors, only after an hour of searching for it we gave up and headed into Durban.
This was going to be the first of the Australian games and the anticipation was building with every minute, thanks to Renton we were dropped off right at the stadium and what a stadium!! This place was a sight to see and the immense roar of the Vuvuzelas was incredible. We casually took in the atmosphere and went inside, that’s not before Dan first lost his ticket on the ground.
The game, even though we got smashed, was a huge success however trying to get home was a different story. The lack of signage left us walking around looking for the shuttle buses only to find 20 000 people also waiting in a line for a bus, we obviously caught a taxi.
It was almost a blessing that we waited so long to get a taxi home; otherwise we would have been out till late drowning our sorrows with the rest of the Aussie fans. In true WNT style we never stay anywhere longer than 12 hours so it was another early start and a long drive ahead to the Eastern Cape province. Our Destination was The Winterburg Hunting Concession, Tarkastad near Queenstown.
After 10 hours of driving and several Wimpy Stops later we met up with Jimbo’s cousin Christine and her husband Roland at a shopping centre car park in Queenstown. To no surprise, Christine barely recognized Jimbo through his caveman like facial hair. Another hour of driving in the night we arrived at this massive electrified gate with Buffalo warnings on it and other signs warning of danger within.
The Winterburg Concession is a private hunting property that caters to hunting clients who want to shoot large trophy bok such as Eland, Kudu, Bush Bok and Red Hartebeast. Many of their clients come from the USA and are very experienced hunters with specific trophy animals in mind that they want to shoot. This is where Roland and the other Professional Hunters come in; they provide their services of animal tracking and their own knowledge of the properties terrain to get the right animal for the client. In the end whatever the client shoots he pays for, but it is only ever the large trophy males that are ever shot. As it was dark when we arrived we weren’t able to take in the beautiful area that we had just driven into.
What a surprise we got in the morning…..Christine came in and woke everyone up “Boys get up, look out the window!!! Quickly Boys get up!!!” There was over a foot of fresh snow on the ground and still more falling. But what was even more amazing were the mountains that we had somehow missed. It was some of the most unbelievable scenery we had experienced on the trip and this was going to be out destination for the next four days, as Jimbo would say “What a Pleasure!”
The transformation from Nubian Desert to now, the first snow we had seen in Africa, -10 degrees outside……someone say a bet? $10 US was the bet, although it would require me to strip down to my jocks, run out and do a snow angel and then run around the house and then back inside, whilst wearing the Aussie Socceroos scarf – EASY! Needless to say it was bloody cold and I definitely underestimated how large the house was.
After our messing about we had breakfast and ventured up to the main house on the farm, this was where the owner lives and was also where the clients stay in the 5 star lodges. The top house was amazing and we were all very lucky to have been able to stay on the farm. Usually clients pay $1000’s to get the experience we had. (Credit to Jimbo for always having the connections throughout Africa!) DRINK!
That afternoon Roland was able take us for our first spot of hunting on the concession, as Rox (Roland) had never seen us shoot he thought it would be best if we have a practice beforehand. A couple of shots at a target place 100m away was enough to guarantee him that we would be able to shoot the right animal when it came time.
Now shooting in Africa was slightly different to any shooting I had previously done in Aus, where you shoot from or off the back of a ute. South Africa would be different Rox would have us stalking over mountainous terrain and through the very thick acacia bushes. Now it has been a good three months with no exercise, drinking a little bit and sitting in a car for hours on end. To say the least the fitness wasn’t really up to scratch when it came to running after Rox.
He was like a jack rabbit, and it was almost getting to a jog to keep up with him and the Springboks and Impalas. Dan first had the rifle and after a bit of hectic running after Rox, both of us puffing Dan turned to me and said “here you take the rifle, I’ll be right behind you” Rox by this stage was almost 30m in front and about ready to set up the shooting sticks, of course when he turned around I was nowhere to be seen. I finally reached Rox puffing quite a bit now, only for Rox to go “Okay, setup and take the one on the left…” I looked down the scope and everything was swaying so much I could barely see anything let alone the Impalas themselves.
When trying to prepare for a decent range shot it requires concentration, breathe slowly and then hold your breath and slightly squeeze the trigger, whilst always keeping an eye on your target. My shot consisted of me puffing like mad and Rox in my ear going “Shoot him, Shoot, QUICKLY! You only have a few second when he turns to get him…….Shoot HIM! Quick shoot him now, now! Yassis shoot him already bokkie!” I finally let the shot off and in the beginning I thought I had missed it but I had succeeded and managed to shoot my first Bok in Africa. This was followed by a few sly comments from Rox “Yoh I didn’t think you were going to get him then, what were you waiting for, the rifle to shoot itself? Ahaha I’m surprised you Aussies can shoot ay, o well lekker boet good shot that was 237 yards.”
Now it was time to be blooded, local Xhorsa tradition means that for the first blood that you take of an animal in Africa you need to have the blood from that animal brushed on your face. Secondly you eat the liver from the animal, raw! That was probably going to be the worst experience of my life.
The next morning we headed over to Roland’s family property literally over the other side of the mountain. Here we would be able to shoot larger bok and not worry about a price tag for example if we shot any of the big trophy bok on the concession we would need to pay excess of $12 000 US to $22 000. Roland’s parents property has been in there family for 6 generations, and was predominantly a grazing farm. This meant we could shoot most of the bok that were eating all their feed.
The snow had been much heavier over that side of the mountain and we would be trekking through some very cold areas that had received nearly 3 foot of snow. We drove to one of the far parts of the property and dropped off Jas, Jimbo and Rox to stalk over the ridge and then Dan and I would drive back down into the valley and square off anything that the lads scare down.
First it was time to take a few photos and take in the scenery from this amazing place, Roland took the camera and proceeded to set us up holding the rifles over our shoulders. We would look like knobs but it was more of a piss take at many of his American clients who would pose in similar ways.
On our drive back down Dan with his 20/10 vision saw a smaller bok, we looked through the binos and established that Dan could take a decent shot at it from the top of the ute (easy shooting no running involved) I watched through the binos as Dan dropped this bok. In seconds we had radio contact from the boys back up on the ridge “Was that you lads, what did you get?” I radioed back, “I think it’s a Red Hartebeast….maybe or an Impala?” Mean while all Roland heard was “We’ve shot a redhartebeast Impala”, he soon turned to Jimbo and ask “What bok names have you been teaching these boys?”
This of course is when my heart sunk; Roland radioed back in and said “Jesus Boet! *Sigh* you weren’t meant to shoot them! That was $3000 US! Mate you’re going to have to tell my old man about this.” “Shit boet this isn’t good”
Devastation spread across my face, only for the laughter over the radio to make its way through “Sperm what the hell is a Red Hartebeast Impala?” “Your fine by the way mate you can pretty much shoot anything here ahahaha”, this was quickly followed by a F*^%& You!
By the time Dan and I made it down to the bok, it however turned out to be a lot smaller than we expected, anyways I blooded Dan with as much blood as I could possible get on his face and then we proceeded back up the mountain to help find the BlessBok that the other boys had shot. Apparently Jimbo had missed slightly and only injured the beast, so while we drove all the way back up the boys were legging it to get the rest of the herd and Roland was making them work for it. By the time we got there they shot another three Blessbok and were in the middle of dragging them down from the hill. Dan and I made our way through the gate and when we arrive the boys were dripping in sweat and hurting big time.
We loaded the boks into the back of the utes and headed back to the house where Roland’s mother made a full midday roast with all the trimming. Not a bad way to finish off a successful morning. We headed back to the concession shortly after and retired in for an easy afternoon around the fire. After dinner as it would be our last day at the farm, Roland asked us if we wanted to watch the Bafana Bafana game up at the main house and then on the way back shoot some Jackals and Springhares.
Bafana lost and our shooting wasn’t much better, we of course blamed it on the rifle, the cold, the ammo and pretty much anything else we could think of apart from our own shooting ability. The next morning we would be leaving early to drive 8 hours back up to J’burg for a night on the town with our Zimbo mate Mark ‘Geezer’ Moore-Gordon.
Until next time, thanks again for reading.
Cheers Cory (Sperm)
