Hunting Africa’s most dangerous game in the forests and floodplains of the Caprivi.
As we made our way across the sandy clearing that separated us from the brush line, two buffalo bulls bolted from the brush in front of us. With only seconds before they would disappear over the rise, we quickly shouldered our rifles.
“Don’t shoot!” Corne exclaimed. “I don’t see the one that’s hit!”
The bulls vanished over the rise. We were still focused on the direction they had gone, discussing the situation, when suddenly the brush directly to our left seemed to explode.
I had hunted in Namibia with Omujeve Safaris several years before for plains game and left there with not only fantastic trophies but also enduring friendships. Fast-forward to the SCI Convention two years ago, when I was having dinner with Omujeve’s Jerad Dabney. He was telling me about a new concession they had just procured. He had just returned from visiting the area and his excitement was contagious. He showed me pictures of the plentiful game and beautiful vistas in the concession, and soon I was making plans for a hunt.
November found my son Logan and me driving across Namibia with Omujeve’s Corne Kruger and Sarel van Wick. The hunting area is only a two-hour flight from Windhoek, but we opted to drive so we could see the country and enjoy a good road trip. The concession lies in northeastern Namibia in the famed Caprivi Strip, one of my favorite places on Earth. This wasn’t Logan’s first time in Africa, but it would be his first experience into truly wild Africa, and his first time hunting dangerous game. I couldn’t wait to share this adventure with him.
As soon as we reached the Caprivi, we were greeted by a herd of bull elephants crossing the road. Not much farther on, we reached our destination, Bwabwata Camp. The hunting concession, which includes Bwabwata National Park, is a communal conservancy where the local people benefit directly from hunting conducted in the area. Corne drove us past the new park headquarters that Omujeve had just built, a direct result of hunters’ dollars benefitting the area.
It is always exciting pulling up to a new camp that will be home for next few days. Bwabwata Camp was breathtaking, with comfortable chalets located in a lush forest setting overlooking a river. We were met by staff members bringing us cold drinks and damp, cool washcloths to freshen our faces and wash our hands. We quickly stowed our luggage, grabbed our gear, and headed out for an evening drive, excited to see the area.
We had barely left camp before encountering a large herd of elephants. Giraffes, the silent sentinels of the bush, were towering above the tree line. Impalas were plentiful, as were zebras and kudus. Game was abundant in every direction we looked. We made our way through an open forest to a hill overlooking a large floodplain. There, scattered across a lush grassland, was a large herd of Cape buffalo, our main quarry on this hunt. We returned to camp under a magnificent African sunset, excited and anticipating the next morning’s hunt.
Up before the dawn, we enjoyed coffee by a campfire backlit by the subtle hues of sunrise. After a hearty breakfast we loaded up and headed out for the first morning’s hunt. Our first stop was to pick up the park’s game ranger, who is required to accompany all hunters. We then made our way back to the hill where we had seen the buffalo the previous night. Just as we crested the hill on the way to the spot where we were going to park and glass, Corne quickly stopped the Cruiser and began to reverse back over the hill. In the trees off to our left stood a lone bull buffalo.
Once back over the rise and out of sight of the bull, we got out of the truck, grabbed rifles, sticks, and packs, and set out to intercept the bull. When we reached the area where he had been, he was nowhere to be seen. Slowly we made our way through the open timber, searching in every direction. Suddenly Corne spotted the lone bull off to our right, walking on a trail through the trees.
We hopped on the trail directly behind the bull and began trotting after him in an effort to catch up. There was very little cover in the open forest, so Corne whispered, “Let’s go straight for him and pressure him to see what he’ll do. Hopefully he’ll turn and offer a shot.”
Corne was in the lead, followed by Sarel with the shooting sticks, then Logan, me, the trackers, and the game ranger. We closed the distance to fifty yards. Corne told Logan to get ready and then let out a loud buffalo grunt. The bull barely reacted, briefly glancing back as if to say, “I know you’re there. Quit annoying me.”
The bull continued at a deliberate pace. We pushed on in pursuit, closing the distance to thirty yards. Corne let out another loud bellow, and this time the bull had enough and began to turn to face his antagonists. Sarel quickly set up the sticks, and Logan placed the rifle on them.
As the bull turned broadside, Logan placed a 500-grain bullet from the .470 double rifle through his shoulder. The bull lunged forward and Logan hit him again with the second barrel. Corne and I were ready to back up his shots, but it wasn’t necessary. The bull went just twenty yards and collapsed. Logan quickly reloaded and then we all heard the sound of the bull’s death bellow, the sound buffalo hunters are always relieved to hear.
Handshakes and hugs were exchanged, and then we cautiously approached the downed warrior. He was done. The bull was magnificent, with heavy, thick, hard bosses and wide-spreading horns. Logan was grinning from ear to ear. My heart swelled with pride at the way he had performed perfectly in a high-stress situation. We honored the bull with photos while the trackers retrieved the truck. After loading the bull, we took him to the skinning shed and returned to camp for a quick brunch.
It was still early enough in the day that the sun had not yet had a chance to raise the temperature to searing, so we headed out again, this time to the edge of the floodplain. The transition between the forest and the floodplain is one of my favorite areas to explore, since this is where you can find both the forest game and open-country game. Impala were bounding in and out of cover. Lechwe were present in the tall grass and reeds of the riverbanks.
We rounded a corner, and in a slough with some water stood a beautiful bull sable. Sable weren’t on our menu for this hunt, so we stopped just to admire him and snap some pictures. Then the bull moved to try to lower himself to drink, but stumbled. He tried again, without success. He had an injured front leg, and the injury wouldn’t let him drink. After a quick consultation with the game ranger, we all agreed the suffering animal should be dispatched. The sable is Logan’s favorite antelope and he had never shot one, so we decided this should be his opportunity.
Logan and Sarel worked close to the bull, using a patch of trees as cover. Once in reasonable range, Logan fired and the bull dropped to the shot. The sable was beautiful but in poor condition. His injury had taken a toll on him, and most likely would have led to a slow, miserable death.
We took a break that afternoon to nap through the heat of the day, and then set out to see what the evening would add to an already successful day.
Impala are the most common game in Bwabata and are seemingly around every bush. Early in the evening we spotted an exceptional, yet unusual, impala ram. Sarel and I headed out after the ram. He was with a small bachelor group, but with his unique horn shape he was easy to distinguish. We got several glimpses of him, but each time he would disappear behind a bush. Finally we caught up with him in an opening between two bushes, which provided a perfect shooting lane. I steadied my rifle on the sticks and the ram dropped at the shot. The ram’s horns were not only long, but shaped more like a nyala’s than an impala’s–a unique and beautiful trophy.
The next morning we set out early and traveled toward the far edge of the park, looking for buffalo. The cooler morning temperature had the wildlife moving before the sun’s unrelenting heat set in. We came across a nice herd of buffalo, but didn’t see any old bulls. After reaching the far side of the area, we set off on a walk through the savanna to search for an old bull.
The walk was pleasant in the cooler temps and we could cover a lot of ground without getting too drained from the heat. We took advantage of termite mounds as vantage points to glass from. As we reached one open area, we were surprised to see another group of hunters out searching for breakfast: a pack of wild dogs. We watched them for a bit and went on our way. After several miles, the truck picked us up and we headed back toward camp for brunch.
As we cruised along the floodplain, we were enjoying watching pods of hippos in the river along with lechwe and a beautiful sitatunga bull grazing in the reeds. Suddenly, there was a small opening in the trees and I spotted some buffalo under the shade of a tree. It was only a quick glimpse, but I could tell they were mature bulls worthy of a closer look. Corne continued driving down the road for some distance and pulled the truck under a shade tree.
We grabbed our rifles and some water and headed out to take a closer look at the bulls. We cut a wide circle to get the wind right, then began to slowly move in to the large tree we were using for a landmark. The scattered bushes provided ample cover to close the distance. Corne, who was in the lead, suddenly froze in his tracks. He signaled for us to move behind him and get behind a bush.
The bulls were still under the shade of the big tree. There were three of them we could see: an old scrum-cap bull and a wide, worn-down bull were bedded, and a narrower-horned bull was standing. We looked them over and decided both the wide bull or the scrum-cap bull were shooters, and we would take whichever one offered the shot.
The sun was now high, and the heat was really starting to bake us. The bush we had for cover was not tall, so we weren’t able to stand. Kneeling was not possible either, since the sand was so hot it burned my knees right through my pants.
Corne made the call. “Let’s just reveal ourselves, and see if they will stick around long enough to offer a shot.”
We got ready, then stepped out into the open. I quickly got on the sticks as the bulls rose to their feet. The scrum-cap bull was behind a bush, but the wide-horned bull was in the open, staring straight at us, offering a clear frontal shot. I placed the sights in the center of his neck where it met the chest. I confirmed everyone was ready, then squeezed off the shot. The bull spun, and I followed up with a round from the second barrel as he moved away.
As I reloaded, we moved across the open toward where they had entered the brush. About two-thirds of the way across the opening, the scrum-cap bull came barreling out of the brush, his head held high, giving us the stink-eye. He turned toward us to charge, and we yelled and raised our arms. He hesitated a moment, then began to come again. We yelled again and readied our rifles, but were persuasive enough that he spun and ran out of sight.
We carried on toward the brush line, Corne on the left with his .500 NE, then Sarel, me with the .470, and Logan on the far right with a .375 double rifle. Directly in front of us, two bulls appeared, running from right to left. I was ready, but neither bull showed signs of being hit.
“I couldn’t tell which one!” said Corne. The words had barely left his mouth when the bush to Logan’s left exploded with movement.
I quickly stepped forward to clear Logan, and swung my rifle to the right. Corne and Logan were ready to provide backup if needed. The wounded bull was tangled in a bush, which inhibited his charge. He came around the bush and once he was in the clear, I shot. He turned, and I fired the second barrel, putting him down for good.
It all happened so fast we were somewhat stunned, and it took a moment to process what had happened. Then we were excitedly celebrating the successful ending. We had a beautiful bull down, and no one was hurt.
We approached the bull and found him to be an old, hard-bossed bull with worn-down tips. It is always humbling to take an old warrior such as this, and much respect was given to the old boy. The trackers brought the truck to retrieve the bull and we headed back to camp right away to get him processed and cooled so none of the meat would be wasted. In this communal conservancy, the majority of the meat taken by hunters is distributed to the local villages. It is so rewarding to see the direct benefits that hunting brings to the local people.
Now that Logan and I both had our buffalo, the focus turned to some plains game species we both desired. Just after dawn on the following day, we came across a herd of Chapman zebra. Logan wanted to try to stalk close enough to take one with the .375 double. He and Sarel took off, and the rest of us stayed back to lessen the scent and noise. Zebras are among the most alert animals in Africa, so we knew they would have to be stealthy.
Using a dry gully for cover, they closed the distance on the zebra. At roughly 100 yards, the stallion stepped into the open and Logan made a perfect shot with the open-sighted double. We heard the rifle report from a distance and were anxiously awaiting the news when the two appeared from the brush, their broad smiles making it apparent they had been successful. The zebra was a beautiful old stallion with distinct back markings.
I had mentioned to Corne that I had never taken a lechwe, so next he took us out to a large rolling plain and began glassing. I asked what we were doing, and he replied, “You’re going to shoot your lechwe!”
We looked over hundreds of animals before settling on a beautiful bull. He had a distinct mark on his neck, which made him easy to identify when he mixed in with other bulls. Approaching him was difficult due to the openness of the floodplain. Finally, after much cat-and-mouse, we used a slough to close the distance, and with a quick offhand shot, I had my lechwe. When we approached the old bull, we realized the mark on his neck was from a snare. Luckily he had escaped, but the wound was still fairly fresh.
A kudu bull was high on Logan’s wish list, so we spent our remaining time in a quest for a good bull. We moved into a mountainous area in search of a bull. Logan made an unsuccessful stalk on a beautiful bull that simply vanished, giving us a quick refresher on why the kudu is often referred to as the “gray ghost.”
On the last day, the temperature had dropped noticeably from the searing 104 it had registered on our buffalo hunts. A storm was forecast, so we hoped some kudu bulls would be active. We began slowly working our way on foot through the mountains, glassing from each new vista. In midmorning we looked up, and on a rock kopje above us was a great kudu bull. Logan quickly readied for the shot and took the bull cleanly with a frontal shot to the neck.
We worked our way up to the bull and were surprised at what we found. The bull’s horns were heavy and wide, with ivory tips worn down from raking the brush. But his physical condition was very poor. His hips were protruding and all of his ribs were visible. The bull was obviously old and had been living his last days—a perfect animal to take, and a great way to finish off a fantastic safari.
I have been fortunate to hunt Africa several times and even more fortunate to be able to share the experience with my family. This hunt certainly ranks as one of my top safaris. Logan and I were fortunate to experience Bwabata and share a treasured adventure in what is undoubtably one of Africa’s Edens.
Author’s Note: The focus of this safari was buffalo, so we wanted rifles with reliable stopping power, and the nostalgia of using double rifles was something that has always fascinated Logan and me. We took a brace of Chapuis doubles, a .470 Elan and a .375 Iphisi. Both rifles were beautiful to look at and shot just as beautifully. We loaded both rifles with Hornady DGX and DGS ammunition, which performed extremely well.
For information about hunting the Bwabata region, see omujevehuntingsafaris.com.
