This huge antelope is a challenge to hunt and fantastic on the dinner table.
We were looking for a big kudu. If kudu is on license and your menu, you’re always looking for a big kudu! We were headed west, about an hour before sunset. Kudu o’clock was coming fast, our intention to use the last rays to glass a big north-facing ridge.
Fred Burchell hissed, “Eland,” and eased the Land Cruiser to a halt. Three bulls off to the right, across a brushy flat, trotting along the base of a rocky ridge. Few animals are as switched-on as eland. I didn’t move at first, expecting them to continue that mile-eating eland trot, around the corner of the ridge and gone,
Amazingly, they stopped under a scruffy tree and began to feed. Three hundred yards. When Mother Nature offers a gift, one shouldn’t kick sand in her face.
Now we moved. Slowly and quietly, Fred out the right and back to grab sticks, me out the left with rifle and forward, hoping to clear some brush. No way this would go down—the elands were sure to run—but we had to go through the motions.
Fred was with me in an instant. Bullet path clear, rifle up and steady, three mature eland bulls standing without a care in the world. The only slight problem: The low sun was straight into the scope. I’d have them, then the scope would go black. Then I’d have them again. “Which one?”
“Any of them. Let me look again.” Trust me, this is not a dilemma I’ve faced on eland. Then, “I think the bull on the left is the oldest.”
He was standing broadside, head to the right. Then the scope went black again. Fred Burchell is young, but I’ve known him for years, good hunter and PH. Seeing the problem, he took off his cap and angled it between objective lens and sun.
Now I could see them. Same position, bull on the left, other two just in front of him, clear. Conscious that I wasn’t shooting a big gun, I held at the back of the burly shoulder, just below the midpoint.
The shot felt good, impact sounded solid. The eland didn’t run. The chosen bull simply swapped ends, now facing left. Fred confirmed, “On the left. Shoot him again.”
Same hold on the opposite side, couple inches higher in case I’d misjudged the drop. Same weird result, no immediate reaction. I had just started a third trigger squeeze when he swapped ends once more, and went straight down.
Boddington and PH Fred Burchell with a fine Cape eland bull, taken in an unusual and unexpected chance encounter in July 2023. Boddington used what he had, a 7mm Remington Magnum. With careful shot placement, it worked.
The eland is not the most beautiful of Africa’s antelope. He is not as dramatic as a greater kudu, as stately as a waterbuck, nor as breathtakingly majestic as a sable. He is the largest African antelope. Mature bulls vary in size and weight. References start at 1,300 pounds. This is minimal. I’m convinced that outsized bulls on good feed can top a ton. Live weights are elusive but, visually, a mature eland bull is bigger than a Cape buffalo.
Also, tastier. To me, eland is the finest wild meat in the world. Tender, flavorful, almost marbled like good beef. My advice to anyone considering taking an eland: Try to get him in the first few days. You’ll eat well the rest of the safari.
Sound logic, difficult to pull off. Although widespread, the eland is difficult to hunt. Not only are they (usually) wary, they cover a lot of country with that ground-eating trot. There’s no predicting where or when you might run into them. Unlike smaller antelopes, eland leave tracks that can be followed. I’ve tracked both common and Lord Derby elands for many miles, and I’ve stalked others over hill and dale.
This was the first eland I’ve ever taken in a pure chance encounter. Mother Nature offered; we accepted. Not something to be proud of; sometimes you just get lucky. I was at the Burchell family’s Frontier Safaris in South Africa’s Eastern Cape, a big area running from high mountain to deep valley. Eland need a lot of room, so I wouldn’t say they’re plentiful, but they’re around. I’ve taken eland there before, after careful looking. A year earlier, we hunted hard for eland for much of the safari, never got one. You never know.
This awesome bull was a wonderful gift at sundown on the second day. We were going to eat well. First, we had a problem: Fred’s winch was out and we needed to load him. It took some bush engineering, multiple attempts, and a lot of grunting and straining. Fortunately, there were five of us (four young and strong). We got it done just an hour after dark.
It seems to me a disservice to call this animal the “common” eland. There is nothing common about it. However, there must be nomenclature to distinguish Taurotragus oryx from Lord Derby giant eland, T. derbianus. Despite the name, I’m not convinced that giant eland are consistently bigger in the body. For sure, they are bigger in the horn; giant eland horns start where common eland horns stop. The giant eland also has much more color: black nose, black neck collar (in winter coat), and brilliant white side stripes. They are geographically separated, with no hybrid zone. Today, their range is restricted to Central African Republic and Cameroon, above the big forest, with a small population remaining far to the west in Senegal.
Although habitat differs, hunting all eland is similar: usually difficult. We divide common eland into three races. Since I was in South Africa’s Eastern Cape, mine was unquestionably a Cape eland. Shortest horns, smallest body, although outsized bulls may dispute this. Our bull was normally big, not outsized, otherwise we’d never have loaded him whole. The biggest difference: Mature Cape elands have no vertical body stripes. Color is generally tan or fawn, although older bulls can run to gray, what they call “blue bulls.” Cape elands are found throughout South Africa, southern Botswana, and most of Namibia except the far north.
Boddington and Mark Haldane with a good Livingstone eland from coastal Mozambique. This bull has it all, great horns, heavy brush, massive body. Although not bright, the vertical white stripes are continuous down the flanks.
To their north, up through Mozambique and Zambia, is the Livingstone eland, with defined vertical white stripes. Livingtone eland has the longest horns among the common eland, and is (again theoretically) the largest in body. Off to the northeast, in Kenya and Tanzania, elands are considered East African or Paterson eland. The book says they have vertical white stripes, but there are variances. The bull I took in Kenya, near Tsavo, did not, but I’ve seen bulls in Tanzania that did. Often, the stripes are so muted as to be almost invisible.
Namibia has a hybrid zone between Cape and Livingstone. Per the books, only the eland in the very far north are Livingstone. However, in central Namibia, south of Etosha, I’ve seen bulls that had faint vertical stripes, and others that didn’t.
This bull was taken in Namibia well north of Etosha, so theoretically it is a Livingstone eland. The stripes are present if you look closely, but they are extremely muted.
Doesn’t matter. All the eland are tasty, all mature bulls are magnificent, and the bull I lucked into was a dandy. We had a couple young guys with us, so I’m not sure if Fred was speaking for my benefit or theirs, but what he said as we were admiring our eland is worth repeating:
“Here’s what you look for in an eland bull. First, body. Mature bulls are visibly larger than females, with massive shoulders and a big dewlap. Second, color. Most bulls grow darker as they age, and stand out in a herd. Third, look for the forehead brush, darker and longer on dominant bulls. Finally, look at the horns.”
With eland, males and females grow similar horns. In a herd, it’s not easy to sex them, and more difficult with younger bulls. A mature bull will have significantly heavier horn bases, and usually a well-defined spiraling keel on the lower horn. Older bulls wear down their tips, so often have horns that are short and very thick; cow horns are often longer, but always thinner. My bull had just started to wear his tips. For perfection, he could have been a year or two older, probably would never have been longer. Another saying: Don’t look a gift eland in the mouth.
Taken by Leupold’s Tom Fruechtel high on a mountain in Tanzania’s Masailand, this is the most colorful common eland Boddington has ever seen. Dark, almost rufous body; stripes highly visible near the spine, but quickly fading out.
I’ve shot a couple eland with fast .30s and heavy bullets, couple more with medium magnums (8mm and .33). That said, eland bulls are huge, and I believe strongly they’re in “.375 territory.” We weren’t looking for eland, and I used what I had. Which was a 7mm Remington Magnum with too-light 150-grain bullets. Legal, but risky. That’s why I was careful to place my shots tight behind the shoulder: I doubted the bullet would penetrate the heavy shoulder. On a behind-the-shoulder shot, I knew the bullets wouldn’t exit, but believed they would reach deeply into the lungs, which is what both bullets did. There was not much reaction, but he was down on the spot.
I don’t recommend being undergunned for eland—or anything else. But I wasn’t going to kick sand in Mother Nature’s face, and I was looking forward to some fine eland steaks.
A close view of the forehead brush on Boddington’s 2023 Cape eland. Used for rubbing and marking territory, the brush is highly visible on mature, dominant bulls. This bull’s brush is exceptionally luxurious.
Thomas McIntyre’s last book is truly his magnum opus.
Thunder without Rain: A Memoir with Dangerous Game–God’s Cattle, the African Buffalo is Thomas McIntyre’s last book, completed shortly before his death in November 2022 and published by Skyhorse Publishing this spring. The title comes from a saying by the Yoruba, the natives of the region that is now Nigeria, Benin, and Togo: “When you hear thunder without rain, it is the buffalo approaching.”
The buffalo is central to the cultures and traditions of many Africans, and it can also become a powerful influence in the lives of people like the author who travel to Africa to hunt it. This is not a book that is easily categorized. As the author says in the Preface, it’s not a natural history, biography, scientific treatise, or literary essay, although it contains elements of all of those things. It is, in fact, a memoir, albeit an unconventional one.
From the time he first set eyes on a mounted buffalo head at the age of four, McIntyre’s entire life was profoundly influenced by his ongoing quest for Syncerus caffer. That head sparked far more than just the desire to travel to Africa–it set him on a lifelong search for what makes the African buffalo so compelling. He takes us along as he seeks the buffalo not just in the physical environs of Africa but also in history, science, literature, art, and tradition. He shares the fruits of this quest with us in this powerful and fascinating book.
There is plenty of hunting action in Thunder without Rain; the author includes vivid descriptions of segments of his safaris in Kenya, Zimbabwe, Central African Republic, and Burkina Faso over a space of fifty years. Between and related to the safari stories is an incredible amount of wide-ranging and well-researched information about the buffalo and its effects on humankind, reaching back through archeological exploration and colonial settlement. The author discusses how buffalo affected and influenced other hunters, including such famous names as Samuel Baker, Frederick Selous, and Theodore Roosevelt.
McIntyre’s safari memories are interspersed with reflections on his childhood, especially his troubled relationship with his father. The effects of his African experiences on the rest of his life come through potently in McIntyre’s retelling, as he finds solace and meaning in treading the game trails of Africa. Grappling with the demons of his childhood also sparks thoughts on the meaning of courage, and the facing of a buffalo charge as a metaphor for gaining the fortitude to embrace life is a recurring theme throughout. Courage is also required as the author bears witness to changes beyond his control that negatively affect the continent of Africa and its wildlife, including his beloved buffalo.
A full third of Thunder without Rain consists of Endnotes. You don’t have to read them to enjoy the book, but I suggest you spend some time paging through them, since they add interesting and amplifying information to the rest of the text.
I had the privilege of editing Thomas McIntyre’s Backcountry column in Sports Afield magazine for many years, and I always admired the depth of his writing, the amazing breadth of his knowledge, and his meticulous research. But the magazine article format is rather limiting, and McInytre was always at his best in his many excellent books, where he had the free rein to really delve into his topic.
It’s possible he knew Thunder without Rain might be his last book. It’s been called, accurately, his magnum opus. It’s a deep dive into the essence of the African buffalo and the search for what it means to live a full and true life, a life that for the author was deeply enriched by his experiences with one of Africa’s premier dangerous game animals.
If you have your own fascination with buffalo, Africa, and all things wild, you should read Thunder without Rain. It’s available from Amazon.com and other booksellers.
It’s incredible to see our brand on the front cover of LicenseGlobal’s Top Global Licensors issue! For the eighth consecutive year, Sports Afield has been honored with the prestigious recognition of being chosen as one of License Global magazine’s Top Global Licensors.
As the foremost publication in the brand-name industry, License Global meticulously curates a list of the most influential global brands annually. This year, in 2023, we are ecstatic to announce that Sports Afield has once again made the cut, solidifying our position among the industry’s elite.
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California’s Central Coast has some of the earliest deer seasons in the country.
For most of us, August is for fishing or baseball, with deer season weeks (or months) away. Here in Central California, however, our coastal rifle season starts the second Saturday in August. Around here, rifle deer hunters are getting ready. Bowhunters are already in the woods; the 2023 archery season opened on July 8th.
I tell folks this and they look at me like I have three heads. Deer hunting in August? This has been our “A-Zone” season for decades. I know it goes back fifty years, probably much farther. Since it’s traditional, I can’t explain the management rationale. Seems to me that most rifle deer seasons across the country are either purposefully pre-rut or post-rut. Those of us who get to hunt the rut are fortunate.
In our case August is obviously pre-rut, but not by as much as you might think. Our winters are mild and usually catch most of whatever rain we get. There is no winter stress, but summers are long, dry, and brutally hot. Our deer probably didn’t ask when the season should be set, but they have their own unique schedule. Typically, they are in full rut by late September, essential so the does can drop fawns in early spring, when conditions are still soft and green with plenty of water.
Our early season isn’t as bad as it sounds for rifle hunters. This year it opens August 12 and runs until September 24. September will see pre-rut activity, and the bucks should be chasing hard by the last weekend of the season.
This 4×3 is Boddington’s best-ever Central Coast blacktail, taken near King City with a .30-06.
Personally, I’m not crazy about taking antlered game in velvet; antlers are more difficult to judge, and development may not be complete. Because few seasons are held this early, a lot of hunters are attracted to bucks in velvet as “something different.” This I can’t guarantee. During our July bow season bucks are in heavy velvet. However, they start to rub by early August, so it’s a grab bag in rifle season.
Just before Covid, Donna shot a magnificent 4×4 on opening day. That’s a big buck in our part of the world, fully developed and in full velvet. Whether in early August or on through September, most of my coast zone bucks have been in hard antler.
Some discussion is needed as to what our deer are. Obviously, they’re a mule deer subspecies, but which one? Local hunters call them “Pacific bucks,” a nonexistent subspecies. I live in San Luis Obispo County and have done most of my coastal deer hunting in Monterey County just to the north. The Boone and Crockett line for Columbian blacktail deer starts just north of Monterey Country, so, our deer are not Columbian blacktails by B&C standards.
Technically, our deer are mostly blacktail, with black-striped tails and small ears. To the south and west there is potential for California mule deer influence, and that’s B&C’s position. SCI takes a more liberal stance, including our deer as Columbian blacktails in their record book.
Our deer are small-bodied and, because of summer stress and poorly managed genetics, antlers are small. A buck that meets B&C standards for Columbian blacktail is highly unlikely in our neighborhood. I have never taken a clean 4×4 in the Coast Zone; my best local deer was an awesome 4×3, taken in September up near King City, 50 miles north. At full maturity, many of our better deer are 3x3s, and many bucks never get past two points per side. Doesn’t matter, these are our deer, and this is our deer season.
Ours is not the only August deer season. South Carolina’s “low country” whitetail season also opens in August, long traditional with no limit on bucks. Obviously, whitetails are plentiful (and overpopulated), but with a limit like that quality is generally not good, and buck-to-doe ratios are poor. I hunted there just once, took a nice 8-point just stripping his velvet. Naturally, it was warm and humid, but not miserable, stand hunting like most whitetail hunting. What I remember most vividly is looking down and realizing I was sharing the stand with a copperhead. Not my best moment, but probably the most benign of South Carolina’s venomous serpents. Early season in South Carolina is probably the place to take a whitetail buck in velvet.
Alaska opens its Sitka blacktail season in August, but that’s different: August isn’t early in Alaska, with caribou and sheep also open. Sitka blacktails are absolutely in hard antler in August; these deer drop their antlers before Thanksgiving. Cover is thick and green and the deer are higher up, but August is a mild, early fall month up there.
I don’t have much experience in South Carolina and haven’t hunted Sitka blacktails that early, but I have plenty of experience with our coast zone August hunting. It is not mild. Usually, it’s blazing hot, with midday temps often exceeding 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Sounds miserable, but wait. California’s Central Coast has one of the largest average “midnight to noon” temperature swings in the continental United States. A 50-degree change is normal, 60 degrees not unusual.
Many Central Coast bucks are fork-horns at full maturity. This is a big-bodied buck with good antlers for what these deer are.
In large part, that’s what makes our coastal deer hunting enjoyable. You start at dawn needing a good jacket, peeling layers as the day heats up. There is a caution. For many years, my coastal deer hunting was DIY, either on public land or private ground where I had permission. Better have a good plan. Get a deer down late in the morning and it’s a foot race to the cooler. At noon, when the mercury pushes toward 110, it’s dangerous to be packing deer. You can say “it’s a dry heat,” all you want, but it’s still plenty hot.
Years ago, Payton Miller and I were hunting with the late Durwood Hollis on a piece of property he had adjoining Fort Hunter Liggett. Payton and I were back in camp, Durwood missing, couple hours after dark when he stumbled in with a nice buck on his pack frame. Long out of water, he was in bad shape.
Typically, we get in a good morning hunt, then it’s a long, leisurely day and a short evening hunt. Usually, the temperature doesn’t drop noticeably until the sun gets low, so it’s pretty much the last hour before deer start to move. It’s also a short night. Dark comes late, dawn comes early.
Despite the heat, there is a surprising amount of midday movement. These deer live in the summer heat. They aren’t going to stay bedded from dawn to dusk and will often drink at midday. Tom Willoughby and I were sitting in the shade one blistering afternoon, watching some water. I thought he was nuts but, sure enough, about half past one three bucks appeared out of nowhere, one a very nice 3×3.
There are good outfitters in our local area, in part because we are the epicenter of California’s wild hog hunting. Hogs are their big business, but most have blacktails available. Those I know include Clay Avila’s Frontera Hunting, Chad Wiebe’s Oak Stone Outfitters, Don Anderson, and Tom Willoughby. Most famous right now is the deer hunting on Steinbeck Vineyard, managed by my friend Ryan Newkirk, well-known because several gun writers have been there and written about it.
Ryan Newkirk and Donna Boddington with an awesome 4×4 taken on Steinbeck Vineyard with a Mossberg 6.5 Creedmoor. Even on that special place, clean 4x4s are highly unusual.
Since I moved up here our Central Coast has become a major wine country. The local wine is awesome, the vineyards pretty and green. Sadly, most are game-fenced, blocking movement corridors and access to browse and water, and deer are generally not tolerated. I believe the wine industry has hurt our deer herd terribly. Steinbeck is unusual in that it is low-fenced, accepting crop losses from deer, and offering some deer hunting in return.
Hunting venison among the vines was a marvelous experience. Under careful management, Steinbeck’s well-fed bucks are larger in body than most of our local deer, and grow bigger antlers. They are also pre-marinated from eating grapes. That’s where Donna took her big 4×4.
I really enjoyed that hunt, but it was much different than the average deer hunt on our Central Coast. We have good deer—for what they are—but decent bucks are few and far between. We usually hunt hard to find them, lots of patient glassing. Usually, there’s some sweating as the day heats up, and a whole more if you must pack a buck out of a canyon.
Where and when to hunt these big-antlered bulls of the high country.
Photo above by Donald M. Jones/donaldmjones.com
My wife, Wendy, and I were sitting by the fire in the crisp morning air planning our day. We had spent the previous day leading a string of pack horses on the twenty-mile ride from our main camp in to our caribou spike camp, which was located right at timberline next to a high mountain lake. Several caribou hunters were due to arrive in a week’s time, and we had decided to make an advance run with supplies to reduce the amount that would have to be packed in with the hunters.
The plan for the next few days was to check the trails into the alpine. It had been several months since we had last ridden into the area, and there was a good chance that a few rocks had rolled onto the trails, or that blowdowns might need to be cut out of the way.
We also wanted to see how many caribou were hanging around in the high country. On early season hunts, the temperatures can still get hot enough that the caribou seek out the remaining patches of snow to bed in and cool off. The cool mountain breezes also provide some relief from the various biting insects that make the warm months of the year a bit of living hell for caribou.
After breakfast we saddled a couple of horses. I tied a chainsaw and shovel to the sawbuck on one of our pack horses, and we pointed our ponies up one of our trails, anticipating a great day in the high country of central British Columbia. There is something magical about being above timberline; it produces a sense of well-being that most sheep and goat hunters can identify with.
The trails turned out to be relatively clear of obstructions, and within a few hours we found ourselves up on a ridge, taking in the incredibly beautiful vistas before us. We hobbled the horses and allowed them to graze in a small depression that contained several pools from an underground spring, then sat down and set up the spotting scope to glass distant basins for caribou. It didn’t take long to locate a small herd of cows and calves that had bedded down on a patch of snow about a mile away.
I told Wendy I had found a few “boo” and she quickly said, “I see some caribou, too.” I asked her where they were and she said, “They are about to run over you.” Assuming she was messing with me, I turned to look at her and simultaneously I heard the pounding of hoofs and the unique sound of the tendons clicking in their feet as several young bulls and a handful of cows and calves went thundering by just a few yards away.
We had a good laugh at this close encounter of a caribou kind, but our horses were less than impressed by the caribou blowing through at close quarters and it took a few minutes to calm them down. Hobbles were designed for a reason, and there are times when they can save cowboys from doing a lot of walking.
This double-shovel mountain caribou bull has exceptionally long top points.
Talking about mountain caribou can get confusing, as how the various subspecies of caribou are classified depends on what source you use. Over the years, biologists and taxonomists have changed their minds many times. There are those who micro-analyze the differences in caribou from various areas and different habitats, resulting in a large number of subspecies. Then there are those who want to simplify things and only identify a small number of subspecies.
All caribou are native to the cold, harsh landscapes of the Northern Hemisphere. They are found in Greenland, northern Europe, across Russia, Alaska, all of the Canadian territories, and from the province of British Columbia in the west, all the way east to Quebec, Labrador, and Newfoundland. In the Scandinavian countries they are called reindeer, but whether you call them reindeer or caribou they are all the same species, Rangifer tarandus.
The Canadian Wildlife Federation divides the caribou in Alaska and Canada into four subspecies: the Grant’s caribou in Alaska and northern Yukon east to the Mackenzie River; the woodland caribou in the southern Yukon and southwest portion of the Northwest Territories and British Columbia east to Quebec and Newfoundland/Labrador; the barren-ground caribou from the Mackenzie River east through the mainland of the Northwest Territories and Nunavut, as well as the extreme north of Saskatchewan and Manitoba and Nunavut’s Baffin Island eastward to and including the west side of Greenland; and the diminutive Peary caribou on the islands of Canada’s high Arctic in Nunavut.
However, under the Canadian Species at Risk Act there are apparently only three types of caribou in Canada: Peary caribou, barren-ground caribou, and woodland caribou. But a quick check of Canadian Geographic’s list of Canadian subspecies includes woodland caribou, Peary caribou, barren-ground caribou, boreal caribou, Southern mountain caribou, and mountain caribou. Are you confused yet?
As hunters, we have been measuring and recording the antlers of caribou in record books for a long time. There are several different organizations with record books that record the size of big-game animals and they don’t all agree on the boundaries used to identify subspecies or the method used to score the antlers, horns, or skulls. That said, for the purposes of this article, I am going to rely on the data published by the well-known and respected Boone and Crocket Club. B&C recognize five types of caribou: the barren-ground caribou of Alaska and the northern Yukon; the central Canada barren-ground caribou; the woodland caribou of Newfoundland; the Quebec-Labrador caribou; and the mountain caribou.
The range B&C has established for mountain caribou includes all of British Columbia and Alberta, the southern half of the Yukon, and the Mackenzie Mountains of the Northwest Territories.
When the average person thinks about caribou, they usually think of the barren-ground caribou and the incredible migratory journeys vast herds of them make every year to their calving grounds and then back to their wintering areas, as depicted on hundreds of nature shows on TV. Mountain caribou, however, do not migrate over vast areas. This does not mean they are completely stationary, as they do migrate in a fashion for breeding season and to their wintering area, but most of their movement involves changing elevation between the open alpine country and the brushy or forested lowlands. This makes them much more reliable in terms of hunting, as they are always in the general neighborhood, unlike barren-ground caribou, which can be here today and miles away by tomorrow.
Mountain caribou are also big-bodied, with mature bulls being significantly larger than mature bulls of other subspecies. It is not uncommon for a big bull to weigh close to 600 pounds, and the mass of their antlers is often quite spectacular.
Over the years I have guided for mountain caribou in BC, the Yukon, and the NWT. When I first started guiding, BC was the number-one place to go for trophy mountain caribou and not much was in print about the excellent mountain caribou hunting to be had in the Yukon and the NWT. But as the years went by, more and more hunters learned about the mountain caribou hunting in the territories as the number of hunters heading north for Dall sheep and Alaska/Yukon moose increased.
Sadly, the mountain caribou hunting in BC has slowly gone downhill. Many decades of intense timber extraction has taken its toll in BC, with vast areas of old-growth forest being cut. Old-growth forest is exceedingly important for mountain caribou to winter in. Old-growth forest is also less productive for other members of the deer family, such as moose, deer, and elk. Less competition from other ungulates is a plus, but another very important side benefit is less predation by wolves, grizzlies, and cougars due to the lack of their preferred prey species.
In addition, a tremendous amount of access into former wilderness areas has been created by logging, conventional hard rock and placer mining, and in more recent times, the massive oil and gas industry. The population of BC has also increased enormously in the last fifty years, which naturally results in a lot more people enjoying various types of recreation in the backcountry. In addition to more hunters, there are many thousands of people who enjoy hiking, mountain biking, off-road vehicle use, and snowmobiling in the high country, and lots of people and the disturbances they create have had a negative impact on caribou.
Large chunks of BC that previously offered good mountain caribou hunting are now closed or opportunities have been significantly reduced with the advent of a limited entry draw system for residents. First Nations land claims and reconciliation efforts by the provincial and federal governments are also having an impact, and just last year a huge area of northeast BC was abruptly closed to caribou hunting by both licensed BC resident hunters and non-resident hunters via licensed guide/outfitters.
Despite all of the bad news, there is still some excellent, but very limited, hunting for mountain caribou available in BC. Many of the outfitters in both the northern Omineca and Skeena Regions still offer good to excellent mountain caribou hunting, either as a single-species hunt or combined with other species such as Canada moose, elk, Stone sheep, and mountain goat. There are also a handful of non-resident mountain caribou hunts available through a couple of outfitters in the Itcha-Ilgachuz Mountains area of the Cariboo Region in the west-central part of the province.
A mature bull mountain caribou is a very robust animal and can weigh up to 600 pounds. Their antlers also tend to have a lot of mass.
If you are serious about finding a big bull and not just a representative mountain caribou, the areas I would suggest concentrating on in BC are in the Skeena Region. The Kawdy Plateau and Spatsizi Plateau are known for producing big mountain caribou, as are the mountains close to the Yukon border from about Watson Lake west to the Alaska border. When contacting outfitters about their caribou hunts, it would be a good idea to look at operators in game management units 6-20 through 6-29. BC is noted for lots of beautiful country, but those who hunt in this part of the province are usually blown away by the scenery.
The Yukon and the Northwest Territories still offer exceptional mountain caribou hunting, and a quick check of the record book will reveal that there have been many high-scoring bulls entered that were taken in the two territories. The current No. 1 mountain caribou was taken in the Pelly Mountains of the Yukon in 1988 and scored 459 3/8. Outfitters in both territories usually produce a number of bulls that score well over 400 points every year.
While things are changing in the north as well, vast areas of both territories are still only accessible by float plane or chopper. It is also important to remember that the entire population of either the Yukon or the NWT is less than a small suburb of any of the larger cities in BC. The entire population of the Yukon is approximately 44,000, and 25,000 live in the capital city of Whitehorse. The NWT population statistics are not a whole lot different, with a total population of approximately 45,000, with 20,000 in the capital city of Yellowknife.
As with northern BC, the scenery in the Yukon and the Mackenzie Mountains of the NWT is breathtaking. Once you have been in this country you will undoubtedly want to go back, as you will have experienced true wilderness.
Most mountain caribou outfitters in northern BC, the Yukon, and the NWT offer horseback hunts, but some also offer backpack hunts as well. The backpack hunts are obviously designed for those who are in sheep shape and want a more physically demanding hunt, or those who just don’t get along with our equine friends. Not that being in good shape isn’t a good idea on the horseback hunts as well. Horses can go places you wouldn’t believe, but you should still expect that some hiking in steep country is going to be required.
My wife and I raised horses for thirty years, so I admit I am a little biased toward horseback hunts, but for what it is worth, I believe there are few things in life that can top a horseback hunt in the spectacular mountains of northern Canada for mountain caribou. In my experience, it is every bit as enjoyable and rewarding as a sheep or goat hunt.
When to Go
As is always the case, hunting seasons can vary from one jurisdiction to another. The mountain caribou season opens as early as July 25th in the NWT and as late as August 15th in northern BC. The seasons close between October 15 and October 31st.
Bulls are in velvet during August, but most will be in hard antler and stripped of velvet by the first week of September. The rut occurs during the last part of September and first part of October. It is worth noting that caribou taken on early hunts will not have the nice white mane that many hunters want on their bull, so if that is a concern you are better off to wait until the rut period. The downside to hunting during the rut is that most people consider the bulls to be inedible during the rut, and the later you go the more likely you will run into cold temperatures and the chance of significant snowfall.
One fall, Wendy and I had a few days off between groups of hunters smack-dab in the middle of the rut. I decided we should spend a few days caribou hunting for ourselves, as I wanted to get a big bull with a flowing white mane to mount. As luck would have it, on the first day we spotted a beautiful bull with double shovels and a gorgeous mane, so I put my .338 Winchester Magnum to good use, and we were soon packing the bull down out of the alpine.
The bull smelled rather rutty, but we decided to try frying up some of the tenderloin for supper anyway. I was outside of the tent tending to the horses when I started to smell something awful. Honestly, it smelled like someone had urinated in a hot frying pan. There was no way we were going to be able to eat it as not even a good dose of garlic powder could disguise the horrid odor. Not wanting to waste it, we tossed it to our red Australian cattle dog. This was a dog that had been known to eat things that he had found in the bush that were hardly recognizable to look at, but he took one whiff of that tenderloin and turned and walked away. Not even the ravens that hung around camp would touch it.
Mountain caribou hunts are getting a lot more attention these days due to the significant decline in numbers of some of the other caribou subspecies. The Central Canada barren ground caribou herds and the Quebec/Labrador caribou herds have suffered a significant drop in numbers, which has resulted in sweeping closures in the barren lands of the NWT, Quebec, and Labrador. There has also been a noticeable decline in the numbers of Newfoundland’s woodland caribou, which resulted in much lower non-resident quotas. Even some of Alaska’s barren-ground caribou herds have seen a drop in numbers.
The result of the increased focus on mountain caribou has been what you would expect with supply and demand: mountain caribou hunts have increased in price. Despite that, mountain caribou hunts are still significantly cheaper than a hunt for sheep or mountain goat, and you get to experience all the same things that make mountain hunts so rewarding and memorable.
Optics and Rifles
Hunts in Canada’s North Country for mountain caribou are not a whole lot different from hunts for Dall sheep or moose. The weather can be extremely variable, with sunshine, rain, and snow all possible, even on the same day. Inclement weather, rocky terrain, brush, and many miles on horseback can all negatively impact your clothing and equipment. This is especially true for firearms and optics.
With the huge variety of protective coatings available these days for wood and metal, you can prep just about any rifle to withstand the abuse of hunting in a wilderness setting. That said, stainless-steel bolt-actions with composite stocks are the perfect choice for harsh environments and inclement weather.
A good variable scope of 2x or 3x low end and 9x to 15x on the high end should handle any situation you encounter, but emphasis should be on quality and reliability. The last thing you need on a hunt out in the middle of nowhere is a budget-priced scope that fails. Even if it has a lifetime replacement warranty, that is of little use to you partway through a hunt on a remote mountain in the Yukon Territory.
Binoculars between 7x and 10x are most common; if you rarely use binoculars and are not used to doing a great deal of glassing, stick with 7×40 or 8×40. If you are used to glassing, I would lean toward 10×40 binos for mountain hunting. Here again, a quality pair that can handle a few bumps and inclement weather is of utmost importance.
Riflescopes and binoculars should be kept as dry as possible; good lens covers and removable rubberized scope covers can protect your optics and bring peace of mind. In harsh conditions I will often use both flip-up lens covers on my scope and a rubber scope coat on top, unless I am in a situation where close encounters with big bears are likely.
Caribou are not huge animals, but a big bull mountain caribou is easily as heavy as a young bull elk. Anywhere you may hunt mountain caribou is also prime grizzly bear habitat, and you may also want to hunt a bull moose or bull elk as an add-on to the caribou hunt. While a .270 Winchester with a premium bullet will easily handle any caribou that walks, something that is more appropriate to handle the “just in case” situations might be a good idea.
Shooting distance can be anywhere from 25 yards to as far away as you can accurately place a bullet, but in most instances, you should be able to use the terrain to stalk within reasonable range, and it is rarely necessary to shoot beyond 300 yards.
For the above reasons, hunters are probably better served with a flat-shooting rifle that provides a little more downrange thump than the previously mentioned, but highly respected, .270 Winchester. A 7mm Magnum of some description would be a better choice, but probably one of the various .30-caliber magnums would be just about ideal.
I tend to pack around a .338 Winchester Magnum loaded with either 210-grain or 225-grain Barnes TTSX most of the time, but I have been carrying it for many decades as a backup rifle while guiding and I am plenty used to it. The recoil does not bother me at all, but it seems to be more than most hunters want to deal with.–K.R.
Fausti Arms celebrates three-quarters of a century helping shooters experience the joy of owning a high-quality double gun.
In 1948 in Val Trompia, Italy, the country’s postwar industrial recovery was ramping up. Many new businesses were starting in this region, which would soon become world-famous as the home of some of the world’s leading gun manufacturers. One of these startups was a workshop run by Stefano Fausti that specialized in making double-barrel shotguns. The shop was a small one at first, relying on the handwork of a few skilled craftsmen. It grew quickly, however, partly as a result of Stefano’s love for fine shotguns as well as his tenacity and business sense, and partly because Fausti shotguns quickly developed a passionate following by hunters and shooters worldwide who recognized their quality, practicality, and beauty.
Stefano Fausti passed away in 2019 at the ripe old age of ninety—but he left his thriving company in the capable hands of a second and third generation of Faustis who are equally passionate about fine shotguns. In the 1990s, his daughters Elena, Giovanna, and Barbara took over operations of the company and energized it with their youthful enthusiasm, and in 2018, when a third generation joined the family business, the company reorganized around a Steering Committee that has defined a clear path forward and remains committed to quality and innovation.
Today, the family-owned company is headquartered in Marcheno, Val Trompia, in the province of Brescia. It employs some forty people and manufactures its shotguns with a fleet of high-precision CNC machines, advanced production processes, and an innovative quality-control system that ensures Fausti guns are top of the line. The company produces between 4,500 and 5,000 over-and-under and side-by-side guns annually in different models and finish levels. In 2009, Fausti expanded its footprint in North America when it opened its Fausti USA headquarters in Fredericksburg, Virginia, with exhibition space, sales offices, and a warehouse.
Fausti’s philosophy is that owning a fine shotgun should not just be a luxury for the fortunate few—it should be possible for everyone. This is the premise behind its two product lines: Core and Boutique, which ensures that there is a Fausti shotgun that is right for every shooter. The entry-level Core line is characterized by simplicity, but makes no sacrifices when it comes to quality and reliability. The Boutique line features premium finishes, engravings, and high-grade wood to satisfy the most demanding aesthetic tastes. Both lines reflect the company’s commitment to the serious and knowledgeable shooter who wants a technically advanced shotgun that will perform flawlessly in the field, while still incorporating classic style and beauty. Reflecting this focus, Fausti launched a rebranding during the Covid years, updating its logo to a more modern look that still retains a nod to tradition and its hunting-centric customer base in the way it calls to mind the shape of a deer’s antler.
Double shotgun enthusiasts understand that constructing these classic guns is a painstaking process that allows for no uncertainties. Fausti’s side-by-sides are built on a modified Anson & Deeley-style lock mechanism. Dating back to 1875, this system is simple, robust, and reliable. Both side-by-sides and over/unders feature a dedicated gauge receiver that encapsulates the action, which makes each shotgun elegant and balanced and improves ballistic performance.
Fausti’s over/unders feature an exclusive Four Locks system: four lugs that work together to create a rock-solid lock-up, allowing thousands of problem-free shots even with the most potent ammunition. A second pair of lugs inside the receiver’s sides support the usual lugs carved into the monobloc of the barrels, ensuring even lateral closure and a perfect mechanical seal. These shotguns are extremely durable and reliable, even when subjected to intense and prolonged use in shooting competitions or in high-volume hunting situations.
Behind every Fausti product is a thorough design phase: from the choice of materials to the study of shapes, from the internal ballistics of the barrels, drilled with the utmost attention to guarantee the best yield of shot patterns with any cartridge; from the choice of the best wood, to the careful definition of the moving parts for smooth and harmonious–but above all safe and consistent–functioning. Nothing is left to chance; Fausti’s shotgun development derives both from experience and from the continuous search for functional innovation.
Fausti’s advertising tag line is: “I’ll be your gun.” It’s a simple but powerful sentiment that rings true for any upland hunter who views his or her shotgun not just as a tool, but as a trusted and treasured companion worthy of creating a lifetime of memories in the field. It’s an appropriate expression of the connection that can form between a hunter and a shotgun—a connection well understood by a family who has created fine double guns for three generations.
My CANIS Alps down jacket arrived in the middle of one of the consistently coldest winters in recent memory here in northern Colorado. The timing couldn’t have been better. On a single-digit day in February, after admiring the very cool camo pattern, I zipped myself into this cozy down puffy, stepped into my cross-country skis, and glided out for a spin around the local park.
Initially, I thought my jacket might be a bit too small. But after just a few minutes, I realized the size (medium) was perfect for me. Yes, this jacket is form-fitting. It’s meant to be. The body-hugging design keeps your core toasty, but the jacket is wonderfully stretchable through the shoulders, so it never binds. It gives you lots of freedom of movement, whether you’re propelling yourself along with ski poles or swinging a shotgun. I know that for a fact because I wore the jacket extensively at my local sporting-clays range, shooting hundreds of rounds over many cold mornings in February and March while getting ready for a spring dove shoot in Argentina.
The Alps jacket features 5.3 ounces of water-repellent goose down, which makes it super warm, but not bulky at all. It features two handwarmer pockets, one handy zippered chest pocket that works great for a phone or keys, and two deep mesh pockets inside. The hood design is by far the best of any puffy jacket I’ve tried—it snugs up to your face without getting in the way of your vision, and it can easily be pulled over a brimmed cap. I also love the fleece-lined collar and the way it easily zips up to completely cover your chin when the air is frigid. The jacket’s overall design is sleek, so there is nothing to interfere or catch when you slide a backpack or rain jacket over it.
The Alps jacket (like all down products from CANIS) packs down amazingly small and comes with a waterproof stuff sack to keep it dry when it’s riding in your backpack. The CANIS developers say the pack sack can also serve as a water bucket if you need one in a pinch.
In short, this is one impressive jacket, one that will definitely accompany me on a tough mountain hunt I have planned for this fall. But I wanted to know more. Truth be told, until a few months before I tested this jacket, I had never even heard of CANIS, so I did some digging to find out the story behind this company.
As it turns out, the CANIS brand is relatively new to the hunting community, but the know-how behind this high-tech clothing was two decades in the making. Co-founders Marcel Geser and Ryan Efurd come from different continents and very different backgrounds. Geser is an award-winning technical apparel designer from Switzerland, and Efurd is an Arkansas-born and bred Air Force veteran, entrepreneur, and hard-core international hunter. They teamed up to create a collection of versatile, practical hunting apparel and introduced their initial collection to the world a little more than three years ago.
A tailor by trade, Geser started a high-end, technical skiwear brand in Switzerland called Mountain Force, and later founded a very well known product development studio in the field of technical sportswear and innovation called Development Never Stops, which works with the largest mountaineering and ski apparel brands in the world. Efurd met Geser when the former began studying who was making and designing the best technical apparel on the market. Although he was looking to create gear for hunters, Efurd investigated the equipment used in the skiing, mountaineering, and Special Forces worlds. “What were the guys who were climbing Mt. Everest wearing?” he wanted to know.
Geser and Efurd teamed up to serve the needs of the modern-day hunter. One of the things they learned was that super-lightweight material can be problematic when a hunter is far from civilization in challenging conditions. Therefore, they started engineering lightweight fabrics with a very high weight to strength ratio. The results are materials that are the strongest in their weight class. The products in their Alps line, like my jacket, are extremely tear and abrasion resistant, resulting in ultra-durable gear.
In addition to developing innovative fabrics, the CANIS manufacturing process utilizes their BTL (Built To Last) platform. In BTL, there are no exposed quilting lines because they can be one of the weakest areas of a down garment when used in alpine and subalpine environments. BTL also uses Best in Class water-repellent down to protect the insulation from water and moisture.
The CANIS clothing system features several product lines that, when used together, create a complete layering system for the serious hunter. Learn more at Canisathlete.com.—Diana Rupp
Capybara, agouti, and paca are unusual trophies and excellent table fare.
The Independence Gun Club (IGC) Sporting Heritage Center is in the middle of downtown Independence, Kansas. The first floor now houses all my taxidermy, which is kind of fun. It’s even more fun when kids come through. Back on a shelf on the far south wall is one of my favorite mounts. Most youngsters notice it, too, and I’m surprised how many of them know what it is.
Giant guinea pig would be more apt, but it’s a capybara, largest rodent in the world. The books say it can weigh up to 150 pounds. Mine isn’t quite that big, but it’s a blocky, stocky, impressive animal. Although it’s a herbivore and essentially harmless, its teeth are impressive, too. A distinctive characteristic of rodents is two pairs of incisors, top and bottom, that continue to grow throughout the animal’s life.
The capybara, Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris, is a semi-aquatic rodent, typically living in packs or colonies along South American watercourses. They are found in every South American country except Chile, but are most common in the vast Amazon Basin, from northern Argentina northward. There is a subspecies, the slightly smaller lesser capybara to the northwest, clear up to Panama, but capybaras do not occur naturally north of the Canal.
My first experience with the giant rat was while hunting with dogs along a small river system in northern Argentina’s Santa Fe Province. I’d seen the weird, splayed-toe tracks. Five toes on the front foot, three on the rear. You can’t miss that track! Otherwise, I hadn’t a clue what to expect.
The capybara’s front foot has five toes, but only the three major toes are usually visible in tracks.
At dawn, outfitter Marcelo Sodiro and I hiked along a narrow plain, swampy watercourse to our left, thick bush off to the right. Occasional yips told us the dogs were in the bush, hoping to catch animals out feeding, or working their way back toward the river.
We strolled along for maybe a half-hour as full daylight came. Then the pack lit up with raucous hound music, and Marcelo started running, leaving me little choice but to run with him. Okay, I get it. A capybara will try to lose the dogs by escaping to its water sanctuary. Our job was to get ahead and try to intercept. We dashed along a trail just up from the water’s edge, keeping the dogs to our right. After a mad dash, the baying turned toward us. Marcelo pulled up short in a small clearing, told me to get ready. In a few seconds a brown form streaked across our front, right to left, headed for the water.
As we left the truck, Marcelo had offered me a double-barreled shotgun with buckshot, but I’d kept my Todd Ramirez 7×57 which, fortunately, fits me like a good shotgun. The dogs all had white spots, highly visible. They were a dozen yards behind, safe, but closing fast.
A large male capybara, taken near the Parana River. The oval bump on the nose is the about the only way to distinguish a mature male.
It was a single capybara, looked like a good-sized one. I swung with it, got the shot off, and the dogs piled in. It all happened fast, very exciting. Toward the end of the hunt, Marcelo and I did this again. Next time, I accepted the shotgun!
Capybara meat is white and mild, much like pork, and is highly prized. So is the leather. Strong, durable, attractively pebble-grained, and essentially waterproof. The leather is called carpincho from the Portuguese. Just about every shop in Buenos Aires, and I suppose in Brazil, sells carpincho items: Footwear, jackets, belts, purses. Cool stuff. Yes, capybaras are farmed, both for meat and leather.
A decade later, in 2019, I would have one more experience hunting capybara, this one quite different. I was again hunting with Marcelo Sodiro, but up in Entre Rios Province, primarily looking for free-range axis deer. We were near the Parana River, a big river. Lots of small channels and marshes. Perfect capybara habitat, and there were lots of them. This was the only time I was able to observe packs.
Hunting was by stalking carefully along the edges of marshes, looking for a big one. In a group, you can compare them but, when standing apart, there’s little to compare. One thing I learned that I didn’t know: It is possible to determine a mature male. Only the males have an odd, elongated oval bump on the snout. Subtle, but if you can get close enough to look carefully, it’s there. We looked at quite a few, shot the one that looked the biggest, but who knows? Wonderful experience to see so many, and I got some great photos.
The primary hunting opportunity for capybara is in northern Argentina. However, there’s an unfortunate wrinkle. Argentina no longer allows the export of any native big-game species, so it’s difficult to add this unusual animal to a taxidermy collection. I’m glad I had the sense to have one done life-size when I still could.
Although not nearly so large, the Americas have two more large rodents ranging from southern Mexico southward: the agouti and the paca. There are actually eleven species of agoutis, genus Dasyprocta, in Central and South America, varying primarily in color. Agoutis weigh up to about 13 pounds so, on the rodent scale, not as large as a big woodchuck.
Agoutis are common in Mexico’s Yucatan and on license. Although rarely hunted specifically, agoutis are often taken while on stand for other species, and sometimes encountered walking jungle trails.
They are diurnal, often seen and on license in Mexico’s Yucatan. When sitting on a machan for brocket deer (or whatever), it’s not unusual to hear faint scrabbling in the leaves and see two or three agoutis scampering along.
Like everything else in the jungle, the local hunters consider agoutis table fare. They’re not bad at all, but paca is the best of the best. Weighing up to 30 pounds, the paca, Cuniculus paca, is probably the third-largest rodent, after capybara and beaver. Body shape is much like a capybara, so like an overgrown guinea pig, but the paca has a thin, fragile skin patterned with white spots and stripes. Of all the jungle game, the paca is the great delicacy, with very white meat, mild and flavorful.
Sergio Alcazar and Yucatan outfitter Mario Canales with a big paca.
I used to think of the paca as strictly a Central and South American animal, so I was totally surprised when I learned that they are widely distributed in Mexico’s Yucatan, so they are also a North American animal. The paca is readily on license in southern Mexico. However, and maybe this is good for the pacas (because the locals love to eat them), this nocturnal, burrowing animal is exceptionally difficult to hunt.
Typically, they burrow in caves in small colonies, coming out at night to forage. Finding tracks (and, today, using trail cams), hunters find an occupied burrow, then set up in the late afternoon and hope they venture out just at last light. That’s how I got my paca several years ago, on one of my several failed attempts for a red brocket. Last year, that’s how hunting partner Sergio Alcazar got his paca.
Otherwise, there’s always blind luck, but it’s always better to be lucky than good. Ten years ago, I shared camp with a guy who shot a paca along the jeep trail on his way back to camp, just at sundown. We came down the trail just behind them, and I took photos in good light.
This year, I was in camp in Yucatan with hunter Michael Murphy. His story is even more unusual: Last year, hunting with Mario Canales, Murphy’s local guide found a paca and Murphy shot it at midday.
The Yucatan jungle is an amazing place, and nobody knows it like the local hunters. However, and whenever, it’s a happy camp when a paca is brought in. The meat is truly excellent; you’ll eat well for a couple of days.
Paca in the skillet. In the Yucatan, just everything that walks, crawls, or flies is considered food, but the mild, light-colored flesh of the paca is the best of the best.
Creating corridors that allow wildlife to move is not only good for our game populations, it’s good for people, too.
Photo above: This wildlife crossing, one of dozens in Banff National Park, allows animals to cross the busy Trans-Canada Highway. The tops of these structures are planted with natural vegetation. Data shows they are used regularly by bears, cougars, bighorn sheep, and many other species.
In deer-rich northern Pennsylvania, where I grew up, an apocryphal story used to make the rounds every few years. An adjuster for a large insurance company in Harrisburg, the story went, got very suspicious of all the deer-car collision claims his company was getting from the northern part of the state. Figuring the rubes up north were committing insurance fraud, the adjuster decided to take a road trip to investigate. By the time he arrived in the region, he was frazzled from half a dozen close calls with deer that jumped out into the road in front of him. At that point he turned his car around, headed back to Harrisburg, and stamped all of the deer-related claims “approved.”
Collisions with wildlife were long considered an unavoidable side effect of building roads through wildlife habitat. In the course of our normal “progress,” humans have thrown up all sorts of barriers to wildlife movement. From interstate highways to back roads, to cattle fences, to energy developments and subdivisions, deer, elk, antelope and other animals are constantly faced with dangerous and sometimes impassable obstacles in the course of their daily and seasonal movements. And, as that mythical insurance adjuster found out, as animals inevitably attempt to cross these barriers, it’s not just dangerous or deadly for them, but costly and hazardous for people as well.
Wildlife crossings and migration corridors—the routes that animals travel between their seasonal habitats—have received much-needed attention in recent years. New research has turned a spotlight on the issue, largely because of amazing advances in GPS collars and mapping technology that have allowed scientists to get a much better understanding of where and how far animals move at different times of year in their ongoing quest for food, cover, and mates. These studies also help to identify bottlenecks where their movement is constrained by a highway, fence, or other man-made obstacle.
Roads, of course, are one of the most common impediments to wildlife movement. The federal government estimates at least 1.5 million deer, elk, and moose are killed by vehicles every year. Not only does that mean 1.5 million fewer big-game animals roaming the woods for us to hunt (1.5 million!), but those collisions cost an estimated $10 billion in human deaths, injuries, and auto damage.
Overpasses and underpasses designed especially for wildlife can make a huge difference. The first-ever wildlife “bridges” were constructed in 1975: one was an overpass created for mule deer over I-15 in Utah, and one was an underpass under I-70 in Colorado for elk and deer. These were unusual projects at the time, but not anymore. Thousands of such wildlife crossings have been constructed in recent years, and, as long as they are built in the right spot, their effectiveness is impressive—in Wyoming, one set of crossings near Baggs reduced collisions with deer and antelope by more than 80 percent.
In the past few years, more money has been made available for these projects, partly because they seem to be one of the few things politicians on both sides of the aisle can agree on. Under the Trump administration, Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke signed an order addressing the importance of big-game migrations in the West, and in 2019 the Interior Department directed $2.1 million in grants to state and local partners in several Western states to conserve habitat corridors for elk, mule deer, and pronghorn. More recently, the 2021 Bipartisan Infrastructure Law earmarked $350 million to build wildlife crossings over and under highways.
Wyoming and Colorado are leaders when it comes to helping wildlife find its way. The University of Wyoming’s multi-year Wyoming Migration Initiative has identified a number of very long seasonal migration routes used by pronghorn and mule deer in the western third of the state (dubbed by some “the path of the pronghorn”), and this research has helped wildlife managers understand where they need to work with landowners, tribes, and other partners to help keep those wildlife corridors open so these populations continue to thrive.
In addition to constructing numerous highway crossings for wildlife, Wyoming signed an agreement with the U.S. Department of Agriculture last fall outlining how it plans to work with private landowners to mitigate other barriers to wildlife migration. The agreement provides $16 million to help willing landowners conduct habitat enhancement projects, lease their land for wildlife habitat, and install or remove fencing to benefit wildlife and livestock alike.
The Colorado Department of Transportation (CDOT) has built more than sixty wildlife mitigation structures crossing above or under highways throughout the Centennial State. The most recently completed one allows wildlife to cross US Highway 160 between Durango and Pagosa Springs. According to CDOT, more than 60 percent of all the crashes that were occurring along this stretch of road were wildlife-vehicle collisions. They’re expecting those numbers to drop by 85 percent.
It takes collaborative efforts by numerous agencies, organizations, and individuals to make these projects happen. In the case of the Highway 160 project, wildlife biologists with the Southern Ute Indian Tribe provided the research data that identified seasonal migration patterns and habitat for mule deer and elk in the San Juan Basin area.
“Nineteen years ago, the tribe deployed its first set of GPS radio collars on mule deer. The results of those collars hinted at the importance of this particular spot and stretch of roadway as a migratory crossing point [for big game] on Highway 160,” said Aran Johnson, Southern Ute tribal wildlife biologist.
Colorado and Wyoming are joined by several other western states that have recently enacted laws providing dedicated funding for the study and protection of wildlife corridors. This year, Utah passed a state budget that included $20 million for the construction of wildlife crossings in a state where 5,000 deer and 1,000 elk are killed by vehicles each year. And last year, Californa passed the Safe Roads and Wildlife Protection Act, which takes a comprehensive approach to addressing ecosystem connectivity from a transportation perspective. A project is in the works to create the largest wildlife crossing in the world under Highway 101 in southern California.
While much of the focus on wildlife corridors is happening in the West, eastern states are also taking note. Back in Pennsylvania, which still has one of the highest rates of deer-car collisions in the nation, there are currently only a few wildlife overpasses, mostly in the eastern part of the state. State Representative Mary Jo Daley has been trying for several years to get the Keystone State to conduct a study on the feasibility of constructing more wildlife crossings on the state’s highways. As she reminded one news outlet, “It’s not just wildlife in the West that’s important.”
Photo above: PH Paul Smith, Boddington, and Wayne Holt with Holt’s awesome Zambezi Valley Cape buffalo, taken in 2005. Not weighed (as usual), this remains one of the largest-bodied Cape buffaloes Boddington has seen, and it had exceptional 45-inch horns.
One ton of black fury: so is Africa’s Cape buffalo often described. Or, if you prefer more drama, “a ton of black death.” It’s not unusual for we hunters to exaggerate the size of game animals. Nobody ever took a black bear weighing less than 300 pounds, though the actual average is a third less. Similarly, all male leopards approach 180 pounds, though an average tom is less than 150 pounds.
I’ve raised eyebrows when I’ve suggested that a big Alaskan brown bear in autumn weight could reach 1,500 pounds. All these weights are possible. North Carolina and Pennsylvania black bears have been officially weighed in above 700 pounds, and I’ve seen leopards tip good scales above 200. These are unusual, outsized animals, which occur in every species.
Boddington’s first “big” buffalo, taken in Zambia in 1984, appeared to have an exceptionally large body. As usual, it wasn’t weighed and, forty years ago, his point of comparison was limited.
Lacking access to good scales, we don’t often weigh game animals, and rarely recover large animals whole, so weight is just a guess. Antlers, horns, and skulls don’t lie, which is why record books rely on those measurements. Actual weight doesn’t matter much, except that the curious among us like to know how big animals get.
Despite the legend, I have always questioned the possibility of a Cape buffalo reaching a full ton. Few are properly weighed, but I’ve seen many on the ground. I’ve always figured 1,400 to maybe 1,600 pounds for a mature southern Cape buffalo bull. No science, just experience. This is where I got my theory that an outsized brown bear is similar in weight.
As for “black death,” “fury,” and the occasional reference as Africa’s most dangerous game, there is no doubt the Cape buffalo is strong, tenacious, and can be deadly. I’ve lost friends to his tribe. Robert Ruark is credited with saying “use enough gun.” He didn’t coin the phrase; it was the title for a posthumous collection. Good advice. Ruark also wrote that he’d seen buffalo taken “as easily as a cow in a pasture with a .30-06.” Today, usually not legal, but Ruark hunted various jurisdictions before caliber minimums. Wherever, generally unwise. Let’s stick with “enough gun” as the wiser course. Combining common sense with legality, I’ve seen few buffaloes taken with light calibers. However, I’ve seen a lot of bulls succumb to a single well-placed shot.
After millennia of being hunted by lions, it seems to me the African buffalo is perpetually ready to launch. We often talk about its instant surge of adrenaline. Don’t know if that’s medically true, but it makes sense. A well-placed first shot that the buffalo is physically unable to shake off seems critical. Failing that, all bets are off. According to all witnesses, the buffalo that killed great Zimbabwe PH Owain Lewis took eighteen hits from .375s on up before giving up.
The first shot, three days earlier, was not in the right place, and we can surmise that many of the seventeen bullets that followed also were not. Even so, that’s a bunch of foot-pounds. Jack O’Connor wrote of a buffalo that took fourteen hits. I’ve never seen anything like either incident, but I’ve seen buffaloes shrug off multiple good hits. However, many more have gone down readily to a single well-placed bullet.
My rule: Place the first shot as well as possible. If the buffalo is still up and additional shots are safe and possible, keep shooting until he’s down. After that, an insurance shot is situational. If you’ve heard the death bellow and there is no movement as you approach, not always. However, I’ve heard credible accounts of a buffalo getting back up after the bellow. So, approach cautiously from side or rear, never frontally, prepared to fire again at the slightest movement.
Like all other creatures, buffaloes have different character, some more aggressive than others. A few will circle and lie in wait; others seem to prefer flight to fight. You never know, and this is more relative to attitude than to body size.
That said, the old adage “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” is probably true. If my average weight of 1500 pounds is correct, then a one-ton buffalo weighing twenty-five percent more should be harder to stop. I guess.
Jason Morton and Boddington with an exceptional feral water buffalo from northern Australia. Nobody knows, but Boddington always figures at least 2,200 pounds for a big bull. Morton used a .338 Lapua Magnum on a CZ action.
The American bison is a heavier animal, with large bulls averaging about a ton. The Asian water buffalo is also bigger, bulls running to 2,200 pounds and more. We know the bison’s reputation. I have taken water buffaloes on four continents. They are unquestionably larger than Cape buffaloes. I’ve seen them hard to put down, but in my experience, never as aggressive nor as quick on their feet. I wish I had experience with gaur, the Indian bison. Largest extant bovine, up to 3,000 pounds, legendary for tenacity.
I’ve never seen a gaur in the wild, nor a whole bison or water buffalo on good scales, but I know they appear visually bigger than Cape buffaloes. Regardless of species or size, all the big bovines are dangerous. It only takes one with an attitude. Just last year, the great Mexican hunter Mario Canales Sr. was killed by a water buffalo in Argentina. The smallest African bovine, the little dwarf forest buffalo, has a wicked reputation.
So do the smaller savanna buffaloes. In Burkina Faso, they take great pains to recover game whole, back to camp at max speed. There, they take weights and measurements for the game department. So, among few buffaloes I’ve seen properly weighed, I know that my West African savanna buffalo weighed 471.6 kilograms. That’s 1,037.5 pounds. The folks there told me it was a big bull. The West African savanna is the second-smallest race, and references confirm that it’s a third smaller than the southern Cape buffalo.
In Burkina Faso, animals are recovered whole when possible and weighed, so Boddington know his West African savanna buffalo weighed 471.6 kilos (1,037 pounds), about a third smaller than Southern Cape buffalo bulls of similar maturity.
This little buffalo did try to live up to the reputation of its breed. It shrugged off a well-placed 300-grain .375 bullet at eighty yards, turned, and came straight in like a torpedo. He shrugged off the second, frontal shot, went down reluctantly to the third, and needed yet a fourth.
All buffaloes look big on the hoof, and big when you walk up to them. Except my one and only dwarf forest buffalo. Nice bull, fully mature. When approached, I wondered where the rest of him had gone!
The dwarf forest buffalo of Africa’s forest zone is probably the world’s smallest huntable bovine, less than half the size of a normal Cape buffalo. This is a mature bull with good horns. For comparison, look how huge the Sako .375 appears.
Otherwise, they all look big, dark, and menacing. For sure, some look bigger than others, and we comment, but rarely have the opportunity to weigh. My first “big” buffalo, taken in Zambia in 1984, looked like a tank, but I lacked experience to compare. After tracking two big-footed Zambezi Valley bulls for nine days, Wayne Holt’s 2005 bull was a giant in all ways: Big bosses, 45-inch spread, visually huge body. But, with no means to weigh whole, who knows?
Just now (May 2023), hunting in Limpopo with Jose Maria Marzal (Chico & Sons Hunting Safaris), my friend Jim Gent shot a wonderful buffalo. Heavy bosses, good shape, fairly wide. We guessed it at 42-inch spread, spot-on. The bull was walking alone, nothing unusual until we walked up to it. Then it got bigger and bigger, easily the biggest buffalo I’ve ever seen. Jim made a great first shot with a .375 at seventy yards, obviously hit hard but not down, so another, Almost down, back up, solidly down to his third shot. No drama, no distance covered, but a mountain of a buffalo.
Jim Gent and PH Jose Maria Marzal, with Gent’s huge-bodied buffalo, taken in Limpopo in May 2023. The horns are excellent but, up close, it was unusual body size that drew attention.
All animals vary, individually and regionally. I think of the Cape buffaloes we hunt in coastal Mozambique as “normal,” whatever that is. I think mature bulls in the Zambezi Valley are a bit larger. I don’t have much experience with Limpopo buffalo. Originally, they came from Kruger, known for big buffaloes. The South Africans have been breeding disease-free buffalo for decades, so today’s buffaloes are healthy and well-fed. Stands to reason they get big, but I’ve never seen anything like this guy, visually as large as any water buffalo bull I’ve seen.
Even though he broke the winch, we managed to get him loaded whole. Nope, couldn’t weigh him, no scale big enough. In South Africa, much game meat goes to local markets. The butchery weighed the recovered meat. At 891 pounds (minus head, skin, innards, and lower leg bones), the heaviest this outlet had seen. References suggest that large bovines lose nearly two-thirds body weight from live to hanging carcass. Working the math backwards, live weight was at least 2,300 pounds.
So, after all these years, I stand corrected. An African buffalo can be “2000 pounds of black fury.” Lest anyone think super-buffalo are being bred, a couple days later I shot a good bull in the same area. Fully mature, big-bodied, horns only slightly smaller. Visually, my bull appeared “normal,” but obviously smaller. Recovered meat was 222 pounds less. Working backward again, live weight would have been possibly 1,600 pounds, about what I’ve always considered normal for a big-bodied southern bull.
The gaur or Indian bison is the ultimate bovine, with big bulls said to weigh up to 3,000 pounds. They are no longer huntable, but in a different time, the late Bert Klineburger took this one, believed to have been in Assam. (Photo courtesy Robert Anderson)
