"The bull I was after had been bought a few years earlier as a breeding bull and had done his job. He’d been off-limits to hunters until two years ago"
TRACKER FRANS AND I inched our way forward through the head-high grass. Somewhere ahead we had seen the horn tips of a mature waterbuck bull as he moved slowly towards our left. We followed him for a minute or so until he disappeared into thicker vegetation. In all probability he had sensed us but he had not run away – we would have heard that. Visibility was limited to about 20 metres so we moved slowly, expecting the bull to appear at close range. I was after a specific trophy bull and would have to make a split-second call if he was the one. My .375H&H had a cartridge up the spout and the safety was on, my right thumb ready to flick it to the fire position. We never saw the bull again. He disappeared into thin air as only a sly old bull can do. A few minutes later we reached higher ground and thoroughly scouted the area but to no avail. It was lunchtime and I needed a break. Resident PH, Carl Pohl, raised his eyebrows at me as I arrived back at camp. “Sorry Carl. No luck. We saw horn tips but he melted away before we could get a shot,” I responded. “And besides, we did not know if it was him.” The bull I was after had been bought a few years earlier
as a breeding bull and had done his job. He’d been off-limits to hunters until two years ago when Carl, knowing I had been looking for a trophy waterbuck, said I could hunt this one. The farm management team were satisfied that he should be bagged by a hunter before he died of old age. I had tried hunting him the year before, but in three days had not even caught a glimpse of him.
That afternoon we resumed our chase. We moved painstakingly slowly through the thick bush and at about 4pm Frans froze ahead of me. He slowly turned his head and pointed with his eyes. I looked in the direction he indicated but could see nothing. Even after he whispered the exact location and confirmed it was our bull, I still could not see the waterbuck. It later transpired that Frans had been looking through a narrow slit in the brush and could see the bull’s neck and head only. For me to have seen the bull, I’d have had to be in precisely his position. Unfortunately the bull turned and disappeared – another unsuccessful waterbuck hunt for me. Two weeks later Carl sent me a photo of ‘my’ bull lying dead in shallow water in one of the farm dams. Another bull had gored him and he died in the water. He measured 31½-inches. That’s hunting for you…
Nowadays waterbuck can be found on many game farms with suitable habitat – they require medium to long grasses and are water dependant, needing to drink daily. Big bulls tip the scale at about 250kg; females are slightly smaller. Their long, oily hairs emit a strong smell (much like turpentine) and it is very important to keep the hairy part of the skin away from the meat while skinning, otherwise it taints the meat – even to the point of rendering it inedible. Scientists believe the smelly excretion is a defence mechanism to ward off predators. That said, meat from young animals and cows makes good table fare.
The bulls are territorial, reach trophy size at about six years old, and can live for up to eighteen years in the wild. In 1950, in Limpopo, RB Aitken shot a 39¼-inch waterbuck which remained No 1 in Rowland Ward until toppled in 2017 by local hunter Eugene Pearton’s waterbuck measuring 39 3/8-inches shot near Alldays. Eugene tells me that he was not looking for a trophy and did not immediately realise it was such a huge trophy – his friends alerted him to the fact after he sent them some photos.
THEN, AT HUNTEX 2019, I enquired about waterbuck at Otterskloof’s exhibit and was pleasantly surprised that they were within my budget. I had always wanted to hunt at Otterskloof; friends and hunting buddies had been there and described it as a unique experience. The amazing Karoo landscape near the town of Philippolis has to be seen to be believed. I was still undergoing physical rehab after back surgery and had to make peace with the fact that we would spot-and-stalk, as the extremely rocky and mountainous terrain would be a bridge too far for my healing back.
In addition to bordering the Vanderkloof dam, Otterskloof has a natural spring running through it that forms many ravines and streams. In these ravines, karee and wild olive trees, among others, abound, providing a haven for many animals in the harsh Karoo landscape. The waterbuck also favour it, though they roam the entire 15 000 hectare property. We concentrated our efforts on these ravines and before long we spotted a bull from afar. He was in the open, about 50 metres away from the trees along the ravine.
Using the sparse cover, we headed off on foot and, when the bull spotted us, he took to the cover of the trees. We edged closer and another good-looking bull with a few cows ran up the mountain on the other side of the ravine, but too far away for a shot. We used the cover of the trees to walk downstream and soon another bull came running straight towards us in the riverbed. I got ready for a shot but when he momentarily stopped, the thick vegetation covered his vital areas. He then moved and we lost sight of him, only to see him a minute later, standing in the open beneath a tree, away from the ravine. Again we stalked closer but the bull kept moving. Eventually he stopped and turned broadside but he was far and there was no time to range the distance. I over-estimated the range and the bullet went sailing over his back. The bull trotted casually away showing no sign of being hit. We found the spot where he had stood but saw no blood or other sign of a wounded animal. I was beginning to think I carried a waterbuck curse and silently berated myself for messing up.
We headed back the way we had come and, after about a kilometre, I looked up to see a big bull standing behind a bush high up the mountain on the other side of the river. Only his head and horns were visible. I readied the shooting sticks and, intent on getting it right this time, raised my Leupold RX1300 rangefinder. The bull took a few steps forward and stared at us, perfectly broadside and not alarmed. The range was 256m – right on the limit of my pre-determined maximum shooting distance. I was using Hornady DGX Bonded bullets at a very pedestrian 2 150fps out of my .375H&H (my current bushveld load) and was acutely aware of the resultant bullet drop. I used my 200m hold-over and adjusted upwards for the extra 50m – but forgot about the wind. The bull collapsed on the spot. We kept on watching him, worried that I had merely nicked the spine, but he did not move again. The shot went a bit high and the wind pushed it to the left, but it shattered the spine where the body and neck joins. I had my waterbuck.
We worked our way up the steep, rocky mountain to reach the waterbuck 15 minutes later. Moving him into position for good photos proved somewhat difficult, but we did the best we could among all the rocks. We called for the carcass recovery team then gutted the bull to shed some weight. They rolled the carcass onto a tarpaulin stretcher and seven helpers carried it down while an eighth prevented the head and horns from hitting rocks. The horns measured 28¼-inches, just making Rowland Ward’s minimum before the mandatory drying out period. At the time of writing my bull is with my preferred taxidermist and I intend hanging the skull mount in my office at work – a special trophy that took many years of hunting. |
