Hunting Africa in the 1980s: Oryx and Nyala (Part 3)

After my Botswana buffalo and plains game hunt in 1984 I set my sights on desert plains game, specifically gemsbok (oryx) and nyala.

In the 1980’s Southwest Africa (now Namibia) was the place to go. For gemsbuck, but nyala were native to and plentiful in the Natal / Zululand of the RSA. My 1986 hunt was going to be a two-country trip and require several extra flights once in Africa.

The agent that handled my Zimbabwe and Botswana hunts had long term experience with outfitters in both countries. The late Rob Dean of Zululand Safaris would be in Chicago following the SCI Convention. We made arrangements to meet and set up the nyala hunt. After explaining my plan, Rob he replied “You can hunt the desired animals without leaving South Africa.”

Rob explained he had a new PH that had experience in the Northern Cape region which is part of the Kalahari Desert with access to large properties containing native species including gemsbok, eland, springbuck, and many more. I would be the first American to hunt these properties and, due to the press focusing on the apartheid racial tension in some of the cities, some positive press and a good reference was needed to further promote this new hunting area and the RSA in general. The plan was to fly into Kimberly and hunt the desired animals, then drive a full day to Zululand to hunt nyala. The return flight home would depart from Richards Bay.

In an effort to showcase this new safari area to American hunters, Rob offered to let me hunt free and pay only the trophy fees if I could get two additional hunters to come on the same schedule. A quick mailing about the opportunity did the trick. Two clients sent their deposits and were raring to go. This started my part time gig of booking (and often escorting) hunting groups for many years!

The tarmac of the Johannesburg airport turned from coarse pavement to smoothly flowing black velvet as the South African Airways 737 destined for Kimberly gathered speed. My partners on this adventure included John, an experienced African hunter who was most interested in eland, gemsbok and other species he’d not taken on previous hunts in Zimbabwe and Botswana. The second member was Smitty on his first African hunt. Smitty hoped to take a general bag of plains game.

The Plains Game Hunt Begins

Smitty’s safari debut was amazing. After our arrival in camp we had fewer than two hours of daylight, but that proved sufficient time for Smitty to take a good impala and blesbok. The following day he collected steinbok, springbok, gemsbok, and hartebeest, each with one shot from his 1958 model 70 in 300 H&H. How cool was that?

African PH’s are normally competent, interesting, resourceful, and a heck of a lot of fun to spend time with. Kelly and Mark fit this mold well, find all of the species we wanted and many more, pointing out unusual (to us) birds and plants and explaining how it all worked in this “foreign” land. Each hunting day in the Northern Cape was exciting and productive and passed too quickly. Our allotted time was nearing an end when our PH spotted a herd of gemsbok stuffed with several big bulls.

Gemsbok can be difficult to hunt due to their spooky nature, the open landscape, and their alert senses. These were milling around making it difficult to evaluate trophy quality. Both sexes sport long, straight horns, the females’ often longer than the bulls, but not as heavy. We made several stalks that merely spooked the herd before we could look them over. We decided to return to camp and try again in the early evening.

Before leaving camp, we decided I would call my own shot. In other words, I’d choose a gemsbuck I liked and shoot if confident and comfortable with the opportunity. Within an hour we were on a herd and cut the distance to about 150 yards. They trotted behind a dune. When the herd once again came into view, I picked out what looked to be the best one, swung the crosshairs on the chosen bull as it quartered away, and pulled the trigger. The resounding “kerwhap” of the striking .270 Nosler Partition cartwheeled the magnificent animal. I cycled the bolt, set the safety, and ran to the fallen gemsbok.  A finishing wasn’t necessary. The bull staggered and fell, his heavy horns hooking the desert sands as death overtook him.

My prime goal achieved, we loaded the bull into the truck and headed to camp. During another fine dinner and good nights’ sleep, we never dreamed the next day would bless Smitty with a 51-inch kudu, John and me both with good eland!  The Northern Cape had been more than good to us, but it was time to move on to our next hunting destination – Natal.

Off to Natal

The journey from the Northern Cape to Natal was like driving from Toledo to Omaha without the convenience of Interstate 80. However, our merry group thought the 14-hour drive on hot dusty roads was a small inconvenience for the privilege to hunt nyala. Our five-day bag of 18 animals in the Northern Cape had seemed almost too easy, but all my research on nyala suggested finding these secretive antelope would not be so easy. If just one of us took a nyala in the four days we had to hunt, we would consider the hunt a success. Getting two would require more than an average amount of luck. Three for three? That was an unrealistic dream.

Because of these long odds, I’d decided while still in the Northern Cape to use my nyala trophy fee to take an eland and use the left over value of the more expensive nyala trophy fee to buy my wife a ring in Joberg on my return journey. With that eland bull now “in the salt” and the ring money in my pocket, I would spend my Natal time bird shooting and hunting for a bushpig and non-trophy warthog.

The following afternoon I had just gotten comfortable in a hastily constructed brush ground blind when a warthog sow with three piglets appeared to my left. A loud bark startled me and the warthogs. Here came a troop of baboons. I was well hidden and the light breeze was in my favor, so fifty baboons, including several big males, sauntered within 20 yards. Remembering the baboon scene in King Solomon’s Mines, I was afraid to shoot one!

After an hour or so a lone warthog sow wandered in and I decided to take it. I almost hated to break the afternoon silence , but the warthog dropped so fast it probably did not even hear the shot. The baboons, however, went crazy. Yes, they were still foraging in the vicinity. Several appeared to free-fall from the tree tops! Two big males ran into each other in their panic. A video of this would have been priceless!

The chances for seeing additional game before dark were now slim, but I decided to sit tight for the few remaining minutes of the day. The sun began to set soon after the baboon fracas and I was nearly asleep when the sharp snap of a breaking stick brought me to attention. Two cow nyala and a young bull entered the clearing not far from the dead warthog. When a fourth nyala stepped into view, my heart nearly leaped into my nose!

The big, gray-and-black bull with vertical chalk stripes stepped forward on legs the color of buckskin. His long neck and chest hairs swayed with each step like the finest of silk fibers. His horns were massive, symmetrical twists forming an ellipse. He lowered his head to browse, and that gave me time to raise my Ruger into shooting position.

I studied those ivory tipped horns and, based on all the pictures and mounts I’d seen of trophy nyala, knew this was a good bull. A very good bull. When it stepped into full view, I snicked off the safety and knew my wife’s ring would have to go on my credit card.

The .270 spoke once again. The Nosler penetrated both shoulders and kept going. The nyala did not. It  bellowed and toppled before I could jump up from my seated position.

My ride back to camp was delayed and arrived a full hour after dark. My friends know I enjoy jokes and playing tricks on others, and that night I could not help myself. I pulled the warthog away from the nyala up near the two-track on which the truck would come. Kelly apologized for being so late as we loaded the warthog. We got into the cab before I threw my hands up. “Forgot something,” I told Kelly. “Got a flashlight? Help me find it.” Sensing something was up, Kelly asked if I’d shot two warthogs. When the flashlight beam hit that nyala Kelly’ s eyes nearly popped out of his head. His jaw dropped more than should have been physically possible. “That is a bloody big nyala,” he said. And then her repeated it at least six times.

Everyone in camp was excited for my success, but I felt selfish since I wasn’t supposed to be hunting nyala. Chances were remote for John and Smitty to a bag their nyala. The following day would be our last. You can envision our celebration that last evening when John and Smitty pulled into camp, each with a big nyala bull!

Ah, Africa. It never fails to deliver.