Africa – First Night Via iPhone

by Mike Schoby • July 19, 2011 • 2 comments

LOCATION: Kasane, Chobe, North-West, Botswana

Photo by John Hafner

I just saw a pride of lions across the river. Somewhere in the distance a hyena calls. It sounds like Friday night at a lady’s insane asylum, as Ruark once said, (or something like that).

I instinctively reach for the Kimber .375 h&h stuffed full of federals finest next to my cot. Even in “Modern” Africa where a cell sign woke up. The display of my phone says its 2:24 a.m. Not sure if I woke from jet lag of the lion grunting right behind the tent. In either case I’m awake and not sleeping anytime soon.

The Chobe River is murmuring by 15 yards of the tent. The grunting hippos mingles with the sound of another pal can be had in the middle of the Caprivi Strip. The feel of checkered walnut still feels reassuring.

You carry a gun everywhere here. Go to the bathroom at night – grab a rifle and a flashlight. Step out of the truck to take a look around – grab a rifle and make sure there are solid rounds in the magazine.

Critters are big here and on not too frequent occasions they can and do bite back.

I’ve been in dozen of camps in Africa from coast to coast and never I have seen a place that matched my boyhood dreams as completely as this camp.

We came up river by boat. Along the way we saw hundreds of Elephants, two massive crocs and the black dots of buffalo that dotted the green grass flood plain that explorers visited with muzzle-loaders.

Lots of outfitters claim a “true” African experience but few provide it. I have been fortunate enough to hunt out with Jamy Traut visiting his newest camp in the Caprivi Strip. It’s four days old and has the most amazing spots I have seen in Africa.

Located on the Chobe River on the Namibian side you peer across the water 100 yards to Botswana, specifically the fabled Chobe Game Reserve.

Along with the hide-covered buffalo the cats, lions and leopards follow, feeding at their leisure.

I am here with Dwight Van Brunt of Kimber and Tim Brandt of Federal Ammunition testing their newest Cape Shock Safari Load in Kimbers .458 Lott Caprivi Rifle.

My old friend Mark Kefe from the NRA is also along to provide comic relief as well as keep the elephant population in check. It’s a mixed bag hunt.

I could pick between a hippo or buffalo and Dwight has a croc permit. Since I have shot a buffalo and Tim has never been to Africa, I opted for him to take the hunt.

I will go along as well for the hunt. We leave at first light, and likely still be up-watching the sun light as the Eastern African horizon rises somewhere over Mozambique.

(NOTE: This blog was sent via text messages from Africa. It came in about 30 separate messages from Mike.)

Kimbers .458 Lott Caprivi Rifle

 

In Editor at Large, Uncategorized • Tagged
  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1086824150 Steve

    I would like it very much if someone would make another movie along the lines of “Ghosts in the darkness.” for some of us avid armchair hunters. I like the much storied Africa of old.

    I was inspired by my brother years ago to visit Africa from the safe and well lit confines of my own imagination. Since then, and due to his passion and extensive knowledge of the subject, I have been able to comfortably explore the dark continent with the most agreeable sensation of having all my appendages still firmly attached to my torso and most of the original paint job intact. Aside from the requisite childhood fender-benders and a couple of campaigns against thin skinned vermin, without the benefit of a suitable firearm, my blue-book value is still acceptable considering the age and mileage, and I haven’t had to apply for a salvage title yet. I found the bush veldt from my ratty old fart infested arm chair (I don’t like recliners-too mechanical) to be just as cool and moderately less smelly. I dedicate this, therefore, to my brother, without whom I would never have become acquainted with, or in awe of, Peter Hathaway Capstick, who, contrary to his own words, I do believe worthy to share a boma with Stigand and Corbett. If there is any call for a PH to track down an unruly beastie in heaven, I’m sure he and Silent are closing the deal as we speak. Happy hunting Pete.

    While at work the other week, I observed a large mahogany wasp fly through the back door of the building and into my area of operation. He appeared to have just flown through a hurricane in the middle of the Bermuda triangle and was confused and irate enough to get my undivided attention. I watched him turn and dive like a Japanese zero over the Coral sea and hoped he didn’t mistake me for the USS Midway. After a series of aerobatics that would have made Chuck Yeager faint, he became enchanted by the booming rhythm of my 110 ton stamping press. He circled once then flew directly into the tooling which was in the process of re-arranging a coil of .071 cold rolled steel into the hasp leaf for ammo box hinges destined for Afghanistan. I watched the old boy disappear in a small puff of steam and vaporized exoskeleton as the die closed, and it occurred to me that the simplest creatures are always drawn to danger like a K-Mart shopper to a flashing blue light.

    The reasons for this magnetic force that seems to affect the weaker willed and simpler minded creatures is just as mysterious to me as it must be to anyone who has ever watched Evil Kenevile crash or read the story of Custers last stand. Thrill seekers and Dare-Devils all have a following-but usually from a safe distance. Our friend the wasp was just doing what his tiny brain lead him to believe was prudent, which makes my point in spades. It makes me wonder what cosmic force could suddenly alter the perception of a reasonably healthy hominid to undertake the task of putting his life on the line to prove how hairy his chest is to a crowd of total strangers that only showed up to see what everyone else was talking about. I do not participate in any activity that involves letting blood, uttering ancient Hindu curses, or running for my life from something with claws and teeth and enough disdain for my winning smile to use them to turn me into a shredded pulp that would give Jack the Ripper the dry heaves. When the story goes there, I close the book and wait for the movie to come out. I am fortunate to have been born with a leaden shielding against those cosmic rays, but, sadly, still have enough casual curiosity to marvel at the utter disregard for mortal danger that infects the viral you-tube morons spreading loads of chuckles, at their own expense, to million of viewers all over the world. I suppose without the daring-do of these digital delinquents, the world would be a much duller place. It is the force that drives the ordinary, hard working citizen to sometimes make poor choices in the way of seeking excitement to jazz up their hum-drum lives that drives my cosmic ray theory.

    If, at any time in your short, uninteresting life, you may have concerned yourself with the notion that one particular day you had spent did not live up to your expectations, then let me assure you that you have never had a bad day. In order for you to experience a “bad day”, The following sequence of improbable events may have happened to you…

    You find yourself in an airport being mesmerized by the tinkling clatter of Harri-Krishna finger symbles, then you are mystically transported aboard a multi-colored WWII cargo plane, the pilot of which is swigging a warm Tusker beer and eating dried apricots while telling quite proudly the story of his late night wrestling match with a less than sociable male baboon. You notice he has only a dark hole on one side of his head where his ear should be, and a long scar on his neck, so you ask what happened. He explains that the baboon bit his ear off, then pulls something on a rough string from his shirt and explains that he stayed in single combat with the beast until he was able to reach his side knife and get in a telling blow which made the ape drop the severed ear. He then waggles the shriveled blob on the string in your face and announces that he dried it and kept it as a “good luck” charm. He never says why he was out after dark in the middle of baboon country, but you suspect the dozen crates of AK-47s stacked by the jump door may have something to do with it. Later, after a bumpy night landing landing in the middle of the Serengeti, you again quite mystically find yourself being hornswaggled into drinking spit beer from a hand thrown pot by a score of jeering, cat calling Bushman around a roaring bonfire. You have made the long journey to a very bad day.

    You slowly regain consciousness wrapped in the blue fiberglass confines of a mid-august sun seared port- i-john that smells like it has recently been occupied by 40 camel herders, 2 Dinka warriors and a sick dog. You are, of course, instantly wrapped in the raging torments of a thoroughbred hangover which include, but are not limited to, nausea waves that would rival the Indonesian tsunami, and a headache that would give a rutting cape buffalo a stroke. You have also noticed an enormously thick and long black hair lodged between your front teeth,which causes you great distress. Finding your feet and the door simultaneously,you step into the cool 120 degree day and are instantly blinded by the equatorial sun. A shaft of white hot pain that makes you disregard the nuclear explosion in your head instantly shoots up both legs causing you to stumble and fall face first into a wait-a-bit bush, and on to a still steaming pile of hyena vomit. Your mouth is of course wide open because of the scream of pain from being bitten in the groin by an 8 foot long pregnant black mamba with a personal insecurity problem.

    If this has never happened you you, you have never had a bad day. If it hasn’t happened to you recently, then write your memoirs. You may have a shot at cracking the best seller list. If it has happened to you recently, my condolences. If you have a wife or children or a semi-intelligent lap dog, My condolences to them individually and my sincere best wishes for their happiness in each of their new homes. If you are inclined to frequent airports and have feelings of a quasi-religious or semi-adventurous nature, then do this. As soon as you hear finger symble music, make for the exit, hail the nearest cab, go to the closest bar, and tell the help to keep them coming till you see the first shafts of pink dawn seeping through any translucent enough pane of glass in the joint clean enough to let them pass. Never plan a vacation that includes the attractive “noble”native, “quaint” customs, or”rustic” personal hygiene facilities, and use those brochures, no matter how slick they are, in your own commode to erase the remnants of last nights pizza.This will save you gallons of blood, millions of brain cells,yards of skin grafts and potentially years of rehabilitation. Africa is not a vacation spot for the casually insane or the crazy brave. Remember that everything that lives there has little regard for your status as the “dominant” species on the planet. The only way to keep a Cape buffalo from charging is to take away his credit card. Find a trusted friend and let them take yours.

    If you are wondering if there is a thread of wool in this yarn, let me ease your mind a bit. Don’t be absurd! Everyone knows there are no camel herders on the Serengeti……

  • Anne Lay

    That sounds quite dangerous but adventurous too at the same time. Hope you have a good time.

    storm windows