Connecting with Kudu

My 'Tswana hunter, Speck, and I had walked slowly through the Limpopo Valley's thick thornbush since daybreak. It was ideal country for greater kudu--plenty of good browse and lots of cover. Early on we'd sneaked up on a pair of midsize bulls and a few cows, but now the day was warming fast, and we'd seen nothing for a long time.

Suddenly, Speck pulled up short and peered ahead into the thick thorn. I followed his gaze but could see nothing. Then movement. Forty yards ahead, a thick green clump rose above the lower bushes, and some of the uppermost branches were moving unnaturally. Binoculars came up and we focused through the screen, trying to resolve hidden detail. The bush shook again, and there was the tip of a spiraling horn, with the gray body below completely invisible.

We retreated a couple dozen paces, then turned to study the brush and check the wind. The ideal move would be to circle to the right, but the wind wouldn't allow it. We duck-walked a half-circle to the left, which gave us a partial view of the feeding bull. Now both horns were visible, as were the big ears, outstretched glistening nose and just a hint of gray backline. The horns looked good, clearly a mature bull with second turn complete and straight tips, but how good?

Agonizing minutes passed while the bull stretched his neck to strip succulent leaves from the upper branches, turning his head this way and that, giving us every view except the one we had to have. Finally he'd eaten his fill and moved away from the tree--straight toward us.

Now I could see the white nose chevron; the pink inner surfaces of his ears; the dark, keen eyes; and, at last, the thick spiral horns rising above the bush in a "V." The kudu spotted us and froze, and we studied him some more. The horns' first turn was out past the ears, but with his nose up and his horns back, the second turn and the tops were unclear; even at 30 yards it was almost impossible to judge them in total. A good kudu for sure, but was it the great kudu we sought?

I didn't know and had long since quit trying to learn. Speck had his binoculars up, and I could feel him straining for certainty. My binocs were down, and I was concentrating on moving the rifle, inch by inch, so that I could raise it smoothly if the call came.

The standoff continued until I ached all over, then Speck saw something that made up his mind. "Take him," he whispered. I tried. I got the rifle up, realized that everything was covered by brush except for a white patch below the chin. The crosshairs were on that spot, the squeeze half completed, when the bull ended the standoff, breaking to the right and vanishing into the thorn.

Speck was undeterred. We followed briefly, then circled to get the wind. There he was, standing in low, thick bush...and gone again before I could even get the rifle up. Then followed one of the finest pieces of instinctive hunting I have ever seen.

Thick bush stretched endlessly ahead. Now sure he was being pursued, the bull had run with the wind behind him, but he wouldn't run far. He'd go into thick cover, wait and listen and test the breeze, and then he'd creep ahead slowly. We circled again, then again, crossing tracks that, among the maze of tracks of all ages, Speck knew were our bull's.