On Buffalo Tracks — A Reflection on African Dangerous Game Hunting

There are not many days that create such vivid memories as stepping on buffalo tracks.  The noises are louder, the smells more crisp. The scenery feels ancient, unchanged from the beginning.  Africa has a romance and a sense of history all its own.  There are few places and pastimes that are as timeless as buffalo hunting when done right.  Buffalo possess a reputation that they need to be earned.  A successful hunt must be hard fought to not cheapen the experience.  This notion of done right is very subjective.  For me, “done right” is a combination of on foot (at his level), by tracking and use of skill, with a weapon that could have been passed down from previous generations, and taken at close range.  This self-inflicted criteria heightens the idea of a dangerous game hunt and does not tarnish my ideal image of fair chase. The idea of use of skill is an odd one.  I have never hunted buffalo and therefore have no skill.  The skill must be borrowed.  I was fortunate enough to borrow my skill from Ig Steenekamp. 

Ig is a professional hunter and grew-up on the very land that we hunted on.  You cannot talk to him long before you see the deep connection that he has with this land. He is a hunter, businessman, farmer and conservationist.  These elements stand in contrast to one another but he has harmonized these internal forces to forge a truly exceptional place in the red African sands.  The actions of his daily life shape this land and in turn, it has shaped Ig. The two are deeply connected. He comes alive as he regales the stories of how the ranch came to be and the struggles to keep it wild. He has done an amazing job at keeping it wild. My hunting companions had an eland hunt spoiled by an adult leopard in broad daylight.  Ig has an easy going way about him.  He is soft spoken, respectful and full of action. He has twice been in wrestling matches with leopards.  I don’t pretend to know the full story on this but he does not appear to be too torn up and the leopards both died. The week after my return, Ig successfully hunted a leopard that had developed a taste for cattle. Even given this, Ig is not braggadocious, just recounts the events as they happened. He reminds me of every rancher’s son that I grew up with in western Colorado.   

The sounds of buffalo hunting are the birds.  These sounds are inescapable and will ring in your ears long after the hunt has ended. The doves were most common and francolin came in a close second.  Both came to be very pleasant background noise.  The cries of the guineafowl gave away our location more than once.  This is where that previously mentioned skill came in.  Ig and his tracker Polis would know how to spot guineafowl and other game, sneak around them and then regain the same buffalo tracks that we just left.  The most notable bird to round out the background noise was the grey lourie.  Better known as the grey go-away-bird.  They are not unattractive or unpleasant to listen to but they do have the unfortunate habit of following predators, including me, through the bush and announcing their presence to all the game.  This bird was plentiful and aided in a couple of failed stalks.  I also noted that this was the only living organism that Ig was unconcerned with its welfare.          

My glorious buffalo hunt started in very humble fashion.   The first morning found us at the concrete shooting bench directly behind the back door to the kitchen.   I drug three rifles all the way from Idaho knowing that the safari camp had perfectly good ones.  I design bullets for a living and this job sprang from a passion for fine rifles and a compulsion to create the most competent hunting ammunition.  I enjoy only certain rifles and want to keep the guns that help make a hunt that much more memorable.  I don’t know if that is a suitable enough excuse for taking too many rifles but that is the one that I am giving.  The first was a Dakota #10 in 270 Win that I purchased to take on my first trip to Africa when I was 19.  I ended up not bringing it and regretted it ever since.  I took several elk, some mule deer and my best pronghorn with it but it had not seen the use it should have.  A top priority for the trip was a bushbuck and the diminutive 270 seemed a perfect fit.  The Dakota’s sleek and compact frame make for a light weight rig that is a joy to carry and hunt with.  As much as I like the little Dakota, it was not liking me.  As the entire safari camp looked on, I proceeded to shoot six rounds while running the turrets of the Swarovski scope doing my best at undoing the work of the Delta Airlines baggage crew.  The rifle launched experimental projectiles down range and both the reputation of the design and the designer rested in the results.  I have shot a multitude of demos with the company’s reputation resting on the line, but never felt any greater pressure in doing so.  The damage was done.  My confidence was shaken and my first impression was set as solid as the concrete bench that the little #10 now rested on.  All the excuses were given but none by me.  “The concrete bench may not be stable enough.” “50 yards is likely an unreasonable long distance to shoot a 270.” The internal monologue was far worse than any that could have been said. This was all funny until the next rifle came out of its case.   

The next to make an appearance was a custom pre 64 model 70 in 375H&H. It has an amazing English walnut stock, a removable peep sight and Tally quick release bases.  It is a truly stunning rifle and has lived its life as wall hanger letting my other bone stock pre 64 375H&H do all the work.  The gunsmithing is remarkable with one exception.  The back screw for the rear Tally base is too long.  When screwed in tightly, it locks the bolt in place.  This is a simple fix.  That is if you know it exists.  The loose base let the scope ride up and down in the mount producing vertical stringing. Again, shooting experimental ammunition, this raised more than one eyebrow.   This problem remained undiagnosed until the return from Africa.  The majority of the testing and shooting ahead of time was done with the peep.  This rifle is nearly perfect for its intended role with scope removed as it was originally designed.  Both the rifles had been owned by me for decades and gave me more confidence than the last to be uncased.  It had come to my possession less than two weeks prior.   

It was a Dakota 76 African in 416 Rigby.  Beautiful in both appearance and function.  It came to me from Florida and was used.  I purchased it for what I perceived to be less than half price so the thought of the wheels coming off was all too relevant.   I had not noticed any issues but the 375 had been handled for years without perceiving the problem.  I settled into position behind the big Dakota and ran the bolt loading a 325 grain G9 Depth Charge into the chamber.  The Dakota wears a Leupold VariX6 1-6. I settled the crystal clear image of the Fire Dot on the center target and the 416 seemingly went off on its own accord.  A hole materialized in the X and this then set the tone for the remainder of the safari.  I proceeded to shoot the big Dakota offhand repeatedly with good result.  The recoil of this loading is not at all unpleasant and the trigger felt as though it was an extension of my will.  The somewhat portly 416 tipped the scales at over 11 pounds but balanced perfectly and handled well.  My internal confidence had been regained even if those around me had not forgotten my earlier work.      

Having passed Ig’s benchmark, I was now seated in an aftermarket seat welded high in the bed of his Land Cruiser.  This afforded me a view of all that Africa had to offer. Chip Johnston, a longtime friend and the booking agent for this hunt, chose to join us on this morning’s adventure.  Buffalo was the order of the day and the promise of buffalo is an unmistakable draw. We saw flora and fauna that I was both familiar with and much that was new to me.  Ig and I had spent some time discussing the options and we had agreed that buffalo would be the priority followed by a bushbuck and gemsbok.   It was not long before I would second guess my list.  As we drove to known points with water, Ig and Chip began to explain that they are able to get truly amazing sable, kudu and eland.  All great hunts and nothing easy but the opportunity to hunt nearly unattainable trophies elsewhere existed on this ranch. This had been told to me before my arrival and so it was taken with a grain of salt.  It struck me differently now that I sat ready to commit to choices that the promise of untold inches was still on the table and not backpedaled from.  In this first morning, we saw many kudu and sable that I, and the rest of the hunting world, would be proud to take but Ig always came up with criteria that ruled them out as too young or too small.   My confidence in Ig and his judgment grew over the course of this first day.   

No buffalo were found on the first morning and due the hot weather, it was determined that they have laid up for the heat of the day.  We had seen steenbok throughout the morning.  They are a graceful and tiny antelope.  Sleek and tawny with some white on their face and bellies.  A steenbok’s face is a little redder, not unlike the sand, and has black accents around its ears, eyes and nose.  Typically the males have two nearly imperceivable black straight horns.  The horns have a ridges on the bases and smooth sharply pointed uppers. They are among the smallest of the antelope and are very beautiful but had never made the short list. The drive back to camp produced a steenbok with greater than ear-length horns that had Ig as animated as I had seen him.  Chip immediately went into how great a pedestal mount on a desk would look.  As I pondered if a coffee cup would hide this massive trophy on my desk, my hands began removing the 270 from its case and changing out the 416 ammo on my belt for the now almost comically small looking 125 grain 270s to chase the absolutely comically small antelope.  Although I was hesitant to admit it, I grew truly excited to get a steenbok let alone one of this quality.  Ig and I dropped out the right side of the Toyota as Polis drove off with Chip in the back.  I admired the quality and the design of the projectile and thought how it was overbuilt for the quarry.  A 22 Hornet would somehow be more fitting.  We began the follow up and planned to start tracking at the last bush we saw the then tawny blur disappear behind.   The mood lacked any intensity and it was a halfhearted effort.  Ig walked swiftly and his locally made shooting sticks slid back and forth in his right hand as he strode through the red sand.  I can only imagine that the shooting sticks are a requirement given my earlier shooting demo.  Ig later explained the sticks are produced by a gentleman that used locally sourced wood and game skin to wrap the tops.  It is small nuances that make the memories of the hunt that much better. Given the quarry, he opted to leave his 416 Rigby in the rack. This was a farm made rack cut from rubber conveyer belts and it was welded behind the Land Cruiser’s back glass. Ig’s entire operation is genuine because he is genuinely living the life.  I came to later realize how this rifle was well suited for Ig.  He had cut the barrel to 18” on a CZ 550.  There was minor wear but it was well maintained and a perfect choice.  Nothing flamboyant, but rather a strong, reliable action wearing a well fitted stock and a shortened barrel with open sights.  A proper working rifle, a professional’s rifle.  It suited him and looked natural in his hands.     

By now it was becoming obvious that the tiny antelope had done what they do best and somehow vaporized.  I was not sure that I wanted the cost of a steenbok for shipping and mounting (most likely thousands per square inch) and Ig later revealed that he does not allow many taken per year.  They are easy to shoot off and they take a beating from the local predator population. The low possibility of connecting with the diminutive antelope did nothing to damper my spirits.  I was just happy to be on the ground in Africa with a rifle in my hands.  I think that Ig could sense this and so turned the stalk into a nature hike.  As my imagination was filled with opportunities for the coming week, Ig yelled, “Hey!” in Afrikaans as he stood tall and waved the shooting sticks forward.  His actions were immediately understood as a cape buffalo bull materialized from the thorns.     He stood in his bed momentarily.  Long enough to genuinely impress me.  The thorn was short and it was the best look at a buffalo that I would get the entire hunt.  Ig judged him to be 41 to 43” wide. I judged him to be impressive. He was old enough, with a completely hard boss and very deep curls. His boss showed wear but very little on his hooks.  Perfect in my judgement. The bull’s nose went skyward and he began to step towards us.  Ig’s warning rang out with greater authority and the bull turned and vanished into the bush. This encounter took place at 40 yards. I felt overexposed and under-gunned. The single shot 270 felt more like the 22 Hornet mentioned a moment ago. Ig turned and asked through a grin, “Why you so white in the face? It’s okay, it still happens to me too. That’s why I still hunt, the excitement.  There are no suitable trees to climb. Plant your feet and shoot. It’s your only choice.”   

I had agreed to shoot a buffalo within a horn width range and it had a hard stop below the width of this bull. Ig told me that if I would have brought my 416, I could have shot that buff.  I was stuck by the generous offer and the caviler way that it came. The prospect of this particular trophy made my mind race.  The disappointment of that knowledge would not leave me soon. Therefore, the 416 would not leave my hands until my buffalo hunt had long ended.    

The afternoon and the following day produced encounters at close range with buffalo. None fit the criteria of shooting but every encounter was thrilling.  Ig’s professionalism and the coordination with Polis became more evident with each stalk.  The thorns had never burned in this hunting area and it made for difficult hunting, producing close and fleeting encounters.  The evening of the first day produced a stalk that ended with seven bulls coming out to a waterhole just after sunset.  One bull was of proper age and one was judged to be 45”.  There was not an old big bull though.  The walk to the Land Cruiser brought us downwind of this group and they came running in now that it was fully dark.  This encounter took place at a distance that was dangerous.  Again Ig’s use of the Afrikaans word of “Hey!” came in handy.  To be clear, this is the English, rather American, word hey, just with a heavy Afrikaans accent.  This accent comes out more when the adrenaline is applied.   

Conversations during the drive to and from the hunting area produced an understanding that we both liked the first buffalo we saw. Ig and Polis had marked the track where it first crossed the Land Cruiser’s and kept tabs on this group of bulls.  I doubted the ability of the two to know that particular set of tracks.  The next tracking session produced that particular bull though.  I cannot make that statement with certainty. That bull was remarkably deep and had massive curls. Width appeared to be the same and was the determining factor but the remainder of the trophy far exceeded the width.  Polis was the first to see the group of four bulls.  He dropped low and pointed. Ig handed off his 416 and took the sticks from Polis.  Planting the sticks in the sand, Ig stepped to the right and looked at the bull now a mere 60 yards away.  There was a small hole to observe the bull through and his head was the only part visible.  I could surmise where the shoulder should be but was hesitant to take the shot partly due to the cover but mostly due to the fact that I did not want the history of the first actual shot fired on this new line of ammo to be haphazard one.  I had planned for a shoulder shot.  This was firm in my mind.  I was not hunting buffalo as much as I was there to test prototype projectiles for a Safari line of ammo.  The bulls turned and crashed through the thorns as they are so capable of doing.  A word immediately escaped Ig’s lips and he took it back with an apology.   No need, it was the same one that I was thinking.  He had the flu since the day after he picked us up at the Johannesburg Airport.  He was working harder than normal and producing amazing results. Several things became concreated in my mind before my feet left that place.  I will shoot fast and not be hampered by the shooting sticks again.  I will take the shot that is given and trust in the capabilities of this unproven bullet that was developed last week.  Trust me, I’ve done way sketchier things.  I will not wait for a verbal that is not needed.   

G9 had produced three different styles of bullets for the new Safari line.  A solid that actually cuts a wound multiple times greater than the diameter if the projectile.  A copper based soft that mushrooms with the use of a brass insert in the tip.  It cannot fail to expand because this brass tip ensures the opening will not collapse before it expands. The last is a similar design to the soft but both parts are made completely of brass. This last one is where the learning curve is the steepest.  Instead of mushrooming, it fractures the front making a multitude of wound channels through the organs while the back remains intact and completely penetrates.  This is by far the most lethal design and the one that I opted for.  It is a well-tested design in lessor calibers but the 375 and 416 are less than 10 days since inception.  As I explained this to Ig, he stated that he likes Barnes 400 grain in his 416. To his credit, he refrained from offering me some to use.  To make matters worse, this design works most efficiently in a lighter than normal configuration.  My 416 Rigby was throwing a 325 grain pill. I knew he would take some convincing.  We settled on the accepted fact that a 375 is a good choice and we are faster and heavier than that.  

The second day of the hunt produced the test that I was waiting for.  My hunting companions trailed a heard of buffalo and took a great old bull.  The still undiagnosed loose base on the 375 previously mentioned, reared its ugly head and a longer range frontal shot went high right.  It produced a grazing wound along the neck.  All hands were on deck for the follow up and the excitement was electric.  The follow up produced a shot from the 270 grain brass and one from the 300 copper and brass.  One from both father and son. Once the bull was on the ground, the insurance was paid.  There was a great deal of ballistic data just collected.  Not to be outdone, I asked if we could test the 416 solid on a hip to front shoulder shot. Ig would sell the meat and knew this would take its toll but his curiosity was peaked because he was to go back to buffalo hunting with me next.  The round left a cavernous wound channel before and after the shattered hip socket, passed through the full stomach and rested under the hide on the far corner.  Everyone, including myself was convinced of the merit of the design.    

On the afternoon of the third day, we crossed a lone bull’s track.  It was notably larger than the average and the decision was quickly made to pursue this presumably old bull.  The weather of the fourth day grew cold and that was the break we needed.  This cold weather would keep the bulls on their feet feeding for more hours of the day.  Early that morning, we picked up the lone bull’s tracks and began trialing them.  We took a shorter than normal lunch believing the buffalo would sleep less in the cold weather.   As we trailed the bull that afternoon, four other bulls continually fed over this set of tracks.  Each time, Polis and Ig would sort out the feeding bulls and be back on the desired set.  Ig is very knowledgeable about rifles and calibers.  He was a joy to talk to because that is one of my favorite subjects. He approaches it differently than me though.  Ig gets plenty of practice in at his chosen profession and he enjoys the tools of the trade.   On multiple occasions, he would look over the big Dakota 76 and admire the scope.  We had several conversations about the clarity and the ability to shoot it as a red dot with both eyes open. I set the Fire Dot at the bench the first day and would adjust it for the light conditions when leaving the truck.  We both agreed on most things concerning the rifles we carried.  First off, Ig’s was lighter and handier.  We both knew that the caliber selected was perfect for the job at hand.  There is no one right caliber unless that one gives you a greater confidence that then translated to less hesitation and greater marksmanship in the milliseconds that count. We both came to agree that the Leopold scope was an ideal selection and the Fire Dot solved the primary scope issue of buffalo hunting.  It jumps off the page when you have black crosshairs on a black animal that usually lays in the shade.  A properly fitted rifle is important but the correct scope selection might be more important.  As Ig handled my rifle that day, he noted, “I see you always have your power on 1, you should try it on 3. It will give you plenty of field of view and it may help you place the shot if it’s tight.” It sounded like good advice so the scope rested on 3 from then on.    

While we trailed the tracks that afternoon, long drag marks between tracks became evident.  It was explained that this indicated the buffalo is getting sleepy and just shuffling through the red sand. Ig looked over his shoulder and said, “Super thick up there. He’s tired and may be laying in the thorns.  Shoot fast and don’t mess with your scope.” He had not given me instructions during a stalk like that before.  It heightened my senses.  A noise came from the far side of a close scrub acacia and Polis stepped in front of me offering his shoulder to shoot off of.  The bull was already moving and there was no need for a rest.  Stepping to my right, Ig had placed the sticks.  Bypassing the sticks and lining up on the only gap, I waited for the head to appear.  Ig bellowed before the bull came to the opening and he stopped the bull perfectly.  The face was gray and nearly hairless.  A white line was prominent and encompassed the boss.  The right boss wore a large and visible chip in it.  The width went well beyond the ears and the curls were deep and of good circumference.   The blunt tips rounded out my check list for an old bull.  This recognition was nearly instantaneous and totally unnecessary.  Ig’s reaction told the story better than I could have.  It was time to shoot.  The adrenaline was in full effect at the sight of eyeballs and boss entering into the small opening. The Dakota was already on its way to my shoulder.  As the recoil pad hit my shoulder, the Leopold’s Fire Dot settled between the eyes on the bridge of the nose.  The rifle recoiled without a conscious thought of how to make it fire.  There is no way to overstate a well fitted rifle with a great trigger.   

The sound of the shot sent Ig into action and me into a state of relaxation.  I was certain of the shot placement and witnessed the aftermath.  My buffalo hunt had ended.  Ig was unaware of the headshot.  He gave the command, “Reload!  I like to run up on buffalo as long as they’re down. Shoot it in the shoulder!” It was on the list of things to do anyway so I complied without hesitation.  The buffalo had now became my buffalo and he lay with his feet and head facing us.  I saw Ig looking to maneuver through the thorns to get to the back and spine it.  ‘Ig, I stoned him, it was a headshot.”  Now the adrenaline turned to elation and the congratulations started. It was at this point that Polis shouted and pointed to the other buffalo now nearly standing on the tail of mine.  Ig’s liberal use of the word “Hey!” was used and the two left after a tense moment.  Looking back, I see the amount of adrenaline was excessive.  The bull was closer than I remember, this was confirmed when going back for the 416 case that was ejected at the first shot.  The distance was little more than spitting distance, although that’s a relatively subjective way of measurement and I may possess greater skill than the average in this arena.  The other four bulls had bedded near this one and one was likely to measure 46”.  It was young and I immediately recognized its youth.  There was not a second of wishing that I had shot the bigger but lesser trophy. After borrowing skill from Ig, I felt like I had earned a piece of my own.  I turned around and watched the sun set on my first buffalo hunt.   

Polis went to get the Land Cruiser while Ig found a suitable path for it.  I sat on the shoulder of my buffalo reflecting on the events and feeling remarkably changed.  Accomplishing a multi decade goal is often a letdown. This was not.  

A couple of evenings later my safari came to an end.  I shot an impala with this same round as the buffalo.  It was equally effective. As the sun set, I turned the Fire Dot off on the Leopold thus ending the adventure. I was reminded of the time at the concrete bench days earlier where turning the dot on had set off this chain of events that left me so changed.  There was no let down or sadness with the buffalo but the impala set off a melancholy mood that hung over the remainder of the trip.  The sun literally set on my African safari and the chore of the trip home had begun.  No amount of hardship could tarnish the joy that this hunt has produced though.