Smoke Pole

2008 was the year of the smoke pole. While we're certainly not die hard muzzleloader hunters, as fate would have it, we spent no time in 2008 hunting North American big game with anything other than the sulfer-spewing single shots. With muzzle deer tags in both Utah and Nevada, we'd planned to use the Utah hunt as a warm up for the more coveted late season Nevada tag in area 115 (Wheeler Peak).

We saw plenty of deer during Utah's September hunt, which we conducted from base camp at Enterprise Resevoir, but not the obscene numbers we'd encountered while we were there in 2006. Nonetheless, Slim was successful in connecting on a nice buck on his last night of hunting.

During the course of the four days we were hunting, we'd discovered that the nicer bucks were lying high in the steep ridges in the thick oak, and so we began concentrating on those areas. On the last morning, after Slim had left for a northern Utah elk hunt, Mark and I went on a lung-searing march straight uphill and were able to push a group of deer from the oak and aspen thickets. One buck was massive, but the only good look I got at him was from about 550 yards as he motored up a far hillside and over the ridge. The area is incredibly beautiful. It was more than worth all of the hiking we did. With some practice under our belts, we headed into the November Nevada hunt with renewed hope, both that our skills were honed and that hunt time/area were much better. The theory was the late season muzzleloader might give us a chance at some rutting bucks; and to some extent, it did. But, generally we didn't get the cold weather we hoped for and most of the deer we found of any significance were high (many of them literally on the base of Wheeler Peak) and not overly interested in the does.

On about the fourth morning of hunting I spoted this buck at about 1,000 yards, lying down under a pinon tree. There were two does with him, and the minute Slim put the scope on him, I knew we had to try to get on him. Fortunately, Mark and Kyle, Slim's father in law were willing to stay behind to watch with the scope to make sure he didn't sneak off over the ridge above.

Slim and I started in the valley below these deer with a ridge between us and the buck. For whatever reason, the buck didn't even stand up until we were within 250 yards. At that point we moved to within 125 yards, using a small juniper as cover. The buck was standing facing us, and I took what might have been an ill-advised frontal chest shot with a muzzleloader and open sights at 125 yards.

As it turns out, this was the biggest buck we were able to find in about 10 total days of hunting. I'm convinced that there are gigantic deer in the area, but a guy would need the perfect convergence of weather, rut and simply being in the right place at the right time. Without doubt we'll try the area again.

Left - l to r Kyle, Mark, Slim, Ryan

Delta Speedgoat

About six years ago I began applying in Utah for a pronghorn tag along with my other big game permits. Within about 2 years, the Utah Division of Wildlife, in all of it's wisdom, decided it was going to restrict applicants to one species and not allow bonus points to be transferred to a different species if the hunter decided to apply for a different species after several years of trying for the first. Hence, once I had elected the speed goat, I was married to it until successful. Fortunately, that compelled quest ended in 2008.

Two years ago, Slim and I had helped Eric Johnson hunt the Southwest Desert River Bottom area northwest of Delta, Utah. We were so impressed by the number and quality of the goats that I determined to focus future application efforts on that area, exclusively.

The area is comprised of primarily classic-looking pronghorn territory interspersed with larger rolling hills and some thick pockets of pinon/junipers which surprisingly hold a fair amount of the normally prairie-loving goat.

Always willing to drive rather than run the risk of having to sit in the back seat, Mark Webster agreed to drive. The team was rounded out by Jack Topham, a retired DWR guy from Salt Lake, who Slim and I had met last year in east central Nevada, while helping his son elk hunt. Jack had scouted the area for us for a couple of weeks and reported that there was a very nice buck on Antelope Spring. Unfortunately, try as we may, we were never able to locate that buck.

Unbeknownst to me (though I’d shot it and it was accurate about two weeks prior), my .270 WSM was shooting about three feet left and caused (note to reader: always blame the rifle if you can) me to completely air mail 2 very nice goats, multiple times. One Slim and I had put a half mile stalk on, and the other Mark followed around in the truck giving me repeated chances. I finally connecting on this one - the result of a sneak by Slim and I up the blind side of a hill, and then catching him as he steadily moved back toward a pinon/juniper hillside. I held on the goat’s rump at 120 yards to hit him in the boiler room.

He made 14 and a half, and is incredibly heavy.

A special thanks goes out to Slim for helping me spot and stalk, to Jack for coming to spot, navigate and cape and to Mark for selflessly beating the begeezus out of his truck in pursuit of the elusive speed goat.

Sunrise/Sunset

People who think African hunting is wholly or primarily about bagging a trophy don’t understand the experience which is "Africa." The more time I’m blessed to spend in this remarkable land, the more I appreciate it’s unique beauty, resilient people and amazing wildlife. If there’s a scientific explanation for the undescribable sunrises and sunsets, I certainly don’t know what it is. What I do know is the twilight and dawn hours in the bush are stunning. In 2008 I spent 8 nights of the 16 in the bush at the Masau camp on the Zambezi River. This camp is immediately on the River at the Mozambique boarder. As such, these sunrise photos show the sun appearing over the Mozambique mountains. Across the river is Zambia and the photos are taken from Zimbabwean soil; truly an international image.
Villagers travel the river in a traditional dugout canoe.










Fog lifting off the river










Taken literally from the front door of my chalet.
























Sunset over Zambia










Another

Strange (and Cantankerous) bedfellows

Two bull elephants had taken up temporary residence in a large floodplain along the Zambezi River in the Dande North concession. We were unsuccessfully baiting crocodile nearby. PH Henry Prinsloo's grown son and aspiring PH Fred, had a close call with the pair one afternoon when he left the blind to walk down the river to get a better look at a distant croc.

Ultimately, we abandoned the baiting and switched to the "spot and stock" method - simply put, we were running the river in the pontoon boat looking for sunning crocs to put the stalk on. We would occasionally see this young bull elephant, and it appeared his companion had left the floodplain for other opportunities. We caught him one midday making his way to the river for a bath/drink and pulled the boat onto the shore very near his position. We anticipated a charge into the water at the boat (hopefully stopping short of disaster for either the bull or the boat), and instead prompted the bull to charge an unsuspecting cow buffalo that had somehow separated from the herd and taken up residency with the bull elephant. To those who haven't been "among them," this may appear rather benign - it's not! The cow gets out of Dodge for good reason.

We saw these two hanging out together several times over the ensuing days. I suppose the cow thought the bull elephant was great insurance from the prides of lions that had been harassing the buffalo in that area.

Not a Single Tutu

I recently read an article about threatened nature of some of the east African hippo populations. I had a hard time with the premise of the article, because I assure you, there is no shortage of the beasts in the lower Zimbabwian Zambezi Valley. Not only were they easily located at any time lounging near the river, but the sound of their characteristic "ruughh, ruughh, ruughh" was constant and unmistakable backdrop along the river and in our river camp - Masau. And, despite Disney's best efforts at suggesting otherwise, I saw not a single hippo wearing a pink tutu.

Interestingly, the bulls and cows on the Zambian side of the river were less wary than those on the Zimbabwe side. The pods on the Zambian side would typically stand on the shore and watch us and the pontoon boat motor up the river. Conversely, those on the Zimbabwe side would immediately slide into the water at the slightest sound of an oncoming boat. Possibly, the ones on the Zimbabwian side are more harassed by larger number of villagers and hunters. Once the pods are in the water, they can remain for many hours with only their nostrils and eyes protruding from the water.

I was fortunate to take a nice bull out of the river, and glad we didn't have to gamble finding one of these river bulls out of the river. The problem, as I understand it, with shooting a bull in the river is recovering it. Once shot, the bull will sink and will surface only after several hours, and not until the enzymes in the stomach created enough gas for necessary buoyancy. The problem for the hunter comes when the hippo is anywhere near the current of the river. By the time the bagged trophy surfaces, the current may have carried him several miles down river. In our case, we were hunting so near the Mozambique boarder, that it would have been likely that the trophy, after taken, could slip downstream, across an international boarder and into a state of impossible recovery.

This bull was feeding in the reeds while we were fishing for a day upon our arrival into the Zambezi Valley, I love the photo and the menacing look of the hippo. In reality, he was heading quickly for the safety of the water before we could approach any closer in the boat.

Interesting that these docile looking aquatic mammals are responsible for more human deaths than any other African animal. Having hunted them in the impenetrable brush, grass and jess, it's not hard to imagine a tragic encounter between an unsuspecting villager, traveling a convenient hippo trial and returning from collecting water at the river, and a visually impaired hippo, intent on returning to the safety of the river, and willing to deal harshly with anyone or anything that impedes his route.