Anyone wanna see pics of my Zimbabwe Buff hunt?
- Thread starter Rich Lucibella
- Start date
Oh, and by the way, Rich-- that's a beaut kudu, even if you do call him a runt. And the pic was well-taken, too. (Pete does sumpin' well!)
I do notice that it's just you in the pic. How very appropriate-- you spotted it. You stalked it (briefly, but it was your stalk). You shot it without "help."
I do notice that it's just you in the pic. How very appropriate-- you spotted it. You stalked it (briefly, but it was your stalk). You shot it without "help."
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Soc-
Pete is a phenomenal Hunter....I mean First Rate. He's just not a great PH. But, I don't know what he looked like last year, before losing a tracker to an Elephant and having another mauled by Cape Buff.
I don't believe his problem was the 50. He's been impressed with it from sight in and was most impressed when he kept reloading on Buff and I didn't. He's not about to give up his double, but it wasn't my gun. Burnout perhaps, but it doesn't matter.
It's been a very difficult 15 days; but this isn't like asking for another waiter at a restaurant or refusing to pay for the stale Grouper. Your PH has so much control of your next day that, if you're unhappy, you either 1) fix it up, 2) suck it up or 3) leave. I chose a combination of the first two. I've made the best of it and learned a lot. How can you avoid the same experience?
Demand a personal visit from your PH when in the States for SCI. Overnight him. Feed him a few drinks. Determine if you want to live with him for a couple of weeks.
___________________________
The following two part hunt is posted with reservation. It's quite personal, bordering on maudlin. But it's written by me, for me. I read these journals before I come back for recollection and guidance.
In rereading this Waterbuck experience, which only finished 12 hours ago, I think what I'm reacting with such sadness to is the rampant commercialization of killing game rather than hunting it; of squeezing every dime out of the hunter, rather than pouring every joy of hunting into him; of getting that "trophy on the wall, rather than having a sense of having done something right....or a PH that allows you to correct a mistake.
So, here goes.
Rich
Pete is a phenomenal Hunter....I mean First Rate. He's just not a great PH. But, I don't know what he looked like last year, before losing a tracker to an Elephant and having another mauled by Cape Buff.
I don't believe his problem was the 50. He's been impressed with it from sight in and was most impressed when he kept reloading on Buff and I didn't. He's not about to give up his double, but it wasn't my gun. Burnout perhaps, but it doesn't matter.
It's been a very difficult 15 days; but this isn't like asking for another waiter at a restaurant or refusing to pay for the stale Grouper. Your PH has so much control of your next day that, if you're unhappy, you either 1) fix it up, 2) suck it up or 3) leave. I chose a combination of the first two. I've made the best of it and learned a lot. How can you avoid the same experience?
Demand a personal visit from your PH when in the States for SCI. Overnight him. Feed him a few drinks. Determine if you want to live with him for a couple of weeks.
___________________________
The following two part hunt is posted with reservation. It's quite personal, bordering on maudlin. But it's written by me, for me. I read these journals before I come back for recollection and guidance.
In rereading this Waterbuck experience, which only finished 12 hours ago, I think what I'm reacting with such sadness to is the rampant commercialization of killing game rather than hunting it; of squeezing every dime out of the hunter, rather than pouring every joy of hunting into him; of getting that "trophy on the wall, rather than having a sense of having done something right....or a PH that allows you to correct a mistake.
So, here goes.
Rich
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Thursday, September 14th: Waterbuck
Seeing how many Waterbuck Pete had scanned and passed over and just how skittish and elusive the big ones were, I agreed to shoot one if it was a good one. Well, we’ll title this one, “Learn to clear your bubbles under combat conditions”. It did not go well.
We did two morning stalks for Bushbuck and never saw a good male. At 9am, back in the truck with me on top, I had just started into a cold Coke and a sandwich. Pete pointed out a Waterbuck about 90 yards off the road in the brush. I nodded.
Suddenly someone was shoving the .338 at me. Nothing gets wasted here in Africa. Nothing. And that includes my sandwich. The morning cooler generally contains 3 sandwiches. Pete would have one, I’d have one and the trackers would split one. Not fair, I know, but I don’t run the camp or stock the larder. I’d regularly give them part of mine, half of my coke or slip them a Coke on my own. They were always appreciative.
So there I was, Coke in one hand, sandwich in the other, with Taka pushing the 338 at me in the decelerating truck. I handed the Coke behind me to James, but my brain just wouldn’t let go of that sandwich! Grabbing the rifle with my right hand, I jumped off the truck. Once down, I slid the sandwich between the index and last three fingers of my left hand, as I fell in behind Taka and the truck continued on. That left my left thumb and index finger to hold the fore-end, which they did as I ran the bolt.
20 yards back down the road we spotted the Waterbuck in profile with no intervening brush. Taka jammed the sticks in the soft dirt and I got into the rifle, very pleased with myself for the sandwich deftness. That’s when things went to hell. I centered the crosshairs on the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. As is usually the case when nothing happens, the shooter momentarily tugs the trigger only to see the crosshairs dip as he realizes that the safety is still on (or in the case of the Blaser, the rifle uncocked).
Things start to go real bad at this point, but I still will not let go of that damned sandwich! I shove it between my teeth and run the bolt, only to have a live round flip out (adding to my and performance anxiety). I push the cocker and get back in the scope.
During all this, some 95 yards downrange, there’s a very large Waterbuck talking to himself in his native tongue.
“Oh, look, another tourist with a rifle. Bet he misses.
Hey, what’s he doing down there, taking a lunch break?
Oh, I see, he’s having a bit of trouble clearing his bubbles. Yup, he’s a tourist, all right. Hey, tourist, you need a do-over? OK, I’ll wait. Slow down, little man. I’ve got all day.”
Just about this instant, sandwich firmly clamped in my teeth, I’m getting back into the scope, having my own conversation.
“You’re entire shoot is gonna go to hell if you don’t get this done quickly.
He’s gonna bolt any second.
Shoot, Shoot, Shoot!”
I touched it off before the crosshairs firmly settled; the 1/2 second “shortcut” that always spells doom and disaster for the marksman. The Buck reared backwards and took off into the brush. I silently called it low in the forward chest as we tore off after him. A bad shot. By the time we found the blood, Churo and Pete had caught up to us.
There was a fair amount of blood, but no parts on the far side of the hit. Within 300 yards, the blood trail was thinning out. A minute later Churo pointed. Taka went right, Pete left, me left of Pete. As I came abreast of Pete and started to raise my rifle at the Waterbuck, heading directly away from us at 30 yards, Pete raised is double. Having been beside that cannon when it went off on the Buff, I was not at all eager to sample it again. I lowered my rifle and began to backpedal as the Waterbuck gained ground and disappeared, his left leg obviously broken. Churo called the break high up, just below the shoulder.
“Why didn’t you shoot”, Pete turned and asked.
“Because I thought you were going to shoot when you raised your rifle.”
He said nothing. (He would later say that he was going to shoot, but didn’t because Taka had not plugged his ears.)
I then granted Pete and Taka the right to use their own best judgment in terms of a follow up shot, which is only fair to the animal, since I’m the last in a single file line of 4 and hardly in a position to take two steps left or right and shoot immediately. (Personally, I think in situations like this, the client should go just behind the lead tracker.)
Pete sent us forward while he went back to the truck in hopes of getting ahead of the wounded animal to ambush it. 15 minutes later, Churo pointed to the left. The Waterbuck was standing, partially exposed, on a hillside to our left at about 70 yards (as I recall it). Churo set up the sticks; whether he let go before I got my rifle into them or I screwed up, is uncertain to me. All I know is that the sticks fell forward into a bush and I took an offhand snapshot at the Buck. He took off to the left and I fired again, blind, as he disappeared behind a bush. Taka also fired sometime before my first and second shots. The Waterbuck never slowed down. He was unhit and moving fast on three legs. It was gonna be a long day.
And so it was. We never went back to camp for lunch. Instead we tracked that animal from 9am till dusk, catching glimpses of him at least a half dozen times. Pete got on him with his Mauser .375 once or twice but never pulled the trigger. The Waterbuck continued to move in a circle to his left every time he was spotted. Pete would attempt several times to get ahead of him in his own circle and use us as “beaters” to ambush him. Again, I should have been with him, not behind as a “beater”. I shot the animal; he was my responsibility. Then again, my first thought was to put the wounded animal down. I was miserable.
Feeling like a third wheel at someone else’s dinner date, following the action from the back of the line, I finally made the excuse that I’d fall back about 30 yards “to decrease the noise”. I did so, but I also moved left about 40 yards; running a parallel course with Pete and the trackers in sight the remainder of the day. Most of the time, when he heard us, the Buck would turn left, favoring his bad leg, often running back behind us. My only hope was to catch him as he did so. Pete did get a shot off once from an ambush, but missed. We found the impact graze in a tree trunk.
When the sun set, we quit for the day. The trackers had done an almost mystical job of tracing his path and confirming every quarter mile or so with a drop of blood or a smear of it where he lay down. It was always wet and slick, rather than sticky, in the hot sun. He stayed just ahead of us, circling left in known territory. They tracked him, bloodless, over rocks, back and forth over a stream and thru at least one herd. They never faltered. In grudging respect of Pete, his own intuitional tracking is simply eerie.
The only good news of the day is that Danny got his Kudu. A record for the camp for the year.
Dinner was, I think, Wildebeest. But it was certainly tail once again. I didn’t care. I went to bed early thinking, “Two animals wounded and unaccounted for. That’s twice the number I’ve left behind in 38 previous days of hunting this continent. Hotshot!”
Seeing how many Waterbuck Pete had scanned and passed over and just how skittish and elusive the big ones were, I agreed to shoot one if it was a good one. Well, we’ll title this one, “Learn to clear your bubbles under combat conditions”. It did not go well.
We did two morning stalks for Bushbuck and never saw a good male. At 9am, back in the truck with me on top, I had just started into a cold Coke and a sandwich. Pete pointed out a Waterbuck about 90 yards off the road in the brush. I nodded.
Suddenly someone was shoving the .338 at me. Nothing gets wasted here in Africa. Nothing. And that includes my sandwich. The morning cooler generally contains 3 sandwiches. Pete would have one, I’d have one and the trackers would split one. Not fair, I know, but I don’t run the camp or stock the larder. I’d regularly give them part of mine, half of my coke or slip them a Coke on my own. They were always appreciative.
So there I was, Coke in one hand, sandwich in the other, with Taka pushing the 338 at me in the decelerating truck. I handed the Coke behind me to James, but my brain just wouldn’t let go of that sandwich! Grabbing the rifle with my right hand, I jumped off the truck. Once down, I slid the sandwich between the index and last three fingers of my left hand, as I fell in behind Taka and the truck continued on. That left my left thumb and index finger to hold the fore-end, which they did as I ran the bolt.
20 yards back down the road we spotted the Waterbuck in profile with no intervening brush. Taka jammed the sticks in the soft dirt and I got into the rifle, very pleased with myself for the sandwich deftness. That’s when things went to hell. I centered the crosshairs on the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. As is usually the case when nothing happens, the shooter momentarily tugs the trigger only to see the crosshairs dip as he realizes that the safety is still on (or in the case of the Blaser, the rifle uncocked).
Things start to go real bad at this point, but I still will not let go of that damned sandwich! I shove it between my teeth and run the bolt, only to have a live round flip out (adding to my and performance anxiety). I push the cocker and get back in the scope.
During all this, some 95 yards downrange, there’s a very large Waterbuck talking to himself in his native tongue.
“Oh, look, another tourist with a rifle. Bet he misses.
Hey, what’s he doing down there, taking a lunch break?
Oh, I see, he’s having a bit of trouble clearing his bubbles. Yup, he’s a tourist, all right. Hey, tourist, you need a do-over? OK, I’ll wait. Slow down, little man. I’ve got all day.”
Just about this instant, sandwich firmly clamped in my teeth, I’m getting back into the scope, having my own conversation.
“You’re entire shoot is gonna go to hell if you don’t get this done quickly.
He’s gonna bolt any second.
Shoot, Shoot, Shoot!”
I touched it off before the crosshairs firmly settled; the 1/2 second “shortcut” that always spells doom and disaster for the marksman. The Buck reared backwards and took off into the brush. I silently called it low in the forward chest as we tore off after him. A bad shot. By the time we found the blood, Churo and Pete had caught up to us.
There was a fair amount of blood, but no parts on the far side of the hit. Within 300 yards, the blood trail was thinning out. A minute later Churo pointed. Taka went right, Pete left, me left of Pete. As I came abreast of Pete and started to raise my rifle at the Waterbuck, heading directly away from us at 30 yards, Pete raised is double. Having been beside that cannon when it went off on the Buff, I was not at all eager to sample it again. I lowered my rifle and began to backpedal as the Waterbuck gained ground and disappeared, his left leg obviously broken. Churo called the break high up, just below the shoulder.
“Why didn’t you shoot”, Pete turned and asked.
“Because I thought you were going to shoot when you raised your rifle.”
He said nothing. (He would later say that he was going to shoot, but didn’t because Taka had not plugged his ears.)
I then granted Pete and Taka the right to use their own best judgment in terms of a follow up shot, which is only fair to the animal, since I’m the last in a single file line of 4 and hardly in a position to take two steps left or right and shoot immediately. (Personally, I think in situations like this, the client should go just behind the lead tracker.)
Pete sent us forward while he went back to the truck in hopes of getting ahead of the wounded animal to ambush it. 15 minutes later, Churo pointed to the left. The Waterbuck was standing, partially exposed, on a hillside to our left at about 70 yards (as I recall it). Churo set up the sticks; whether he let go before I got my rifle into them or I screwed up, is uncertain to me. All I know is that the sticks fell forward into a bush and I took an offhand snapshot at the Buck. He took off to the left and I fired again, blind, as he disappeared behind a bush. Taka also fired sometime before my first and second shots. The Waterbuck never slowed down. He was unhit and moving fast on three legs. It was gonna be a long day.
And so it was. We never went back to camp for lunch. Instead we tracked that animal from 9am till dusk, catching glimpses of him at least a half dozen times. Pete got on him with his Mauser .375 once or twice but never pulled the trigger. The Waterbuck continued to move in a circle to his left every time he was spotted. Pete would attempt several times to get ahead of him in his own circle and use us as “beaters” to ambush him. Again, I should have been with him, not behind as a “beater”. I shot the animal; he was my responsibility. Then again, my first thought was to put the wounded animal down. I was miserable.
Feeling like a third wheel at someone else’s dinner date, following the action from the back of the line, I finally made the excuse that I’d fall back about 30 yards “to decrease the noise”. I did so, but I also moved left about 40 yards; running a parallel course with Pete and the trackers in sight the remainder of the day. Most of the time, when he heard us, the Buck would turn left, favoring his bad leg, often running back behind us. My only hope was to catch him as he did so. Pete did get a shot off once from an ambush, but missed. We found the impact graze in a tree trunk.
When the sun set, we quit for the day. The trackers had done an almost mystical job of tracing his path and confirming every quarter mile or so with a drop of blood or a smear of it where he lay down. It was always wet and slick, rather than sticky, in the hot sun. He stayed just ahead of us, circling left in known territory. They tracked him, bloodless, over rocks, back and forth over a stream and thru at least one herd. They never faltered. In grudging respect of Pete, his own intuitional tracking is simply eerie.
The only good news of the day is that Danny got his Kudu. A record for the camp for the year.
Dinner was, I think, Wildebeest. But it was certainly tail once again. I didn’t care. I went to bed early thinking, “Two animals wounded and unaccounted for. That’s twice the number I’ve left behind in 38 previous days of hunting this continent. Hotshot!”
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Friday, September 15th: Waterbuck Continued
Didn’t sleep well last night. I was mostly awake from about 2:15. I had dreams of Mookie and that long walk with him, limp in my arms, praying he’d miraculously be OK. I woke up and went back to sleep…I dreamed he’d never died, that his death was the bad dream; that I found him, alive, at a shelter. I woke up again.
Come breakfast time, I was determined that I’d finish this Waterbuck myself, one way or another….that no one else would get a shot before I killed it. I knew I wouldn’t get any help from Pete; he fully intended to shoot it and there’s no way that I’d win that argument. But this animal deserved to be put out of his misery by the man who put him in it.
So, I simply packed in as tight as possible and kept my head up. The trackers picked up last night’s track and soon found where he’d bedded down for the night, the blood congealed, nearly dry. Soon the track showed fresh blood. We spotted him, close by, several times but nobody got a shot off. Pete attempted two ambushes, but the Waterbuck stayed ahead of him.
Just before 8am, we were back again at the 50’ wide river/stream, having come in a long circle to within yards of where we crossed last time. Pete came into the river clearing first, just behind Churo. He immediately raised his rifle to our 2:00 and fired the big double twice, fast, as only a double is. The first shot had missed the Waterbuck as he was climbing up the far bank; the second tore thru the right back ham exiting the front of the leg and then thru the right front hoof. The leg broke and he toppled back into the water. I moved to the right several paces and saw the animal, broadside, up to the top of his back in water, struggling.
I raised the lever action 50 Alaskan, with Pete, Taka and Churu a couple of paces to my 9:00. Pete ordered me further forward and I complied by moving two deliberate and exaggerated giant steps. I fired at a shallow angle about 18 inches in front of the animal’s exposed back, hoping for boiler room. The result was a splash where I aimed and more struggling from the Waterbuck. I then ran along the bank until I was looking straight down at him from a distance of 10 yards. I fired the second bullet, a 460 solid, into the water, where I thought his vitals might be.
This beautiful, noble, shy creature instantly stopped struggling and slid beneath the surface, with a growing cloud of red to mark the spot. The bullet had entered the right side neck, high and forward of the right shoulder. The skinners later found the solid in the left side shoulder. We never did explain an exit hole on the left side of the neck as the body was dressed, skinned, quartered, in the cooler and ready for wherever they’ve sent all the other meat to, within an hour. I suspect that neck exit was my first shot of these two, since I called it good and Pete had called his a miss. The original shot from yesterday had missed the chest completely, from what I could tell. It broke the left leg high, just below the shoulder.
It matters not what bullet made which hole anymore, other than the first. This animal’s suffering is finally over. I helped drag him to the bank and actually laid my hands on him silently apologizing for his pain. He deserved better, just as Mookie did. I write this only a couple of hours later. Our flight is tomorrow. I’ll work out then why this silly Waterbuck has affected me more than any animal I’ve previously shot. I’m bone weary tired and it’s past time to leave here.
When we got back to camp, I let Pete and the trackers have the last session of the hunt off. Returning to the field would truly be a sacrilege.
I settled up my bill and, on my demand, Pete assembled the entire Staff and read their names from a list. I shook each hand and paid them their tips in American cash that I had sorted for the purpose. I then tipped Pete in a less than generous manner and we parted company. He left immediately for an elephant hunt tomorrow.
The garish top-off was Eland steak for dinner. My Eland. Served with great fanfare, they were huge plate filling T-Bones which nobody finished. Neither marinated nor otherwise prepped, they came off the grill, tough and tasteless. I wonder if the trackers have yet finished the Leopard parts they were given last week. I clearly saw and esophagus on the grill. I'll bet they know how to cook them.
Didn’t sleep well last night. I was mostly awake from about 2:15. I had dreams of Mookie and that long walk with him, limp in my arms, praying he’d miraculously be OK. I woke up and went back to sleep…I dreamed he’d never died, that his death was the bad dream; that I found him, alive, at a shelter. I woke up again.
Come breakfast time, I was determined that I’d finish this Waterbuck myself, one way or another….that no one else would get a shot before I killed it. I knew I wouldn’t get any help from Pete; he fully intended to shoot it and there’s no way that I’d win that argument. But this animal deserved to be put out of his misery by the man who put him in it.
So, I simply packed in as tight as possible and kept my head up. The trackers picked up last night’s track and soon found where he’d bedded down for the night, the blood congealed, nearly dry. Soon the track showed fresh blood. We spotted him, close by, several times but nobody got a shot off. Pete attempted two ambushes, but the Waterbuck stayed ahead of him.
Just before 8am, we were back again at the 50’ wide river/stream, having come in a long circle to within yards of where we crossed last time. Pete came into the river clearing first, just behind Churo. He immediately raised his rifle to our 2:00 and fired the big double twice, fast, as only a double is. The first shot had missed the Waterbuck as he was climbing up the far bank; the second tore thru the right back ham exiting the front of the leg and then thru the right front hoof. The leg broke and he toppled back into the water. I moved to the right several paces and saw the animal, broadside, up to the top of his back in water, struggling.
I raised the lever action 50 Alaskan, with Pete, Taka and Churu a couple of paces to my 9:00. Pete ordered me further forward and I complied by moving two deliberate and exaggerated giant steps. I fired at a shallow angle about 18 inches in front of the animal’s exposed back, hoping for boiler room. The result was a splash where I aimed and more struggling from the Waterbuck. I then ran along the bank until I was looking straight down at him from a distance of 10 yards. I fired the second bullet, a 460 solid, into the water, where I thought his vitals might be.
This beautiful, noble, shy creature instantly stopped struggling and slid beneath the surface, with a growing cloud of red to mark the spot. The bullet had entered the right side neck, high and forward of the right shoulder. The skinners later found the solid in the left side shoulder. We never did explain an exit hole on the left side of the neck as the body was dressed, skinned, quartered, in the cooler and ready for wherever they’ve sent all the other meat to, within an hour. I suspect that neck exit was my first shot of these two, since I called it good and Pete had called his a miss. The original shot from yesterday had missed the chest completely, from what I could tell. It broke the left leg high, just below the shoulder.
It matters not what bullet made which hole anymore, other than the first. This animal’s suffering is finally over. I helped drag him to the bank and actually laid my hands on him silently apologizing for his pain. He deserved better, just as Mookie did. I write this only a couple of hours later. Our flight is tomorrow. I’ll work out then why this silly Waterbuck has affected me more than any animal I’ve previously shot. I’m bone weary tired and it’s past time to leave here.
When we got back to camp, I let Pete and the trackers have the last session of the hunt off. Returning to the field would truly be a sacrilege.
I settled up my bill and, on my demand, Pete assembled the entire Staff and read their names from a list. I shook each hand and paid them their tips in American cash that I had sorted for the purpose. I then tipped Pete in a less than generous manner and we parted company. He left immediately for an elephant hunt tomorrow.
The garish top-off was Eland steak for dinner. My Eland. Served with great fanfare, they were huge plate filling T-Bones which nobody finished. Neither marinated nor otherwise prepped, they came off the grill, tough and tasteless. I wonder if the trackers have yet finished the Leopard parts they were given last week. I clearly saw and esophagus on the grill. I'll bet they know how to cook them.
Attachments
Thanks for a moving story about your hunt. I'm personally trying to imagine just what I would do if some idiot grabbed me by the collar and tried to move me ANYWHERE. Did it never occur to him that you had a large caliber RIFLE in your hand? LOL! You did an amazing job of salvaging something that could have been an unmitigated disaster with that PH.
I know absolutely nothing about how African safaris are paid for, but I take it that the more critters you shot, the more your PH gets paid? Or am I missing something? Did the meat get used by villagers, by the way? And are you bring back the trophies (can't imagine the cost on that...!)
Springmom
I know absolutely nothing about how African safaris are paid for, but I take it that the more critters you shot, the more your PH gets paid? Or am I missing something? Did the meat get used by villagers, by the way? And are you bring back the trophies (can't imagine the cost on that...!)
Springmom
Rich, go back and look at your notes on "the death spiral." You're in it, babe.
Now you've got a couple of days of travel to kick yourself. No good.
I'm not there. I have only your subjective viewpoint to consider what's going on over there. But I know that every shot that you've made that could be questioned, Pete has called a miss. Every time that you could have been demeaned, he's done it for you. As a completely honest and actually self-effacing man, you've agreed generally with him, and gotten a good kick in on yourself, too. In an effort to win back some of your PH's respect, you've actually been jumping up to kick your own ass before he could get one in! Well, let me tell you-- he's only an amateur at that game-- any man with even a bit of self-assessment can beat himself up better than any three others.
You did a good job of breaking the cycle once or twice, but the damnable thing about cycles is... they're cyclic.
Pete's 'tude came back, and you again felt the added pressure of having to prove yourself to a man that worked for you. I almost typed "unnecessary pressure," because I absolutely know that the pressure that he was putting on you was completely unwarranted. But for you, feeling the pressure was not an option-- it simply was there.
You should feel some pressure when hunting a game animal. That little bit of stress is why we hunt. Add in an African hunt on dangerous game, and the stress increases, but most of us guys here would say in a good way. That stress should NOT be compounded by the PH. His admonition about it being a dangerous situation with a wounded dugga boy in the brush is well and good and absolutely appropriate; his other actions beyond number are not.
Rich, the problems on the waterbuck hunt (day 14?) began on the zebra hunt (day 1?). You tried to overcome them, and succeeded to a great extent. But I've seen you shoot that .338 very, very well off-hand. The shooting that you've described has been the perfect example to me of a concept that I've never heard named before you coined it, but have seen many times in shooters in competitions and hunts. I've seen it in other sports (golf, of all things), but it always involves a man losing faith in himself, and overthinking the situation, until he loses skills that he had down cold, just the week before. Each miss is a confirmation of his "proper" self-disgust. Even a laudable shot gets no attention in the cinema of the mind, which must repeatedly replay the low points.
You're a good hunter, Rich. Remember the high points:
You spotted and bagged the Kudu on your own.
You completed a classic stalk and shoot of a very, very tough big buff (a story that you will remember for the rest of your life, and which I envy you for.).
You popped the Klipspringer and the bushpig handily.
You saved the hunt for Danny. You saved much of the hunt for yourself.
This has not been a failure, Rich. It's been a trial. Sometimes, those make pretty good adventures.
I look forward to hunting with you again. And hey! Look! It's almost time for you to break out that Bubba-ized Handi-Rifle again!
Now you've got a couple of days of travel to kick yourself. No good.
I'm not there. I have only your subjective viewpoint to consider what's going on over there. But I know that every shot that you've made that could be questioned, Pete has called a miss. Every time that you could have been demeaned, he's done it for you. As a completely honest and actually self-effacing man, you've agreed generally with him, and gotten a good kick in on yourself, too. In an effort to win back some of your PH's respect, you've actually been jumping up to kick your own ass before he could get one in! Well, let me tell you-- he's only an amateur at that game-- any man with even a bit of self-assessment can beat himself up better than any three others.
You did a good job of breaking the cycle once or twice, but the damnable thing about cycles is... they're cyclic.
Pete's 'tude came back, and you again felt the added pressure of having to prove yourself to a man that worked for you. I almost typed "unnecessary pressure," because I absolutely know that the pressure that he was putting on you was completely unwarranted. But for you, feeling the pressure was not an option-- it simply was there. You should feel some pressure when hunting a game animal. That little bit of stress is why we hunt. Add in an African hunt on dangerous game, and the stress increases, but most of us guys here would say in a good way. That stress should NOT be compounded by the PH. His admonition about it being a dangerous situation with a wounded dugga boy in the brush is well and good and absolutely appropriate; his other actions beyond number are not.
Rich, the problems on the waterbuck hunt (day 14?) began on the zebra hunt (day 1?). You tried to overcome them, and succeeded to a great extent. But I've seen you shoot that .338 very, very well off-hand. The shooting that you've described has been the perfect example to me of a concept that I've never heard named before you coined it, but have seen many times in shooters in competitions and hunts. I've seen it in other sports (golf, of all things), but it always involves a man losing faith in himself, and overthinking the situation, until he loses skills that he had down cold, just the week before. Each miss is a confirmation of his "proper" self-disgust. Even a laudable shot gets no attention in the cinema of the mind, which must repeatedly replay the low points.
You're a good hunter, Rich. Remember the high points:
You spotted and bagged the Kudu on your own.
You completed a classic stalk and shoot of a very, very tough big buff (a story that you will remember for the rest of your life, and which I envy you for.).
You popped the Klipspringer and the bushpig handily.
You saved the hunt for Danny. You saved much of the hunt for yourself.
This has not been a failure, Rich. It's been a trial. Sometimes, those make pretty good adventures.
I look forward to hunting with you again. And hey! Look! It's almost time for you to break out that Bubba-ized Handi-Rifle again!
Rich:
What you went through reminds me of the kind of harassment/hazing you get in the military, or, most recently for me, in a college refing camp. A guy gets right behind you, yells at you, pushes you around, points out your smallest mistakes, and makes a Federal case out of them. Under those conditions, I lost it, started screaming at the guy, and game was over. Yes, he got under my skin. Since he's the ref reviewer for the State of Kali high school championship games, I'm not likely to ever get one. But then I'm not black, female, oriental, hispanic, and 30, either,etc. all of which are represented out of proportion to the racial mixup of refs in NorCal, anyway.
But, it was worth it to stand up to the guy, and give him both barrels.
Under that kind of pressure, and harassment, it's very difficult to keep your cool, and, shooting requires being totally focused.
Bottom line is at this point, the experience has beaten you down, and, you find error behind your every action.
Life seperates it's self into categories. Those things you can do something about, and, those you can't. You are not going to solve Africa's history of screwed up race relations, poor pay, etc. though you did make a big difference by spending the money to go hunting there. You aren't going to solve Pete's demons. After what you posted, it sounds to me that Pete has transfered his responsibility and blame for the injury of his companions, from where it should be, with himself, to you, and his clients.
Regardless of what you see, Pete has a problem with what he's doing, and, clients. I'm not going to trust your judgement on why those situations are occuring. I think he would have picked ANY excuse to demean, and degrade any client at this point, and, any deviation from industry standard is probably something he's going to go back to the boys and tell stories about. He's going to place the blame on anything but where it really should be, squarely on Pete's shoulders.
Those demons are clearly Pete's, and, if I was in his shoes,
I would be looking for any excuse, but to face the facts that I might well have been responsible for the death, or injury, of two of my friends.
Under the circumstances, be greatful that no one died, or was injured. Pete's actions seem to be set on recreating
the situations that caused the injury of his trackers. He created the tension, and situation that made shooting very difficult, almost as if that was what he wanted. Perhaps he has to atone for his actions by tracking dangerous game himself, injured, and perhaps there is some deep secret, that only he knows, that his mismanagement caused the death, and injury of his friends.
Again, the animals you shot are beautiful, and no one ever said Africa was easy. YOU HANDLED THE SITUATION AS A MAN, WITH DIGNITY, AND WISDOM. I'D BE PROUD TO HUNT WITH YOU ANYTIME.
God Bless, and keep your chin up. You've done very well, in a very difficult situation.
Pete's the one to blame for your injured games' pain, not you. Creating a situation where a client can shoot well is his job, not yours. I just hope God rewards Pete with what
he deserves, for the pain and suffering he's caused to the Lords' creations. I'm SURE HE will.
S
What you went through reminds me of the kind of harassment/hazing you get in the military, or, most recently for me, in a college refing camp. A guy gets right behind you, yells at you, pushes you around, points out your smallest mistakes, and makes a Federal case out of them. Under those conditions, I lost it, started screaming at the guy, and game was over. Yes, he got under my skin. Since he's the ref reviewer for the State of Kali high school championship games, I'm not likely to ever get one. But then I'm not black, female, oriental, hispanic, and 30, either,etc. all of which are represented out of proportion to the racial mixup of refs in NorCal, anyway.
But, it was worth it to stand up to the guy, and give him both barrels.
Under that kind of pressure, and harassment, it's very difficult to keep your cool, and, shooting requires being totally focused.
Bottom line is at this point, the experience has beaten you down, and, you find error behind your every action.
Life seperates it's self into categories. Those things you can do something about, and, those you can't. You are not going to solve Africa's history of screwed up race relations, poor pay, etc. though you did make a big difference by spending the money to go hunting there. You aren't going to solve Pete's demons. After what you posted, it sounds to me that Pete has transfered his responsibility and blame for the injury of his companions, from where it should be, with himself, to you, and his clients.
Regardless of what you see, Pete has a problem with what he's doing, and, clients. I'm not going to trust your judgement on why those situations are occuring. I think he would have picked ANY excuse to demean, and degrade any client at this point, and, any deviation from industry standard is probably something he's going to go back to the boys and tell stories about. He's going to place the blame on anything but where it really should be, squarely on Pete's shoulders.
Those demons are clearly Pete's, and, if I was in his shoes,
I would be looking for any excuse, but to face the facts that I might well have been responsible for the death, or injury, of two of my friends.
Under the circumstances, be greatful that no one died, or was injured. Pete's actions seem to be set on recreating
the situations that caused the injury of his trackers. He created the tension, and situation that made shooting very difficult, almost as if that was what he wanted. Perhaps he has to atone for his actions by tracking dangerous game himself, injured, and perhaps there is some deep secret, that only he knows, that his mismanagement caused the death, and injury of his friends.
Again, the animals you shot are beautiful, and no one ever said Africa was easy. YOU HANDLED THE SITUATION AS A MAN, WITH DIGNITY, AND WISDOM. I'D BE PROUD TO HUNT WITH YOU ANYTIME.
God Bless, and keep your chin up. You've done very well, in a very difficult situation.
Pete's the one to blame for your injured games' pain, not you. Creating a situation where a client can shoot well is his job, not yours. I just hope God rewards Pete with what
he deserves, for the pain and suffering he's caused to the Lords' creations. I'm SURE HE will.
S
Is this the hunter, Peter Fick, and the company?
http://mokoresafaris.com/Professional Hunters.htm
S
http://mokoresafaris.com/Professional Hunters.htm
S
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Soc-
Doesn't matter. The Pete in this story is not here to defend himself and I don't think I should positively identify. If anyone is going to Zim, contact me direct and I'll confirm.
Thanks to Socrates, Matt and springmom for the sensitivity. I'm in Joburg now. It's over and I can speak a bit more freely than I felt able at the camp.
The darkness that you see in my past two days posts was not so much kicking myself for the shot. It was an error; an unacceptable one, but it doesn't detract from my overall confidence in my shooting.
What I was reacting to was, I now realize, the overwhelming commercialization of the experience. I read guys like Ruark and Hemingway while preparing, enroute and in the field. Jock of the Bushfeldt, Denatured Africa, classics.That's the Africa I'm looking for and have glimpsed in former hunts here. I could care less about the horns or the trophies on the wall.
I've been blessed to have hunted with three other PH's each of whom understood this and seemed to enjoy the same things. This entire Zim experience seemed to be about putting game on the ground; worse, just to put blood on the ground, it mattering not who finished it. I've never seen that kind of pressure anywhere I've hunted, stateside or here, and it took its toll on me.
Acting out against the PH would have done me no good; I was stuck there for the duration. All I could do was attempt to slide past him until tip time and then make a statement, in addition to sending a follow up email of the experience.
Matt's right....I beat him once and he caught me again. Still, the Waterbuck was not his "fault"; it wasn't my "fault" either. But it was my error. External pressure is not a bad thing in shooting. It's just not appropriate in a hunting environment. Especially not that kind of pressure to shoot, shot, shoot. The game deserves better and they knew up front that I was in no great rush to kill another Eland or Kudu.
Matt has pegged me and Socrates has, I think, pegged Pete to a "T". I don't think he's the same PH he was last year. The guilt of having a tracker killed because the PH wasn't even carrying a rifle must be enormous. His disdain for clients (at least for me) is, I agree, an issue of transference; and his warped gratification when something was wounded (that he could later kill) belies a need for validation that has no room in Professional Hunting.
Soc put it perfectly when he said, "Creating a situation where a client can shoot well is his job". I couldn't agree more. And, over our objections they were hunting Cape Buff on Day 1; both were put down by Day 4. That makes no sense from the standpoint of merchandising, hunter safety, or respect for the game.
I hope he gets past this or finds another line of work. Meantime, I'll be contacting Danie Van Graan, a real hunter's PH, to shop SCI this year for Danny and I to hunt in 2008....Botswana or Tanzania again, I think.
Rich
Doesn't matter. The Pete in this story is not here to defend himself and I don't think I should positively identify. If anyone is going to Zim, contact me direct and I'll confirm.
Thanks to Socrates, Matt and springmom for the sensitivity. I'm in Joburg now. It's over and I can speak a bit more freely than I felt able at the camp.
The darkness that you see in my past two days posts was not so much kicking myself for the shot. It was an error; an unacceptable one, but it doesn't detract from my overall confidence in my shooting.
What I was reacting to was, I now realize, the overwhelming commercialization of the experience. I read guys like Ruark and Hemingway while preparing, enroute and in the field. Jock of the Bushfeldt, Denatured Africa, classics.That's the Africa I'm looking for and have glimpsed in former hunts here. I could care less about the horns or the trophies on the wall.
I've been blessed to have hunted with three other PH's each of whom understood this and seemed to enjoy the same things. This entire Zim experience seemed to be about putting game on the ground; worse, just to put blood on the ground, it mattering not who finished it. I've never seen that kind of pressure anywhere I've hunted, stateside or here, and it took its toll on me.
Acting out against the PH would have done me no good; I was stuck there for the duration. All I could do was attempt to slide past him until tip time and then make a statement, in addition to sending a follow up email of the experience.
Matt's right....I beat him once and he caught me again. Still, the Waterbuck was not his "fault"; it wasn't my "fault" either. But it was my error. External pressure is not a bad thing in shooting. It's just not appropriate in a hunting environment. Especially not that kind of pressure to shoot, shot, shoot. The game deserves better and they knew up front that I was in no great rush to kill another Eland or Kudu.
Matt has pegged me and Socrates has, I think, pegged Pete to a "T". I don't think he's the same PH he was last year. The guilt of having a tracker killed because the PH wasn't even carrying a rifle must be enormous. His disdain for clients (at least for me) is, I agree, an issue of transference; and his warped gratification when something was wounded (that he could later kill) belies a need for validation that has no room in Professional Hunting.
Soc put it perfectly when he said, "Creating a situation where a client can shoot well is his job". I couldn't agree more. And, over our objections they were hunting Cape Buff on Day 1; both were put down by Day 4. That makes no sense from the standpoint of merchandising, hunter safety, or respect for the game.
I hope he gets past this or finds another line of work. Meantime, I'll be contacting Danie Van Graan, a real hunter's PH, to shop SCI this year for Danny and I to hunt in 2008....Botswana or Tanzania again, I think.
Rich
Wonderful pictures and storytelling Rich. I am sorry to say we have yet to have the African experience but have enjoyed Alaska and Texas guided trips.
The trips where we were "allowed" to hunt for ourselves are certainly the most enjoyable and memorable. The two I regret having taken part of were a Halibut charter and a knife hog hunt. With both I was left feeling much as you described, Like a spectator, there to observe the masterful hunting or fishing skills of the guide.
We have had the oppurtunity for do-overs on both and the second go-roun' was definitely a charm.
Needless to say, remember the positive, forget the negative and look anxiously forward to the next time.
Safe trip home.
P.S. That Bushpig certainly "LOOKS" as big as a Texas hog.
The trips where we were "allowed" to hunt for ourselves are certainly the most enjoyable and memorable. The two I regret having taken part of were a Halibut charter and a knife hog hunt. With both I was left feeling much as you described, Like a spectator, there to observe the masterful hunting or fishing skills of the guide.
We have had the oppurtunity for do-overs on both and the second go-roun' was definitely a charm.
Needless to say, remember the positive, forget the negative and look anxiously forward to the next time.
Safe trip home.
P.S. That Bushpig certainly "LOOKS" as big as a Texas hog.
Compelling read.
What I was reacting to was, I now realize, the overwhelming commercialization of the experience. I read guys like Ruark and Hemingway while preparing, enroute and in the field. Jock of the Bushfeldt, Denatured Africa, classics.That's the Africa I'm looking for and have glimpsed in former hunts here. I could care less about the horns or the trophies on the wall.
I've been blessed to have hunted with three other PH's each of whom understood this and seemed to enjoy the same things. This entire Zim experience seemed to be about putting game on the ground; worse, just to put blood on the ground, it mattering not who finished it. I've never seen that kind of pressure anywhere I've hunted, stateside or here, and it took its toll on me.
+1 - Enjoyed evey word. Welcome back home.
Charlie.
What I was reacting to was, I now realize, the overwhelming commercialization of the experience. I read guys like Ruark and Hemingway while preparing, enroute and in the field. Jock of the Bushfeldt, Denatured Africa, classics.That's the Africa I'm looking for and have glimpsed in former hunts here. I could care less about the horns or the trophies on the wall.
I've been blessed to have hunted with three other PH's each of whom understood this and seemed to enjoy the same things. This entire Zim experience seemed to be about putting game on the ground; worse, just to put blood on the ground, it mattering not who finished it. I've never seen that kind of pressure anywhere I've hunted, stateside or here, and it took its toll on me.
+1 - Enjoyed evey word. Welcome back home.
Charlie.
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Home, showered, rested and well fed.
One custom built DRC Custom 50 AK, one Blaser .338, one Leupold 1.75X6 scope plus Blaser mount, one Leupold 3X10 scope plus Blaser Mount, one Mad Dog Panther-
Missing in Action; not in South Africa Airline's system.
Such are the vagaries of "hunting".
Rich
One custom built DRC Custom 50 AK, one Blaser .338, one Leupold 1.75X6 scope plus Blaser mount, one Leupold 3X10 scope plus Blaser Mount, one Mad Dog Panther-
Missing in Action; not in South Africa Airline's system.
Such are the vagaries of "hunting".
Rich
Keep your chin up Rich....
My last trip to Africa my bag was missing for almost 3 weeks....I know...not guns or near as important as guns but yet knives, favorite boots and other old familar things that are like comfort food....finally dropped off at my house and not one thing was missing or even looking like it had been tampered with.
I know ...try to keep the blood pressure down and good luck....I am sure you will get them back. Doug
My last trip to Africa my bag was missing for almost 3 weeks....I know...not guns or near as important as guns but yet knives, favorite boots and other old familar things that are like comfort food....finally dropped off at my house and not one thing was missing or even looking like it had been tampered with.
I know ...try to keep the blood pressure down and good luck....I am sure you will get them back. DougUniversalFrost
New member
Hopefully you had them insured. Same thing happened to me on a hunting trip to Manitoba for Moose, and caribou. Guns and other luggage never showed up until my insurance company filed a claim against the airline. Magicly it re-appeared in their system and I had it a week later.
Best of luck on getting it back.
Best of luck on getting it back.
Seems to have stired the hornets nest over at accurate
http://forums.accuratereloading.com/eve/forums/a/tpc/f/1411043/m/565106935/p/1
Posted 19 September 2006 23:20
I just returned from my first African safari. I was in the same camp as Rich to hunt Leopard and plains game. I arrived there a couple days later than he, after taking a Buffalo in the Chewore Safari Area with Mokore Safaris.
After reading his accounts about his PH Pete, the food and Mokore Safaris in general, I'm appalled. I had exactly the opposite impressions. The staff was highly motivated & professional, the food was outstanding and the hunting exceptional.
The only blemish to my safari experience was having to share time in camp with "the worlds authority on everything".
I tend to dig my heels in when confronted by people who are rude & arrogant, people who enjoy trying to control every situation and trying to control the people around them. People who, in my opinion, drink a little too much. I walked away from every possible confrontational situation because that's what my mama taught me to do. However, after reading what had been written here, I had to put in my two cents worth.
I'm just an average guy who doesn't have alot of money. I had to save a long time to make this trip. All I can say is I'm starting to save in ernest for a return trip to Africa, this time I will take my wife along. I will book my next hunt with Mokore Safaris without any hesitation.
http://forums.accuratereloading.com/eve/forums/a/tpc/f/1411043/m/565106935/p/1
Posted 19 September 2006 23:20
I just returned from my first African safari. I was in the same camp as Rich to hunt Leopard and plains game. I arrived there a couple days later than he, after taking a Buffalo in the Chewore Safari Area with Mokore Safaris.
After reading his accounts about his PH Pete, the food and Mokore Safaris in general, I'm appalled. I had exactly the opposite impressions. The staff was highly motivated & professional, the food was outstanding and the hunting exceptional.
The only blemish to my safari experience was having to share time in camp with "the worlds authority on everything".
I tend to dig my heels in when confronted by people who are rude & arrogant, people who enjoy trying to control every situation and trying to control the people around them. People who, in my opinion, drink a little too much. I walked away from every possible confrontational situation because that's what my mama taught me to do. However, after reading what had been written here, I had to put in my two cents worth.
I'm just an average guy who doesn't have alot of money. I had to save a long time to make this trip. All I can say is I'm starting to save in ernest for a return trip to Africa, this time I will take my wife along. I will book my next hunt with Mokore Safaris without any hesitation.
Rich Lucibella
Staff
Well, I'm not going to get into a Board War over this. There were only two other hunters in the camp plus one wife. I found them each quite pleasant though I hardly spent a great deal of time chatting them up, let alone holding myself out as authority on anything when my own shooting was not stellar.
Regarding FE's very different experience, this was freely admitted by me in an email to the owners:
I'm not out to bash Mokore or Pete. The journal entries clearly demonstrate that I take full responsibility for my shooting, good and bad. I'm simply saying the experience was hardly comparable to three other Safari's there. FE has no other experience to compare it to.
As to my drinking "too much", that would be about right from the perspective of a tea totaler. FE doesn't drink and I respect that. I do. After the hunt. Sometimes liberally. I don't think anyone can accuse me of having been intoxicated at camp, having handled a firearm after taking a drink, having taken a drink before or during the hunt (or at lunch) or having failed to be quite sober and ready to go at 5am reveille.
Rich
Regarding FE's very different experience, this was freely admitted by me in an email to the owners:
I'm not out to bash Mokore or Pete. The journal entries clearly demonstrate that I take full responsibility for my shooting, good and bad. I'm simply saying the experience was hardly comparable to three other Safari's there. FE has no other experience to compare it to.
As to my drinking "too much", that would be about right from the perspective of a tea totaler. FE doesn't drink and I respect that. I do. After the hunt. Sometimes liberally. I don't think anyone can accuse me of having been intoxicated at camp, having handled a firearm after taking a drink, having taken a drink before or during the hunt (or at lunch) or having failed to be quite sober and ready to go at 5am reveille.
Rich
Capt. Charlie
Moderator Emeritus
Any luck in retrieving your guns, Rich?
mikejonestkd
New member
Rich,
I just spent 30 minutes reading the entire post, WHAT A STORY!!!
Thanks for sharing the experience with us, I am glad for all the great things that you experienced and sorry for the bad, I hope that you get your guns back.
I just spent 30 minutes reading the entire post, WHAT A STORY!!!
Thanks for sharing the experience with us, I am glad for all the great things that you experienced and sorry for the bad, I hope that you get your guns back.