Two and a half hours after spotting the herd, I’m on the sticks. The wind, almost imperceptible but constantly switching, had not been friendly. I picked a spot, settled the front sight, and began to squeeze the trigger. This was the culmination 20 years of dreaming of Africa.

Growing up, I imagined myself following in the footsteps of John Hunter and Teddy Roosevelt chasing the infamous Cape buffalo. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My dad, Andy, was the same way. The difference was that his dream had been nagging at him for a good 40 years longer than mine. Going from dream to reality was simply making the decision.

I’ll skip the boring frustrations of getting there. It was typical of the times as COVID-19 was still a thorn in the travel industry’s (and traveler’s) side. I do recommend knowing your airlines firearms policies front and back as well as those for countries you may be flying through. We had an unexpected reroute through the Netherlands. This required a firearm import/export permit that we would not have had time for had we not caught the change early.

Our outfitter, Jurie Meyer (Jurie Meyer Safaris), and his wife, Celia, met us at the Johannesburg airport and drove us to a guesthouse in Pretoria. There was a curfew in Gauteng province brought on by a spike in COVID cases and unrest in Johannesburg surrounding the arrest of former president Jacob Zuma. Driving in Africa reminded of the Middle East so we welcomed a chance to lay down and see the countryside in the daytime.

We arrived at the property around lunchtime. It was a beautiful piece of real estate of about 20,000 acres surrounded by thousands of additional acres within the same conservancy. The main house had electricity and was where the meat we shot would be stored. The camp featured comfortable thatch-roofed houses. Hot water was available, though intermittent at times. A couple hours a day, a generator was fired up to keep the kitchen fridge cold and to allow us time to charge phones. We also met the rest of our staff.

My PH would be a man named Russell who had been either a PH or game manager most of his adult life. We discussed at length everything from game meats to the hunting industry and all animals from squirrels to elephants. Our tracker was a Zimbabwean man named Mechanic who had worked with Jurie for over twenty years . After re-zeroing the rifles we rode around a bit to get the lay of the land. It was immediately apparent that this was a game rich area.

Buffalo on Deck

The next morning started early. It was unusually cold. While driving along a ridge, we crossed fresh sign. The early morning sun was just starting to illuminate the slope and I was reminded of a spot I knew where deer could often be found getting some warmth on cold mornings. Shortly thereafter, we stumbled upon a herd of buffalo bulls. What luck!!

We backed up further up the ridge to dismount out of sight. The herd moved up on a parallel ridge. We hailed Jurie on the radio to come join us. He came with another tracker, Ndomiso, along with Dad and my brother, Matt. As we were standing around creating a strategy, the herd suddenly reappeared. One young bull stood alone staring us down. Robert Ruark once wrote that buffalo looked at you like you owe them money. I can attest this is 100% true. The small one moved off with the rest close behind. None presented a shot. We were, however, able to confirm at least one shooter in the group.

We circled around down the hill to gain the wind and started moving up a draw. Stalking was painfully slow. Everything crunched underfoot. Visibility had shrunk considerably. We reacquired the bulls but a switch in the wind soon sent them thundering off further into the bush. The process was repeated. This time, I was on the sticks waiting for our bull to step into an opening. These animals were never more than 30 yards distant, but the cover made it difficult to ever find a whole animal. Again, they winded us.

Finally, on the third attempt, we were able to get an opening on the target bull. He stepped up in that classic pose. The same “owe them money” look. Almost daring you to try something. I repeated my mantra. “Be a good hunter. Pick a spot.” Just like so many times before on squirrels. Except this squirrel was 1500 pounds with horns and an attitude. The angle was directly frontal. The tips of the grass were just brushing a spot approximately one-third up and dead center his massive chest.

I squeezed the trigger and sent a 300 grain bonded soft point his way. Through the recoil, I could see him lurch forward and throw his head down. A sure sign that he had been walloped. I racked another round and scanned. He was lost for a few seconds in the brush and chaos that ensued. His posse left him behind and we could clearly hear him breathing heavily. I saw him coughing up literal buckets of blood and put another 300 grainer, this time a solid, into his shoulder and he fell. It was only a few seconds before we heard the death bellow. Our first animal in Africa was down.

A curious thing then happened. His partners came back and began to hook and beat up his body. We could only speculate that he had been the dominate bull of this bachelor group and they were getting back at him. They stuck around until we had to chase them off. At this point, the insurance was paid. A third round to the back of the neck.

Not much can really prepare you for the size of these animals. I have been within slapping distance of Spanish fighting bulls and was still astonished. Heavily muscled and stoutly built, even in death they are breathtaking. Having my father as part of the backup and brother to capture pictures and videos made the experience more special. My bull measured a spread of 38 and a quarter inches with extremely closed bosses. After hanging him for a couple days, we cooked the tenderloins wrapped in tin foil directly on the coals of the fire during our traditional sundowners. The very next day, Dad would take a 42.75 inch bull. Possibly the largest ever taken on that property. Now I could focus on plains game.

Are Ewe Kidding Me?

I had no real goals for plains game. I just wanted time afield with my .375H&H. Impala, the whitetail of Africa, proved to be one of the most wary. We rarely saw them standing still. We heard hyenas regularly and saw one leopard (both predators roam freely in this region), so we did not know if they had the animals on edge or if it was something else. Impala travel in large herds so that the number of eyes, together with the unpredictable winds and corn flake texture of the leaf litter, made stalking seem impossible.

After a couple days of trying and failing, it finally came together.  We shadowed a herd for some time. They spotted us a couple times while other times the herd just decided to move off. They pinned us down for 5-10 minutes. Just shadows and flickers mostly. The wind remained in our favor and they settled down.

Eventually, we determined that there were no shooter rams in the group. However, the landowner gave us permission to shoot ewes to thin the herd. We caught up with the animals feeding on a brushy hillside. Looking across, I could see one ewe by herself about 80 yards away. She turned to walk across my window of opportunity and I center-punched her shoulder. She was dead before she hit the ground. Her belly flashed in the sunlight. Impala are a beautiful little antelope. “Little” being a matter of perspective as they are still about the size of our whitetail deer.

Rams In the Thicket

The next day found us just on the other side of the ridge where we first encountered my buffalo. I spotted another herd of impala and we gave chase. Slowly moving through the brush, we herd them gallop off. Spooked but not scared. The wind remained in our faces and Mechanic relocated them. I had a single opening at about 50 yards where they were filing past as they fed.

With my naked eye, I caught a glimpse of horn on the edge of my window. I threw up my binos and confirmed it to be a mature ram and whispered to Russell who replied, “Yes, he’s a good ram. Take him.” The ram was already moving, and I had a mere second or two to pull the trigger. The rifle barked and the herd vanished.

Upon finding the hit site, we noticed chewed grass and gut material on the ground. My heart sank at the thought of a gut shot. After a few yards, Mechanic found a few drops of blood interspersed with the stomach contents. Then, to my surprise, the trail turned into good blood. My spirits rose and we found him dead after maybe 80 yards. The shot was a couple inches back. The ram was dead in just a few seconds and measured just over 20” on his longest horn.

The Sickness

I shot a waterbuck on another evening stalk. He measured 25.5 inches on his longer horn and provided my favorite steaks. All told, our party of four guns accounted for 13 heads in the salt. They say the first thing you do after finishing your first African safari is start planning your second and I can say that Africa in my blood now. Until next time, I have my stories, pictures, and a few more scratches on my favorite rifle and will gladly regale anybody who will listen. If there is any hunter out there who is uneasy about traveling to Africa, stop stalling and go.

A version of this article originally appeared on harvestingnature.com.