We crept up to a rock fig tree. These trees are unique as they grow from the midst of a jumble of boulders. Clayton motioned me down, he slowly retreated to me, “there is a large zebra, I can just see the top of it, let me walk back there and see if I can see if we can get a shot. Leaving us squatting he moved back to another fig tree about 50 meters to the back of us. The tracker and me squatted, the tracker grabbing a blade of grass and chewing on it. In my mind the zebra is an animal even a novice can identify as from Africa. Out of our package I had picked the zebra instead of a kudu, the kudu is a magnificent animal, but for me a zebra was all about the dark continent. Zebra males are hard to spot as they are obviously no horns and its hind quarters hide his package. I had read that it is always a mare that leads the herd out of danger and the last animal is a stallion that frequently looks back at whatever caused the disturbance. While it is legal to take either sex Clayton and myself had agreed that we would only hunt an older male. Clayton had forewarned me that the stallions that are old are likely to have scars from duels in which these animals viciously bite each other. I was okay with that, would add character. He also painstakingly had pointed out males and females to me, explaining that females had a thinner neck and had a potbelly, there was no way of knowing so hunters got to insure that the one that they are about to shoot is endowed, well or not. Alternate cycles of boredom and excitement rushed through my veins. I must have not been alone as the tracked gestured to me to follow him, he carefully crept closer to Clayton’s position, our land mark was the fig tree that Clayton had gone around, we sat down in the rocks there, it was somewhat sheltered from the wind. I wondered if my kids were behaving themselves or were they driving my wife nuts.
Small rock fig tree, not the one we concealed ourselves behind:
My revere was broken by a rustle, Clayton was slowly backing away to us, half crouched, the hair on the nape of my neck stood up in anticipation while doubts nagged me, maybe it was a damn blesbuck and Clayton did not want to give us away. Clayton gestured me over, I crouched and went up to him “There is a stallion facing us, seems he knows we are here, we will go up and see if we can get a shot. Don’t shoot till I tell you, also aim for the triangle on his shoulder. This took me back to an earlier conversation we had wherein Clayton told me that I should shoot the load I was comfortable with, I had told him that these were only 165 grains (all the reading I had done had talked about 185 grain in a 30.06 for Zebra), he had told me that the Barnes were tough enough and it was about shooting in the right place. He had explained that there was a small triangle made on the shoulder of the zebra (I was amazed to hear that they all had this triangle, no more than 3 inches wide, I had thought the stripes were a random pattern). “are you loaded” Clayton whispered, I hurriedly chambered a round hoping that the sound would not spook the game, “He is a ways out” said Clayton, “do not shoot if you are not comfortable” I nodded, I did not plan to, my self imposed rule of making sure had been broken yesterday and while I was unlucky that the impala got off I was very lucky not to have injured an animal. I wasn’t about to make that mistake for the second time. I cranked the scope up to 12 X, Clayton had said the animal was 200 odd yards away and to see that little triangle I would need the extra magnification.
Come on says Clayton, follow me, I try my best to imitate his crouch to no avail, my desktop warrior back screamed at me to stand straight, I dialed out the pain and focused on the head of a Zebra visible over the ridge, its ears perked, looking straight at us. Clayton put down his shooting sticks, these are three long poles attached to each other, when spread they provide a solid rest for the forearm of your rifle on the top. I put my gun on it and peered through the scope, the Leopold seemed to bring the animal within touching distance, I could see his alert black eyes, his nostrils quivering, trying to catch a whiff of us but we were down wind. We would have to wait and see what he did, we had no line to its shoulder. Clayton whispered, “he will come to get a better look at us be ready, don’t shoot till I make sure it’s a male” I nodded, I noticed that even his mane was clearly demarcated in white and black. It was a beautiful animal, unlike the ones in the zoo this one was live and tuned into its element. It was further away than I normally shoot, I usually try to get closer, there was no cover so this would be the best I could expect, self doubt nagged me since my missing the impala.
Suddenly it nodded its head up and down and moved up to take a look at me, I settled down behind the scope, my cheek welded to the warm walnut, cold air rushing into my lungs, my eyes smarting from the cold wind, Clayton whispered “wait, wait” in a calm soothing voice, then excitement levels built up in his voice “it’s the one we want, take him”, I saw that the stallion had had some erotic thoughts about his harem, he had a morning woodie, this was a male no doubt about it. I crushed the trigger, nothing, damn, damn it, in my excitement and second guessing I had forgotten to disengage the safety. The zebra moved broadside, angling away, damn, I was going to lose it, I clawed the safety off, I did keep the sight picture through the scope, today the animal made a mistake, it turned back quartering towards us, I slowly swung the rifle looking for that triangle, there it was, only me and the animal were there on earth, I could even see the ripple of muscles under his hide, I went into a trance like state, my eye was only looking at the triangle, I willed the bullet to go there and squeeze slowly, the trigger let off the sear in a surprise to me, we heard the distant “whap” of the bullet striking home, the noble beast turned in a millisecond and galloped away from us, I had no doubts like yesterday over the impala, I knew I had shot it well, question was how far would it go before it went down, both of us ran forward to clear the ledge so we could see, “ reload, reload” Clayton said, I yanked the bolt and the empty casing flew over my shoulder, I thrust the bolt handle forward with the heel of my palm and slammed it down when it was seated. We cleared the crest, there would be no second shot required, there it was lying in the grass, its life ebbing out of it. Dark thoughts crossed my mind, who was I to take this animals life, it was so in its element, I had disrupted that, was shooting an animal like this really sporting, wouldn’t it be more even if I was to hunt it with a bow or spear. I banished those thoughts and reminded myself to stay alert, this still wasn’t over till we were sure it was dead. We slowly walked up to it, rifle ready, on safe with my thumb on the safety, ready to pull it back (the Brno’s safety needs to be pulled back to fire, unlike American guns, more on that in a moment). Clayton pushed the shooting stick forward gently touching the animal in its eye to make sure it was down, I think he was also in awe of the wildlife even though he probably hunted everyday, had seen him do this several times but he was always gentle, as if the animal was alive and he did not want to hurt it. The stallion was down for ever. We opened his mouth to see his teeth, just to make sure we had shot an old one, not much we could have done anyways but for some strange reason we needed to know, it was like looking for justification, its teeth were worn down, he was old.
“It’s an old male, like you wanted, look at its coat, it doesn’t have any bite marks which is unique” Clayton bent over, “Very good shot, right in the middle of the triangle, that was a tough shot, over 250 with all the crosswinds, you made up for yesterday, very good shot, congratulations.” We pose the zebra while waiting for the truck. My boys are chattering excitedly, the moment it stops they jump out and run over “ did you get it dad” I smiled in my mind I was saying “no son we are in paradise, this beautiful animal is just play acting, its going to jump up and run away in a few” the innocence of children. They excited walk around the animal, boys are fascinated by hunting and swords and all my peacenik friends and relatives kids. When they come over to play all they want to only play with plastic swords and toy guns, its hardwired, don’t care what Dr Souse or anyone else says. “Look, like Clayton told us, all dead animal poo when they are dying, don’t step in it, see its got all ticks on it bum”. They were right, while it did not have any ticks anywhere else it had a bunch around its anus. Clayton told the kids “there used to be tick birds that eat these ticks but then cattlemen started dipping their cattle in insecticide to get rid of ticks and the tick bird nearly went away, zebra and other wildlife struggled as the ticks were so bad that they would be thick around the mothers udders and the calves could not drink milk and would die, now with the game ranches the tick bird is making a comeback”
I listened to them, my arm around my very forgiving and long suffering wife, and wondered, are any of these lessons going to be remembered, will they hunt ethically if at all, will they love wildlife, the solitude of the outdoors, going back 1,000 of years and connecting with their primeval ancestors, will they treasure these moments, will they be true stewards of all the wonderful creatures that the almighty has put on earth?
We have to use the winch to load the animal into the back of the truck, the boys want to ride in the cold, in the back with him. I am drained, I look at my wife, she had never hunted, since the outdoors was my thing she learn and adapted to making it her in her own way. She took pictures, made sure we took the right things when we traveled or camped, cooked great camp food and caught pneumonia while camping in the winter when I forgot one sleeping bag and she would not let me sleep without one so we slept on top of one with no covers. She smiled at me and squeezed my hand, she knew that the zebra was a lifelong dream for me and she was happy for me in realizing it.
Getting ready for the winch:
On the way back Clayton talked to me about a hunter in Botswana that had got gored through his thigh by a wounded buffalo as when charged he got confused with the Brno’s safety and pushed it forward putting it on safe where as in most American arms it would have been set to fire. I kept silent, had hunted only with Brno’s rifles or drillings and what had messed me up was missing an animal for the first time in my life.
We got to the skinning shed, Clayton talks to the boys about Zebra fillets, I though he is joking so I ask him what they will do with the meat, they will eat it he says, it fetches less money than the other game you shot but the poorer people need protein and they will eat it, also the fillets are very good, just like beef.
The zebra had a heart bigger then most men I know, the bullet had made a massive wound tearing through its heart, it had still turned and run 50 odd yards, maybe in its last seconds it was warning the rest of its herd to get away.I cannot see an exit wound when the animal is hoisted so I ask the skinners to keep it for me if they do. Clayton asks me how I want the skin, he tells me that they can skin the complete animal as one piece and the taxidermist can stitch back its ears so it makes one big rug. Even though it is cheaper, I think it is disrespectful to such a noble beast so I ask him for a shoulder mount and the rest of the skin separate so I can pin it to a wall. He nods, “That the right thing for a zebra he says”
Bullet performance, the larger shell is the 30.06 with its bullet recovered from the zebra, the smaller shell and bullet is from the 22.250
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Skinning hoist:
Explaining how bullets work:
Always clean your gun after it has been in a drizzle, watch and learn:
