Prologue
In this day and age, we’re quick to call somebody “friend”. And a hunting friendship is sworn even more quickly. But friendships today are more fragile than ever – we no longer give them enough time to grow naturally and steadily. A friendship starts with getting to know each other and discovering common interests; it deepens through intensification. It gains stability through trust and resolution of first conflicts, and continues to grow through mutual support. Finally, friendships experience shared moments of particular emotional depth. Hunting together in distant countries brings plenty of such moments. So it’s fair to say that hunting trips take hunters’ friendships to new heights.
The Great Karoo
Last spring, my wife Ilka and I finally returned to South Africa. But this time we were not traveling alone; we were going with our English friends. It was their first trip to the region, and we were looking forward to exploring this beautiful country with them. The Karoo is a semi-desert region within the Western Cape, Eastern Cape and Northern Cape provinces of South Africa, extending to the south of Namibia. The name Karoo is derived from the Khoisan word ǃ’Aukarob, meaning “dry, arid, stony land”. European immigrants, mainly of Dutch descent, adopted this term for the vegetation of thelandscapes they called droogeveld, meaning “dry field”.
Generally speaking, there are two distinct regions: Great Karoo and Little Karoo. Our destination, after landing in the old coastal city of Port Elizabeth and meeting up with our English friends, is Graaff-Reinet, a town in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. This old colonial town is a captivating mix of history and natural beauty. Founded in 1786, the town boasts well-preserved Cape Dutch architecture, which has earned it the nickname “Jewel of the Karoo”. A little further away is the Buccara Wildlife Reserve Karoo with the historic Willowslopes Lodge farm. Our hunting guides Glen and Johan, who picked us up in Port Elizabeth, drive us there.
First days at Willowslopes
We arrive at the farm shortly before midnight. Our English friends move into two new lodges; our home for the next few days will be the old farmhouse. For our first morning, we’ve arranged to sleep in a bit and have a leisurely breakfast. The farm’s picturesque location is almost hidden, surrounded by rocky hills. Around the securely fenced grounds are the newly built houses of the employees and hunting guides. The pool looks just as inviting as the barbecue areas in the well-tended green spaces.
We all immediately feel at home and look forward to the days ahead. Glen and Johan form two hunting teams for the week and we split up between them. Gary and Brett want to hunt with rental guns; Ilka and I have brought our trusty Steyr bolt-action rifles from home.
After a few control shots at the nearby shooting range, we initially head off in separate directions so as not to endanger each other unnecessarily and to double our chances of hunting success. We are in contact with each other via radio and keep hearing about game coming into view. But either the wind is not right this morning or the game cannot be approved for shooting. Over lunch and coffee, our friends are full of impressions. Excitement grows by the minute as we anticipate our afternoon stalk.
In the afternoon, events come thick and fast: Ilka manages a good steep shot uphill at a waterbuck, which we can only retrieve with several helpers due to the rocky terrain. We pull the buck onto a strong tarpaulin, lifted by three men on each side and carried downhill to the pick-up truck. We drive together to the estate’s well-organized game cooling house, located between the two farms and run by a few hunting assistants. In the afternoon, Ilka, Glen and I want to visit a valley with a nearly-dry riverbed. The previous day, as we drove past, we had spotted a group of young waterbucks. Glen hopes to find them there again. So we leave the truck some distance away to stalk them. The wind is good, but the cover is poor. We slowly make our way across the reddish, dry, uneven ground towards a small group of bushes with a bit of open water. The last few meters on all fours, until we find cover. And there they are! However, some of the waterbucks seem to have noticed us – they look nervous. Perhaps the baboons, sitting a little way off on the rocks to our right, have given us away by shouting excitedly. The choice is not particularly difficult; the animals are all equally slender.
The gun is resting calmly on my trusty shooting stick when the shot rings out. I’ve clearly hit the bull and the herd scatters in all directions. We wait a while until we go retrieve the animal. Yes, there is blood, but the animal itself is nowhere to be found. The red, velvety sand swallows the drops of blood immediately, just like cold snow does at home. So we have a bit of trouble tracking. After about 200 meters, I see the bull lying in thorny undergrowth, having been felled by a lung shot. We are always amazed by the incredible stamina of African game. Ilka, Glen and I ponder this as we bid farewell to the waterbuck bull, while the Land Cruiser with the tracker approaches from a distance.
Shared, successful hunts
Days of hunting together pass like hours. Ilka and I have a good hunt for impala. We decide to switch teams so that we can experience the days even more intensively together. Glen and Johan, who seem to enjoy our friendship and the excitement of mutual success, crown each hunting day with a highlight: a cold Windhoek camp at agreed meeting points, a gin and tonic in the evening sun with a breathtaking panorama, and more. The two guides are also willing and able to respond to spontaneous requests or suggestions. One particularly hot afternoon, Glen, Ilka, and I spot a herd of wildebeest that includes a suitable bull. But stalking isn’t possible. The wind and terrain don’t allow us to get any closer. I ask Glen whether our friends, who are moving through another part of the hunting grounds, could make better use of this opportunity. A brief conversation with Johan on the radio confirms this. And so we drive a little closer to the game and get into a better position for observation. The valley where the herd is standing seems to be full of game. Suddenly, various game species appear from all around, seemingly seeking protection from the sun. Are they getting wind of us? To avoid this, we stop and scan the landscape. Finally, we see the vehicle of Johan’s group. The game in the valley is now calm and at ease. We watch as Johan, Gary, and Brett leave the vehicle and slowly approach the wildebeest in a crouched position. The distance between them and the herd is perhaps 250 to 300 meters when Johan sets up his shooting stick in front of Gary. These are moments of incredible tension until we finally hear the shot from the .30-06 and see how the fatally hit wildebeest bull leaps away briefly before collapsing among some bushes. We send our congratulations via walkie-talkie, but wait until the valley is empty before descending – we don’t want to worry the game unnecessarily. Finally, we head down to our friends and fall into each other’s arms, beaming with joy. The shot was a good one and we have some trouble hoisting the bull onto the pick-up together. But with the experience of the two hunting guides, and thanks to our combined muscle power, we manage to retrieve the animal without the help of any equipment. One last day of hunting lies ahead of us, and we enjoy a long night under the starry firmament of the Great Karoo. We’ll never forget what we’ve experienced here. And the emotional moments of hunting together have deepened our friendship further.
