First of all, I am no expert on Africa - still a total 'Mzunga'... but I have taken quite a lot of game in Tanzania, mostly out West, about 15 miles from Burundi and about 200 miles north of Kigoma on the Malagarasi River in the Central Moya Wosi.
One hairy thing that happened on my last trip is as follows:
My brother had first shot at Cape Buffalo, and he made a good hit on a big bull .. through the left front shoulder and (we found out later) thru both lungs ... We waited about ten minutes then began slowly (damn slowly) started walking into the mopane scrub brush toward the last sighting of the thing. The trackers in front, then the PH, then Tom, then I was last - about five feet behind and to the right of Tom, since this was not my show -- I'm just along for the ride, right??? Finally, the trackers began pointing into the tall grass ahead -- and slowly eased back behind us.
The Buff was laying down in some heavy, tall grass facing directly
at us -- looking damn shopworn. The PH said to just stand by and he
would go 'way' around the side and put in a finisher. No Problem, that's
what he gets paid a grand a day for, right? So he got out about 40 yds to
the side of the Buff and "shot the bastard in the butt" in his words ...
("helluva shot" in my words).
The Buff took exception and my Bro took to a Miombo tree (Momma didn't raise Tom to be a fool) ... I would like to say that I said "We ought to shoot this animal again" but truth is I began yelling to "start shooting and RIGHT DAMN NOW" .. The Buff saw me in the open (like a fool) and here commenced the rodeo. The PH couldn't get in a decent shot because of the tall grass and Bro was bear-huggin' a tree ... I shot just under the chin into the center of the chest and the round (a .375 H & H Mag 300 grain solid Barnes in front of 74.5 grains of 4350) had absolutely no effect at all (other than nearly deafening my Bro) ... Buff still coming at about 30 yds under full steam by this time with all his gun ports open ... Bro whacked him in the right shoulder, but didn't break it .. Buff still coming full blast .. I shot again into right shoulder just over curve of horn .. no effect. PH got a shot into the left shoulder .. Buff felt that one (a .458 Lott - 500 grain Barnes Solid) .. but still coming. I shot again ..ain't got a clue where that one went (I think I missed the whole darn Buff, if you can believe that) .. and Bro whacked him again .. hit a horn (another helluva shot) .. the PH got in another .458 Lott and I got in another .375 soft and Bro got in another 375 solid .. Buff was blowing red froth out his mouth and nose but finally gave up ... distance about 8 yds from MY prized belt buckle and personals (in reverse order). The darn thing still wasn't dead, but was hangin' up the "closed for business" sign. We were hangin' up our shorts ... too dirty to wear.
Bro tried to light a cigarette -- dropped it in the grass -- then dropped his lighter in the stinkin' grass -- I started to loan him my lighter, but remembered I don't smoke so I tried to find my drivers license (don't ask me why, damn it, I just don't know) .... I needed a drink of "maji" bad. I could spit cotton.
PH came over and said "where the hell is the beer box??". The joke didn't work .. we were stone faced ... scared motherless. He was trying to sort of smile, but one side of his mouth had a bad twitch and he looked a shade pale. Me and Bro were totally beyond pale, absolutely ashen faced, I'm sure.
Couldn't find a single one of the Waha trackers .. nowhere .. just vanished. When it comes to ol' Mbogo, Stupid, they ain't....
We all just stood there a few feet from 2,000 lbs of former fury ... now a hunk of protein and horns and making an occasional gurgle noise. Nobody said a word for at least a full minute. Then a geckco (a kind of lizard, I believe), went hauling butt out from under somebody's feet, and all three of us jumped straight up and treaded air as long as possible. Then Bro laughed out loud and the whole bunch of us started laughing and fell down in the grass like idiots .... rolled around laughing like crazy. Sure glad no one saw all that (cool it was not) -- I really don't know what was so damn funny anyway.
Like ghosts from nowhere, the trackers just appeared ... things got back to sensible -- some color returned to our faces and we finally even quit shaking -- and they began skinning out the ol' Buff.
Hey, you really ought to take on a Cape Buffalo yourself sometime -- most of the time, there's nothing to potting one -- they say.
One thing I can tell you ... Me and Bro had all the Cape Buffalo hunting we wanted. Even commented that it is wasn't no bad deal that Cape Buff don't live in Kansas.
huntsall