Hey Denny,
Thanks for the concern. Things aren't settled yet,but it's funny how God has a way of making even bad things good. Life is a bunch better than it has been in years, I have just spent all of my Africa money on attorneys :( . There is always next year. Now back to the show...
First afternoon, I sit in dugout blind near a small concrete watering hole. I watch as numerous critters come and go and it's all I can do not to sling an arrow. Thankfully, I was not feeling quite like myself and was able to keep from drawing blood right off the bat. About mid day a nice impala ram comes to water and ducks his head to drink just 12 steps from Lukas and me. The camera is rolling and I can hear the "oh, this is gonna be good" music playing in the my head. All of my worries go away as my bow muscles tense and I focus on the "vital triangle" of the ram. My focus transitioned to action as the bowstring thumped from my hand and 700 grains of carbon and steel smacked the exact spot I was intent upon. The impala bucked up and kicked hard before darting off into the brush. As he ran off, Lukas congratulated me on the perfect shot, but something in my mind didn't seem right. The memory burned in my head which I replayed 10 times the first minute after the shot, showed way too much arrow sticking out of the ram. 700 grains at 160 fps should have blasted through such a diminutive little critter. I was packing form eland, but had failed to pass through an impala. A quick review of the video showed the same. The shot was perfectly place, but penetration was minimal. At first I thought the antelope's shoulder had kicked back and partly deflected the arrow as it entered. Whatever the case, something was wrong. When we stepped outside the hide and found the arrow, I was relieved to find it intact with about 10" of the shaft soaked streaked with blood. Lukas called the trackers. They too watched the video and assured me the animal was dead. I felt better until after a diligent search we were not able to find any more blood. Finally, by starting back at the beginning the trackers did what they do so very well, they followed a single set of tracks covered by hundreds or thousands of other until they found the first speck of blood 300 yards away. The entire time they were following the imaginary, invisible to me, trail I doubted them. When they found the blood, I was shocked, but I also knew that it wasn't a good sign. Even fast mortaly wounded animals rarely run so far without leaving some sign. The second drop of blood came 200 yards later. It was then that I stopped doubting their ability. Unfortunately, the trail ran cold and the impala was lost. That is until it was killed by another hunter 2 months later. I got word from the ranch owner that a Spaniard had shot the ram with a rifle only to discover a healed over front shoulder wound. Comparing the horns removed any doubt that it was "my impala." At the time, however, I suspected that I had mortally wounded the animal and my enthusiasm was waining even more. I inspected my grizzly tipped arrow. It was still razor sharp. I couldn't understand what had happened. I shot my bow, tested my arrow flight, did everything that I could think of, but was unable to figure out what had happened. I went back to sit in another blind converted from an old water tank. The hide was spacious and comfortable, and nearly invisible to the animals which would drink just 10-12 yards away from my shooting hole. Just before dark a large wart hog approached and made the mistake of dropping to his knees to drink. Again, all of my attention was directed as a small furrow between his shoulder blade and front leg bone. As if magnitized, the arrow flew true and thumped the big tusker. It exited quickly stage left, again with way too much arrow sticking out. My camera captured the even beautifully, and all of my penned up emotions ran out as I wathced the video. Though the shot was suprisingly perfect the arrow barely entered the thick skinned animal. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and shed more than a few tears being absolutely emotionally exhausted. We headed back to camp only to find that my step dad had arrowed a respectable kudu which they had not yet recovered. A short search led us to the mortally wounded animal which was quickly dispatched in African style. His shot was perfect and the steel force blade had done the job. In a few more minutes the large beast would have been no more. Either way, it was a success and I was happy to see my step dad so happy. For me it was bitter sweet as I had begun to doubt my own equipment. I was not alone in that, either. My hunting partner, Lukas was not a bowhunter. He had begun to have some real doubts about this whole thing and even offered to let me use his gun to finish up my hunt. I hadn't come to Africa to play sniper. I had come to hunt with a bow, my bow. Though doubt was plaguing my mind, I remembered all of the hundreds of animals which I have shot with like equipment. The previous year I had blown through 2 large caribou bulls, dispatching them within a few yards of where they stood when I released the arrows. I had taken bears, bucks, boars, and bulls and knew in my mind that the equipment was right. I was just misssing some piece of the puzzle. The next moring, Danie, some trackers, and myself set out in search of the warthog. Several yards away from the point of impact we found an arrow. Only the broadhead had any blood on it. The hog was not mortally hit, and we all knew it. This is where the Ph really earned his keep. We went back to camp and studied my equipment. I was not going to hunt with ineffective tools. I even considered hunting with a spear...really, a spear. As we looked at everything, Danie commented on my grizzly broadheads. Though I had sharpened them to shaving sharpness once my equipment had arrived at camp, I had not properly changed the point on the head. Having hunted hogs and whitetails successfully with grizzleys in the past, I knew the importance of this step. But in all my haste and mental confusion I had failed to do the obvious. Needless to say, the next hour or so was spent doing a little machining work. You see, I had also failed to pack a suitable file with which to change the point. After some true to life African engineering we set up a make shift grinder on a drill and reworked the working end of my heads. I rehoned the steel to shave, shot a few arrows to rebuild confidence in my set up,and hurried back to the blind....now it's about to get good. Brady
Topic: Better late than never. (Read 4523 times)
