The third day of the hunt we woke up ready to go. After traveling half way around the world and having my nights feel like days, I had been having trouble sleeping soundly, but spending my last couple of days walking for many miles in the heat (up to about 90 degrees) had worn me out and helped me sleep better. I felt like it was going to be a good day. Mick and Andy decided that all four of us should drive in the Landcruiser back to where Andy and I had seen the big buffalo bull the first day, and Mick and Doug would drop us off while they went on to another location.
When we got almost to the area where we had seen the bull the first day, Andy spotted a nice one off in the opposite direction from where the first one had been. We decided to put together a stalk and see how good this one really was. As always, it was vital to make sure the wind was in our favor, so Andy got out his powder puffer and tested the wind direction. We circled down wind and began our approach. This was a sly old bull and kept us on our toes by doubling back on his trail and nearly catching us off guard. We had to back out quickly before he spotted us. He also moved from one side to another and all around, clearing the area of any potential danger as he fed. Meanwhile, Andy and I were scurrying around, testing the wind and trying to stay out of sight. Finally, the bull started walking away from us toward an open area. Andy and I picked up the pace and quickly moved directly at him, but only when he was walking and facing away from us. When the bull would stop or look back, we would immediately freeze. It looked like he was going to cross a large, burned-off, clear area and go into the trees and grass on the other side before we could get to him. Instead, he slowed down as he came to one of the few remaining trees in the open area and seemed to be ready to bed down. If he bedded facing away from us, we would have a long 250 to 300 yard stalk across the open space to get close enough for a shot. If he bedded facing left, right, or back towards us, then we probably would never be able to stalk up on him before he saw us and took off for parts unknown.
We had now been watching the bull for well over an hour, and we were fairly convinced he was the same large bull we had seen the morning of the first day. Andy told me that there were not many bulls of that size that had been spotted on their hunting concession before, and this bull was only a short distance from where we had seen the bull on the first morning. All that led us to the conclusion that we had found the same bull, not his seemingly identical twin.
We sat behind a tree almost 300 yards away from the bull as we watched him start to settle in for a nap and chew his cud. At first we thought he would lie down at a quartering angle that would be bad for a stalk, but he cooperated by putting his head directly into the wind, facing away from us. We surmised that he thought he had thoroughly explored the entire area we were coming from and had cleared it of any danger, so now he would want to lie facing into the wind in the direction he had not been in order to be aware of any threat that he might not have known about.
Regardless of the reason, the bull lay down under a tree almost 300 yards away, upwind from us, facing the other direction. Andy and I were happy about it as we planned our stalk over totally flat and open terrain. Andy suggested that we would have to remove our shoes and socks and leave them and every extra item we had beside the tree we had been hiding behind. I agreed and dutifully became barefoot and empty handed, other than my bow and arrows and shooting tab. We started the long, slow, quiet stalk across the black, charred remains of clump grass that dotted the otherwise bare earth. Andy led the way as we moved directly toward a single, small tree that stood about 20 yards from the bull and slightly to our right. I was told we would go towards the tree, and when we were 10 yards from it I was to pass Andy and make the final approach for the shot, much like I had done with my boar.
It seemed like forever that we crept towards the bull, and then we were 30 yards away with Andy motioning for me to take the lead. I walked so slowly now that I hardly felt I was making any progress, but finally I was close to the tree. I made signs with my hands to find out whether Andy wanted me to be on the left side of the tree where the angle of the shot would be more from the rear or to be on the right side of the tree where the shot angle would be better but we were more likely to get busted by the bull. He pointed to the left side, so I slowly closed the distance to what I later measured as 17 yards.
I positioned my feet as closely as possible to where they typically are when I shoot targets in my back yard and pretended I was taking another shot at a very big black target. I then held my body as straight as possible and took several deep breaths to calm the immense excitement that I felt, all the while looking up at the sky over trees to the right of me some distance away. It is the same relaxation routine I use when shooting at targets, and it was working for me. I turned my attention back to the bull that was slightly curled with his tail to the left and his body tilted and arched to the right like a banana lying on the ground with the stem on the left and the main part first curving to the right and continuing to curve back left again. Except that the other end of this big, black "banana" had huge horns and a nose that was facing directly away from me. I picked the shot vector that would cause my arrow to enter his right rear ribs and range up into the lung area, then I set myself to draw. As I drew back on the string, my 68 pound bow felt like it was only 40 pounds, and I easily pulled the nock of the arrow two inches beyond my anchor point before I even realized it. I had to let my right hand slide forward and find the dual anchors of my index finger in the corner of my mouth touching my upper right canine, and the first joint of my cocked right thumb sitting against the lower back corner of my jaw bone. I held my solid anchor for two to three seconds and felt my body fully expand and stabilize before releasing the arrow. As if in slow motion the arrow came off the string and headed for the unsuspecting buffalo.
The broadhead hit exactly where I intended to place it, and the arrow appeared to penetrate fairly well. I had been worried about the shot angle and the heavy ribs that would have to be bypassed to reach the vitals. The surprised bull jumped to his feet, looked at Andy and me, and quickly moved off about 50 yards away, immediately turning to face us. I had pulled a second arrow and nocked it, but there was no point in trying to shoot it at that angle and distance. There was frothy blood coming from the hole where the arrow was sticking. The bull did not seem inclined to challenge us, but he was not running away either. He seemed to be unsure of what we were or why he felt so sick. He moved off another 20 yards and again turned to face us. After a few seconds longer he decided it was time to depart, and rather than heading towards cover, he began moving across open terrain where we could keep him in sight. We did not change position so as to keep from alarming him. With blood coming from his side and his mouth, he headed across the field and down into a distant creek bed. He did not come up the other side. After waiting for some time for him to die, we eventually walked over toward him and could see that he was lying in a small pool of water in a mostly dry creek bed where he appeared to be dead. As we slowly and quietly closed the distance, we realized he probably really was dead, and we were right.
Although Andy had earlier proclaimed the bull as being in the 90's, he now excitedly exclaimed that it might even score 100 or slightly more, which would be the biggest bull they had ever taken off the property.
I think I may have held everyone off too long. So, here is my big, beautiful (to his mother), Asiatic buffalo bull, as we found him lying in the creek, with Andy squatted beside him, sizing up the horns.
Notice the frothy lung blood coming from the wound, clearly showing penetration into the right lung and profuse internal bleeding at the top of the lung.
One more picture to leave you with tonight. There will be more pics tomorrow when I have more time to post. This is after Mick and Doug were radioed to join us and we pulled the buff out of the creek using the Landcruiser. To say we were all happy and excited, especially me, would be a gross understatement!
I know some of you are asking, "What did the buffalo score?" That's what I was wondering too at the time, but I had to wait for Mick to get his tape and do the measurements. So now you get to wait. I'm going to bed!
Allan
Topic: Somewhere over the rainbow -- back from the land of Oz (Chapter One) (Read 19395 times)
