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“Couch?”
“Yeah,” I responded,
eager to assuage the look of confusion and disbelief canvassed on my
Professional Hunter’s face. “A couch. And maybe some luggage or a
purse for my wife.”
Eric ran his hands over
his thick black goatee in thought. "Well, I’ve never heard of that
but I suppose what you do with your trophies is up to you.”
I hadn’t come to Africa
to hunt for the materials to make furniture and luggage
specifically, but after visiting with Richard Sanders of Walden &
Bork and Russell Moccasins at the last Dallas Safari Club Convention
I decided the possibility was certainly worth investigating. As
Richard explained, “There is so much more you can do with a trophy
than just taxidermy. Game skins can be made into anything from
wallets to boots to luggage and notebook
covers. Pillows. Coasters. You name it.”
The idea of turning
skins into keepsakes was further brought home when I came across
Cowhide Western Furniture Co. at the same convention. Their display
of couches, easy chairs, and ottomans made from cowhide, exotic
leathers, and game hides really brought home the idea of turning my
upcoming trip to Africa into a way to decorate the game room as well
as get some personalized items for me and my wife. Furthermore it
would give me a good excuse to add zebra and giraffe to my species
list for my forthcoming safari. With my decision made I contacted
Eric Sorour of Limcroma Safaris and informed him of the additions to
my list of hopefuls.
Located in the Limpopo
Region of Northern South Africa, Limcroma Safaris offers hunts for
all the major South African species on concessions totaling over
200,000 acres. For zebra I’d be hunting out of one of Limcroma’s
satellite lodges near the small farming town of Modi Molle. Although
a smaller hunting area than the company’s m ain
concession, the lodge at Nylstroom Farm was incredibly comfortable
and more than a welcome sight after a hard day’s hunting. It was
over a congratulatory dinner for my taking a 29 inch waterbuck that
Eric outlined his plans for finding me a nice zebra.
“I think our best bet is
to walk in to a small waterhole I know of. It’s pretty deep in the
scrub,” Eric began. “But I’ve seen some very mature stallions
watering there. We’ll make a blind and sit over the water. I think
that’ll be our best bet.”
Having total confidence
in Eric, I wholeheartedly agreed and retired for the evening.
The next morning Eric,
our tracker Alfred, and I loaded in the truck and headed out shortly
before sunup. We reached the hunting area just as the sky broke in
shades of rose and crimson over the acacia and sweet thorn covered
landscape. The early morning light brought into view an area covered
in South African scrub brush and trees woven into impenetrable
islands dissected by pockmarked dirt roads and heavily rutted game
trails. Driving the area we jumped several herd of gazelle, a small
sounder of warthog, and a lone jackal skirting the brush along the
road in search of an easy meal. At a wide patch in the road just
short of a six foot tall termite hill Eric stopped and killed the
engine.
“Grab your stuff,” he
casually instructed. “We’ll get out here. It’s about three hundred
yards in.”
By the time I gathered
my rifle and daypack, Eric and Alfred were ready and
waiting. Despite the fact that Alfred was the only one of us with a
machete, Eric led me into the brush with Alfred pulling up the
rear. About seventy-five yards in the narrow game trail widened
considerably allowing Eric and I to walk side by side. Moving
further into the thick Eric pointed out warthog, kudu, blesbok, and
bushpig tracks. But it was a set of tracks that was accompanied by a
huge pile of droppings that interested Eric the most.
“This isn’t good,” Eric
whispered in English before switching to Afrikaans to converse with
Alfred.
As they discussed the
matter at hand I leaned over to inspect the plate-sized tracks
myself. I had just begun to trace the deep indentions with the tip
of my finger when Eric tapped my shoulder and motioned me to rise.
“These are black rhino,”
Eric explained. “They’re very fresh. We’re going to back out of
here very slowly and come at the water hole from a different
direction. Trust me, we don’t want to come across this guy on the
trail.”
Noticing how white
Alfred had turned, I had no doubt that Eric wasn’t exaggerating the
danger.
An hour later we had
circled back around to hit the waterhole from the opposite
direction. Alfred and Eric constructed a small blind out of freshly
cut limbs about 100 yards from the water. After Eric and I were
situated inside Alfred backed out to return to the truck. Almost
immediately wildlife began to return to the small
waterhole. Impalas, blesboks, and a small group of kudu cows came to
drink, each time their presence scattering the blue tit, glossy
starling, and crimson breasted shrik birds that paced the water’s
edge drinking and feeding. Having something to watch made the time
fly.
 Just as Eric began to
tell me about a zebra hunt he had with another client he suddenly
stopped and held up his hand to silence me. He pointed to a dark
figure scuttling out of the brush to the left of the waterhole.
“Baboon,” He informed
me. “If he makes us out we can kiss the day good-bye. He’ll tell
everything within yelling distance.”
No sooner had I trained
in on the lone baboon coming to the water than a herd of five zebras
slowly appeared from the opposite shore. Lifting my Meopta 10 x 40s
to my face, I quickly trained in on the herd for a closer look. At
the rear of the small group was an old stallion, his coat dirty
brown and black striped with deep scars along his neck and hind
flanks.
“That stallion’s seen
few fights I’d say,” Eric offered. “He’s real mature. Maybe 700, 750
pounds.” I kept the stallion in my field of view as Eric continued
his commentary. “We can probably find a younger one that size that’s
white and black if you’re…”
“No,” I replied reaching
for my CZ 550 .375 H & H leaning against a tree. “That’s the one I
want.”
“Well then you need to
take him before he moves on. They won’t be here long.”
I leaned into my rifle
held snug against the tree and quickly found the stallion in my
scope. I eased the crosshairs to just above and forward of his front
shoulder and squeezed. The sound of thunder echoed through the blind
as 300 grains of Remington Premier Swift A-Frame rocketed
forward. The herd scattered in a cloud of thrown mud and
screams. The lone baboon howled his discontent and fled back into
the brush. he stallion slowed behind the herd once inside the
protection of the thorn brush and dropped.
“Congratulations my
friend,” Eric offered extending his hand. “Let’s go see what you
got.”
 The
stallion was the perfect representation of a wild Burchell's
zebra. Once brushed free from his coating of dirt and dried mud the
old stallion was the very picture of maturity and strength. His
taunt muscles bulged beneath his broad brown and black stripes and
his mane stood erect as if just coifed and groomed for show.
Loading him into the
truck was not nearly as pretty. Even with the three of us,
maneuvering 700 pounds of horse like dead weight into the small
Toyota bed was just short of impossible. In order to get the zebra’s
entire body in the truck bed Alfred was forced to pile the items
usually in the back of the truck on top of the stallion. This posed
a serious problem as gear flew out of the back of the truck and onto
the road twice on the way back to the lodge.
The next morning Eric,
Alfred, and I drove to Limcroma’s main lodge in Northern South
Africa. Situated on the banks of the Crocodile River along the South
Africa / Botswana border, the lodge consists of a main house with
game room dining room, bar, kitchen and office and several private
chalets each with sitting room, private bath, and king size
bed. From these posh accommodations we would head out to a high
plateau over the river known as the Badger Pan in search of
giraffe. As with my zebra, I wanted an old, mature giraffe. One with
some character and not reminiscent of something out of a zoo or
drive through park. Eric said he knew of a herd on the Badger Pan
that just might have what we were looking for.
 Over the next two days
we saw probably twenty giraffe but only saw the old sentinel that
Eric was referring to once. He was hidden in plain sight among some
tall trees intertwined with sickle bush and wait-a-bit thorn. His
hide was dark in color, his alternating black and burnt rust colored
pelage almost blending into a solid shade. How something almost 17
feet tall in height could all but seemingly disappear was completely
beyond me. Despite Alfred’s best tracking efforts and Eric’s best
stalking abilities we simply failed to get to within shooting
distance of the old patriarch. Unfortunately we never would. After
conversing with a farmer that lived not far from the Badger Pan Eric
came to me with the bad news.
“I’m afraid we won’t get
a shot at your giraffe, my friend.” Eric apologized. “It seems
he left the Pan and got into an electric fence on the neighboring
property"
“So?” I inquired. “What
does that mean?”
“He licked the
fence. Giraffes do that every now and again.”
“You mean it shocked
him.”
“Let’s just say your
couch got electrocuted.”
A strangely morbid end
to a great animal but nevertheless an excuse to try again next year.
Limcroma Safaris has
been an advertiser on TexasOutdoorsman.com for many years. Please
contact them via their web site at
http://www.limcroma.com for more information on booking the
South African safari of your dreams.
Author Gayne C.
Young is a native Texan who you will find is widely published in
several of the top hunting/outdoor publications. Gayne recently
released a new book,
"Texas Safari: The Game Hunter's Guide to Texas",
available through his website at
http://www.gaynecyoung.com/.
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