Once upon a time, there was a little boy who dreamed of going to Africa. He had fallen in love with the images he saw on the television and even went so far as offering to his mother to dig a hole in the backyard to bring the baby hippo home from the zoo.

This trip began sometime around February of 2000 when Larry told me he was planning to make another trip to Africa. During the course of the conversation, I told him I wanted to go also. Larry said nothing, but called me back a couple of days later to see if I was joking. After convincing him that I wasn’t messing with him, we started putting the trip together. Larry had already lined up an outfitter, so I was that much ahead of the game. I spent the rest of the year getting such things as my passport and registration of the firearms I was taking with me. My choice of cases was simple; I ordered a Bear Track case. The only thing I wished I had done differently was getting a nylon cover for my case. Although it was blue, it still looked like a gun case and this created some anxious moments during our travels.

I decided I would take my .375 and .309 JDJ Contenders. I had also planned to take my Super Redhawk chambered in .454 Casull, but as I have already stated in text, this revolver has been my "problem child". I tried Larry’s after it came back from Mag-Na-Port and decided I would send mine in the hope that they could get it straightened out. I will say that Kevin and the guys did an excellent job with such a poor quality product. It returned from M-N-P too close to my trip for me to shoot it enough to be comfortable for me. It did not go. I lucked into a Field Grade Freedom Arms revolver in .454 Casull and after some swapping, I had my belt gun for the trip. Next, came the job of obtaining components and the equipment I would need for the trip. Loads were easy for all the firearms. I had done a good bit load development for my .309JDJ and went back to my records for a starting point. There are several good "standard" loads for the .375JDJ, so getting it going was no problem either. Finally, I took loads from Freedom Arms and had my .454 loaded for bear, or lion as the case may be. The bullets I settled on were the Winchester 300 grain FMJ and Hornady 270 grain SP for my .375, the 165 grain Ballistic Tip for the .309JDJ and the 260 grain Freedom Arms JSP. After settling on my loads, I spent as much time as possible squeezing triggers. There is an ammunition manufacturer who had developed a new big game load for the .454 Casull shortly before me departure. Although he claims to be "Strictly Big Bore" and "Strictly Business" or some such, my offer to field test this load was not so graciously declined. Seems he was more interested in muzzle velocities and group sizes over actual field performance. Go figure.

Capstick’s book, Safari, The Last Adventure, is in my opinion a very good source of information for those planning their first trip to the Dark Continent. I also spent much time both on the phone and hanging out with Larry to develop a list of things I would need to bring with me. It really helps to have someone who has made the trip to guide you.

To all you couples trying to have children, forget all the trips to the doctor and the fertility drugs, just make a deposit on a safari. This works almost as well as buying a house. Our second son, Charles Morgan, was born nearly a month before the day that I was scheduled to leave. At least my timing hasn’t gotten off that bad.

The last few days before our departure were spent going through my list and making sure I had everything I thought I would need. This required a few late night trips to the local Wal-Mart. Our instructions from the travel agent stated we were allowed a maximum of seventy pounds each for out two checked bags. It took about three attempts to get everything in my duffle bag. When I put it on the scales, I was a half-pound under the maximum weight.

July 9 started early as I had to be at the airport before six in the morning to catch my flight to Atlanta. I had several nightmares about getting to the airport only to discover I had forgotten my passport or tickets, so I did not sleep very well the night before I left. All went well, and I arrived in Atlanta on time. I found Larry soon after arriving and we made our way over to the gate we would depart from Atlanta. At the gate, we met a fellow handgun hunter named Ted Harmon who was on his way to Africa also. I took a long look around as we boarded the plane and after a short while, we were moving down the runway and off to Africa. The flights to and from Africa were the worst part of the entire trip. I had to make it a point to get up and move around in order to reduce the swelling in my feet and legs and to also reduce how stiff and sore I felt.

Our flight arrived in Jo’burg International Airport and I anxiously waited at baggage claim for my duffle bag and gun case. Larry and Ted recovered their luggage and I had my duffle in hand, but so far my gun case had not arrived and I started getting a sinking feeling. This was the first of several instances when I would get that feeling. The entire trip to Africa can be an emotional roller coaster ride. I checked with two airport employees, but they were absolutely no help at all. This is a situation that is the rule rather than the exception. Finally, an airline employee came our direction and told me he had "secured" my gun case for me and I had to sign for it, showing I had taken possession. What he did not say too loudly was, that he would appreciate my giving him something to buy a drink for his extra effort in taking care of me. This was just the beginning of our getting fleeced while going through the airport. Larry and I made it through customs with little difficulty, but after we got to the airline desk for our connecting flight, we were informed that we were severely overweight on our luggage and we would have to pay a large fine. Our porter pulled Larry to the side and suggested we go exchange some of our dollars for South African Rand. The nearly 1100 Rand of fines were taken care of by a bribe of 150 Rand between the two of us. Some members of the current ruling party in charge of the government and the airport are corrupt. Fortunately, they are cheap. Just be ready for the possibility of having to buy your way through an area. Our remaining flight was uneventful and we made Pietersburg on time.

Our outfitter, Ernest, and his staff were at the airport waiting our arrival. We exchanged greetings and quickly loaded our gear in the trucks and made our way to the first of three camps we would be calling home for the next two weeks. This trip was a short one, only about two hour’s drive time.

The first camp we went to is located on the Limpopo River near Ratho, on the Botswana/South African border. Johan and Sandra Boshoff run this camp along with a large game concession and farming operation. We unloaded our gear and each took a tent. Aside from being chilly in the morning, the accommodations were quite nice. The tents sit on concrete pads and the water always ran both hot and cold. We began to see a good number of game once we got further from the main roads and towns. Our camp was visited by a herd of elephant, which crossed the river. Monkeys were present and the baboons came into camp and made mischief several times.

The daily routine went something like this, we would get up around 6 in the morning and have coffee and cereal for breakfast. We would then go out and hunt until 11 or so and come back to camp for a big lunch. Hunting would resume around 2 in the afternoon and go until dark. The rule of thumb is to book one day for each animal you intend to take. I actually had 11 days in which to take my 9 animals. This allowed me several days breathing room just in case I could not find an animal my guide was impressed with or I missed. At this point I should probably say something about my guide, Wiegarht. He has a really neat diesel Land Cruiser that saw some fairly rough four wheeling while retrieving some of the animals I shot. He also has a rather gung ho tracking/catch dog named Zorka. We spent a couple of anxious hours looking for Zorka after we lost him while getting my Kudu. The hyenas are bad in this area we were hunting first and he most likely would not have lasted the night. I relied heavily on Wiegarht’s assessment of the game we saw and spent most of my time trying to get into a position to make the shot rather than trying to judge the size and trophy potential of each animal myself. Five of the eight animals eligible to be entered will make the SCI record book. There were several times when he got aggravated with me because my clothes were too noisy or too light colored and spooked the game. Do not wear Carhartt work pants while trying to hunt African game. They are great for turning the thorns you will encounter, but far too noisy if your legs rub together. Also, I recommend wearing mostly green. I brought khaki, but this wound up spooking the game by being too light and alerting them to our presence. These animals are super spooky, so do all your sneezing, coughing, and noise making in camp. Go ahead and spend the money on the good hunting clothes. I always thought camouflage clothes were not allowed in South Africa. I found this not to be the case once I got over there. Most hunters will need only about three or four sets of clothes, even for a long trip. Laundry is picked up each morning and your clothes are returned the next day, washed, ironed and folded.

The food at each camp was excellent. Far better than what I expected after listening to Larry tell me tales of horror from his last trip. Sometimes you would not know what you were eating and for some it may be just as well not to ask too many questions. I found out that I really like Zebra. The Cape Buffalo kabobs were also excellent.

Anyone who has hunted the game ranches in Texas will be familiar with how most hunting is done in South Africa. We would drive around and look for any of several species I was after. Once an animal was spotted, Wiegarht would glass it carefully to determine its size and symmetry. If it was good enough to try for, we would leave the truck and stalk on foot. We sat at waterholes on two different occasions and came up empty both times. Stand hunting is not popular with these folks. One does not have to be a marathon runner in order to hunt in Africa. It does however, help to be in some form of good physical shape. We took several walks, which lasted for three to four miles. Also, we along the rims of several canyons and would have to do some climbing and scrambling in order to get into position to see the game.

As I said before, this game is spooky. We did all manner of crawling, sneaking, and slipping around through the brush in attempts to get close enough to the game in order to get a good view. I rarely had much time to acquire a shooting position before a game animal disappeared. I used my binoculars mainly to determine which animal Wiegarht was pointing out to me or to look at some of the scenery. The rest of the time, the glass I was trying to get on the animal was a scope. We used the terrain to our advantage as much as possible, staying up in the hills and glassing the valley floor to look for game. Very much the way Larry and I hunt groundhogs. I got my Zebra exactly this way. We had hiked up to the rim of a canyon and were glassing the area below when we spotted him in some brush. Wiegarht told me the distance was about 200 meters and asked if I could take the shot. I pulled my hat off to use as a cushion and set my .375 on it. The zebra reared up as the bullet hit him and then ran and stumbled about 150 yards before stopping. Wiegarht told me several times that he was impressed with the shot. The funny thing about the location of where I killed the zebra was that we had been talking around the campfire the night before and I had asked Wiegarht about game winding up in a rough place. He had told me that would be his problem and all I had to worry about was making the shot. He would worry about getting the animal out. He told me later that I really did not have put him to the test so severely. The next day we wound up at the same location and saw a nice Waterbuck bull close to where we saw the Zebra. I knew I could take the Waterbuck and he was one of the few animals that I had actually had crosshairs on for a period of time longer than five seconds. Wiegarht thought it would be best to see if he would move a little further down the canyon. Something spooked the bull, not me for a change, and he took off up the canyon wall. Wiegarht and I both began to scramble over the rocks in an attempt to cut him off and get a shot. The three of us arrived at the same spot within about two seconds of each other. The Waterbuck was coming through at warp nine and was grabbing passing gear. I had enough time to bring up my Casull and get fur in my sights and pull the trigger. After the dust had literally settled, Wiegarht asked me if I thought I’d hit it. I told him yes and we began to look for spoor. Nothing! We sent Carlos and Madoom, the two trackers, off down the next canyon with a radio and we worked our way down the rim in case I got another shot. They had traveled about 200 yards and found him piled up in a dry streambed. I had broken the onside front leg and clipped its heart. This was actually a worse place than where I killed the zebra. After retrieving the Waterbuck, Wiegarht said no more shooting in the canyons for me.

The morning of the 15^th we got a call on the radio that Larry had bagged his leopard. Nearly the entire camp loaded up to go to the blind. Apparently, killing a leopard is big doings in that part of the world. We arrived back at camp after taking photos to a hero’s breakfast. Wiegarht and I took off after Kudu. I busted a couple of attempted stalks on a nice 55" Kudu bull because of the swish- swish of my pants legs as they rubbed together and on the bushes. We spent a couple of frustrating days chasing after this bull with not so much as me getting him in my crosshairs. On our last day at Ratho, and in the waning light of the setting sun, we spotted two decent Kudu bulls in a small clearing. I shot the larger of the two, but got him a little farther back than I had wanted and we wound up having to chase him a little over a mile. That was the quickest mile this big boy has run in a long time!

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The next morning, we headed south for our next camp. However, Wiegarht and I took a side trip to the area I had taken my Gemsbok in search of Eland. I would say that in my opinion, a large Eland bull is a bit harder to sneak up on than a Kudu bull. After several busted stalks, I found myself face to face with a very large Eland bull. Wiegarht got his shooting sticks up and I quickly settled my .375 JDJ into a solid rest. We all heard the satisfying whack of the bullet hitting my intended target. What happened next shocked both Wiegarht and I. My Eland bull turned and ran off with the herd, not acting at all like he had just taken a 300-grain FMJ in the chest. At this point, I was bottoming out in a hurry. I felt as though I had just been kicked in the stomach. Wiegarht had even commented that the bull had given indication of being hit hard, but try as we did, it did not turn up. This is a time where getting along with your guide really helps. Wiegarht saw how upset I was at losing the Eland and really tried to keep my spirits up while beating the bushes. While looking for the Eland, I saw my only African snake. We came across a Black Mamba. I had just asked Wiegarht about bumping into one while we were walking through the brush and he assured me that all the snakes were hibernating. We stopped long enough to kill the Mamba and looked for a couple of more hours. It finally became time when we had to leave and start for Thornybush, our next camp. Ernest notified me after I had returned home that the landowner had found my Eland and it was on the way to the taxidermist.

We stopped in Tzaneen to make repairs to Wiegarht’s truck. Also, I got to see some of Africa’s other wild life when we went pub-crawling. This is Wiegarht’s hometown, so he had plenty of people to show the crazy American and his pistols off to. Everyone was impressed after I got out my .375 and .454. If you ever get to Tzaneen, try out the Half Human pub, it’s quite an experience.

Ernest’s wife, Marita, met us in the yard when we finally reached Thornybush. We got our gear unpacked and had a very nice meal outside near the fire. The temperatures were dropping into the 40s at night, but we had fire buckets set up around the table to keep the chill away. I spent many enjoyable evenings around the fire visiting with both our hosts and outfitter.

Our trip to Thornybush was mainly to accommodate Larry. This is called the "Big 5" country and here he would go after most of his intended trophies. I took two Impala and some fowl for supper one night, but spent most of my time here game viewing or riding with Ernest and Larry. I spent several nights being serenaded by two lions, which began visiting the camp in search of a meal. The coughing roar got so loud at times the windowpanes would rattle in the frame. The first night, I heard voices outside in the yard and thought Ernest and Wiegarht were playing a trick on us. I stumbled outside with my .454 and flashlight and bumped into Ernest. He assured me it was the real thing and that he had almost stepped on one of them while going to open the gate for some late arriving clients. It is indeed a humbling experience to have a lion roaring outside your door and I spent the rest of the night thinking about the Tsavo lions. Larry got up the next morning telling us about his weird dreams of hearing lions in his sleep. Before this, he had chided me about using the latch on my cabin door. Guess who started latching his door?

We took a day off from hunting and toured Kruger Park. The amount of game available for viewing will just boggle the mind. In fact, one of the things that makes hunting in Africa so special is the number of animals one will see. I could have gone many years hunting in the states and never seen anywhere near the number of game I saw during the course of three weeks in Africa. We enjoyed the hospitality of a neighboring camp and watched the South Africa/New Zealand rugby game one evening.

Our third and final camp was in the Natal Province. This area of South Africa reminds me of North Dakota. The weather also reminded me of North Dakota. Snow had blocked the highway the day prior to our arrival, and the nighttime temps got down in the lower 20s. My advice is to pack a coat or suffer the consequences. I was scrambling to find some extra clothes and wore most of what I brought, as big boy sizes are not common in those parts.

I shot my Hartebeest after a couple of hours of chasing that particular herd around the prairie and crawling through the dirt and antelope poop. I used my .309 JDJ for this portion of the hunt. I had been undecided on whether or not to bring my 10" .454 or the .309, because Larry had been telling me the guides wouldn’t let me shoot over 100 yards. The rest of the story, as Paul Harvey says, is that my guide wouldn’t let me shoot over 100 yards in the bush. I took my Hartebeest right at 300 yards. The 165-grain Ballistic tips did a good job. I broke both front shoulders with as many shots and anchored him. The finishing shot was fired from my .454 at about 40 yards. As was the case with the rest of the game I encountered, these animals are tough. I shot my Blesbok at 200 yards, again with the .309. He ran about 150 yards, but never left the open, and actually got much closer to the road. We got our photos taken and after the congratulations and hand shaking, went back to the cabins to thaw out. As I write this story, the skulls and capes of my trophies are being treated and awaiting shipment to the states. In between feeding baby Charlie and playing with my son, Dean, I am trying to figure out a way to go back for another trip. Africa gets into your blood and it is hard not to want to go back.

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I went to Africa with very few preconceived notions of what to expect; preferring instead to enjoy the experience as it unfolded. This afforded me the full range of emotions from elation and awe with just being in Africa, to the lows of thinking I had lost not only a wounded animal, but also my only opportunity at a trophy Eland.

The little boy grew up to be a man who turned the dream into a memory of a lifetime. I don’t have the water hole in my backyard with the baby hippo, but I have learned they do not make good pets. My next dream is to someday be able to share this with my little boys if they are so inclined. Will we make it? Only time will tell.