For eleven days of a fourteen day elephant hunt my entourage had been driving various routes throughout our Okavango Delta hunting concession. The seating arrangement in the Landcruiser consisted of my husband, Bob, who is losing his vision due to macular degeneration, and our friend, Mark sitting in the high seat. (We had invited Mark along to serve many purposes on this trip including acting as Bob’s eyes, our photographer, videographer, and general helper. As a hunter himself, Mark was able to immediately assess and describe to Bob what was going on. It really made the hunt more exciting for Bob and allowed me to devote my full attention to hunting.) Chico, Ya Ya and BK were our trackers. They rode in the back bed of the Landcruiser. And, of course, Terry, my PH, was our driver and I rode shotgun. (It’s nice to be the hunter and only woman!)
What had come to be our daily routine was to drive to areas of known water holes. Sometimes they were an hour from camp and other times they were 4 hours from camp. Some water holes were more like small mud holes and others were actually part of the drying river system in the Delta. Enroute, when we encountered fresh bull elephant spoor, we would leave the vehicle and follow the tracks until we found the elephant that made them. We had done this so many times only to have Terry turn down the target and tell me we could do better. We saw at least a dozen bulls a day in the 35 – 50 pound ivory category. These elephants looked huge to me. I knew I wouldn’t go home empty handed, but we were all beginning to lose enthusiasm for these long, disappointing stalks.
The terrain was flat, sandy and ranged from thick mopane scrub brush to dense palm islands surrounded by oceans of golden grass. We had encounters with lions, cheetahs, hyenas, a leopard, zebras, giraffe, buffalo, lechwe and many other critters. Everywhere the condition of the trees confirmed the presence of an over population of elephant though. Where there once existed large forests, we saw dead or dying trees which had either been debarked or knocked down by elephants. The Ilalla palms’ nuts are a favorite of elephant. And it was fascinating to watch how deftly an elephant can wrap its trunk around a tree and shake a tree 70-80 feet tall until it showers the ground with nuts. Just as easily they can knock a tree down and rip bark, leaves, pods and roots in a matter of minutes.
When the elephants weren’t feeding (which they were most of the time), they stood quietly and resembled enormous gray termite mounds. The only hint of their being was the constant fanning of their ears. In the first days of my hunt I had to remind myself to look over the top of brush for elephant, rather than looking in the shadows and tree bases as with deer hunting. I was amazed at how quietly an elephant can be as it emerges from or disappears into the thickets.
When we were down wind of the bulls they would allow us to approach to 30 – 40 yds. They seemed convinced that we were unimportant and of no regard. However, once they caught our scent, they apparently recognized the danger and would either fan their ears out with a pre-charge warning stance, lift their trunks and kick dirt in our direction, or simply turn tail in disgust and walk off.
Normally we stayed in the field for lunch, but our route this day kept us near enough to camp, that we elected to forego the tailgate buffet and enjoy the luxury of having our lunch served at the camp table and follow up with midday naps in our tents. During lunch the camp staff reported seeing a huge bull cross the river headed in our direction. We eagerly left camp to investigate.
Bob and I had hoped that our trophy elephant would allow us both to share the target. I would do a brain shot and he would do a heart shot. We had trained and practiced this scenario on the shooting range many times before coming to Africa. However, Bob, with his failing eye sight, informed me that he didn’t want me to miss a shooting opportunity if he couldn’t get zeroed in on the elephant.
As we drove away from camp, my nerves were a mess in anticipation. I told Mark that I didn’t want him to video because I was just too nervous and didn’t want to be distracted. Later, I was glad he didn’t listen to me! I was also glad he didn’t tell me it was Friday, August thirteenth.
We hadn’t driven twenty minutes from camp when we found the big bull and his smaller companion in the distance feeding in dense palm thickets. We could only see their shoulders and heads above the thickets of palms where they were feeding. We left the Landcruiser and our entire troop made an approach through the grass and brush towards the two elephants. They watched us vigilantly, as we played the wind to our advantage. We stalked to within 200 yards before Terry told Bob and me to get ready, that we were going to take this bull.
Once we were 75 yards from the bulls, Terry had the tracker prepare to set up the shooting sticks for both Bob and me. Now we were about fifty yards away. I was already beaded down for a frontal brain shot while Terry helped Bob get into position. The bulls became very nervous and the smaller one bolted and took off. The big bull did a mock charge in our direction, and then followed the other bull at a hasty pace. It was obvious to both Terry and I that this big bull was not going to give us another chance to get both Bob and I on target simultaneously.
We quickly followed the bulls about 400 yards to where they had stopped to study their situation, feed, and figure out what we were up to. Again, the big bull faced us in preparation for a charge. Terry and I ran to the top of a termite mound that gave me a good shooting platform at about 40 yards. Terry placed the shooting sticks in front of me with an emphatic, "Wait until he turns broadside"! I had run this scenario in my mind’s eye so many times, that at this instant I felt totally confident. I had automatically calculated a line running between the elephant’s ear holes to find the position of the brain. If I shot too high (most common error) I would hit the huge, non-lethal honey combed part of the skull. If I shot too low, we’d have a wounded and very angry elephant in front of us.
In my early, novice years of hunting I might have deferred to the guides instructions. However, my number one rule while hunting now is that, "She who pulls the trigger is responsible for the outcome". Now with Terry whispering to me to wait for a broadside shot, I told myself that I would make this decision myself, thank you! In seconds I analyzed my situation. Everything was as it should be in my preparation. I was confident about my shot placement. I was going to take responsibility for going against Terry’s guidance. In my estimation, I told myself that this big elephant bull was going to charge before he was ever going to turn broadside. At that moment I placed my finger inside the trigger guard of my .375 (which I call Thelma), Terry must have read my mind, he whispered, "Go ahead".
After my shot and above the tops of the palm thickets we saw the huge ivory tusks fly skyward. Then without taking a step the elephant disappeared into the palm thicket beneath him and everything was silent. Without a sound or word spoken Terry led me, while picking our way through the dense thorny, thickets, to a position we hoped would be behind the elephant. The shrubs were at least fifteen feet high and so thick and thorny, we could only guess where we would find the elephant. Terry’s big fear was that a very angry and belligerent elephant would confront us at distance of a few feet. Once we could identify the huge gray mass on the ground amongst the palms, we approached even more cautiously to a position were we could test the eye for reflexes. The big pachyderm was finished.
Terry hugged and congratulated me and I was ecstatic. I shouted out "Yahoo!" And, Bob and Mark made their approach, trying to find us amongst the sharp palm leaf points. Terry told me that I was the only one of his eight hunters that season who had successfully used the frontal brain shot. He explained that was the reason for his initial hesitation. He went on to say that he had chased the other elephants for miles.
As with any hunt, once the quarry is down the work begins. That rule also holds for elephant, but in a big, big way. The nearest bushman village was at least ten miles away. We could either bring the local villagers to our kill, or take the kill to the villagers. Fortunately, we were near enough to our camp that it was reasonable to accomplish the mission of moving an elephant with a tractor.
I shot my elephant at about 3:30 PM. It was 10:00 PM before we returned to camp with elephant in tow. We had a great celebration with the camp staff singing and dancing as is the tradition when Tlou (the Setswana word for elephant) or Jumbo (in Swahili) is taken. I was deliriously happy. The primeval drum beats and singing forced me to dance.
The next morning we departed our elephant camp early, heading to another area where I would be hunting leopard. As we left the Okavango, we drove through the village and witnessed an event I wished every "anti-hunter" could see. The elephant carcass was surrounded by nearly a hundred villagers with varying knives, tools and pots. Each person was selecting their portion of the elephant meat. Not a scrap would be wasted, we were informed. This elephant would feed this village for several weeks. Meat that wasn’t immediately consumed would be made into biltong/jerky. As I left the Landcruiser to watch the butchering up close, Terry told the villagers that the lady had shot the elephant for them. Their smiles were generous and the group humbly thanked me.
When I was asked whether I cried when I shot my elephant, I said no. I cried when I saw the need the elephant had filled for the villagers.
