The buffalo story.
I'll start with the buffalo hunt, since that was the main reason for going. This took place by the Gwayi River on the second week of the trip.The main hunting techinique is to cut fresh tracks leaving water holes or crossing a trail then tracking them through the bush following tracks that only the black trackers seemed able to see at all. You could practice this by getting 4 or 5 guys together and practice tip-toeing through corn-flakes in 80 F temperatures. Throw in a few thorns to get the full affect. The first day included about 6 such stalks, usually ending in getting within feet of the buffalo and not being able to tell cows from bulls, never mind how big or old a bull might be. The hope is to find either a single or small group of dugga-boys to cut down on the chances of being busted by cows before finding the right bull. This also ups the chances of trailing the right buffalo to begin with. We also followed cow herds, and sometimes just picked up another track while returning to the Cruiser after a stalk didn't work. The first day of this involved a lot of action but no trigger yanking. Being within 20 feet of black blobs was fun though.
The second day started with the same plan, with the difference being that we had the herd crossing the trail in front of us. They were following a small valley that was open and grassy in a direction that would take them quartering past us if we cut through the thorn bush to get ahead of them. The plan worked, though the buffalo that walked up to us were in the bush with us. We had buffalo on three sides of us when I launched a 400 grain TSX out of my .416 Rigby at a barrel stretching 20 yards or less. I had a perfect broadside shot behind the shoulder or shot right at the shoulder but through bush for options so took the first one. All Hell basically broke loose at the shot, with buffalo exploding all around us and those elephant guns we were clutching seeming rather puny and insignificant. A barrel like bull-riders use in the rodeo would have been handier, next time I'll bring one.
Mounting a howitsor on it would be a comfort. Faster than you can say "Who's f**king idea was this, anyway?" things calmed down, though part of the herd was still in sight and my bull wasn't. I was feeling pretty good about my shot, happy about not getting squished and wasn't about to let anything, not even a rather grim-faced PH saying that there was gut material in the meager blood trail spoil my mood. Obviously the two trackers, PH and game-scout were all suffering from delusion, as my shot was perfect, right? That's the story I stuck to even after they showed it to me. Oh ####.
After an appropriate wait my conspiciously un-smiling band of helpers took up the few drops of blood. PH Dan Weller suggested that we skirt around the track and move the 50 or 60 feet to the edge of the valley where the cover opened up and try to pick up the blood trail there. There is a better than even chance he just wanted to stop walking all over the track, and was just sparing the inept Canadian's feelings. We actually made it part of the way there when a bull buffalo squirted out the bit of cover and ran out around the corner out of sight again. This lead to a conversation that went something like this:
Me:Was that my buffalo?
PF: Probably.
Me: Do they always move that fast?
PH: No, I don't remember seeing one run that fast before.
Me: He looks pretty healthy.
PH: Yes, very healthy.
Me: Do you suppose that he spent the last 20 minutes watching us, watching the ground like a bunch of f**ktards from that tiny bump covered with thorns?
PH: Yes, Probably.
Me: Oh ####.
PH: Yes, Oh ####.
You will notice that Dan is very polite and professional, even when he was probably thinking about strangling his client. I really appreciated that, even as my insistence that my shot was "Perfect" was losing some of it's conviction. We walked ahead and found blood, even as the trackers caught up. I started feeling better when I saw they were carrying handfulls of clotted lung blood.
Me: Well, that doesn't look like a gut shot to me?
PH: The game scout now thinks that you may have hit two buffalo.I saw gut material as well.
Me: Oh ####.
PH: Yes, Oh ####.
As we followed the blood trail with our .416s stuffed full of solids it was agreed that anyone that got a shot would take it, though I'm sure Dan had long since reached that same conclusion. It wasn't long before the bloodtrail veered off into the brush again, and the tracker nearest me pointed excitedly uphill at a black shape that could only be the buffalo. In the time that it took to determine end was the front, Dan also saw it and we fired together on signal. The bull whirled and ran, but this time it's time had come as the dead bellow was heard.Once again he had selected the high ground to stop on. The two solids had entered behind the shoulder 3/4" apart and exited right next to the intial shot. This left a 3 shot "group" measuring 3/4" on the right side and a 2 shot group of the same size on the left side.
The gutting and skinning revealed what had happened to the first bullet, a 400 grain TSX. The bullet entered behind the shoulder, turned 90 degrees, took one lung, penetrated the gut and stopped in a hind-quarter. All those internet stories that I had heard about 400 grain TSXs being too long for the .416 Rigby suddenly made more sense, even though I never believed them before. On the other hand, SWAT teams may need a bullet that can shoot around corners. Considering that the only 2 other shots I had took on game with these .416 bullets didn't exit a wildebeest, I'm happy to quit using them altogether. Perhaps I'll trade them for a dog, and shoot the dog? I used the .375 for the rest of the trip without incident, shooting through giraffe, zebra and eland with Barnes bullets. Some definite rethinking in ammo is in order.
I'll start with the buffalo hunt, since that was the main reason for going. This took place by the Gwayi River on the second week of the trip.The main hunting techinique is to cut fresh tracks leaving water holes or crossing a trail then tracking them through the bush following tracks that only the black trackers seemed able to see at all. You could practice this by getting 4 or 5 guys together and practice tip-toeing through corn-flakes in 80 F temperatures. Throw in a few thorns to get the full affect. The first day included about 6 such stalks, usually ending in getting within feet of the buffalo and not being able to tell cows from bulls, never mind how big or old a bull might be. The hope is to find either a single or small group of dugga-boys to cut down on the chances of being busted by cows before finding the right bull. This also ups the chances of trailing the right buffalo to begin with. We also followed cow herds, and sometimes just picked up another track while returning to the Cruiser after a stalk didn't work. The first day of this involved a lot of action but no trigger yanking. Being within 20 feet of black blobs was fun though.
The second day started with the same plan, with the difference being that we had the herd crossing the trail in front of us. They were following a small valley that was open and grassy in a direction that would take them quartering past us if we cut through the thorn bush to get ahead of them. The plan worked, though the buffalo that walked up to us were in the bush with us. We had buffalo on three sides of us when I launched a 400 grain TSX out of my .416 Rigby at a barrel stretching 20 yards or less. I had a perfect broadside shot behind the shoulder or shot right at the shoulder but through bush for options so took the first one. All Hell basically broke loose at the shot, with buffalo exploding all around us and those elephant guns we were clutching seeming rather puny and insignificant. A barrel like bull-riders use in the rodeo would have been handier, next time I'll bring one.
Mounting a howitsor on it would be a comfort. Faster than you can say "Who's f**king idea was this, anyway?" things calmed down, though part of the herd was still in sight and my bull wasn't. I was feeling pretty good about my shot, happy about not getting squished and wasn't about to let anything, not even a rather grim-faced PH saying that there was gut material in the meager blood trail spoil my mood. Obviously the two trackers, PH and game-scout were all suffering from delusion, as my shot was perfect, right? That's the story I stuck to even after they showed it to me. Oh ####.After an appropriate wait my conspiciously un-smiling band of helpers took up the few drops of blood. PH Dan Weller suggested that we skirt around the track and move the 50 or 60 feet to the edge of the valley where the cover opened up and try to pick up the blood trail there. There is a better than even chance he just wanted to stop walking all over the track, and was just sparing the inept Canadian's feelings. We actually made it part of the way there when a bull buffalo squirted out the bit of cover and ran out around the corner out of sight again. This lead to a conversation that went something like this:
Me:Was that my buffalo?
PF: Probably.
Me: Do they always move that fast?
PH: No, I don't remember seeing one run that fast before.
Me: He looks pretty healthy.
PH: Yes, very healthy.
Me: Do you suppose that he spent the last 20 minutes watching us, watching the ground like a bunch of f**ktards from that tiny bump covered with thorns?
PH: Yes, Probably.
Me: Oh ####.
PH: Yes, Oh ####.
You will notice that Dan is very polite and professional, even when he was probably thinking about strangling his client.
I really appreciated that, even as my insistence that my shot was "Perfect" was losing some of it's conviction. We walked ahead and found blood, even as the trackers caught up. I started feeling better when I saw they were carrying handfulls of clotted lung blood.Me: Well, that doesn't look like a gut shot to me?
PH: The game scout now thinks that you may have hit two buffalo.I saw gut material as well.
Me: Oh ####.
PH: Yes, Oh ####.
As we followed the blood trail with our .416s stuffed full of solids it was agreed that anyone that got a shot would take it, though I'm sure Dan had long since reached that same conclusion. It wasn't long before the bloodtrail veered off into the brush again, and the tracker nearest me pointed excitedly uphill at a black shape that could only be the buffalo. In the time that it took to determine end was the front, Dan also saw it and we fired together on signal. The bull whirled and ran, but this time it's time had come as the dead bellow was heard.Once again he had selected the high ground to stop on. The two solids had entered behind the shoulder 3/4" apart and exited right next to the intial shot. This left a 3 shot "group" measuring 3/4" on the right side and a 2 shot group of the same size on the left side.
The gutting and skinning revealed what had happened to the first bullet, a 400 grain TSX. The bullet entered behind the shoulder, turned 90 degrees, took one lung, penetrated the gut and stopped in a hind-quarter. All those internet stories that I had heard about 400 grain TSXs being too long for the .416 Rigby suddenly made more sense, even though I never believed them before. On the other hand, SWAT teams may need a bullet that can shoot around corners.
Considering that the only 2 other shots I had took on game with these .416 bullets didn't exit a wildebeest, I'm happy to quit using them altogether. Perhaps I'll trade them for a dog, and shoot the dog? I used the .375 for the rest of the trip without incident, shooting through giraffe, zebra and eland with Barnes bullets. Some definite rethinking in ammo is in order.
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