For the seasoned hunter, the true measure of a pursuit lies in the potential for danger, according to a prominent South African hunter whose account was first reported by Outdoor Life. This hunter asserts that an animal lacking the capacity to inflict harm is not worth shooting, and a successful trip should leave a lasting impression. His perspective is rooted in a lifetime spent hunting the vast stretches of South Africa, Bechuanaland (modern-day Botswana), Rhodesia, South West Africa, and Mozambique.
He expresses a strong preference for challenging game, rating the African lion as a prime antagonist, followed by the buffalo—described as a "blindly courageous, charging monster." Rhinoceros, elephant, or tiger hold less appeal. Critically, he condemns the practice of "sitting-duck" lion hunting from baited tree stands with armed escorts, calling it dishonorable. For him, the genuine hunt demands being on the ground, crawling through the same brush as the lion, seeking a fair shot, regardless of the time it takes or the fear it instills.
He recounted one such encounter in Bechuanaland, a British protectorate similar in size to Texas, characterized by sandy, trackless country with thorny acacias, tall grass, and heavy brush, providing superb cover for diverse game including lions, elephants, and buffaloes, alongside dangerous snakes and scorpions. Hunting in the Okavango Swamp during the delightful winter, days are warm, and nights are cool.
His pursuit began shortly after dawn with his native tracker, Chumbo. The hunter was equipped with a Winchester Model 70 chambered in .375 H&H Magnum, loaded with 300-grain Silvertip cartridges, while Chumbo carried a 7.9mm Mauser. Navigating dense terrain with often less than 50 yards of visibility, they tracked a "talking" lion, identified by its deep, coughing grunt. Following fresh spoor near water holes, they advanced cautiously, the hunter eventually stripping to footgear, hat, and underpants due to the swampy conditions.
The tension mounted as they heard the lion's angry grunts, with Chumbo flanking about thirty yards to the right. Suddenly, separated by heavy brush, the hunter was met with a "terrific, jarring roar" just four paces away. A "huge, tawny shape" burst from the brush. Reacting instantly, the hunter staggered sideways, brought his rifle up, and fired as the lion flashed past, the muzzle mere inches from its hide. Despite the close range, the shot missed, leaving the hunter "quaking from top to toe" and the lion gone, leaving only tufts of black mane on a bush. Though he later secured the animal, the profound memory of that terrifying growl and the vivid, flashing streak of fur, narrowly missing him, remains the indelible highlight. This type of hunting, he concludes, spoils one for any other.
