Not always a fairytale
Hunting the tiny ten is not a tiny feat at all. It takes perseverance, dedication and grit. It will test your endurance and stamina walking long, hard, uphill, rocky and gruelling kilometers in pursuit of the target animal that you are after. On one of our recent hunts we were after an illusive little antelope.
Setting off on an autumn morning, to the West Coast of South Africa, where we would have a hard hunt ahead of us. The excitement was high as Frik Swanepoel approached African Dreams Hunting a month or so earlier to finally help him to get his prized klipspinger to add another species on his Tiny Ten quest. No amount of preparation in the gymnasium or on the shooting range would have prepared him for what was to come.
We left the small picturesque town of Stellenbosch, where we spent the night, to make the 300 km drive to the small West Coast town of Klawer. We had to leave around 02:00 in the morning to be able to hit the hills at the first light. South Africans are a special breed, as we would have our “padkos”, which translates directly as “roadfood”, packed and made the night before consisting of hard boiled egg, chicken drumsticks, toasted sandwiches and don’t forget the coffee. This will have us fuelled by the time we get to the hunting area and we don’t have to carry large packs into the mountains with food and water.
At the break of dawn the challenge became more and more evident. Not only is finding the illusive klipspringer a difficult objective but the mountains rose tall and intimidating above us towering into the clouds like castles of the dark ages. We stood around talking strategy, not sure if it was to delay taking on the mountains, and as soon as we could distinguish the shrubs from the rocks we started the climb. It was an overcast day which made it ideal to not over exert ourselves and we could maintain a very effective steady pace through the mountains scanning the ridges above us ever so often.
Hunting the Klipspringer requires a systematical approach. The Klipspringer is an alert little antelope and their biggest threat comes from above. They are readily targeted by Leopard, Baboons and large birds of prey in that area. Thus we approached them on the foothills. Working from right to left on this mountain range called the “Gif Berg” which translates to “Poison Mountain”. It gets its name from a tree that grows on it. The old folk used to use this berry to kill off jackal and other predators that came after their sheep and the local Khoi San utilized the crushed berries as poison on their arrow tips. Legend has it if even a leaf falls in the drinking water of sheep then they would die.
Deciding to take a slow, but steady pace enabled us to travel a whole hour before we had our first water break. The wind was still in our favor as we opened our backpacks to get some refreshments. As I bent down I heard a call, a call I haven’t heard yet that morning, but one that was hidden in the archive of previous adventures. Running through the rows and rows of sounds in the imaginary library in my head, trying to figure out where I have heard this before. Im sure its not a bird, and its not a rock hyrax. I looked up to the mountains and realized that we have been compromised. We had taken a break about 200 meters from a Klipsrpinger and he spotted us first. The warning call that he made was clear and crisp in the morning air. No need to rush now, we would have to push through into his neighbors’ territory. Klipspringer territories can be quite easy to spot. They have a set dung pile and this is evident all over the area. The males have a very unique way of claiming that he is the king of his hill. They secrete a sticky substance from glands under their eyes which they use to mark their boundaries and this can be picked up by passers by. We could clearly see their highways up and down the mountains as they made their way down to graze.
Putting back our water bottles, we are hydrated for another few kilometers. The clouds got heavy, as heavy as clouds can get on the West Coast I guess... The jackal rain - as the locals call it - came creeping over the valley and around the corner of the mountain. Its a very soft rain that can last for days but this time we were lucky as it only lasted a few minutes but it was enough to cool us down. What made this even more of a challenge was the fact that without the sunlight shining directly on the rocks and being blocked by the clouds it made it a lot harder to spot these little antelope. They have a shiny almost golden glow when the sun hits their coats, so today they had an advantage.
The terrain constantly changed. From the sandy west coast dunes to rocky boulders and then all of a sudden a mixture of clay and rock which led into a valley of lush green vegetation fuelled by natural springs, always keeping the hunter guessing and calculating of where to step and where to walk while still being stealthy and quiet.
We made our way along this ever changing terrain, and all of a sudden all three of us dropped down to the sand taking cover behind a bush. On the slopes perched on a vertical rock, which at that moment looked just like the rock in The Lion King, was a Klipspringer staring right at us. How we all spotted the same buck at the same time was mind-blowing. We had our binoculars up but it was a female. We took our time looking for the male, because they move in pairs. She posed on the rock for a few minutes and took off across the cliff face and disappeared up the valley, no male.
This is trophy hunting in Africa, especially when you are looking for specific species and animals. It is never easy. I personally believe that effort just makes the reward so much sweeter and in the end you feel that you can push a little longer, a little harder and dig deeper to find the strength to climb another hill and traverse another valley.
We got up and made our way to the next territory and saw a lot of signs that there is definite activity in that area. Stopping every hundred meters or so to have a glass over the mountains and the valley below us, hoping to spot them before they spot us. After another two territories crossed we spotted two little heads above the West Coast fynbos. We were still a long way out and the wind turned giving away the little advantage that we had. After a quick tactical discussion we decided that it would be best if we approached the pair very carefully, I would watch them through my binoculars and Frik would get about seventy yards closer, he would then watch them through his binoculars making sure not to lose sight, they disappear in a flash, and I would crawl to him. We did this for about five hundred meters. The next moment they caught our scent and took off. It was a little group of five individuals. I spotted a ram that made me stutter. It was a very big male that would be very close to six inches if not over.
The little group made their way over the crest and we were in hot pursuit. Then we spotted them scaling the mountain and we picked a spot to take a shot from. Frik fumbling to get his range finder out I told him that it can’t be more than 300 meters out. This was a tough uphill shot but he practiced, he can shoot, he knows his rifle. He ranged the rock where this monster Klipspringer was standing on and it was just over 300 meters. We had time, I think we had too much time, sometimes time can kill an opportunity. Time makes you think and over thinking leads to nerves and we all know nerves and shooting isn’t a great combination. Frik was steady over a rock, this was what he came here to do, this is why he got up so early and walked along the foothills, this is why he worked so hard, this is his moment... The shot rang through the mountains from his 7x68 Musgrave, a puff of dust shot up at the feet of the little antelope and he simply hopped to the next rock. Another round went into the chamber, now I can see the nerves taking hold, eager to get another shot off. The second shot rings through the hills and the same result with a puff of dust just behind against the rocks. By now the little group has made their way further up the mountain. Frik made one more shot, but this did not hit its target.
Like a wounded warrior Frik slid down the rock and sat staring into the distance trying to comprehend what just happened, replaying the shots in his mind. But the opportunity has gone; these few moments in time will never be again. Our water bottles are empty, our energy low and our hopes depleted. We agreed to make our way down the valley to a natural spring, to fill our water bottles and rest our feet, after eighteen kilometers we felt defeated. Our time was up for now and our opportunities dwindled as the sun set behind the mountains. Another two kilometers laid ahead of us to our extraction and we walked with mountains towering on either side. Even though we were out of time and out of energy we still had the courage and hope to have a look at the slopes, but nothing.
Our hunt was over for now, but the next trip was already being planned on the back of the vehicle on our way to the camp. We did not succeed today but we also did not fail, we learnt. Hunting is not always idyllic, it’s hard work and it’s a lot of effort and sometimes, just sometimes, it ends in an amazing fairytale. This is hunting in Africa and today it was not our fairytale.