Huntinamibia - My Namibian Adventure - Namibia – a priceless gem
Namibia’s communal conservancies offer true, unspoiled wilderness-hunting in breathtaking scenery. And two of the most typical Namibian species, gemsbok and kudu, are regarded as being member of the “five Great Antilopes of Africa”.
Why hunt in Namibia? Anybody launching into the subject of hunting in Africa will, of course, soon be confronted with this question. After all, Namibia as a hunting destination has always been known for its security, hospitality and good value for money. German and Austrian hunters have regarded Namibia as the one and only African destination. In my case this question had never come up, as I had been lucky enough to become acquainted with tropical Africa in my very early hunting years. On numerous trips to the classical big game countries such as Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique and above all Zimbabwe, I had found "my" very own Africa.
Largely thanks to friendships with professional hunters, almost all my desires regarding hunting and travel had come true. Thus, why go to Namibia?
My curiosity was finally aroused when a good friend, experienced in African hunting, told me with great enthusiasm about Namibia's tantalisingly stark beauty and, what is more, about the fantastic opportunities to hunt in the original way in vast untouched wilds, far away from civilisation. Most of all, it was the book Along the hunter's path that made me see Namibia in a different light.
So here we were, my friend Cari, our PH and myself, sitting drowsily and feeling the cold around the rekindled campfire, sipping tea and warming our hands on the hot mugs. A light fog had moved in from the coast, and the chilly moisture made us shiver. A few days ago an adventurous drive of several hours had brought us from the Erongo Mountains to this semi-desert area of southern Kaokoveld, and we had already hunted successfully in the picturesque surroundings of our tented camp. Now, still before sunrise, we were heading for a small rounded hilltop a few kilometres south of the camp, hoping for a good view across the vast undulating dune countryside. After good rainfalls it was sparsely covered by golden grass which stood barely ankle-high. Dry riverbeds, scantily lined by scruffy bush vegetation, were cutting through the maze of hills – this was gemsbok country.
No sooner had the greyish blue of the early morning changed into velvety hues of pink and violet, than the sky filled with soft melodious calls and the rush of wings of thousands of sandgrouse on their way north to a waterhole in the midst of nowhere. More sandgrouse rose from the ground directly in front of us to join the never-ending procession. The incredible confidence of the birds, flying right above our heads without any deviation from their course, and the enchanting quality of the early morning were true heavenly bliss.
Two days ago we had spotted a single old gemsbok bull in this very place, but in spite of tracking him almost at a run, we had lost him in the profusion of hills and valleys. Now we sat perched on eroded jags of granite, which ran across the hills like the scales on the back of a saurian, and scanned the vast area with our binoculars. We almost overlooked the female gemsbok and her red calf of only a few weeks as they suddenly appeared on the hilltop, less than 30 paces away, then stopped abruptly and looked at us intently. Apparently we passed for a troop of baboons, but nevertheless the gemsbok toddled off in irritation and disappeared from sight. After waiting a little, the PH and I hurriedly followed the antelope, hoping that the female would perhaps attract the attention of a bull.
Barely ten minutes had passed when a whistle made us turn around. Richard, one of our camp helpers, came running after us and with excited gesticulations made us understand that we were to turn back quickly. On the way he told us that almost as soon as we had started out an old gemsbok bull had come down from the ridge. If he continued in the same direction we would still be able to intercept him on the opposite slope. Using the slope for cover we advanced and soon saw the bull clearly against the horizon. But for a good shot he was already too far away and the next moment he had gone.
Never, ever will I forget the pursuit that was about to follow. Half walking, half running we continued, intent on catching up with our prey. Each time we saw him it was only seconds before he disappeared into the next valley or over the next hill. He kept to his course but increased his speed considerably. He must have sensed he was being pursued!
We had been chasing after him for hours already but were not getting any closer – on the contrary, we had just lost sight of him again. By now it was very hot and I needed a break to catch my breath and regain some energy. While I was busy with the water bottle the PH spotted a small herd of gemsbok on a slope quite some distance away.
Perhaps our bull had joined the herd. It seemed easy to intercept them at the next ridge and soon we had come within a good range. The bull, thickset and square, was indeed amongst the herd. He was restlessly pushing about, apparently pursuing a female in heat, when some animals suddenly froze, jerked up their heads… and fell into a springy canter, whereupon the whole herd exploded into flight, hooves thundering away. The wind had turned and spoiled it all before I could even think of shooting.
I felt deeply disappointed, totally exhausted and ready to give up. It was just about noon and the heat was almost unbearable. The PH suggested climbing the next ridge alone and having a look around. His stamina and enthusiasm were catching, and I felt grateful. He was doing so much more than his professional duty required. He was back soon, beaming. The herd was grazing about one kilometre away in the next valley. To reach them we had to cross the ridge ahead of us, which offered no cover. Crawling more or less on all fives – sitting down and advancing in a crab-like way, we should be able to manage, the PH said. And so we directed one another across the ridge, (one of us watching the herd, the other one crawling on) paying little attention to the sharp rocks and edges which left painful marks on our hands, elbows and backsides.
As soon as we were crawling downhill and were thus no longer silhouetted against the sky, we could risk rising to proceed carefully in a crouched fashion. We wanted to reach a bizarrely weathered basalt crest, where we would be in long range and covered. But right now we had to keep calm. Whenever an animal raised a head to look around, we froze and remained motionless until we dared to continue closing in on the skittish game.
When we finally reached the cover of the rocks I felt like someone who had been shipwrecked and had just managed to make it to the safety of the shore. I still had to get onto the rock somehow, then take aim calmly and fire. I couldn't afford to make a mistake now, even though my whole body seemed to be vibrating with exhaustion. Most importantly, I did not want to disappoint my guide after all that effort.
At last we are peering over the crest. The gemsbok are still grazing imperturbably. The PH directs me to the target bull. I am trying to position my rifle on the spiky rock. Suddenly I slip and the heavy weapon releases the shot with a roaring thunderclap. The herd is spinning around, I work the bolt in panic and desperation, the animals pause for a split second – and there the bull stands on his own. He drops to a hurried shot and perishes in the cloud of dust left by the herd racing off.
What a hunt! All our patron saints and Namibian hunting gods must have been with us. The two hunters, moved and happy, are watching over a truly grand old gemsbok with gratitude and awe.
With Namibia I have added a priceless gem to ‘my’ Africa. The hospitable, friendly people, its silent harsh beauty, the vast strange wilds and the original hunt have touched me deeply. I will come back!
Text by Norbert Payer Translated by Sven-Eric Kanzler
