Huntinamibia - My Namibian Adventure - Hugo de Hahn
What would an evening around the campfire be without humour? Lean back and have a hearty laugh.
Klaus Wasser, a hunter from Gummersbach, Germany, was with me on our game farm, Schönfeld, in the Erongo Region. We were about a kilometre from the car, moving towards a waterhole, when Klaus said suddenly, “Hartwig, Hartwig, there’s an ostrich running towards us!”
When I turned around, I realised that it was a breeding ostrich – a male with a signal red beak and chins – and I knew at once that this could be a dangerous situation, so I told Klaus to get behind me.
I took off my cap and put it on the barrel of the rifle. Then I lifted the rifle high into the air, to make it look like a bigger ostrich than the one approaching me. This tactic normally works, but this time the ostrich stopped a couple of metres in front of us, spread its wings and started hissing. Step by step, he came closer while I kept my pose, trying hard to give the impression that mine was the stronger ostrich. I watched as he pulled his neck backwards between his spread wings. I took my rifle on its stock and held it with both hands, just in case, so that I could hit him if he hit me. It was then that the ostrich opened the fight.
He kicked me in the diaphragm, a sudden, karate-like blow, but I immediately hit back. Problem was, so did he. I hit back harder, and he kicked me again, but my adrenalin also kicked in and I felt no fear or pain. I was simply determined to knock him out and tried to hit him in the area where his neck meets his chest.
From behind a bush Klaus was shouting, “Hartwig, Hartwig, shall I shoot him?
“No, don’t shoot,” I shouted back, “You’ll kill his brood with him.”
I put more and more force into my blows and when I tried to give him the hardest blow, my stock broke. At that moment, when I looked in shock at my rifle stock that was now broken into two pieces and linked only by the carrying sling, I realised that I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. The ostrich used this moment to give me his final blow. I landed flat on my back with the ostrich dancing over me, trying to kick and scratch me with his long nails.
I looked around for a bush where I could hide and, between his kicks, jumped out from under the ostrich and ran behind a bush. He followed me, and now, like a scene from a crazy cartoon, we circled the bush, always maintaining a 180-degree separation from each other. When I got my breath back, I told Klaus to come out from behind his bush and attract the ostrich’s attention so that I could get to the car.
As soon as Klaus showed himself, the ostrich attacked him and I started running. Then Klaus screamed, “Hartwig, he’s coming after you!” I dived behind another bush and the game of circle and chase started all over again, circle and chase, circle and chase... Once again, I had to ask Klaus to distract the ostrich, and this time I could finally leave without the ostrich noticing. I ran back to the Toyota double cab, jumped in and sped through the bushes to the area where Klaus and the ostrich were still circling the bush.
“Klaus, look for a dense bush, then crawl underneath so the ostrich can’t get you. I’ll drive up and you can get into the car!”
Unable to attack Klaus or me, the ostrich attacked the car. From behind, I could hear metal crunching and glass shattering and when Klaus was in the car and I reversed, the ostrich attacked the car from the side and front. We had to drive slowly through the bush, because the ostrich continued to kick the car all the way back to the road. When we reached a speed of 60 kilometres an hour and were about 2 kilometres away from the breeding site, he finally gave up his pursuit.
When I stopped at the next farm gate, I was shocked to find that the bakkie’s rear lights were hanging from their cables, one of the front lights had been kicked out and the car was covered in dents and scratches. Then Klaus said, “Look what he did to you.”
I looked down and saw that the pockets of my hunting vest had been torn off but that fortunately the zip had stayed up. Not that it made much difference. When I opened my shirt, I saw that my body was one big bruise. Only then did I feel the pain.
When I got home, I phoned Otto Brase from Lumley Agra Farmers Insurance and made a claim for my rifle and car.
“I trust you, Hartwig,” he said, “but the story sounds unbelievable. I’ll come out tomorrow with an assessor for an on-site inspection.” When he arrived the following day and saw the bruises on my body, he said he believed every word I’d said, because no one would mutilate himself in such a way just to get a claim paid out.
After our fight, that particular ostrich got the name Hugo de Hahn (Hugo the Cock). He and his mate successfully raised their cluck of chicks, and he continued to maintain his territory aggressively. In fact, he became a danger to Timo, the farm worker responsible for inspecting the fences and waterholes. Timo was attacked twice before he found a method of dealing with Hugo.
Because Timo had heard my story, he knew that when Hugo pulled his head back between his spread wings it was a sign that he was going to attack. When the ostrich’s head was still back, Timo would grab him by the neck and let his hands slide up the length of his neck to his head and then give him a big jerk. The resulting force on the ostrich’s spine would make him dizzy and give Timo a chance to run away. But Timo’s method was risky and it became impossible to hunt or stalk in Hugo’s territory.
I was only too glad when Johanna Cohauz and her family from Münster, Germany came out to hunt, and while her husband and son were hunting trophy animals, Johanna said she’d like to shoot an ostrich.
I told her, “Johanna, I’ve got just the bird for you.”
After I told her the story of Hugo de Hahn so that she understood the dangers, she agreed that she’d like to go for him.
It didn’t take long for us to find him or rather for him to find us. He came running straight towards us. But this time, we were a group of three – Johanna, a tracker and myself – and Hugo didn’t know exactly how to attack us. He stopped about 60 metres in front of us and began moving from one leg to the other, wagging his body from side to side, evaluating the situation.
Johanna rested her gun against a straight young camel-thorn tree and took aim. “Where do I shoot?” she asked. “I can’t hold this much longer. Ants are biting my hand.” Gum was oozing out of the bark of the tree, attracting a long line of ants that were climbing up and down, over Johanna’s hand, and biting her.
The ostrich was facing forward, so I replied, “Shoot him in the centre of the chest. That’s where we’ll make the cut anyway and then the skin won’t be damaged.”
To my mind, Johanna aimed far too long and carefully, but finally she pulled the trigger, dropping the ostrich on the spot. He was kicking dust and his neck was flaying about, like an uncontrolled water hose on a lawn. I was afraid he would damage his valuable skin and so I ran forward. Only then did I see that his head had been blown off just over his beak.
“Johanna, did you aim for his head?”
“Yes, do you think I’m going to damage my handbag?”
Stunned I wished her, “Waidmannsheil” – a hunters hail – now realising why she had aimed so carefully. What a shot!
At the next Dortmund Jagd and Hund Hunting Show, Johanna visited us at our booth, proudly showing us Hugo the Handbag. by Hartwig von Seydlitz
