I was once asked to write a story that was not about the harvest of an animal, but more about the spirit of the hunt. This is what I came up with. I am add some pics from that trip, but not necessarily from the day in question.
Hope you enjoy it.
Posted in a couple of parts.
A Day in Africa
Everyday was a joy and an adventure during my trip to Africa. Looking back now after a few months have passed I think my first day in Zimbabwe is one that stands out.
I had just completed two fantastic weeks at Howard Knott’s place, Greater Kuduland Safaries. The trip was so good and the people so nice that I felt like all of my expectations had already been met. It crossed my mind that I should be going home instead of starting another safari.
When I planed my trip I wanted to see and do as much as possible. My reasoning was that if I was already spending two thousand dollars on airfare why not see at least two countries, a couple of camps, and hunt as many different species as possible. I didn’t know if I would ever get back so I wanted to get the maximum experience possible.
That all sounded good in theory, but after being gone for over two weeks, having already had a great time and taken a good number of great animals, and the post hunt let down, I was uncertain about the wisdom of my scheduled trip to Peter Johnston’s Cawston Ranch in Zimbabwe. In truth, if I could have come home at that point and taken the Zimbabwe hunt later, I would have.
After some warm goodbyes and an uneventful plane ride I found myself in the Zimbabwe Airport. It was small, hot, crowded, primitive, and chaotic, no doubt about being in Africa. I got in the customs line and waited. These African civil servants are not really all that customer oriented and the wait was long (I guess some things really are universal). When I finally got to the front they informed me in very broken English that I was in the wrong line and that I needed to go stand in the other long line to pay the special tax, which only Americans and Australians have to pay. This is the type of thing that can really upset you if you let it. I didn’t mind the few extra dollars, it was more the feeling of being taken advantage of. I always try very hard to not let the “things” that go wrong on every trip spoil my attitude or enjoyment. I was last in that line, and the wait was as long as expected. When I finally got to the window, they took my money and then told me I was missing some papers. I just stood there looking stupid, which I find I have a talent for. The agent behind the window didn’t say anything else so I just walked back over to my bags, not knowing what else to do. By this time everyone else had left and the airport was pretty vacant so the customs agents, who now had nothing else to do, decided it would be good fun to make me open all my bags and cases. This was no easy feat because I had gone to great lengths to secure my stuff. When my gear and underwear was finally evenly spread across the terminal floor, they decided that me and my traditional archery equipment were pretty unimpressive and let me go. It was then that I saw a man come jogging in. He asked if I was a bowhunter. I said yes. Then he asked if I was Mark Johnson and I said yes. He introduced himself as Peter. Then he asked me where my bow case was. I pointed to the long tube which held my two longbows. He got this real strange look on his face. He said he thought that was a fishing rod case. I said no, I shoot a longbow. Next came the awkward silence while he digested this disturbing bit of information. Nothing else was said, but I could tell he had doubts on how my hunt was going to go. I found out later that they had seen almost no traditional bowhunters. The only one they could remember was a Spaniard who dressed like Robin Hood, tights, feathered cap, and all. Over the course of a two week safari “Senior Robin” had only wounded a warthog and killed nothing. It is not uncommon for the average hunter to kill an animal a day in Africa. Spanish Robin Hood and not been a very good representive for traditional archery.
On the way to the ranch we made the normal hunting small talk. He talked about not pressuring me to shoot if I were not comfortable with the shot and told me that if I didn’t harvest a lot of animals, we would still have a great hunt. I agreed with all of this but felt like he was still worried about my equipment and skills and was laying the ground work for me to save face later when I didn’t kill anything. We stopped at a local store which was nice chance to see a little of the culture.
When we pulled up and stopped at a red light. I heard a female voice yell “Hey”. I looked, and in the vehicle beside us was an attractive woman. I leaned out and she said “I will see you tonight, okay?” I looked at Peter and he was laughing. I said that never happens at home. He explained that she was the wife of one of the other professional hunters and we would all be eating together every night.
We arrived at the ranch and it was beautiful. The area around camp was like a tropical garden bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. I felt good and the feel of the camp start lifting my spirits. I took a short tour and got my bags into my cabin. All my accommodations while in Africa were first rate. It was a couple of hours until dark and the other hunters were out at the blinds. Peter asked if I would like to drive around a little and see some of the ranch. I said of course. He said get your bow you never know. Man, I liked that attitude. I was not dressed for hunting. I was still wearing shorts and tee-shirt from my plane trip, I had no hat, face mask, gloves or anything, but what the heck. All you really need to hunt is a bow, an arrow, and desire.
Hope you enjoy it.
Posted in a couple of parts.
A Day in Africa
Everyday was a joy and an adventure during my trip to Africa. Looking back now after a few months have passed I think my first day in Zimbabwe is one that stands out.
I had just completed two fantastic weeks at Howard Knott’s place, Greater Kuduland Safaries. The trip was so good and the people so nice that I felt like all of my expectations had already been met. It crossed my mind that I should be going home instead of starting another safari.
When I planed my trip I wanted to see and do as much as possible. My reasoning was that if I was already spending two thousand dollars on airfare why not see at least two countries, a couple of camps, and hunt as many different species as possible. I didn’t know if I would ever get back so I wanted to get the maximum experience possible.
That all sounded good in theory, but after being gone for over two weeks, having already had a great time and taken a good number of great animals, and the post hunt let down, I was uncertain about the wisdom of my scheduled trip to Peter Johnston’s Cawston Ranch in Zimbabwe. In truth, if I could have come home at that point and taken the Zimbabwe hunt later, I would have.
After some warm goodbyes and an uneventful plane ride I found myself in the Zimbabwe Airport. It was small, hot, crowded, primitive, and chaotic, no doubt about being in Africa. I got in the customs line and waited. These African civil servants are not really all that customer oriented and the wait was long (I guess some things really are universal). When I finally got to the front they informed me in very broken English that I was in the wrong line and that I needed to go stand in the other long line to pay the special tax, which only Americans and Australians have to pay. This is the type of thing that can really upset you if you let it. I didn’t mind the few extra dollars, it was more the feeling of being taken advantage of. I always try very hard to not let the “things” that go wrong on every trip spoil my attitude or enjoyment. I was last in that line, and the wait was as long as expected. When I finally got to the window, they took my money and then told me I was missing some papers. I just stood there looking stupid, which I find I have a talent for. The agent behind the window didn’t say anything else so I just walked back over to my bags, not knowing what else to do. By this time everyone else had left and the airport was pretty vacant so the customs agents, who now had nothing else to do, decided it would be good fun to make me open all my bags and cases. This was no easy feat because I had gone to great lengths to secure my stuff. When my gear and underwear was finally evenly spread across the terminal floor, they decided that me and my traditional archery equipment were pretty unimpressive and let me go. It was then that I saw a man come jogging in. He asked if I was a bowhunter. I said yes. Then he asked if I was Mark Johnson and I said yes. He introduced himself as Peter. Then he asked me where my bow case was. I pointed to the long tube which held my two longbows. He got this real strange look on his face. He said he thought that was a fishing rod case. I said no, I shoot a longbow. Next came the awkward silence while he digested this disturbing bit of information. Nothing else was said, but I could tell he had doubts on how my hunt was going to go. I found out later that they had seen almost no traditional bowhunters. The only one they could remember was a Spaniard who dressed like Robin Hood, tights, feathered cap, and all. Over the course of a two week safari “Senior Robin” had only wounded a warthog and killed nothing. It is not uncommon for the average hunter to kill an animal a day in Africa. Spanish Robin Hood and not been a very good representive for traditional archery.
On the way to the ranch we made the normal hunting small talk. He talked about not pressuring me to shoot if I were not comfortable with the shot and told me that if I didn’t harvest a lot of animals, we would still have a great hunt. I agreed with all of this but felt like he was still worried about my equipment and skills and was laying the ground work for me to save face later when I didn’t kill anything. We stopped at a local store which was nice chance to see a little of the culture.
When we pulled up and stopped at a red light. I heard a female voice yell “Hey”. I looked, and in the vehicle beside us was an attractive woman. I leaned out and she said “I will see you tonight, okay?” I looked at Peter and he was laughing. I said that never happens at home. He explained that she was the wife of one of the other professional hunters and we would all be eating together every night.
We arrived at the ranch and it was beautiful. The area around camp was like a tropical garden bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. I felt good and the feel of the camp start lifting my spirits. I took a short tour and got my bags into my cabin. All my accommodations while in Africa were first rate. It was a couple of hours until dark and the other hunters were out at the blinds. Peter asked if I would like to drive around a little and see some of the ranch. I said of course. He said get your bow you never know. Man, I liked that attitude. I was not dressed for hunting. I was still wearing shorts and tee-shirt from my plane trip, I had no hat, face mask, gloves or anything, but what the heck. All you really need to hunt is a bow, an arrow, and desire.
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