“WOOF!” The Tracker grunted as we walked up on the downed Vaal Rhebok in the fading light.
My PH and Michael, the one-eyed tracker spoke to each other in excited Afrikaans and there was a certain awe to the moment. The sun had just set behind the mountains and the light had been casting in gold and pink hues in this harsh, desert landscape. “You know it’s a big one when the tracker gets excited!” - and indeed it was an exceptional specimen. 10 3/4” (the record is 11.5”) for this old guy, the tips of his horns worn down. He might well have tied the record or even broke it in his prime.
We’d been hunting all day in the winter cold South African Karoo for Vaal and Klipspringer. Most of the time we’d see the animals at 700-1000 yards, sprinting for the next horizon and disappearing over the far range. We’d been at it since 5am and we were all tired. Craig (my PH) looked at the sun, then his watch, then back to the truck. One last place to try before dark really. It was 330 pm and the sun was already signaling it’s desire to tuck itself in.
Nearly back to where we started that morning, we’d run a large circle all day, dealing with high cold winds, the kind of cold that cuts through clothing and numbs trigger fingers. The kind of cold that makes one start to question if they can hold a rifle steady through the chatter of chipping teeth.
A rapping on the roof of the Bakkie signaled our Tracker had spotted some Vaalies and we bailed out for a mile+ stalk. As we softly crested a hill and crevasse the dread of defeat began to seep into our psyche. Of course the Vaal had already seen us and were sprinting for the next horizon. Craig watched them for a minute, sank down and made a fresh plan to move over to a cliff area about a 1/2 mile away. We’d have to double-time it to get there before the light faded out.
As we came up on the cliff, my brain was running mathematical simulations. I don’t know why it was doing it this time, but it was. I was shooting a loaner rifle - a commercial Husky Mauser in 30-06. It was the outfitters personal rifle, given to him when he was 16. It had been countless hunts and had all the nicks and dings a lifetime of hunting could sport. It was zero’ed 2.5” high at 100 yards and remarkably drilled a wonderful 1” group at 100 even with that heavy two-stage trigger on it.
With some PPU 150 gr. factory ammo, it was very soft shooting. At best I figured this ammo was doing 2650, maybe 2700 fps. With a steel buttplate the recoil was actually quite negligible through my jacket. Let’s see…150 gr. Factory bullet, probably a flat base cup and core…BC maybe around .36…2.5” high at 100, probably 1” low at 200…figure 12” low at 300…
I see them, 320 out. Sure, a dusky sand colored critter about the size of a Coyote was sitting in the middle of a sandy patch of ground in the fading light. Streaks of pink glazed overhead.
Wait, that’s not 320 yards…that’s 320 meters. Which is 350 yards. Half again the drop at 300 takes me to 18” of expected drop. A Vaal Rhebok’s chest is about 14” high…
I went prone, picked up two rocks, placed in a V-pattern under the forestock…as I lay there, found another rock to wedge under the grip and settled my breathing. Scope on 10x, I found the Vaal, he was standing broadside, staring straight at us with his mate. I placed the crosshairs an estimated full body height over his back (about 14”), put the vertical crosshair on his front leg…and took up the slack in the trigger.
The wind died to zero…the grasses of the plains went still…I never felt not heard the crack of the rifle as I lost sight of the Vaal in the recoil.
“He’s Down!” My PH exclaimed. He’s DOWN! (*More congratulations)
I rolled over onto my back and just stared up at the sky, thanking God, the Heavens, Athena for an amazing day.
It took us 15 minutes to walk down to the Vaal. It was only when we walked up on him that we truly realized what a monster he was.
WOOF.
