The Agony and the Ecstasy--Hunting Giant Eland in the C.A.R.

First Impressions

Hazy, smoke-filled skies cast a dirty pall over my first sighting of the Central African Republic as the Air France jet lumbered down into the capital city of Bangui. I had steeled myself for the oppressive heat I`d read about, and at first when I deplaned, it didn`t seem all that bad. But three hours later, I lay sweat-drenched and gasping in the dingy, crowded airport, watching all the chaos, and wondering if I`d survive my third rifle inspection and the constant harassment for tips from idle porters. But at least my bags and gun had arrived, unlike one of the other two hunters on my flight from Paris (of course, I had hand-delivered my rifle case to the baggage handlers on the tarmac in Paris, after rescuing it from a distant storage building, but that`s another story).

Finally I was ushered onto the charter plane for the two-hour flight to the rural airstrip in north central C.A.R, ready to embark on my long-awaited Lord Derby eland hunt. I had purchased this hunt at the SCI evening auction in 2002, courtesy of Fred Duckworth and Safaria Outfitters, but due to civil strife and stern travel warnings my hunt had to be delayed a year, and I was arriving the very first week of the season in early January. It was a bit hard to stay awake during this last flight, with most of the landscape obscured by smoke from the countless grass fires, set to enhance visibility for game. I was astonished at how sparsely inhabited the countryside was, being accustomed to seeing the many small villages and herds of livestock one normally encounters in other countries in Africa. But the C.A.R, with it`s poor economy, lack of tourist incentives and troubled political history doesn`t seem to encourage widespread civilization. What this meant to me was a chance to experience a genuine old- fashioned bush hunt, spending hours on foot pursuing sparse and elusive game in a land largely untouched by human encroachment.

Upon landing, I was met by Fred, who was hunting out of a nearby camp, and my guide, Florent Mathieu, a friendly young French lad whom I recognized from several hunting videos I had watched in preparation for this hunt. After lunch we drove several hours on a dirt track to our camp, observing a few oribi, hartebeest, warthogs, and many baboons along the way. As we traveled miles through the thick trees and high grass, I felt a bit concerned, as I hadn`t exactly been working on the Stairmaster at home, and I`d heard tales of how grueling these hunts could be, hiking in the crackling dry brush for miles and miles in 100-degree heat.

Kaga Hele camp was quite nice, consisting of newly thatched rondeval huts on a patch of cleared ground in the forest. It had all the comforts of home, including a nice shower facility and a generator-powered refrigerator, and the finely prepared French cuisine proved to be excellent. I checked my rifle, a Winchester .375 H&H which I had only recently purchased and fired a few times at the range. I hoped that we would both be up to the challenge of giant eland hunting! Kaga Hele is centrally located in the vast Safaria concession, which consisted of over 3,000,000 acres of dry savannah, divided by many streams with slender rainforest borders, and well-traversed by dirt roads to aid in looking for game.

Day One

The first day of my hunt dawned deliciously cool and humid, and I wondered why all the trackers and staff were bundled in heavy coats and hats. I soon found out, as we drove through the chilly morning air, looking for eland spoor along the road. But by about 8 am, the first tendrils of heat crept over us, and within an hour it was 95 degrees. Game was scarce, but I had expected that. Many of the animals we did see were surprisingly tolerant of our approach, which emphasized how remote the area was. The landscape was comprised of tall dry grass and quite thick trees and brush, with visibility usually limited to 50 yards. To try to improve on this, the trackers lit dozens of fires as we puttered along, and it was somewhat unnerving to watch the tinder-dry grass ignite into roaring brush fires behind us. New shoots would soon spring up, and the animals were no doubt accustomed to this annual routine.

I pondered the relative scarcity of wildlife, and Flo informed me that with the abundance of food and the many small streams and seeps in the concession, the animals could move freely, and weren`t concentrated in any particular area. We took several short walks into mineral licks and larger marshy areas, but found no fresh sign of eland. Glimpses of roan antelope, duiker, warthog and hartebeest were welcome distractions, especially as the heat became intense and the tsetse flies persistent. It finally started to cool down around 4 pm, and we made our way back to camp and a fresh guinea fowl dinner.

Happy Buff-Day!

Today we drove to the base of a long high ridge that eland frequent and made our way to the top to look for tracks. We got an early start, climbing to the ridge crest and beginning the slow and painstaking task of sorting out the fresh sign from the old. Not an easy job, considering that the ground was baked hard and covered in ash and big crunchy leaves, but the trackers were very skilled. They found where a large herd had wandered during the night, and the size of these huge animals became apparent to me when I saw 6-inch diameter branches snapped off seven feet above the ground by a bull`s horns as he browsed. After three hours we hadn`t caught up with them, but one of the trackers noticed several dark shapes in the brush, tails twitching--buffalo! Normally we would ignore other game when tracking eland, but one bull seemed exceptional, so Flo and I did a quick stalk, and two shots later he was down.

The northwestern buffalo is a bit smaller than his savannah cousin, but no less tenacious. He was a fine old bull, at least 12 years old, with big worn bosses and a noble scarred face. He made a great 41st birthday present for me, certainly a wonderful reward for enduring the heat, which had set in with a vengeance. Flo told me it was hotter than normal for this time of the year, with the temperature being at least 100 degrees, and as we resumed tracking the eland, I could feel my strength and reserves flagging. I`m sure I made quite the picture, plodding along covered in a lovely mixture of sweat, dirt, soot, bug dope and sunscreen. It didn't help that I sometimes wore light tan pants, which had to be covered in soot so that I would blend in a bit.

While we tracked the eland and eventually gave up the pursuit, the boys skinned and carried out the buffalo, which was a welcome addition to the menu in camp, being the first animal of the season. As we drove back we munched on buffalo liver, cooked over an open fire while they butchered the meat. It was nice on this day to return to my hut, have a light tasty lunch, and rest for an hour before the afternoon hunt. I was heartily grateful for the small battery-operated fan I`d brought along, as a refreshing breeze was really nice during my siesta.

We returned to the ridge that afternoon, grunted our way to the top, and within 15 minutes, there stood another big buffalo bull, 100 yards away, staring us down. Flo gave me a wry grin, and told me it was a good one. As I hesitated, suddenly we realized that there were eland beyond the buffalo. A small group of cows stood poised for flight amongst the rocks and charred trees. Then they whirled and were gone, but at least we saw them. We followed until darkness forced us off the ridge, the eerie light from several large brush fires glowing on the horizon.

Other Pursuits

It was another long, hot day, spent chasing phantoms and lighting over a hundred fires, aided by strong dry winds. We started up the ridge in the afternoon, and Flo spotted a really huge red-flanked duiker in the forest edge at the base of the ridge. I threw up my gun, paid no attention to where I was holding it, and fired, killing the duiker nicely and also taking a big chunk out of the side of my nose with the scope. Oh well, first time for everything. He was a lovely old ram, with very large horns that should put him in the top ten. We proceeded up the ridge, where I discovered what happens when you don`t pay attention to where you`re standing, especially when there are army ants on the move. It gives ants in the pants real meaning, and these little guys are serious. Between the ants, ticks, bees, mosquitoes, tsetse flies and sweat bees, this place is a haven for carnivorous six-legged critters.

On a different day we spent a very quiet morning driving the roads, seeing no sign of anything, Then, around a corner, we came upon three bull hartebeest, and it was obvious that one was a shooter. We bailed off the truck, stalked down the road, and as soon as he cleared the trees, I shot. His bases were enormous, a sign of his age, yet another very big old trophy male.

Flo then led us on a nice stroll along a stream and through a sun-dappled forest, which opened up into a large marshy meadow. There, we watched a small herd of buffalo enjoying the afternoon. The cows were taking their ease along the marsh edge, and two bulls were wading in the water. The larger bull decided to recline in the mud, and settled himself comfortably in a nice gooey spot, surveying the cows. He was very wide and large, with huge bosses, a magnificent old warrior. After some discussion and maneuvering through the mud, I took a shot as he lay half submerged, and due to the angle it took a couple more to get the job done. I felt a twinge of regret, disturbing such a tranquil scene. Watching the birds, buffalo and warthogs, relaxed and at peace, made me realize what a special place this was, unspoiled and fairly untouched, with hardly any human contact and no one living anywhere nearby, only a handful of eland hunters to contend with for a few months of the year. What a privilege it was to be there!

Tough Days

We started to change strategies. Instead of driving for endless hours looking for tracks, we stopped in likely areas and took off on foot, hoping to run into tracks to follow. This became a "real eland hunting experience". We traversed rocky ravines back and forth, then ashy, blackened plateaus, and endless seas of tall dry grass. I couldn`t imagine why these crazy animals would choose to trudge for miles through a moonscape of rock, ash, and burnt trees...if I was an eland, I`d be hanging out in the cool, shady forest along a burbling stream. One day we walked for 8 hours, tracking a large herd that was always out of reach, smelling us as the wind swirled, or no doubt hearing us as we crunched through the grass, sounding like a herd of elephants. Again and again we bumped them, watching their tracks change from strolling to the deeper cuts made by a running herd. We finally gave up in the intense heat, and we were all a tad hungry by the time we got back to the truck. Lots of water is a must on this hunt!

The next day we followed tracks a day and a half old, not able to find anything fresher. The trackers spent hours unraveling the herd`s meanderings, and I walked behind, silently grumbling to myself that this was a waste of time. Then- -a big cow eland's head popped over a bush, staring at us, and we heard them take off in the thick brush. We followed for a mile, and when they finally stopped running, Flo and I crawled on hands and knees to try to get close enough for a look. I was glad I wore my kneepads that day! We crept through thick ash, finally catching a glimpse of an eland rump in the trees, but the rest were gone. We determined there were no bulls in the herd, and let them go.

We had another try on the ridge top one day, and didn't have much luck. Then I heard a very loud, guttural, raspy grunt, and everyone hit the dirt, crouching motionless. I thought a mad buffalo bull was bearing down on us, but Flo whispered "Eland!" Suddenly, a huge female eland came trotting right into us, grunting, dewlap swinging. We were sitting not 30 yards away, in plain sight. She slid to a stop, suspicious, and then whirled around and ran off, never really knowing what we were. Flo told me she was calling to her calf. And not five minutes later, we came upon her and her two companions, along with a tiny little calf, complete with his own cute little dewlap. All five of us froze, standing in the open, but the wind was in our favor, and although they stared at us warily, they continued feeding on the isoberlinia trees and wandered down the ridge. What a treat; these were to be the only eland I got a good look at on the whole trip.

The next day didn`t start too well; 10 miles out of camp, the bolts holding the tire to the axle sheared off. But it was amazing what those boys could come up with in these situations; using two rubber bands, a machete and some sticks, they reattached the tire, and we limped back to camp for repairs. They took me on a long hike along a rainforest stream to look for blue and yellow-backed duikers and red river hogs while the truck was being fixed, and then we were on our way again. Just out of camp, one of the trackers spotted a harnessed bushbuck peering at us through the trees. We had caught a few glimpses of these beautiful antelope on rare occasions, but I hadn't been quick enough to take one. This time, I managed to squeeze off a shot between the trunks, and then took a moment to admire the glowing red coat and beautiful markings on the ram`s coat. They are like miniature bongos, quite lovely. I also shot a very old western bush duiker that evening, but alas, no eland.

At Last--Victory!

By the eleventh day, I was getting a wee bit discouraged, no doubt about that. We had yet to see a bull eland, and had only glimpsed a few cows and calves. We walked into some distant salt licks, with no results. We followed tracks of a herd, and got close enough to hear them softly grunting in the distance, but after chasing them a while, seeing a few horns and backs running through the brush, no bull tracks were found, so we let them go. Where were the bulls? Was the rut not on yet?

We continued a slow drive in the baking sun, and my spirits slumped. The trackers jumped off the truck to look at some tracks, like they had so many times before. And this time, finally, they were bull tracks. It was 1 pm, blazing hot, but we followed them anyway. The sweat bees were merciless, and the bulls kept re-crossing the road, wandering at will as they fed. I felt ready to throw in the towel, so hot and discouraged. Then---at my feet I saw really fresh droppings on the ground. And Flo was suddenly gesturing to me frantically, pointing ahead of us. I peered desperately into the trees, looking up ahead for anything that resembled an eland. Then I realized with a shock; the eland was only 50 yards away! In the eight foot tall grass, all I could see were two glistening black horns. I threw up my gun, saw a vague suggestion of a shoulder hump, dropped my sights, and fired instinctively into the grass. Flo grabbed his rifle and sped off, rushing to catch a glimpse of the bull. I was suddenly aghast at what I had done, shooting at what I hoped was there. Terrified, I stumbled after Flo, and it was an amazing moment when I saw him suddenly stop, raise both arms over his head and shout with glee. I screeched and hollered, and when I arrived breathless, there was the eland, dead on the ground.

Wow. What a magnificent creature. I could not believe I`d hit him, much less killed him cleanly, but I was very thankful. His cape was spotless, and his horns had a neat outward flare at the tips that made him quite unique. I only had about 45 seconds to enjoy him before the sweat bees made life miserable for us all, but he was absolutely wonderful. His horns were 49 2/8 and 48 4/8, which didn`t matter much to me; he was perfect. My only wish was that I could have seen him, alive and regal, to take that visual memory home with me. But that`s the good thing about being a wildlife artist; I will strive to bring him back to life in my paintings.

The last day was a no pressure day; we took some walks in the rainforest to look for red river hogs and duikers, and we came upon a group of hogs, although they didn't linger long enough to get a shot. I did get a nice blue duiker on the riverbank, and sidestepped a couple cobras and a big python, and that was enough excitement for the last day, I thought. Everyone in camp tried their best and worked very hard for me, and I was impressed by all the Safaria staff and my talented guide Flo. I was lucky enough to take eight animals, all very special and hard-won. Although I don`t know if I`ll make it back to the C.A.R, upon further reflection, I do hope to return and try once again to experience the presence of the noble Lord Derby eland, surely one of the most impressive of big game animals.