Originally pubished in Safari, Volume 35, Number 2

“We’ll meet you back here at dark,” I said to the driver as I unloaded my gear out of back of the truck. My guide Alex had already shouldered his pack and was adjusting the straps. With a smile and silent nod Alex, I shouldered my own pack and rifle, and we began the long walk up the ranch road toward the small mountain.

Alex and I had been hunting hard for the last three days. The camp, run by Kirk Kelso of Pusch Ridge Outfitters, was located on a ranch just across the Mexican border southeast of Sasabe. With seven hunters in camp, three hunters had already tagged out, with two of the deer grossing over 110 inches. This was my first time hunting Coues deer. The hunters in camp who regularly hunted these diminutive whitetails told me that I was hunting with the best outfitter there is for finding big Coues deer.

The first morning of the hunt, I was amazed by my guide’s ability to spot game. I’ve been hunting since I was big enough to hold up a rifle and have always prided myself on my ability to spot game. The first morning, Alex was spotting deer all around us as we glassed from the top of a ridge. He would spot deer with his bare eyes that I could barely make out with my binoculars. I was working on getting my spotting scope set up when Alex suddenly got very interested in a deer he saw moving down a draw about 800 yards across from us on the opposite ridge.

“Muy Grande!” he whispered quietly. After looking at the deer (which I still hadn’t spotted) a few seconds longer he asked to use my spotting scope. The deer had moved out of the draw and was now moving across the side of the ridge. “Look,” he said gesturing to the scope. I immediately picked out the deer and cranked up the magnification. His wide 4X4 rack went past his ears and had good length. “I think he is 110, maybe 115,” Alex said, still examining the deer with his binoculars. “What do you think?” I was barely an hour into my first Coues hunt and was being asked if a Gold Medal deer would be adequate for me. “Let’s go,” I said as I picked up my rifle.

We headed straight down a very steep slope on a faint cattle track with Alex confidently leading the way. When we reached the bottom, we jogged several hundred yards across the flats separating us from the opposite ridge before reaching a dry creek bed. Alex stopped and began studying the slope in front of us, the glassing difficult as the sun was just coming over the top of the ridge. “There he is!” Alex exclaimed. I quickly extended the legs on my bipod and moved up behind him. “Where,” I asked, desperately trying to pick out the deer in the thick brush. “By the ocotillo,” he replied. I couldn’t help a sarcastic smile as I looked at the slope in front of me, covered by hundreds of ocotillo stalks. “Show me,” I said as I moved closer behind him. “There, by the ocotillo,” he said again, pointing about half way up the side of the ridge.

Looking through my binoculars, I suddenly spotted the deer moving parallel to us. I quickly ranged him at 345 yards. Knowing that the shots could be long, I had my 7mm Remington was sighted in dead-on at 300 yards. Moving ahead a few yards, I was able to use the creek bank to position my rifle correctly to shoot up the 45-degree angle to the deer.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, I tried to steady my breathing and pulse. As the deer suddenly stopped, I held the crosshairs about four inches below his back and squeezed the trigger. “You missed!” Alex exclaimed. “Where is he?” I asked, panicking, as I tried to find him again in the scope. “At the top,” Alex said as I began scanning the skyline with my scope. Thinking I would never see him again, I was relieved to see him at the top of the ridge looking down at us. I was just about to squeeze the trigger a second time when he turned and disappeared over the mountaintop.

I looked over at Alex, who while still smiling was obviously disappointed. Every hunter wants to impress his guide with his hunting and shooting skills, and I was suddenly feeling like I had a lot to prove. Not being used to shooting up and down mountains, I hadn’t accounted for the steep, upward angle of the shot and shot over the deer’s back.

We hunted hard for the next three days, seeing a lot of deer, but nothing like the one from that first morning. The nights were cold and the rut was heating up. Everyone was seeing a lot of deer. As Alex and I got to know each other better, I felt more comfortable speaking my poor rendition of Spanish. This allowed us to communicate a lot better and I was starting to feel like we were a team.

On the third night as we were gathered around the fire waiting for dinner, I noticed Alex talking with the ranch cowboy. Later that night, he told me that the cowboy had suggested we try a specific mountain that had oaks on top of it.

As we walked toward the kidney-shaped mountain, I realized that while the lower parts were covered with ocotillo, mesquite and cholla, there were oaks stretching for several miles across the top.

We slowly worked our way up the road, stopping frequently to glass. In between the brush at the bottom and oaks at the top, thick grass covered the sides the mountain. Surprisingly, we had only spotted a couple of does and a javelina when we came to the end of the road. Finding a cattle trail, we continued to gain elevation. After hiking for another hour, we finally reached the oak-covered top.

I was surprised to find that top of the mountain was actually fairly flat. After pausing for a few minutes to glass the area we had just come through, we decided that we would work our way around the edge, making a big circle that would bring us back to where we were supposed to meet the truck.

For the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, we slowly edged around the mountain, stopping to glass any place where we had a good view of the slopes below. It was early afternoon as we crossed a small saddle leading to the point of the mountain farthest from where we had been dropped off. In the shade of the oaks, we noticed a small spring had created an area of lush, green grass. In that grass was a scrape. As we looked at the scrape, I saw what to me looked like a fawn track. Alex saw it at the same time that I did and got very excited. “Muy Grande!” he whispered. “I think this buck is very close.” Looking at the small track, I honestly thought he was kidding. I grew up hunting deer in Minnesota, where a mature buck will usually be over 200 pounds. This track looked like a small fawn’s to me.

“Be very quiet,” Alex said as he began moving out of the oaks to a small finger of rock that looked out over a long draw. Slowly, he moved out further and further out, gaining a better view of the draw as I followed close behind. When we reached the end, I realized that we were at the edge of a small cliff that dropped about 75 feet below us. I was scanning the far reaches of the draw through my binoculars, when Alex suddenly grabbed my arm and urgently whispered, “My grande! Shoot!” Right as he said that I caught the flash of a deer at the far end of the draw. Thinking that was the buck, I dropped into a prone position and tried to find the deer in my scope.

This didn’t seem to make Alex any happier, as he was trying to yank me to my feet. “Muy grande, you must shoot now!” he said even more urgently. Still thinking that the deer was at the far end of the draw, I tried to get back into a prone position. Finally realizing that I was looking at the wrong deer, Alex pointed to the huge buck walking into the brush below us about 30 yards from the base of the cliff.

I stood, hoping to get an offhand shot at him, but he was completely concealed in the bushes. “Muy, muy grande!” Alex again told me. “Very big deer! Very, very big deer!” Seeing him that excited told me that this deer was something special. I could have shot him at bow range if I had been paying attention, and now he was lost somewhere in a brushy draw. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d blown it for a second time.

For the next few minutes, we intensely glassed the draw below us. A flash at the far end caught both of our attentions at the same time. The flash was the buck’s antlers in the sun. I dropped prone again, and found him in the scope just as he moved into a small clump of bushes about 400 yards down the draw.

We had a clear view of any exits from the clump of bushes with the exception of the east side. If the buck decided to leave the clump of trees and head east, it would take him over the spine of the ridge, put him in the next draw and we would have no way to see it. We waited for another 45 minutes for the deer to come back out. Alex assured me that the deer was still there and was bedded down in the brush. However, as the sun began to set, the wind would change direction, putting our current position directly upwind. He suggested that we change our position and wait for the buck to come back out into the open. We gathered our gear and began working our way to the west, hoping that the winds would stay in our favor.

On the next ridge to the west, the best vantage point was covered with sharp stones and cactus. I got my rifle and spotting scope set up and we began the long wait for the deer to make his appearance. After lying on the uncomfortable ground for another two hours, I asked Alex if he thought the deer was still there. “Si,” he said. “I think he will come out when the sun goes down.” He then reiterated that this was a very big deer and I should make sure that I didn’t miss him when he came out. Talk about icing the kicker!

The sun was just dropping below the horizon, when Alex spotted the deer. Looking through my scope, I saw him standing exactly where he gone into the small clump of bushes. He was now standing broadside and nibbling on some leaves. Trying not to look at his rack, I centered the crosshairs just behind his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. “You missed!” Alex exclaimed. Cycling the bolt, a feeling of panic was joined by a racing heart. The deer hadn’t moved at the shot. Finding him in the scope again, I held for the same spot and fired another round. “You missed again!” Alex said, the panic and frustration also very clear in his voice. My stomach tightened into knots as I cycled the last shell into the chamber. I had completely lost my sight picture and was trying to find the deer in the failing light when Alex nonchalantly said, “Oh, you got him. He just fell down. He’s dead.” I have never heard sweeter words.

By the time we worked our way to the deer, we only had about 15 minutes of light left. My hands shook as I slowly closed my fingers around his antlers, which had five points on one side and four on the other, plus eye guards. “He is very big!” Alex exclaimed. “Yes he is!” I replied as I gave him a big hug. Looking at the deer, I found two holes about an inch apart just behind his shoulder. How a 90 pound deer takes two shots through the chest from a 7mm Remington and doesn’t show any signs of being hit amazes me.

By the time we had a picture of the deer and had him gutted out, it was completely dark. “Do you have a flashlight?” Alex asked me. “No, I left it in the tent,” I replied. “Do you have one?” I asked him. “No,” he said as he shook his head. After briefly discussing the situation, we decided that instead of taking the curving five-mile route we had taken to get to our current location we would take a short cut, hopefully cutting the distance down to about two miles.

Using a small piece of string to tie the deer’s legs together, Alex slung the deer over his shoulder like a purse and took off down the side of the mountain. Carrying both of our packs and my rifle, I did my best to try and keep up as we bushwhacked our way through the cactus and mesquite. After about forty-five minutes of battling our way through brush we were tired, sweating, scratched and bleeding. Stopping to take a breather and pick some of the cactus spines out of our flesh, we began discussing whether or not we were going in the right direction. The moon was not yet up, so the only light we had was from a few stars above. After discussing the issue for a few minutes and not coming to an agreement on which way we needed to go, I decided to trust my guide’s judgment even though he wanted to start going uphill.

Picking up our loads, we walked about twenty yards up the next hill and were rewarded with finding ourselves on a ranch road! We were a long way from where we were supposed to be, but decided that eventually someone would find us. Alex laid the deer down in the road, then reclined back, using the deer for a pillow. Joining him, I lamented the fact that we were out of both food and water.

Smiling, Alex asked me to hand him his pack. Rummaging around inside of it, he produced a single can of Budweiser. “I save this for celebrating,” he told me as he opened the 100-degree beer and handed it to me. Taking a swig and looking up at the stars, I couldn’t help but think that it was the most satisfying beer I’d ever had.

“We’re going to sit in the blind from 3PM until 6AM.’ Sitting silently in chair for fifteen hours wasn’t exactly what I had imagined when I booked a Leopard hunt with PH George Hallamore of HHK Safaris for July 2006. My mind went back to the flight I’d taken six days earlier starting in Minneapolis and ending in Bulawayo. The leg between Atlanta and Johannesburg had lasted fourteen hours and I’d barely made it through that. At least on the flight I could get up and walk around from time to time, sleep or watch a movie. If the leopard waited until morning to show, or worse yet didn’t show at all, the time in the blind would make the flight seem like a short trip to the store.

For my hunt, I chose the Lemco Conservancy in Southeastern Zimbabwe. Lemco encompasses approximately 700,000 acres and is home to over 35 game species including all of the Big 5. Hunters can stay in any one of seven permanent camps that offer first class accommodations and excellent food. For this hunt, I was based out of the Ripple Creek camp on the northwestern corner of the concession.

Formerly a cattle ranch, Lemco has become one of the best areas in southern Zimbabwe for plains game as well as buffalo. But what Lemco is best known for is its big leopards. Since this was my first safari, I wanted to hunt an area with quality plains game that would give me a good shot at taking leopard. After talking to George, I felt confident that if we worked hard I would come home not only with a good bag of plains game, but also big leopard.

Accompanying me on my trip was videographer Tyge Floyd of Fulldraw Outdoor Media. Tyge has filmed numerous African safaris and is an accomplished bowhunter. On top of that, I can’t think of a better guy to share a camp with. He was often the first to spot game and was always willing to help out hanging baits.

Upon our arrival in Bulawayo, the first thing I noticed was that my gun case was not in the baggage claim area. When we cleared customs, the second thing I noticed was that George was nowhere to be seen. No guns and no PH. The sick feeling in my stomach was just starting to turn into a burn when George showed up a few minutes later. It turns out he had been given the wrong arrival time for our flight and actually thought he was getting there early. We quickly filed a claim with the airline for my rifles (which showed up at camp three days later) and set off on the four-hour drive to camp.

The first night, we stayed at the Nengo camp with George’s father Lou. His clients were just wrapping up their safari and had taken great trophies including buffalo, leopard, sable and kudu. The next morning, Lou and I were the first ones at the breakfast table. As I sipped my coffee, he reassured me that things would start going more smoothly once we got into camp and gave me a couple good points of advice. Specifically, he recommended that I shoot two zebras for bait as soon as possible; so that once we had cats feeding we’d be able to switch the bait from impala to zebra immediately. “If you can get a leopard feeding on zebra, you’ll kill him. Once they start feeding on zebra, they keep coming back. Then it’s just a matter of being in the blind at the right time.”

After dropping our luggage at camp, we immediately set out to start gathering baits. George lent me a 375 H&H that has been in his family for many years. His father had used it for culling buffalo and he had used it as his primary back-up rifle for the first half of his career. Looking at the stock of the rifle, its checkering worn smooth and bluing complete worn away, I couldn’t help but wonder what stories that rifle could tell.

Over the next few days, we worked ourselves into a routine of collecting, setting and checking baits. Following the advice I was given earlier, I shot two zebras the first day, and ended up shooting 10 impalas for bait. Whenever we would find a good spot, we’d hang one of the impala’s from a tree with a steel cable, then cover the animal with brush to keep the birds off of it. The ground below the bait would be cleared down to the dirt so that any tracks left under it would be visible. To finish off the set up, one of the trackers would make a drag, using the guts from the impala soaked in what George affectionately referred to as “juice.” Whenever we would shoot an animal, the trackers would put the blood, stomach contents and intestines into a 40 gallon plastic barrel strapped to the back of the truck. This particular barrel had been on the back of the truck for over a month. As the concoction fermented, the trackers would collect the scary looking black liquid that formed in the bottom of the barrel and use it as a scent lure, splashing it on the drags and the bushes around the bait sites. The smell coming from that barrel was one of those things that needs to be experienced to truly be appreciated…

By the end of the fourth day we had seven baits up, two of which had already been hit by female leopards. We had also taken a great waterbuck and eland. Our daily run to check baits entailed over 80 km of driving. That afternoon we received a tip that day that one of the game scouts had seen a large leopard near the boundary fence separating Ripple Creek from the rest of the concession. As we drove along the fence we came to a dip in a brushy area and George stopped the truck. Everybody was tired and nobody except George made an effort to get out. He walked into the brush about 20 yards and stopped, staring intently at the ground. As we got out to see what he was looking at, we all noticed that the trail was covered with huge leopard tracks. This one trail had more tracks on it than we had seen on the rest of the concession!

“He must have a kill nearby,” George said. “We won’t go and look for it, as I don’t want to disturb him. Let’s get one of those impalas up and get out of here.” We quickly hung the bait and cleared an area for the blind, anticipating that the cat would feed that night.

When we arrived the next day there were claw marks on the tree and a small amount of the impala had been eaten. We hung a quarter of zebra, attached a timer to it and set up a rheostat-controlled light.

As the trackers set up the blind, Tyge, George and I prepared our gear and got ready to sit for the evening. That evening was fairly uneventful until a swarm of bees flew in one of the windows, forcing us to make a hasty retreat out the back door. After the bees decided there was nothing in the blind they wanted, we settled back in. That evening, we saw a troop of baboons and large herds of wildebeest and impalas, but no leopard. At 8:30, we decided to call it quits and headed back to camp for some dinner.

When we arrived at the bait the next morning it was obvious the leopard had been back as he had fed heavily on the zebra. When we checked the timer, it was stopped at 3:15 AM. It was at this point that George informed us that we would be spending the entire night, if necessary, in the blind. After surveying the area, we also noticed that the leopard had walked within about 10 yards of the blind. “I don’t know if he knows the blind is there or not, but we’re going to move it anyway,” George said. “I think he just may have been running the civets and honey badgers off the bait, but better safe than sorry.” After selecting another site for the blind about thirty yards further back, we reset everything and then headed out to check the rest of the baits.

We arrived at the new blind location a little after 3PM, anticipating a very long sit. The first couple of hours went fast as there was enough light to read, but once the sun went down, there was nothing to do except sit in the dark, try to keep warm and listen to the crickets. The night was very calm and aside from the crickets and occasional snort from the wildebeest and impalas, dead silent. At about 7:15, I realized that I shouldn’t have drunk so much water. With legs already stiff from sitting for four hours, I tried to stand to use one of the bottles the trackers had provided to us in case nature called. I almost fell through the side of the blind as I staggered to my knees. I could see George shaking his head at the amount of noise I was making. Once relieved, I zipped my jacket up against the cold and settled back into my chair for what I thought was going to be a very long night.

At 8:00, I was startled by the sound of claws on the bait tree. “Get ready, he’s in the tree,” George whispered. Heart racing, I eased the safety forward and peered through the scope. Looking through the scope, all I could see was black. I took a deep breath and whispered “Ready.” As George turned up the rheostat on the light, I slowly saw the leopard appear dead center in my crosshairs. It’s hard to describe what I felt as the huge, golden cat suddenly seemed to appear out nowhere in my scope. After all the planning and hard work we’d done baiting, I found it really hard to believe that he was actually there. The leopard was stretched out on the branch, quartering slightly away from us. He had pulled the zebra quarter up on the branch and was already feeding. As George whispered, “Shoot” I squeezed the trigger and sent a 168gr. Barnes TSX just behind his shoulder. The shot flipped him out of the tree and we heard him hit the ground. For several minutes following the shot, we could hear him rolling around on the ground and growling. Knowing how fast a wounded leopard can charge and how much damage he can inflict, it was a little unnerving to sit there and listen to him.

After having a nerve claming cigarette, we started back to the truck to get the shotgun, spotlight and trackers. We hadn’t walked more than a hundred yards when we ran into them, already carrying everything we’d need to follow up on the leopard. As we slowly inched up to the bait tree, we spotted him lying on his side directly under the bait. To my surprise, he was still alive. When the spotlight hit him, he weakly raised his head and growled at us. “Shoot him again,” George instructed me. A second shot through the chest finished him.

As we approached him, everyone was excited. My hands shook as I stroked his fur. For the trackers, it meant no more hanging baits, pulling drags and getting their hands covered in “juice.” Leopard hunting is never a sure thing, and I know George was happy to have this part of the trip concluded successfully early on. Tyge got excellent footage of the shot and I got the trophy of a lifetime. Everyone was smiling and shaking hands as we took pictures and loaded the cat on to the truck. As we drove back to camp with the trackers singing loudly, I realized that while this was my first safari, it would definitely not be my last.

Notes: While the leopard was the primary animal I hunted, I actually took eighteen trophy animals during the fourteen days I hunted at Ripple creek. This far exceeded my expectations. While I’m not an experienced African hunter, I felt the overall quality of the trophies I took was excellent. In addition to the leopard, which we measured 16.5″, some of the better trophies I took included a 54.5″ kudu, 32″ waterbuck and a huge bushpig. For a first time hunter looking for plains game, I can’t imagine a better place to start than Lemco.

My primary rifle on this trip was a Territorial Gunsmiths TGL Personal Rifle in .300 Winchester, topped with a 2.5-10 Swarovski PH. Handloads of 168 grain Barnes TSX bullets at 3200 fps completed the package. With its very good light gathering ability and a German #4 reticle, the scope worked very well for low light shooting. Bullet performance was also very good, with all but two shots completely passing through their targets.

Originally Published in African Sporting Gazette 14.1