I got up early each morning, put on my full camo gear
and sneaked outside to practise for the hunt. On one morning
I had to explain to my neighbour that I was not part of some
special force. Some mornings he liked to watch, which obvi-
ously made it more difficult to practise. After some weeks I
figured I was ready and arranged with my brother’s father-
in-law, Oom Diedericks to hunt for blesbok or springbok on
his farm.
Very early one Saturday morning I was on my way to
a farm about 40 km outside Koster in the Swartrigens dis-
trict. The plan was to meet my brother Nic there, from where
we would strategise our stalk. Of course, we first had cof-
fee before making our first attempt for the day. The frost lay
white on the plains and in my heart I knew this would not be
an easy hunt.
To cut a long story short, at about 13:00 we were back at
the house for more coffee and other refreshments, important
encouragement for the second shift. I was struggling to fig-
ure out why the hunt was so difficult. I had all the necessary
gadgets and with all the knowledge I had gained from books
and articles, it should have been much easier. I must admit,
I did get close, but not close enough – 35 yards to shoot at a
springbok sounded too optimistic to me.
After a few more attempts we both realised that a dif-
ferent strategy was required. No blinds or tree stands were
available and we had to make ourselves invisible under a
“Rosyntiebos”, approximately 15 yards from a waterhole.
It was late in the afternoon and some activities around the
waterhole made the hunt even more interesting. A “rooimeer-
kat” sniffed the air and after a while decided it was safe to
take a drink. A gracious kudu bull passed a mere 10 metres
from us on his way to the waterhole. Approximately 80 yards
away we could see some springbuck grazing towards the
waterhole. At once springbuck were all around us, but unfor-
tunately only ewes. I was only allowed a springbok ram. It
was getting late and the only ram was 35 yards away and not
showing any interest in drinking. After a while, which felt
like an eternity, he moved closer to about 25 yards.
My brother will shoot at something nine out of ten times,
even if it wasn’t his initial intention. After some pressure
from him, my snapshooting style came into action and in sec-
onds the arrow passed through the animal.
At first I did not feel at ease, but Nic congratulated me on
a perfect quartering-away shot.
“ He’s down!” he uttered excitedly.
“ How far?” I asked, since I had lost sight of the animal
in all the excitement. We immediately began to follow the
spoor, not knowing any better, and within 70 yards found my
first bowhunt kill. Hunting isn’t always easy when someone
accompanies you, but I am glad Nic was there to share in my
excitement.
Is there a better and more satisfactory way to hunt than
with a traditional bow? I do not think so. If we constantly
return to our initial passion for bow hunting, I reckon the
wound rate would be drastically reduced. May we always
nurse that initial passion, whether it be bowhunting or that
which is more important than life. •
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