Return to flip book view

Message CAPRIVI CHRONICALS PART 2BIG GAM E HUNTER MUZZLE LOADER STAGSGIANT KUDU BULLS SEPT 2025 FREEJAVELINA HUNT M AGAZINE AUSTRALIA BLACK BEARS JR HOSSACKCHITAL DEER FALLOW RUT CAPRIVI CHRONICALS PART 1 IN THE JULY EDITION

Day t w o of our hunt in t he Capr ivi started just like every other day of the hunt: an early rise, coffee in front of the fire overlooking the floodplain that lay before us in Ivory Camp, the wildlife symphony, and a hearty breakfast to hold us through. The thought of a successful elephant hunt in 24 hours was not even on the radar for the day.It wasn?t long before we were set in the Cabassa Safaris Land Cruiser and gliding across the sandy floodplain that is the Caprivi. Anim als w ere in full spir it and flight on a gorgeous Thursday morning of deep blue sky and winding waterways.The two-way radio crackled with native voices indistinguishable to an Australian, but the obvious excitement in the cacophony floating across the airwaves meant something was afoot. A t rophy-class elephant had been spotted in a dense thicket some eight kilometres from camp, and in the general direction we were headed. It didn?t take long to reach the area where the big pachyderm was last seen.The bushy thicket turned out to be about 40 acres in size and surrounded by boggy marsh just short of quicksand. A quick retreat, if we met the elephant on the edge, would have been impossible ? and the possible outcomes unthinkable. The approach w as also difficult due to shifting wind and the noise from the suction release on our boots (at times up to our knees). We decided t o t ake st ock and circum navigat e t he bush from where the ground was solid, in the hope of locating the elephant before approaching.CONTENTSTABLE OF Sept em ber Edit ion 2025Page 1. Capr ivi Chronicals Par t 2Page 5. Seajay Creekm ast a 3.98Page 9. Chit al St ags QueenslandPage 14. Sundow ner s In Africa Page 15. Muzzle Loader Trophy St agPage 19. Black Bear s Of AlaskaPage 23. Fallow Rut Nor t her n NSWPage 28. Javelina Hunt Ar izonaPage 34. Giant Lim popo Kudu Bulls Welcom e t o Big Gam e Hunt er Magazine ? your free, quarterly online gateway to true, raw hunting stories from around the world. Within these pages lies not just a tale, but a voyage ? a journey into the heart of hunting and conservation. You?ll stalk through darkest Africa, traverse the untamed wilds of North America, and tread the rugged trails of Australia?s high country. These are first-hand accounts born of dusty tracks, silent stalks, and respectful harvests. From the sun-scorched plains of Texas to the haunting beauty of Alaska, every turn of the page takes you deeper into wild places where skill, patience, and respect for nature define the hunt. No staged hero shots. No sugar-coating. Just authentic adventures that capture the challenge, thrill, and meaning of the chase ? wherever it takes you. Edit or: John R HossackAdver t ising: 1/ 2 page, $250. full page, $500. john@biggam ehunt eraust ralia.comPO Box 260 Mudgeeraba QLD 4213 Aust raliaHunt er s have long played a vit al role in wildlife conservation. Through licence fees, permits, and contributions to conservation organisations, they provide essential funding for habitat restoration, research, and species management. Et hical hunt er s follow regulat ions that ensure sustainable harvests, helping maintain healthy animal populations and preventing overgrazing or environmental damage. Many volunteer in feral animal control, removing invasive species that threaten native wildlife. Hunt ing t our ism support s rural communities, creating economic incentives to protect wild habitats rather than clear them for agriculture or development. Above all, responsible hunters are stewards of the land, advocating for balanced ecosystems and passing on a deep respect for nat ure t o fut ure generat ions. In t his w ay, hunt ing and conser vat ion are not opposing forces ? t hey are deeply connect ed.1Capr iv i Chr onical s par t 2shif t ing w inds & El ephant saut hor Rick Casagr ande

Day t w o of our hunt in t he Capr ivi started just like every other day of the hunt: an early rise, coffee in front of the fire overlooking the floodplain that lay before us in Ivory Camp, the wildlife symphony, and a hearty breakfast to hold us through. The thought of a successful elephant hunt in 24 hours was not even on the radar for the day.It wasn?t long before we were set in the Cabassa Safaris Land Cruiser and gliding across the sandy floodplain that is the Caprivi. Anim als w ere in full spir it and flight on a gorgeous Thursday morning of deep blue sky and winding waterways.The two-way radio crackled with native voices indistinguishable to an Australian, but the obvious excitement in the cacophony floating across the airwaves meant something was afoot. A t rophy-class elephant had been spotted in a dense thicket some eight kilometres from camp, and in the general direction we were headed. It didn?t take long to reach the area where the big pachyderm was last seen.The bushy thicket turned out to be about 40 acres in size and surrounded by boggy marsh just short of quicksand. A quick retreat, if we met the elephant on the edge, would have been impossible ? and the possible outcomes unthinkable. The approach w as also difficult due to shifting wind and the noise from the suction release on our boots (at times up to our knees). We decided t o t ake st ock and circum navigat e t he bush from where the ground was solid, in the hope of locating the elephant before approaching.CONTENTSTABLE OF Sept em ber Edit ion 2025Page 1. Capr ivi Chronicals Par t 2Page 5. Seajay Creekm ast a 3.98Page 9. Chit al St ags QueenslandPage 14. Sundow ner s In Africa Page 15. Muzzle Loader Trophy St agPage 19. Black Bear s Of AlaskaPage 23. Fallow Rut Nor t her n NSWPage 28. Javelina Hunt Ar izonaPage 34. Giant Lim popo Kudu Bulls Welcom e t o Big Gam e Hunt er Magazine ? your free, quarterly online gateway to true, raw hunting stories from around the world. Within these pages lies not just a tale, but a voyage ? a journey into the heart of hunting and conservation. You?ll stalk through darkest Africa, traverse the untamed wilds of North America, and tread the rugged trails of Australia?s high country. These are first-hand accounts born of dusty tracks, silent stalks, and respectful harvests. From the sun-scorched plains of Texas to the haunting beauty of Alaska, every turn of the page takes you deeper into wild places where skill, patience, and respect for nature define the hunt. No staged hero shots. No sugar-coating. Just authentic adventures that capture the challenge, thrill, and meaning of the chase ? wherever it takes you. Edit or: John R HossackAdver t ising: 1/ 2 page, $250. full page, $500. john@biggam ehunt eraust ralia.comPO Box 260 Mudgeeraba QLD 4213 Aust raliaHunt er s have long played a vit al role in wildlife conservation. Through licence fees, permits, and contributions to conservation organisations, they provide essential funding for habitat restoration, research, and species management. Et hical hunt er s follow regulat ions that ensure sustainable harvests, helping maintain healthy animal populations and preventing overgrazing or environmental damage. Many volunteer in feral animal control, removing invasive species that threaten native wildlife. Hunt ing t our ism support s rural communities, creating economic incentives to protect wild habitats rather than clear them for agriculture or development. Above all, responsible hunters are stewards of the land, advocating for balanced ecosystems and passing on a deep respect for nat ure t o fut ure generat ions. In t his w ay, hunt ing and conser vat ion are not opposing forces ? t hey are deeply connect ed.1Capr iv i Chr onical s par t 2shif t ing w inds & El ephant saut hor Rick Casagr ande

Our circumnavigation allowed us to spot t he elephant ?s t r unk high up, reaching for branches off a tree. We couldn?t see his body, but he must have been stretched out on his back legs to get as high as he did. We estimated he was about 30 metres deep in the thicket from the south-western side. The decision was made between myself and the PH to approach from the northern end, which m oder n-day hunt ing. No doubt developed to give older hunters like me a better chance at success than the old forward-facing spider crawl.We proceeded some 350 metres on our backsides, half-lifting myself and dragging my butt through the Caprivi sand. Then, a sudden and decisive hand from t he t racker shot st raight up like a NASA rocket launch. The elephant was still feeding peacefully, appeared best for the wind ? though it was swirling from time to time from the south. This, however, put us on the longest path across the marshy bog, which wasn?t going to be pleasant. We prepared for the crossing of about 80 metres to the thicket where the elephant was filling his belly. Boot s of f , laces t ied t oget her and slung across our shoulder s. With trackers either side, we walked two-by-two, arm in arm, up-stretched on his back legs, trunk up high gathering his daily 300 kilos of fuel intake. We obviously had not been noticed ? so far, so good.The PH and I did t he final approach standing. With my trusted Verney-Carron in .500 NE, I waited until the elephant returned to his feet, which put him head-on. As he came down from his feeding perch, he picked up that something was not the same. to give us the best chance of crossing quickly without sinking too far into the mire. Each 10 metres or so took five minutes to ensure no noise was coming from our passage. The w ind was also playing t r ick s, and when we felt it wasn?t in our favour, we lay down in an effort to disguise our scent. Not sure if that works with an elephant, but we eventually made it to the edge of the bush without telegraphing our approach. Quickly getting our boots back on, one of the trackers went forward to locat e t he large grey boulder ? as t hey are oft en called ? and find the best approach to get a shot on our quarry. It took the tracker a good 20 minutes to return with positive news. By then, boots were back on the ground and our cardio back to normal. In single file, as is customary, we followed the lead tracker towards our quarry. Once we had moved some 50 metres, the bush became deathly quiet, thick and full of anticipation. We didn?t know if there were other elephants that might have moved into our path as we approached. After 15 minutes or so of stalking slowly on foot, the hanging foliage from above became more intense and we transferred to that for w ard-facing craw l on our back sides synonym ous w it h Now he was front-on with the massive tree he had been feeding from between us. The elephant ?s cur iosit y w as his undoing. As he came around the tree at about 15 metres, a frontal brain shot was necessary. Fortunately, the weeks of practice paid off ? albeit not as cleanly as I would have liked.The shot broke, and the elephant swung his head violently around 2 3

Our circumnavigation allowed us to spot t he elephant ?s t r unk high up, reaching for branches off a tree. We couldn?t see his body, but he must have been stretched out on his back legs to get as high as he did. We estimated he was about 30 metres deep in the thicket from the south-western side. The decision was made between myself and the PH to approach from the northern end, which m oder n-day hunt ing. No doubt developed to give older hunters like me a better chance at success than the old forward-facing spider crawl.We proceeded some 350 metres on our backsides, half-lifting myself and dragging my butt through the Caprivi sand. Then, a sudden and decisive hand from t he t racker shot st raight up like a NASA rocket launch. The elephant was still feeding peacefully, appeared best for the wind ? though it was swirling from time to time from the south. This, however, put us on the longest path across the marshy bog, which wasn?t going to be pleasant. We prepared for the crossing of about 80 metres to the thicket where the elephant was filling his belly. Boot s of f , laces t ied t oget her and slung across our shoulder s. With trackers either side, we walked two-by-two, arm in arm, up-stretched on his back legs, trunk up high gathering his daily 300 kilos of fuel intake. We obviously had not been noticed ? so far, so good.The PH and I did t he final approach standing. With my trusted Verney-Carron in .500 NE, I waited until the elephant returned to his feet, which put him head-on. As he came down from his feeding perch, he picked up that something was not the same. to give us the best chance of crossing quickly without sinking too far into the mire. Each 10 metres or so took five minutes to ensure no noise was coming from our passage. The w ind was also playing t r ick s, and when we felt it wasn?t in our favour, we lay down in an effort to disguise our scent. Not sure if that works with an elephant, but we eventually made it to the edge of the bush without telegraphing our approach. Quickly getting our boots back on, one of the trackers went forward to locat e t he large grey boulder ? as t hey are oft en called ? and find the best approach to get a shot on our quarry. It took the tracker a good 20 minutes to return with positive news. By then, boots were back on the ground and our cardio back to normal. In single file, as is customary, we followed the lead tracker towards our quarry. Once we had moved some 50 metres, the bush became deathly quiet, thick and full of anticipation. We didn?t know if there were other elephants that might have moved into our path as we approached. After 15 minutes or so of stalking slowly on foot, the hanging foliage from above became more intense and we transferred to that for w ard-facing craw l on our back sides synonym ous w it h Now he was front-on with the massive tree he had been feeding from between us. The elephant ?s cur iosit y w as his undoing. As he came around the tree at about 15 metres, a frontal brain shot was necessary. Fortunately, the weeks of practice paid off ? albeit not as cleanly as I would have liked.The shot broke, and the elephant swung his head violently around 2 3

to his right, as though late to catch a train out of there ? but then he turned 180 degrees and fell inside his own length. Still writhing slowly on the ground, a second shot delivered the final coup de grâce. Adrenaline still pumping, PHs Louis and JF cam e st raight in t o congrat ulat e m e ? not only for achieving a beautiful trophy elephant, but also because t hey couldn?t recall any ot her hunt ing safar i w here a hunt er had t aken t w o elephant s in 24 hour s. Luck of the draw, I guess. The obligatory photos were taken, and then, like jungle telegraph, the shots that had rung out brought many people from the village who were to benefit from the tons of protein this leviathan of the land was about to provide. Seeing a com m unit y dive in wit h knives and axes, cut t ing up m eat t o dist r ibut e evenly, gave quite a different view on how and why we buy meat from a supermarket.Well, that was day two ? and with 19 m ore days t o go, t here are st ill a great m any hunt ing st or ies t o t ell.4 5

to his right, as though late to catch a train out of there ? but then he turned 180 degrees and fell inside his own length. Still writhing slowly on the ground, a second shot delivered the final coup de grâce. Adrenaline still pumping, PHs Louis and JF cam e st raight in t o congrat ulat e m e ? not only for achieving a beautiful trophy elephant, but also because t hey couldn?t recall any ot her hunt ing safar i w here a hunt er had t aken t w o elephant s in 24 hour s. Luck of the draw, I guess. The obligatory photos were taken, and then, like jungle telegraph, the shots that had rung out brought many people from the village who were to benefit from the tons of protein this leviathan of the land was about to provide. Seeing a com m unit y dive in wit h knives and axes, cut t ing up m eat t o dist r ibut e evenly, gave quite a different view on how and why we buy meat from a supermarket.Well, that was day two ? and with 19 m ore days t o go, t here are st ill a great m any hunt ing st or ies t o t ell.4 5

6Seaj ay cr eek mast a 3.98Building t he Ult im at e Bar ra Rig for t he Top EndBuilding t he Ult im at e Bar ra Rig for t he Top EndEvery hunter needs the right tool for the job, and when it comes to chasing metre-plus barramundi and braving the floodplains for magpie geese, the Barra or BustHeading to the NT for the 2025 NT Geese season and the annual Barra Comp make building this project on time a must do... See You In The NT!right boat can make all the difference. For my next northern adventure, I?ve been putting together a rig that?s as tough as the country I?m taking it into ? a 3.98 Seajay Creek Masta, paired with the brand-new 2025 Mercury 30hp four-stroke.The Seajay is already a proven hull in northern Australia. At just under four metres, it?s light enough to launch where bigger boats can?t ? places where the ?ramp? might just be a muddy bank or the shallow edge of a pandanus-lined billabong. Yet, it?s built with the strength and stability to handle the chop of a wind-blown floodplain lake or a tidal creek pushing hard on the ebb. That?s essential when your fishing ground can change from glassy calm to white-capped in under an hour.The new Mercury 30hp is more than just power ? it?s quiet, fuel-efficient, and smooth, the kind of motor you can idle for hours without scaring fish or chewing through jerry cans of fuel. Up north, that?s not a luxury ? it?s a 5

6Seaj ay cr eek mast a 3.98Building t he Ult im at e Bar ra Rig for t he Top EndBuilding t he Ult im at e Bar ra Rig for t he Top EndEvery hunter needs the right tool for the job, and when it comes to chasing metre-plus barramundi and braving the floodplains for magpie geese, the Barra or BustHeading to the NT for the 2025 NT Geese season and the annual Barra Comp make building this project on time a must do... See You In The NT!right boat can make all the difference. For my next northern adventure, I?ve been putting together a rig that?s as tough as the country I?m taking it into ? a 3.98 Seajay Creek Masta, paired with the brand-new 2025 Mercury 30hp four-stroke.The Seajay is already a proven hull in northern Australia. At just under four metres, it?s light enough to launch where bigger boats can?t ? places where the ?ramp? might just be a muddy bank or the shallow edge of a pandanus-lined billabong. Yet, it?s built with the strength and stability to handle the chop of a wind-blown floodplain lake or a tidal creek pushing hard on the ebb. That?s essential when your fishing ground can change from glassy calm to white-capped in under an hour.The new Mercury 30hp is more than just power ? it?s quiet, fuel-efficient, and smooth, the kind of motor you can idle for hours without scaring fish or chewing through jerry cans of fuel. Up north, that?s not a luxury ? it?s a 5

The Northern Territory?s Million Dollar Fish competition is one of Australia?s most exciting fishing events, drawing anglers from across the country to chase the ultimate prize. Running during the prime barra season, it offers multiple ways to win ? the biggest being up to $1 m illion if you land a specially tagged barramundi. Dozens of other tagged fish are worth smaller cash prizes, keeping the action high and the stakes real. Registration is free, and just by signing up you?re also in the draw for monthly giveaways, from premium fishing gear to travel packages. Whether you?re a seasoned Top End angler or a first-timer chasing your dream fish, every cast could change your life. The competition isn?t just about prizes ? it?s about experiencing the thrill of barra fishing in some of the most spectacular waters on earth. In the NT, the next cast really could be worth a million.Barramundi are prized across Australia for their thrilling fight and exceptional eating quality. Found in tropical and subtropical waters, they grow to impressive sizes and strike hard, making them a favourite target for sportfishers. Barramundi are also adaptable, living in both fresh and saltwater, which adds to their allure. It?s this blend of challenge, versatility, and taste that makes them one of the best fish to chase. Find out m ore.Barra Comp In The NT7necessity. When you?re sneaking into barra country, noise can spook fish before you even know they?re there. The extra torque will also make light work of pushing the hull, gear, and a couple of blokes plus a day?s catch back to camp, even against a stiff tide.Electronics are just as important as horsepower, so I?ve gone with a Garmin Echomap Ultra 2, 10-inch 105sv. The mapping detail is incredible ? side-scan, clear sonar, and the ability to mark every hidden snag, rock bar, and drop-off. In barra fishing, those hidden structures are gold mines. Knowing where they are and being able to return to them at will is like having X-ray vision on the water.Up front, a Minn Kota Terrova 55lb electric will do the holding. With GPS Spot-Lock, I can stay right on a school of fish or hold steady at the edge of a lily pad bed while casting, even when the current?s running or the wind?s trying to push me off. Less time on the anchor rope, more time with a lure in the water.Transport is sorted with a rugged off-road trailer. In the Top End, getting to the water can be an adventure all on its own ? the ?road? to the ramp might be a sandy track, a washed-out creek crossing, or nothing more than a grassy slope leading into a backwater. This trailer means I can take the boat wherever the fish or the geese take me, without worrying about getting it there in one piece.Why the build? Simple. In just a few months, magpie geese season will open. Mornings will be for wading the wetlands with a shotgun over my shoulder, and afternoons will be spent chasing Australia?s favourite sport fish ? the mighty barramundi. There?s nothing like watching a metre of silver muscle explode from the water in that instant after the strike. The boat?s nearly ready. The gear?s dialled in. The Garmin?s already loaded with maps. The Top End is calling ? and with this new barra rig, I?m ready to answer.87

The Northern Territory?s Million Dollar Fish competition is one of Australia?s most exciting fishing events, drawing anglers from across the country to chase the ultimate prize. Running during the prime barra season, it offers multiple ways to win ? the biggest being up to $1 m illion if you land a specially tagged barramundi. Dozens of other tagged fish are worth smaller cash prizes, keeping the action high and the stakes real. Registration is free, and just by signing up you?re also in the draw for monthly giveaways, from premium fishing gear to travel packages. Whether you?re a seasoned Top End angler or a first-timer chasing your dream fish, every cast could change your life. The competition isn?t just about prizes ? it?s about experiencing the thrill of barra fishing in some of the most spectacular waters on earth. In the NT, the next cast really could be worth a million.Barramundi are prized across Australia for their thrilling fight and exceptional eating quality. Found in tropical and subtropical waters, they grow to impressive sizes and strike hard, making them a favourite target for sportfishers. Barramundi are also adaptable, living in both fresh and saltwater, which adds to their allure. It?s this blend of challenge, versatility, and taste that makes them one of the best fish to chase. Find out m ore.Barra Comp In The NT7necessity. When you?re sneaking into barra country, noise can spook fish before you even know they?re there. The extra torque will also make light work of pushing the hull, gear, and a couple of blokes plus a day?s catch back to camp, even against a stiff tide.Electronics are just as important as horsepower, so I?ve gone with a Garmin Echomap Ultra 2, 10-inch 105sv. The mapping detail is incredible ? side-scan, clear sonar, and the ability to mark every hidden snag, rock bar, and drop-off. In barra fishing, those hidden structures are gold mines. Knowing where they are and being able to return to them at will is like having X-ray vision on the water.Up front, a Minn Kota Terrova 55lb electric will do the holding. With GPS Spot-Lock, I can stay right on a school of fish or hold steady at the edge of a lily pad bed while casting, even when the current?s running or the wind?s trying to push me off. Less time on the anchor rope, more time with a lure in the water.Transport is sorted with a rugged off-road trailer. In the Top End, getting to the water can be an adventure all on its own ? the ?road? to the ramp might be a sandy track, a washed-out creek crossing, or nothing more than a grassy slope leading into a backwater. This trailer means I can take the boat wherever the fish or the geese take me, without worrying about getting it there in one piece.Why the build? Simple. In just a few months, magpie geese season will open. Mornings will be for wading the wetlands with a shotgun over my shoulder, and afternoons will be spent chasing Australia?s favourite sport fish ? the mighty barramundi. There?s nothing like watching a metre of silver muscle explode from the water in that instant after the strike. The boat?s nearly ready. The gear?s dialled in. The Garmin?s already loaded with maps. The Top End is calling ? and with this new barra rig, I?m ready to answer.87

CHITAL STAGSOF FAR NTH QLDBack in t he Saddle: A Queensland Chit al Hunt Reignit es t he SpiritBy JR HossackWhen I hit the start button on my 200 Series Toyota and eased onto the bitumen, my heart started to thump with anticipation. Br own Bear Sk eleton That old feeling was back? I was finally going hunting again. Eighteen hours of open road stood between me and the campfire, and I couldn?t wait. After months of COVID lockdowns and grounded plans, I had booked a hunt with Queensland outfitter Markus Michalowitz from Downunder Taxidermy & Hunting Safaris. My mate, from Darwin, was flying into Townsville to join me. Our target? Trophy Chital stags and a few hogs if we were lucky. I met Markus and his wife Tracy at a servo on the outskirts of town. Sunset was close as we rolled into camp. To my surprise, it was more than bush-basic? hot showers, flushing toilets, clean cabins, and a well-appointed 9cooking area. Tracy was already prepping supper, and Markus had a fire going in no time. We sat around it with tea in hand, laying plans for the next few days. I?d brought two favourites: my 50 calibre Remington Ultimate Muzzle Loader and a Remington Custom Shop 338 Win Mag Mountain Rifle. The muzzleloader was loaded with 250gr Barnes sabots; the 338 carried 220gr Core-Lokt loads. I laid out my gear, prepped for morning, and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The iPhone alarm chirped early. Markus already had hot tea waiting. With dawn breaking, we left camp on foot in a westerly direction. 10

CHITAL STAGSOF FAR NTH QLDBack in t he Saddle: A Queensland Chit al Hunt Reignit es t he SpiritBy JR HossackWhen I hit the start button on my 200 Series Toyota and eased onto the bitumen, my heart started to thump with anticipation. Br own Bear Sk eleton That old feeling was back? I was finally going hunting again. Eighteen hours of open road stood between me and the campfire, and I couldn?t wait. After months of COVID lockdowns and grounded plans, I had booked a hunt with Queensland outfitter Markus Michalowitz from Downunder Taxidermy & Hunting Safaris. My mate, from Darwin, was flying into Townsville to join me. Our target? Trophy Chital stags and a few hogs if we were lucky. I met Markus and his wife Tracy at a servo on the outskirts of town. Sunset was close as we rolled into camp. To my surprise, it was more than bush-basic? hot showers, flushing toilets, clean cabins, and a well-appointed 9cooking area. Tracy was already prepping supper, and Markus had a fire going in no time. We sat around it with tea in hand, laying plans for the next few days. I?d brought two favourites: my 50 calibre Remington Ultimate Muzzle Loader and a Remington Custom Shop 338 Win Mag Mountain Rifle. The muzzleloader was loaded with 250gr Barnes sabots; the 338 carried 220gr Core-Lokt loads. I laid out my gear, prepped for morning, and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The iPhone alarm chirped early. Markus already had hot tea waiting. With dawn breaking, we left camp on foot in a westerly direction. 10

1213Does and small stags danced across the track ahead of us? it looked promising. We were about 600 metres from camp when we heard a hog rooting through the shadows just 30 metres off.I dropped into position, but between the burnt timber, rubber vine and vegetation, the shot was too risky. The hog made the decision for us, slipping into the swamp. I was ready when he reappeared at 140-150 metres, waist-deep in the water. I held just above the lungs and squeezed. He dropped on the spot. A solid black boar and a clean shot. I was stoked. We circled the swamp with the ATV to retrieve him. The boar was destined for the local salami-maker, and I kept the skull? a perfect result for everyone involved. But Markus wasn?t done. ?Let?s go find a stag,? he said.He led us into the thick stuff where the stags lay up after feeding. We spooked a few does and then a nice stag dashed through the trees, but I was a second too slow. Still, it was only the first morning. Back at camp, scrub turkeys scattered as Tracy laid out a proper spread: eggs, bacon, sausages and tea. After a shower and a minor zeroing adjustment on my muzzleloader, I caught a nap. The alarm chirped at 3pm and we were rolling again by 4. Markus took us to a staging area where Chital gathered before heading out to feed. One caught our eye immediately. With wind in our favour, we slipped into a ditch and crawled into position behind a tree.For nearly an hour we watched. The stag postured, lip-curled and followed does. Light was fading fast. When the mob moved into the open, he followed, broadside. I was prone, steady on the bipod. At 250 yards, the 338 barked. The stag ran 15 metres and collapsed.Back at camp, Tracy met us at the ATV. ?Nice stag, John. Dinner?s ready!? she smiled.The next morning, I beat the alarm. Today I would hunt with the 50 cal Remington Ultimate muzzleloader. Markus was curious to see it in action, so I gave him a quick rundown. Pre-dawn, we headed out to new ground. We parked the ATV and stalked into an area with good cover and scattered trees.A kilometre in, Markus stopped. ?Shooter,? he whispered. We crept forward, closing the distance to 90 metres. The stag was feeding, quartering toward us. He turned broadside and I squeezed. Smoke filled the air as the Barnes sabot found its mark. We followed the blood trail and found him 30 metres on. A heavy old warrior, well past his prime. No teeth left and coat worn thin. The perfect stag to take. Back at camp, breakfast never tasted better. Two stags and a boar in two days. Not a bad start..11 12

1213Does and small stags danced across the track ahead of us? it looked promising. We were about 600 metres from camp when we heard a hog rooting through the shadows just 30 metres off.I dropped into position, but between the burnt timber, rubber vine and vegetation, the shot was too risky. The hog made the decision for us, slipping into the swamp. I was ready when he reappeared at 140-150 metres, waist-deep in the water. I held just above the lungs and squeezed. He dropped on the spot. A solid black boar and a clean shot. I was stoked. We circled the swamp with the ATV to retrieve him. The boar was destined for the local salami-maker, and I kept the skull? a perfect result for everyone involved. But Markus wasn?t done. ?Let?s go find a stag,? he said.He led us into the thick stuff where the stags lay up after feeding. We spooked a few does and then a nice stag dashed through the trees, but I was a second too slow. Still, it was only the first morning. Back at camp, scrub turkeys scattered as Tracy laid out a proper spread: eggs, bacon, sausages and tea. After a shower and a minor zeroing adjustment on my muzzleloader, I caught a nap. The alarm chirped at 3pm and we were rolling again by 4. Markus took us to a staging area where Chital gathered before heading out to feed. One caught our eye immediately. With wind in our favour, we slipped into a ditch and crawled into position behind a tree.For nearly an hour we watched. The stag postured, lip-curled and followed does. Light was fading fast. When the mob moved into the open, he followed, broadside. I was prone, steady on the bipod. At 250 yards, the 338 barked. The stag ran 15 metres and collapsed.Back at camp, Tracy met us at the ATV. ?Nice stag, John. Dinner?s ready!? she smiled.The next morning, I beat the alarm. Today I would hunt with the 50 cal Remington Ultimate muzzleloader. Markus was curious to see it in action, so I gave him a quick rundown. Pre-dawn, we headed out to new ground. We parked the ATV and stalked into an area with good cover and scattered trees.A kilometre in, Markus stopped. ?Shooter,? he whispered. We crept forward, closing the distance to 90 metres. The stag was feeding, quartering toward us. He turned broadside and I squeezed. Smoke filled the air as the Barnes sabot found its mark. We followed the blood trail and found him 30 metres on. A heavy old warrior, well past his prime. No teeth left and coat worn thin. The perfect stag to take. Back at camp, breakfast never tasted better. Two stags and a boar in two days. Not a bad start..11 12

Later that day, Markus and Tracy headed to Townsville to collect Rob. That night we met at the pub for dinner with the landowner and a few local friends. Stories flowed over cold beers and hot meals.Back in camp by 8pm, Rob prepped his bow for the morning. I decided to sleep in.By brunch, Rob was back, grinning. He?d arrowed a pig at 30 yards. That afternoon we both took bows and hunted hard, but the wind betrayed us.Rob had better luck the next evening, dropping a stag with his .243 in fading light. Shot through the heart at 208 yards. Markus recovered him while I slow-roasted lamb shanks in my Ziggy BBQ from the Kimberley Kamper.It was our final night. We sat by the fire, full and content. The next morning, camp was packed. I took Rob to the airport and we made vague plans for the next trip? as you do.By 8pm the following night, I pulled into my driveway. The trip had ended, but the memories would live on.One boar. Two stags. Bow, black powder, and bolt-action. A hunt worth every mile. Want t o exper ience a Queensland hunt like t his? Book your own Chital deer safari with Markus Michalowitz at Downunder Taxidermy & Hunting Safaris? where good country, honest people, and hunting game come together.THE AFRICAN SUN DOWNER13The Afr ican Sundow ner Tradit ionThe sundow ner is one of t he m ost cherished rit uals of safar i life. As t he heat of t he day fades, safar i-goers pause t heir af t er noon gam e dr ive at a scenic vant age point ? w het her a hillt op, a river bank , or a w at er hole? t o enjoy drinks and light snack s while w at ching t he sun slip below t he hor izon.This t radit ion, root ed in t he Br it ish colonial era, is m ore t han just a casual break. The iconic gin and t onic, originally valued for it s quinine cont ent as prot ect ion against m alar ia, rem ains t he classic sundow ner drink , t hough local beer s, Sout h Af rican w ines, and ot her refreshm ent s are equally popular t oday.Key elem ent s of t he sundow ner exper ience:- Tim ing: Lat e aft ernoon, just before sunset .- Set t ing: Alw ays a pict uresque spot t hat fram es t he Afr ican landscape.- Dr ink s: Gin and t onic is iconic, but beer s and wines are also ser ved.- Snack s: Sim ple yet sat isfying bit es t o accom pany t he dr inks.The sundow ner is a m om ent of reflect ion and celebrat ion? t im e t o relive t he day?s w ildlif e encount er s, connect w it h fellow t ravellers, and absor b t he beaut y of Africa?s vast w ilder ness as daylight gives w ay t o t he st ar s. Cheers!14

Later that day, Markus and Tracy headed to Townsville to collect Rob. That night we met at the pub for dinner with the landowner and a few local friends. Stories flowed over cold beers and hot meals.Back in camp by 8pm, Rob prepped his bow for the morning. I decided to sleep in.By brunch, Rob was back, grinning. He?d arrowed a pig at 30 yards. That afternoon we both took bows and hunted hard, but the wind betrayed us.Rob had better luck the next evening, dropping a stag with his .243 in fading light. Shot through the heart at 208 yards. Markus recovered him while I slow-roasted lamb shanks in my Ziggy BBQ from the Kimberley Kamper.It was our final night. We sat by the fire, full and content. The next morning, camp was packed. I took Rob to the airport and we made vague plans for the next trip? as you do.By 8pm the following night, I pulled into my driveway. The trip had ended, but the memories would live on.One boar. Two stags. Bow, black powder, and bolt-action. A hunt worth every mile. Want t o exper ience a Queensland hunt like t his? Book your own Chital deer safari with Markus Michalowitz at Downunder Taxidermy & Hunting Safaris? where good country, honest people, and hunting game come together.THE AFRICAN SUN DOWNER13The Afr ican Sundow ner Tradit ionThe sundow ner is one of t he m ost cherished rit uals of safar i life. As t he heat of t he day fades, safar i-goers pause t heir af t er noon gam e dr ive at a scenic vant age point ? w het her a hillt op, a river bank , or a w at er hole? t o enjoy drinks and light snack s while w at ching t he sun slip below t he hor izon.This t radit ion, root ed in t he Br it ish colonial era, is m ore t han just a casual break. The iconic gin and t onic, originally valued for it s quinine cont ent as prot ect ion against m alar ia, rem ains t he classic sundow ner drink , t hough local beer s, Sout h Af rican w ines, and ot her refreshm ent s are equally popular t oday.Key elem ent s of t he sundow ner exper ience:- Tim ing: Lat e aft ernoon, just before sunset .- Set t ing: Alw ays a pict uresque spot t hat fram es t he Afr ican landscape.- Dr ink s: Gin and t onic is iconic, but beer s and wines are also ser ved.- Snack s: Sim ple yet sat isfying bit es t o accom pany t he dr inks.The sundow ner is a m om ent of reflect ion and celebrat ion? t im e t o relive t he day?s w ildlif e encount er s, connect w it h fellow t ravellers, and absor b t he beaut y of Africa?s vast w ilder ness as daylight gives w ay t o t he st ar s. Cheers!14

That first hunt planted a seed. Ever since, I?d wanted to return, but this time, I had something special in mind. I wanted to take a stag with my Thompson 50 calibre blackpowder muzzleloader. Travelling with a muzzleloader isn?t simple. You can bring the rifle, sure, but not the black powder? airlines won?t allow it. Thankfully, Zion sourced local powder for me in New Zealand.With that sorted, I applied for all the import and export permits. Before COVID, it was straight forward ? you could import your firearm at the airport and pay a fee on the spot. Now, it?s a four?month process. Touching down in Christchurch and sorting my permits was a pleasant experience. Zion was waiting with a grin and a handshake, helping with my luggage. The drive from Christchurch on the South Island across to Greymouth and into the Haupiri Valley is one of the most scenic in the world? braided rivers, bush-clad hills, and the jagged spine of the Southern Alps in the distance. The cabins were five?star, and more creature comforts since the 2008 trip, and a welcome break after the flight and rugged 4WD trip. But first things first? I needed to get the Thompson dialled in. A few test shots confirmed the 107?grain load was dead on! A few minor adjustments to the powder and we were good to go. 16Headed for Red St ags on t he Sout h Island of New ZealandBy JR HossackNew Zealand was my first overseas hunting destination. I hunted the South Island back in 2008 and took a mature red stag on that trip. I remember the experience vividly? rolling green hills, crisp air off the mountains, and the calm professionalism of my guides, Jonathon and Zion.Hunting With Bl ackpowder 15MUZZLE-LOADER TROPHY STAGS

That first hunt planted a seed. Ever since, I?d wanted to return, but this time, I had something special in mind. I wanted to take a stag with my Thompson 50 calibre blackpowder muzzleloader. Travelling with a muzzleloader isn?t simple. You can bring the rifle, sure, but not the black powder? airlines won?t allow it. Thankfully, Zion sourced local powder for me in New Zealand.With that sorted, I applied for all the import and export permits. Before COVID, it was straight forward ? you could import your firearm at the airport and pay a fee on the spot. Now, it?s a four?month process. Touching down in Christchurch and sorting my permits was a pleasant experience. Zion was waiting with a grin and a handshake, helping with my luggage. The drive from Christchurch on the South Island across to Greymouth and into the Haupiri Valley is one of the most scenic in the world? braided rivers, bush-clad hills, and the jagged spine of the Southern Alps in the distance. The cabins were five?star, and more creature comforts since the 2008 trip, and a welcome break after the flight and rugged 4WD trip. But first things first? I needed to get the Thompson dialled in. A few test shots confirmed the 107?grain load was dead on! A few minor adjustments to the powder and we were good to go. 16Headed for Red St ags on t he Sout h Island of New ZealandBy JR HossackNew Zealand was my first overseas hunting destination. I hunted the South Island back in 2008 and took a mature red stag on that trip. I remember the experience vividly? rolling green hills, crisp air off the mountains, and the calm professionalism of my guides, Jonathon and Zion.Hunting With Bl ackpowder 15MUZZLE-LOADER TROPHY STAGS

It wasn?t long before he spotted our stag, standing proud at 107 yards, pushing hinds around the edge of the scrub.The Thompson hammer went back as i rested on the bank of the river, Zion said take him! I fired the smoke filled the dense air and cleared just in time to see the stag tople over and the hinds all got out of dodge! I reloaded out of habit straight away. Boots off as we crossed the freezing cold river to reach him. A magnificent South Island red stag lay before me, a dream realised the traditional way.We managed a few photos before I heard the tractor approach from an old logging road. We walked back to our ATV and we spotted glow worms, a fitting way to end the day. I rang home to share the story? there?s something about New Zealand, like Africa, that pulls you back. "You can?t go just once."M uzzl el oader Ar apawa Ram Dinner was hearty, and swapped stories about red stags, muzzleloaders, and hunting expos in the States.The alarm went early. A hot cuppa and toast, a short ATV ride, then we continued on foot along the river edge and into the paddocks. The fog was lifting enough to see hinds crossing on the track ahead? a good sign in the roar. Zion led us along a bend in the river and began glassing. Fr ee Range M u zzleloader Red Stag My Arapaw a RamThe following morning, with the stag cooling in the chiller, we turned our sights to an Arapawa ram. These wild sheep are tough, rugged descendants of old stock left centuries ago and their curling horns have a character all their own. We pushed into thick forest country, working along sandy gravel creek beds that twisted through the timber. Fallen logs gave us excellent cover as we crept toward a small clearing. Zion paused to glass through the shadows and soon picked up a mob of rams moving slowly along the edge of the trees. One ram stood out? full curl, heavy ridges, and thick through the chest.The sandflies were atrocious, biting the hell out of me as I tried to stay still and focused. We slipped from log to log and crossed a shallow creek, closing the distance to around 95 yards. I settled the crosshairs on the mob, waiting for my ram to give me a clear shot.Some 15 minutes later he did and a final range at 98 yards as I held on shoulder line, exhaled, and squeezed.The Thompson kicked hard, pushing me back a little. The ram ran 25 yards, circled, bucked once or twice, and toppled over. I reloaded quickly in case a follow?up was needed, but he was done.Up close, he was a handsome old warrior. Another fine trophy? and more meat for the local community. The blackpowder smoke hung in the dewy mountain air, and I couldn?t help but smile.The following day I was back at the airport in Christchurch and connecting to Brisbane. About twelve months later, and after clearing Customs in Brisbane, my shipping crate of my red stag and ram arrived.Opening the create, the shoulder mount of my red stag looked every bit as magnificent as the day I took him, and alongside it was the bleached skull of my Arapawa ram. Both now hang on the wall at home. Every time I walk past, them I?m reminded of the roar, the smoke, and the pull of those breath taking New Zealand mountains.1817

It wasn?t long before he spotted our stag, standing proud at 107 yards, pushing hinds around the edge of the scrub.The Thompson hammer went back as i rested on the bank of the river, Zion said take him! I fired the smoke filled the dense air and cleared just in time to see the stag tople over and the hinds all got out of dodge! I reloaded out of habit straight away. Boots off as we crossed the freezing cold river to reach him. A magnificent South Island red stag lay before me, a dream realised the traditional way.We managed a few photos before I heard the tractor approach from an old logging road. We walked back to our ATV and we spotted glow worms, a fitting way to end the day. I rang home to share the story? there?s something about New Zealand, like Africa, that pulls you back. "You can?t go just once."M uzzl el oader Ar apawa Ram Dinner was hearty, and swapped stories about red stags, muzzleloaders, and hunting expos in the States.The alarm went early. A hot cuppa and toast, a short ATV ride, then we continued on foot along the river edge and into the paddocks. The fog was lifting enough to see hinds crossing on the track ahead? a good sign in the roar. Zion led us along a bend in the river and began glassing. Fr ee Range M u zzleloader Red Stag My Arapaw a RamThe following morning, with the stag cooling in the chiller, we turned our sights to an Arapawa ram. These wild sheep are tough, rugged descendants of old stock left centuries ago and their curling horns have a character all their own. We pushed into thick forest country, working along sandy gravel creek beds that twisted through the timber. Fallen logs gave us excellent cover as we crept toward a small clearing. Zion paused to glass through the shadows and soon picked up a mob of rams moving slowly along the edge of the trees. One ram stood out? full curl, heavy ridges, and thick through the chest.The sandflies were atrocious, biting the hell out of me as I tried to stay still and focused. We slipped from log to log and crossed a shallow creek, closing the distance to around 95 yards. I settled the crosshairs on the mob, waiting for my ram to give me a clear shot.Some 15 minutes later he did and a final range at 98 yards as I held on shoulder line, exhaled, and squeezed.The Thompson kicked hard, pushing me back a little. The ram ran 25 yards, circled, bucked once or twice, and toppled over. I reloaded quickly in case a follow?up was needed, but he was done.Up close, he was a handsome old warrior. Another fine trophy? and more meat for the local community. The blackpowder smoke hung in the dewy mountain air, and I couldn?t help but smile.The following day I was back at the airport in Christchurch and connecting to Brisbane. About twelve months later, and after clearing Customs in Brisbane, my shipping crate of my red stag and ram arrived.Opening the create, the shoulder mount of my red stag looked every bit as magnificent as the day I took him, and alongside it was the bleached skull of my Arapawa ram. Both now hang on the wall at home. Every time I walk past, them I?m reminded of the roar, the smoke, and the pull of those breath taking New Zealand mountains.1817

AnchorageBrisbane to Sydney. Sydney to Dallas?Fort Worth. Friends. Then north to Anchorage.The flights were smooth. The rifle came through fine. Relief.I hunted down a proper meal, then Cabela?s. Bought last-minute gear, some 44 Magnum bear loads for my backup hand cannon.That night, downtown I enjoyed Reindeer steaks, way too many. Later a movie, it was close to Midnight when I walked out. Still daylight. The Land of the Midnight Sun.Int o Bear Count r yNext day, the rest of the group. That night, halibut cheeks ? delicate, sweet.Morning, Wasilla. A floatplane waited. We loaded gear, the floats slapping as the engine came alive. We were airborne. Below, dark spruce forests, silver rivers, snow on the ridges.Lots Of Gr eat H and LoadsI had always dreamed of Alaska. Bears. Big country. Wild country.Now it was real.A mate put a hunt together. Eight hunters. He said, "you should come". I said, "Count me in".The planning began. A year out. A new rifle ? 375 Ruger Guide Gun, Leupold VX-3 1?6x. Custom loads. 270-grain Barnes, heavy, flat, hard-hitting.Flights. Gear. Accommodation. Hire car. All part of the hunt. Barns Pr ojecti les The Best!I n t h e L a n d o f G i a n t s : " C h a s i n g A l a s k a n B l a c k b e a r s " 2019

AnchorageBrisbane to Sydney. Sydney to Dallas?Fort Worth. Friends. Then north to Anchorage.The flights were smooth. The rifle came through fine. Relief.I hunted down a proper meal, then Cabela?s. Bought last-minute gear, some 44 Magnum bear loads for my backup hand cannon.That night, downtown I enjoyed Reindeer steaks, way too many. Later a movie, it was close to Midnight when I walked out. Still daylight. The Land of the Midnight Sun.Int o Bear Count r yNext day, the rest of the group. That night, halibut cheeks ? delicate, sweet.Morning, Wasilla. A floatplane waited. We loaded gear, the floats slapping as the engine came alive. We were airborne. Below, dark spruce forests, silver rivers, snow on the ridges.Lots Of Gr eat H and LoadsI had always dreamed of Alaska. Bears. Big country. Wild country.Now it was real.A mate put a hunt together. Eight hunters. He said, "you should come". I said, "Count me in".The planning began. A year out. A new rifle ? 375 Ruger Guide Gun, Leupold VX-3 1?6x. Custom loads. 270-grain Barnes, heavy, flat, hard-hitting.Flights. Gear. Accommodation. Hire car. All part of the hunt. Barns Pr ojecti les The Best!I n t h e L a n d o f G i a n t s : " C h a s i n g A l a s k a n B l a c k b e a r s " 2019

Glaciers. Lakes like steel.After an hour, we touched down at the lodge. From there, smaller planes ferried hunters to their stands.My guide and I squeezed into a two-seater. Low flight over muskeg and alder tangles. Landed on a remote lake.We waded ashore in knee-deep water. The plane roared off. Silence. Only wind in the spruce and the call of a loon. The St andWe set up in a double-wide treestand. The bait scent carried on the damp air.We would sit until dawn if needed.Two sows came first. Black and quick. They fed and slipped away.Then the boars. Silent. Heavy. Moving like they owned the place.The one on the left was bigger. Blocky head. Thick forelegs. He fed slow and sure.I eased the rifle into my shoulder. Crosshairs floated on his ribs.I let out the air in my chest.The shot broke. A deep push against the shoulder. The crack rolled through the timber.The bear dropped where he stood.Bolt up. Bolt back. The long brass spun in the air. Another round slid home. Bolt down. Safe off. Watching.He didn?t move.On t he GroundWe climbed down. I walked in slow, rifle low but ready. He was a big boar. Over six feet. Head like a melon. Jet-black coat four inches thick. No rubs. No scars. Perfect. I thanked God for the hunt and the country that gave him to me. The Second TagI had another tag. Tried with the handgun. Missed. Bear loads are for close work, not accuracy, damn it!Stories. Plans.I told him about the ban on bear imports to Australia. I needed this one home fast. Russell understood. He rushed the work ? an open-mouth rug mount.Three months later, it was ready in Texas.The CITES paperwork took a while ? about 90 days in the U.S. ? then you have a six-month window. During that window you then need to sort the Australian import permits, which take around 45 days. You get another three-month window, then it?s off to Fish and Game near DFW Airport for a final inspection of the paperwork, bear skin, skull, and tags. It was finally sorted. When I rolled him out on the floor at home, he looked just as he had that day in the stand.Alaska stayed with me. The light. The silence. The bears.I will go back. Bear Rugs On The W all The group got along well. The outfitter? Two good guides. Others not so. Later I heard he?d been charged with fish and game offences ? not from our hunt, but later ones. What goes around comes around in his case.The Long Road Hom eBack in Wasilla, then Anchorage. Drinks with the boys. The next day, my old mate Russell Knight at Knight?s Taxidermy. Lunch. Kn i ght's Taxider m y 100%21 22

Glaciers. Lakes like steel.After an hour, we touched down at the lodge. From there, smaller planes ferried hunters to their stands.My guide and I squeezed into a two-seater. Low flight over muskeg and alder tangles. Landed on a remote lake.We waded ashore in knee-deep water. The plane roared off. Silence. Only wind in the spruce and the call of a loon. The St andWe set up in a double-wide treestand. The bait scent carried on the damp air.We would sit until dawn if needed.Two sows came first. Black and quick. They fed and slipped away.Then the boars. Silent. Heavy. Moving like they owned the place.The one on the left was bigger. Blocky head. Thick forelegs. He fed slow and sure.I eased the rifle into my shoulder. Crosshairs floated on his ribs.I let out the air in my chest.The shot broke. A deep push against the shoulder. The crack rolled through the timber.The bear dropped where he stood.Bolt up. Bolt back. The long brass spun in the air. Another round slid home. Bolt down. Safe off. Watching.He didn?t move.On t he GroundWe climbed down. I walked in slow, rifle low but ready. He was a big boar. Over six feet. Head like a melon. Jet-black coat four inches thick. No rubs. No scars. Perfect. I thanked God for the hunt and the country that gave him to me. The Second TagI had another tag. Tried with the handgun. Missed. Bear loads are for close work, not accuracy, damn it!Stories. Plans.I told him about the ban on bear imports to Australia. I needed this one home fast. Russell understood. He rushed the work ? an open-mouth rug mount.Three months later, it was ready in Texas.The CITES paperwork took a while ? about 90 days in the U.S. ? then you have a six-month window. During that window you then need to sort the Australian import permits, which take around 45 days. You get another three-month window, then it?s off to Fish and Game near DFW Airport for a final inspection of the paperwork, bear skin, skull, and tags. It was finally sorted. When I rolled him out on the floor at home, he looked just as he had that day in the stand.Alaska stayed with me. The light. The silence. The bears.I will go back. Bear Rugs On The W all The group got along well. The outfitter? Two good guides. Others not so. Later I heard he?d been charged with fish and game offences ? not from our hunt, but later ones. What goes around comes around in his case.The Long Road Hom eBack in Wasilla, then Anchorage. Drinks with the boys. The next day, my old mate Russell Knight at Knight?s Taxidermy. Lunch. Kn i ght's Taxider m y 100%21 22

""That farm gate opened a whole new chapter in my hunting life. I was well into my fifties by then, a long-time shooter with a few rifles in the safe. For this New South Wales country? hilly, open hardwoods with scrubby gullies and big views? I favoured my Remington KS Mountain Rifle in 338 Winchester Magnum, with titanium components to keep it light. Some reckon it?s too much gun for fallow, but I like t he cer t aint y it br ings. Besides, if your gear feels right, you hunt better with it. The annual fallow rut in northern NSW isn?t as dramatic as with reds but to me its the best sound out there. But the bucks croak? deep, rasping grunts like a frog stuck in a drainpipe. You?ll hear one at dawn, then nothing for a hour. They don?t scream for attention; they whisper a challenge, which somehow makes it more compelling.We?d camp near the boundary creek and rise in the dark, boots wet with dew by the time we hit the first saddle. The mornings were still, often cold. You?d hear a magpie warble, a distant croak, maybe a roo thumping off through the wattle and gum trees. This country taught patience. Sometimes I?d sit on a granite knob all morning just glassing, waiting for movement. Other days I?d stalk slowly through the timber, stopping every ten paces to listen.One morning stands out clear in my memory. It was mid-April? prime rut. I?d watched a mature buck for two seasons. Heavy palmed antlers, broad chest, the works. But always just out of reach? wrong wind, wrong angle, too much cover. He was smart and cautious, like all survivors. That morning, he croaked twice before sunrise, deep in a shaded gully. I ghosted down through box gums and wattle, the wind perfect in my face. At 120 metres, I saw him? half-shadowed, slowly turning his head. No does, just him. Maybe he?d lost them. Maybe he was looking. Either way, he was mine. The 338 barked, and he dropped where he stood. No drama, just a clean, clean end. I walked in slow, hands steady. He was heavier than I expected, older too. A few scars on his flank told their own story. I knelt beside him, grateful. I always am.That buck still hangs on my wall. New So ut h wal es Fal l o w Buc k Hu n t i n g ? "A Seaso n ed Hun t er ?s Apr i l Tr ad i t i o n"23 24

""That farm gate opened a whole new chapter in my hunting life. I was well into my fifties by then, a long-time shooter with a few rifles in the safe. For this New South Wales country? hilly, open hardwoods with scrubby gullies and big views? I favoured my Remington KS Mountain Rifle in 338 Winchester Magnum, with titanium components to keep it light. Some reckon it?s too much gun for fallow, but I like t he cer t aint y it br ings. Besides, if your gear feels right, you hunt better with it. The annual fallow rut in northern NSW isn?t as dramatic as with reds but to me its the best sound out there. But the bucks croak? deep, rasping grunts like a frog stuck in a drainpipe. You?ll hear one at dawn, then nothing for a hour. They don?t scream for attention; they whisper a challenge, which somehow makes it more compelling.We?d camp near the boundary creek and rise in the dark, boots wet with dew by the time we hit the first saddle. The mornings were still, often cold. You?d hear a magpie warble, a distant croak, maybe a roo thumping off through the wattle and gum trees. This country taught patience. Sometimes I?d sit on a granite knob all morning just glassing, waiting for movement. Other days I?d stalk slowly through the timber, stopping every ten paces to listen.One morning stands out clear in my memory. It was mid-April? prime rut. I?d watched a mature buck for two seasons. Heavy palmed antlers, broad chest, the works. But always just out of reach? wrong wind, wrong angle, too much cover. He was smart and cautious, like all survivors. That morning, he croaked twice before sunrise, deep in a shaded gully. I ghosted down through box gums and wattle, the wind perfect in my face. At 120 metres, I saw him? half-shadowed, slowly turning his head. No does, just him. Maybe he?d lost them. Maybe he was looking. Either way, he was mine. The 338 barked, and he dropped where he stood. No drama, just a clean, clean end. I walked in slow, hands steady. He was heavier than I expected, older too. A few scars on his flank told their own story. I knelt beside him, grateful. I always am.That buck still hangs on my wall. New So ut h wal es Fal l o w Buc k Hu n t i n g ? "A Seaso n ed Hun t er ?s Apr i l Tr ad i t i o n"23 24

Post scr iptOne thing I learned the hard way? no place you hunt lasts forever.The year after that hunt, COVID struck. State borders slammed shut, and we were all locked down under rules no one could?ve imagined. Amid the chaos, the property owners made their decision: no more hunting.I was gutted. That country had given me so much? peace, challenge, pride, a few lessons, and more than a few freezers full of meat. It took time to accept.But in the quiet that followed, I realised I?d been lucky. Lucky to have hunted there for so many years. Lucky to have those sunrises etched in memory. Lucky to have the stories, the mates, and the mounts on the wall.Sometimes I walk past that buck and think of a missed shot the year before. Other times I remember finding fresh rubs in the fog. Mostly, I just smile.So cher ish your hunt ing grounds w hile you have t hem . Look af t er t he land. Respect the people. Because properties get sold, loved ones pass on, and times change.And all we?re left with are the stories? if we?re lucky.PLess Th an 10 Yar dsBol d An d Beauti ful Ch ocol ate StagI had him shoulder- mounted? not because he was the biggest, but because he was the most earned. You know what I mean? the hunt that lingers in the back of your mind when you?re driving, shaving, or waiting for the kettle to boil.I?ve taken other fallow there since. Some younger, one even bigger. My son JR, just a little bloke now, already asks about going one day. Maybe he?ll sit where I sat, glass the same ridges, listen for that same guttural croak. Maybe not. But the tradition? the going, the trying, the watching? that?s what matters. Fall ow Buck In Th e Rut25 26

Post scr iptOne thing I learned the hard way? no place you hunt lasts forever.The year after that hunt, COVID struck. State borders slammed shut, and we were all locked down under rules no one could?ve imagined. Amid the chaos, the property owners made their decision: no more hunting.I was gutted. That country had given me so much? peace, challenge, pride, a few lessons, and more than a few freezers full of meat. It took time to accept.But in the quiet that followed, I realised I?d been lucky. Lucky to have hunted there for so many years. Lucky to have those sunrises etched in memory. Lucky to have the stories, the mates, and the mounts on the wall.Sometimes I walk past that buck and think of a missed shot the year before. Other times I remember finding fresh rubs in the fog. Mostly, I just smile.So cher ish your hunt ing grounds w hile you have t hem . Look af t er t he land. Respect the people. Because properties get sold, loved ones pass on, and times change.And all we?re left with are the stories? if we?re lucky.PLess Th an 10 Yar dsBol d An d Beauti ful Ch ocol ate StagI had him shoulder- mounted? not because he was the biggest, but because he was the most earned. You know what I mean? the hunt that lingers in the back of your mind when you?re driving, shaving, or waiting for the kettle to boil.I?ve taken other fallow there since. Some younger, one even bigger. My son JR, just a little bloke now, already asks about going one day. Maybe he?ll sit where I sat, glass the same ridges, listen for that same guttural croak. Maybe not. But the tradition? the going, the trying, the watching? that?s what matters. Fall ow Buck In Th e Rut25 26

JAVELINA HUNTSJavelina may not be the biggest game animal in North America, but t hey are am ong t he m ost fun t o hunt ? especially when they?re called in and come charging. With their keen noses, wary nature, and desert habitat, they?re a worthy adversary for any bowhunter.Javelina? often called collared peccaries? are unique to the Americas and well-established across Arizona?s deserts, foothills, and rugged canyons. Weighing between 35 and 60 pounds, they travel in small herds, constantly on the move in search of prickly pear cactus, mesquite beans, and other desert forage. Their eyesight is poor, but their sense of smell is extraordinary, allowing them to detect danger? or a hunter? hundreds of yards away. 28ARIZONA USA29

JAVELINA HUNTSJavelina may not be the biggest game animal in North America, but t hey are am ong t he m ost fun t o hunt ? especially when they?re called in and come charging. With their keen noses, wary nature, and desert habitat, they?re a worthy adversary for any bowhunter.Javelina? often called collared peccaries? are unique to the Americas and well-established across Arizona?s deserts, foothills, and rugged canyons. Weighing between 35 and 60 pounds, they travel in small herds, constantly on the move in search of prickly pear cactus, mesquite beans, and other desert forage. Their eyesight is poor, but their sense of smell is extraordinary, allowing them to detect danger? or a hunter? hundreds of yards away. 28ARIZONA USA29

Gr eat Javeli na Floor Rug Pl en ty Of Gam e M eat For The Gr i ll Javelina Sku ll M ak e A Gr eat M oun t Arizona offers both archery and firearm seasons, with the early-year hunts a favourite for bowhunters. The challenge lies not only in finding them, but in closing the distance without being winded or spotted in open country.With careful research, a clear plan, and the excitement of chasing something entirely new, I set the wheels in motion for a hunt that promised heat, dust, cactus, and challenge in equal measure. Planning a bowhunting trip for javelina in the deserts of Arizona might sound straightforward? until you?re doing it from the other side of the world. From my home in Australia, the logistics alone were enough to make a bloke?s head spin: permits, tags, travel arrangements, geartransport, and learning the ways of a species I?d never hunted before.The drive from Dundee, Texas, is always beautiful, wild, and full of fascination. I usually break it up with an overnight stop in Amarillo or the old route 66 town of Tucumcari, New Mexico, then push on to Gallup for another night. From there, the following day?s run takes me into Arizona? rolling into either Payson or Wickenburg, depending on my route and mood.I had my Mathews bow dialled in, a quiver full of Easton Full Metal Jacket arrows tipped with Grim Reaper broadheads. They really pack a punch? and leave one hell of a blood t rail if needed.I based myself in Wickenburg. It?s flat country at first glance, but don?t be fooled? there?s no shortage of hills and mountains. The cactus comes in every shape and size imaginable, stretching to the horizon. The terrain is crisscrossed with creek washes, mostly dry, but flash floods can turn them into roaring torrents if rain hits. When that happens, you?d better be out of them quick.There were three in our party: John from Payson, up in Arizona?s snow country; Wickenburg locals RL and Steve; and me. We rolled out of town in the morning, fuelled by typical American hunting-camp fare? burritos or doughnuts and coffee from whichever place was open. The cab was full of stories, hope, and laughter. About twenty miles out, we hit a gate, dropped into four-wheel-drive, and pushed on another five miles. At our spot, John grabbed his spotting scope, binoculars, and tripod, then hiked to the top of a nearby mountain to glass.3031

Gr eat Javeli na Floor Rug Pl en ty Of Gam e M eat For The Gr i ll Javelina Sku ll M ak e A Gr eat M oun t Arizona offers both archery and firearm seasons, with the early-year hunts a favourite for bowhunters. The challenge lies not only in finding them, but in closing the distance without being winded or spotted in open country.With careful research, a clear plan, and the excitement of chasing something entirely new, I set the wheels in motion for a hunt that promised heat, dust, cactus, and challenge in equal measure. Planning a bowhunting trip for javelina in the deserts of Arizona might sound straightforward? until you?re doing it from the other side of the world. From my home in Australia, the logistics alone were enough to make a bloke?s head spin: permits, tags, travel arrangements, geartransport, and learning the ways of a species I?d never hunted before.The drive from Dundee, Texas, is always beautiful, wild, and full of fascination. I usually break it up with an overnight stop in Amarillo or the old route 66 town of Tucumcari, New Mexico, then push on to Gallup for another night. From there, the following day?s run takes me into Arizona? rolling into either Payson or Wickenburg, depending on my route and mood.I had my Mathews bow dialled in, a quiver full of Easton Full Metal Jacket arrows tipped with Grim Reaper broadheads. They really pack a punch? and leave one hell of a blood t rail if needed.I based myself in Wickenburg. It?s flat country at first glance, but don?t be fooled? there?s no shortage of hills and mountains. The cactus comes in every shape and size imaginable, stretching to the horizon. The terrain is crisscrossed with creek washes, mostly dry, but flash floods can turn them into roaring torrents if rain hits. When that happens, you?d better be out of them quick.There were three in our party: John from Payson, up in Arizona?s snow country; Wickenburg locals RL and Steve; and me. We rolled out of town in the morning, fuelled by typical American hunting-camp fare? burritos or doughnuts and coffee from whichever place was open. The cab was full of stories, hope, and laughter. About twenty miles out, we hit a gate, dropped into four-wheel-drive, and pushed on another five miles. At our spot, John grabbed his spotting scope, binoculars, and tripod, then hiked to the top of a nearby mountain to glass.3031

"His plan was to look for ?pig piles?? in the cold morning, javelina huddle together in heaps to stay warm until dawn cracks the desert sky.Meanwhile, RL, Steve, and I followed a wash trail about a mile and a half to a trailhead. We shouldered light daypacks, slung our bows, and set off under basic directions from John on the hilltop. He?d signal when he spotted the herd.The hand signal came sooner than expected? three fingers held up, Hunting is more than just pulling a trigger or releasing an arrow? it?s a lifetime of lessons learned in the field. The most experienced hunters carry skills, instincts, and wisdom that can only come from years of trial, error, and success. Here are 10 things that seasoned hunters know, but newer hunters often learn the hard way:1. Pat ience Beat s Im pulse Ever y Tim eTaking the first shot you see isn?t always the best choice. Waiting for the perfect opportunity often makes the difference between a clean harvest and a missed chance. . 2. The Wind Is Your Best Fr iend? or Your Wor st Enem yAnimals trust meaning the pigs were 30?40 yards ahead and moving toward us. RL took out his javelina call and blew sharp squeals, imitating a distressed baby. The idea was simple: females would rush in to protect the young, and the boars would follow, posturing and grunting, confused just long enough for us to pick one out and take the shot. It worked perfectly. Within moments, t he herd was charging t ow ard us. At twelve yards, I their noses more than their eyes or ears. Experienced hunters know that wind direction dictates movement, setup, and success.3. Scout ing Is as Im por t ant as t he HuntA seasoned hunter spends more time learning the land, game habits, and seasonal changes than actually hunting.4. Quiet Isn?t Just About NoiseTrue quiet is moving without sudden changes in the environment? no unnatural movement, sound, or scent.5. The Best Shot Is Som et im es No ShotEthical hunting means passing on a shot if you drew back and sent a Grim Reaper broadhead through a big boar. He dropped inst ant ly. ?Oh my God,? I muttered, my heart pounding. In seconds, the rest of the herd vanished in a cloud of dust and gravel, their grunts fading into the desert.It took a good half hour for my pulse to settle. We tagged the javelina, and I hefted my ?stink pig? over my shoulder for the walk back to the truck. We found a good can?t guarantee a clean, humane harvest.6. Gear Is Secondar y t o Sk illThe right equipment helps, but knowledge, woodcraft, and fieldcraft always outweigh expensive gear.7. Anim als Teach You if You Wat ch Closely EnoughTracking, observing, and understanding behaviour patterns is a lifelong study.8. Success St ar t s Long Before Opening DayFrom fitness to land preparation to legal requirements, the hunt begins months before you step into the field.9. Adapt abilit y Wins Hunt sThe most spot for photos, the desert morning light painting the scene.I?ve hunted across multiple continents, chasing everything from deer to dangerous game, but this was one of the most exciting hunts I?ve ever had? and one I?ll always remember as a highlight in Arizona.For the next 3 years I went back and hunted javelina in Arizona and every time I was blessed with success with my bow. The pict ures in t his st or y show m y javelina's and sm ile on m y dial t ells t he st ory. experienced hunters can change tactics in an instant? shifting from stalking to ambushing, or moving locations entirely.10.Hunt ing Is as Much About Respect as It Is About Sk illRespect for the animal, the land, and the tradition is what sets a true hunter apart.Ext ra Insight from t he Old HandsHunting isn?t a race to prove you?re the best? it?s a journey to keep learning. The most experienced hunters are humble enough to know they?ll never know it all, and wise enough to share what they?ve learned to help others become better hunters.32H o t T ip : 1 0 T h in g s On ly t h e M o s t E x p e r ie n c e d H u n t e r s K n o w 33

"His plan was to look for ?pig piles?? in the cold morning, javelina huddle together in heaps to stay warm until dawn cracks the desert sky.Meanwhile, RL, Steve, and I followed a wash trail about a mile and a half to a trailhead. We shouldered light daypacks, slung our bows, and set off under basic directions from John on the hilltop. He?d signal when he spotted the herd.The hand signal came sooner than expected? three fingers held up, Hunting is more than just pulling a trigger or releasing an arrow? it?s a lifetime of lessons learned in the field. The most experienced hunters carry skills, instincts, and wisdom that can only come from years of trial, error, and success. Here are 10 things that seasoned hunters know, but newer hunters often learn the hard way:1. Pat ience Beat s Im pulse Ever y Tim eTaking the first shot you see isn?t always the best choice. Waiting for the perfect opportunity often makes the difference between a clean harvest and a missed chance. . 2. The Wind Is Your Best Fr iend? or Your Wor st Enem yAnimals trust meaning the pigs were 30?40 yards ahead and moving toward us. RL took out his javelina call and blew sharp squeals, imitating a distressed baby. The idea was simple: females would rush in to protect the young, and the boars would follow, posturing and grunting, confused just long enough for us to pick one out and take the shot. It worked perfectly. Within moments, t he herd was charging t ow ard us. At twelve yards, I their noses more than their eyes or ears. Experienced hunters know that wind direction dictates movement, setup, and success.3. Scout ing Is as Im por t ant as t he HuntA seasoned hunter spends more time learning the land, game habits, and seasonal changes than actually hunting.4. Quiet Isn?t Just About NoiseTrue quiet is moving without sudden changes in the environment? no unnatural movement, sound, or scent.5. The Best Shot Is Som et im es No ShotEthical hunting means passing on a shot if you drew back and sent a Grim Reaper broadhead through a big boar. He dropped inst ant ly. ?Oh my God,? I muttered, my heart pounding. In seconds, the rest of the herd vanished in a cloud of dust and gravel, their grunts fading into the desert.It took a good half hour for my pulse to settle. We tagged the javelina, and I hefted my ?stink pig? over my shoulder for the walk back to the truck. We found a good can?t guarantee a clean, humane harvest.6. Gear Is Secondar y t o Sk illThe right equipment helps, but knowledge, woodcraft, and fieldcraft always outweigh expensive gear.7. Anim als Teach You if You Wat ch Closely EnoughTracking, observing, and understanding behaviour patterns is a lifelong study.8. Success St ar t s Long Before Opening DayFrom fitness to land preparation to legal requirements, the hunt begins months before you step into the field.9. Adapt abilit y Wins Hunt sThe most spot for photos, the desert morning light painting the scene.I?ve hunted across multiple continents, chasing everything from deer to dangerous game, but this was one of the most exciting hunts I?ve ever had? and one I?ll always remember as a highlight in Arizona.For the next 3 years I went back and hunted javelina in Arizona and every time I was blessed with success with my bow. The pict ures in t his st or y show m y javelina's and sm ile on m y dial t ells t he st ory. experienced hunters can change tactics in an instant? shifting from stalking to ambushing, or moving locations entirely.10.Hunt ing Is as Much About Respect as It Is About Sk illRespect for the animal, the land, and the tradition is what sets a true hunter apart.Ext ra Insight from t he Old HandsHunting isn?t a race to prove you?re the best? it?s a journey to keep learning. The most experienced hunters are humble enough to know they?ll never know it all, and wise enough to share what they?ve learned to help others become better hunters.32H o t T ip : 1 0 T h in g s On ly t h e M o s t E x p e r ie n c e d H u n t e r s K n o w 33

GIANT LIMPOPOKUDU BULLSThe Limpopo bushveld is a land of thorn trees, dry creek beds, and rocky outcrops that catch the first light of morning like bronze. The air is dry, carrying the scent of dust and acacia, and the calls of hornbills and doves echo between the ridges. This is home to some of Africa?s most iconic game animals, and one in particular? the great spiral-horned kudu? had been on my mind for years.It all began when I opened an email from Magnus Crossberg, introducing himself and his business, Ranchero Safaris, located near Musina in Limpopo, South Africa. Before I knew it, I was at DFW airport, boarding a British Airways flight via London? the cheapest ticket I could find at the time. I?d flown this route to Namibia before, so I knew the drill: land in Johannesburg, overnight, then an early flight to Polokwane the next morning.Magnus?s firm handshake greeted me at the airport, and soon we were heading to his lodge. The camp was made up of several air-conditioned safari tents, each with hot and cold showers and flushing toilets? simple but very comfortable. I remember thinking to myself, This is the start of something grand. The food was excellent, and after a quick trip to the range to fire a couple of shots from his lodge's 375 H&H, we settled by the evening fire. Morning came early, the sounds of African birdlife waking me before dawn. Some hunts live in a hunter ?s memory long before they ever take place. For me, the thought of hunting a giant Limpopo kudu? Africa?s fabled ?grey ghost?? was one of those dreams that never faded. These spiral-horned antelope are the embodiment of grace and caution, slipping silently through the mopane thickets and acacia scrub of South Africa?s far north.The Limpopo region is home to some of the largest kudu bulls on the continent, where the combination of rich browse, low hunting pressure, and rugged terrain produces trophies of truly impressive proportions. But finding one worthy of the title ?giant? is no casual undertaking. Out f it t er : Ranchero Safaris Limpopo PH: Magnus Crossberg ht t ps:/ / w w w.rancherosaf ar is.com /?Alm ost There ? The Hunt for a 60 inch Kudu Bull"3534

GIANT LIMPOPOKUDU BULLSThe Limpopo bushveld is a land of thorn trees, dry creek beds, and rocky outcrops that catch the first light of morning like bronze. The air is dry, carrying the scent of dust and acacia, and the calls of hornbills and doves echo between the ridges. This is home to some of Africa?s most iconic game animals, and one in particular? the great spiral-horned kudu? had been on my mind for years.It all began when I opened an email from Magnus Crossberg, introducing himself and his business, Ranchero Safaris, located near Musina in Limpopo, South Africa. Before I knew it, I was at DFW airport, boarding a British Airways flight via London? the cheapest ticket I could find at the time. I?d flown this route to Namibia before, so I knew the drill: land in Johannesburg, overnight, then an early flight to Polokwane the next morning.Magnus?s firm handshake greeted me at the airport, and soon we were heading to his lodge. The camp was made up of several air-conditioned safari tents, each with hot and cold showers and flushing toilets? simple but very comfortable. I remember thinking to myself, This is the start of something grand. The food was excellent, and after a quick trip to the range to fire a couple of shots from his lodge's 375 H&H, we settled by the evening fire. Morning came early, the sounds of African birdlife waking me before dawn. Some hunts live in a hunter ?s memory long before they ever take place. For me, the thought of hunting a giant Limpopo kudu? Africa?s fabled ?grey ghost?? was one of those dreams that never faded. These spiral-horned antelope are the embodiment of grace and caution, slipping silently through the mopane thickets and acacia scrub of South Africa?s far north.The Limpopo region is home to some of the largest kudu bulls on the continent, where the combination of rich browse, low hunting pressure, and rugged terrain produces trophies of truly impressive proportions. But finding one worthy of the title ?giant? is no casual undertaking. Out f it t er : Ranchero Safaris Limpopo PH: Magnus Crossberg ht t ps:/ / w w w.rancherosaf ar is.com /?Alm ost There ? The Hunt for a 60 inch Kudu Bull"3534

RANCHEROSAFARIS LOOKOUTAfter breakfast, we climbed into the Daihatsu bakkie, the cold air stinging our cheeks. Over the next few days, we hunted antelope, baboon, African night cats, and warthog. On another property, we stalked members of the ?tiny ten?? klipspringer, steenbok, and duiker? and even saw a leopard cross the track in front of us. One day we climbed a massive rock outcrop for a view that seemed to stretch all the way to Botswana. I even had the opportunity to take a giraffe for meat for the property owner.But Magnus told me the best was yet to come. ?We?re hunting kudu tomorrow,? he said with a smile. My head was ready to explode with excitement.The next morning, we drove down a dusty trail and turned into a wide, sandy, dry riverbed. ?The kudu like this area,? Magnus said, parking behind a giant baobab tree. I checked the 375? loaded and ready? then set off with Magnus and the tracker into the thick bush. About an hour in, we cut into another dry creek bed and saw him? a massive kudu bull crossing the open sand. ?Quick, on the sticks!? Magnus hissed. I shouldered the rifle and found him in the scope. His spiral horns rose gracefully, his muscular frame lit by the morning sun. At 175 yards, he paused just long enough for me to fire. The hit sounded solid, but he didn?t drop.36 37

RANCHEROSAFARIS LOOKOUTAfter breakfast, we climbed into the Daihatsu bakkie, the cold air stinging our cheeks. Over the next few days, we hunted antelope, baboon, African night cats, and warthog. On another property, we stalked members of the ?tiny ten?? klipspringer, steenbok, and duiker? and even saw a leopard cross the track in front of us. One day we climbed a massive rock outcrop for a view that seemed to stretch all the way to Botswana. I even had the opportunity to take a giraffe for meat for the property owner.But Magnus told me the best was yet to come. ?We?re hunting kudu tomorrow,? he said with a smile. My head was ready to explode with excitement.The next morning, we drove down a dusty trail and turned into a wide, sandy, dry riverbed. ?The kudu like this area,? Magnus said, parking behind a giant baobab tree. I checked the 375? loaded and ready? then set off with Magnus and the tracker into the thick bush. About an hour in, we cut into another dry creek bed and saw him? a massive kudu bull crossing the open sand. ?Quick, on the sticks!? Magnus hissed. I shouldered the rifle and found him in the scope. His spiral horns rose gracefully, his muscular frame lit by the morning sun. At 175 yards, he paused just long enough for me to fire. The hit sounded solid, but he didn?t drop.36 37

Hun t Texas. Hun t Ho g s Hun t wi t h t h e Bestlooked every bit of 60 inches. We later measured him at 57½ and just shy of 58. Close enough that the magic number didn?t matter? he was mine, and every inch was earned. Magnus grinned, gave me a slap on the back, and said, ?John, you?ve got your self a proper k udu bull? a real Limpopo trophy. I?m glad I was able to get you on him and see you take him. It was an honor, my friend.?With the midday heat and flies moving in, we radioed the recovery crew. Soon the bull was loaded Exper ience t he adrenaline of an aut hent ic Texas Hog Hunt Br uce Hunnicut t , Rat e #1 Texas Hog Hunt ing. Locat ed 2 hour s Nort h East of Dallas Fort Wor t h .- Affordable, 2 Day 2 Night pack ages ? no hidden fees- Ther m al scoped rifle packages upgrades available- Pr ivat e lodging ? air-conditioned / heated bedrooms / restrooms / showers- Fully equipped kit chen & out door gr ill- Over 30 year s of out fit t ing w it h over 90 5 St ar Google review s - Fam ily-friendly? bring a buddy or make it a father-and-son -daughter trip.- Group Hog Hunt s up to 12 hunters- w w w.t exashoghunt ingout fit t ers.com for more information and contact details.and headed for the skinning shed. Back in camp for a very late lunch, I ate like a diver gulping air after surfacing. A cold shower, a warm fire, and a few celebratory drinks later, I collapsed into bed.The next morning, before breakfast, I walked to the skinning shed. The tape confirmed it? 57½ and just shy of 58. I smiled. What?s a couple of inches between friends? The exper ience w as w ort h ever y m inut e, and I left Lim popo w it h a m em ory t hat w ill last a lifet im e. Barns Projectiles W or k W ellTin y Ten Speci esWe quickly made our way to the spot where he had last stood, we found good blood, and the tracker began his work. My mind was racing? was my shot low? Was it enough? An hour passed with no sign. We rested in the shade and took some water. Eventually, the tracker spotted him, and we closed in. My first shot had hit four inches left, breaking the lower shoulder instead of striking the heart. A quick follow-up ended it.Relief washed over me as I stood over the bull. Up close, he M eat For Th e Land Own er38

Hun t Texas. Hun t Ho g s Hun t wi t h t h e Bestlooked every bit of 60 inches. We later measured him at 57½ and just shy of 58. Close enough that the magic number didn?t matter? he was mine, and every inch was earned. Magnus grinned, gave me a slap on the back, and said, ?John, you?ve got your self a proper k udu bull? a real Limpopo trophy. I?m glad I was able to get you on him and see you take him. It was an honor, my friend.?With the midday heat and flies moving in, we radioed the recovery crew. Soon the bull was loaded Exper ience t he adrenaline of an aut hent ic Texas Hog Hunt Br uce Hunnicut t , Rat e #1 Texas Hog Hunt ing. Locat ed 2 hour s Nort h East of Dallas Fort Wor t h .- Affordable, 2 Day 2 Night pack ages ? no hidden fees- Ther m al scoped rifle packages upgrades available- Pr ivat e lodging ? air-conditioned / heated bedrooms / restrooms / showers- Fully equipped kit chen & out door gr ill- Over 30 year s of out fit t ing w it h over 90 5 St ar Google review s - Fam ily-friendly? bring a buddy or make it a father-and-son -daughter trip.- Group Hog Hunt s up to 12 hunters- w w w.t exashoghunt ingout fit t ers.com for more information and contact details.and headed for the skinning shed. Back in camp for a very late lunch, I ate like a diver gulping air after surfacing. A cold shower, a warm fire, and a few celebratory drinks later, I collapsed into bed.The next morning, before breakfast, I walked to the skinning shed. The tape confirmed it? 57½ and just shy of 58. I smiled. What?s a couple of inches between friends? The exper ience w as w ort h ever y m inut e, and I left Lim popo w it h a m em ory t hat w ill last a lifet im e. Barns Projectiles W or k W ellTin y Ten Speci esWe quickly made our way to the spot where he had last stood, we found good blood, and the tracker began his work. My mind was racing? was my shot low? Was it enough? An hour passed with no sign. We rested in the shade and took some water. Eventually, the tracker spotted him, and we closed in. My first shot had hit four inches left, breaking the lower shoulder instead of striking the heart. A quick follow-up ended it.Relief washed over me as I stood over the bull. Up close, he M eat For Th e Land Own er38