WE were barely set up when the ram made its appearance. He stuck his neck out on the flat, 150m to the left and below us. Hawkishly we waited on a ridge above him. Chris snuggled the fore-end of his Remington .308 over the tripod shooting sticks, with both elbows anchored on his upper legs, but the shot did not come. The ram presented himself twice before disappearing beneath a cluster of thorn trees. I gave Chris an icy look. “Why did you not take the shot?” I hissed. From my viewpoint where I sat a few metres above Chris, there were clear shooting lanes to where the ram had stood, but not so for Chris. Trees on the slope below us prevented him from taking the shot.
We were hunting the north-eastern foothills of the regional Waterberg massif on the farm Zeekoegat which is situated 15km south of
