Then my subconscious took over and I heard only the solid thump of the bullet. The leopard, its claws embedded in the bait, hung suspended for a few seconds, then fell down and was hidden by the base of the tree. Martin turned off the light, lent back in his chair and lit a cigarette. I followed suit.
“How do you feel about your shot, Art?” he whispered.
“Good,” I replied. “I might have been a little high, but I don't think so.” Then we waited for the tracker, driver and game scout to bring the Land Rover to start the recovery process.
It all started simply enough. As with so many hunters to Africa, as a youngster, I had read every book on the outdoors in that small town library, and dreamed of adventure in the magic spaces of Alaska, the Yukon, Arctic, Alberta, British Columbia and the Dark Continent of Africa. Barry Styles had invited me to a reception function, to meet a PH from Zimbabwe, Ian Gloss, who he had hunted with in the previous year, and his stories of Africa and hunting were thrilling. I was hooked. Africa was now the main agenda for late July and August, in Zimbabwe.
Months after all the preparation we landed on a remote airstrip in Hwange Park. The magic began there and then, and everything we saw cast a spell. After showers, we
