“That’s a good bull right there; let’s try and get just a bit closer.”
So uttered Professional Hunter Cornus duPlooy, as the pinks and purples still flared in the South African sunrise, and the taste of good coffee still lingered in my mouth. We weren’t all that far from camp, in a lightly wooded area pocked with acacias and other thorny vegetation, when the blue wildebeest bull followed a cow into the opening.
“He’s at 185 yards.”
Steadying the forend in the sticks, I exhaled halfway, put the crosshair on the bull’s shoulder and slowly broke the Heym’s trigger. Even through the muzzle blast, I could hear that wonderful of the bullet hitting flesh; Cornus’ hissing “yes” told me it went where it was supposed to. The big bull did the whirling dervish dance, crashing within 15 yards of the shot, breaking a 4-inch-thick tree when he went down. I had taken my first animal with my Heym Express by Martini,
