African Conservation
It was a couple of days before Christmas in 1978 and I was tasked by the warden of Umfolozi, John Forrest, to shoot a buffalo for a neighbouring chief. I took the station .458 Winchester from the armory and half-a-dozen 500-grain solids, then collected a field ranger and two laborers to help load the animal.
We found three buffalo bulls lying out on an open hillslope about 200 meters away from the track we were on. Old bulls all of them, black, and hardheaded, like Mike Tyson triplets, well fed and ruminating in the early morning warmth. The grass was about waist high, still a little damp with dew; the wind was fine, blowing towards us from Mpila to the northeast, and saplings. As the grass was wet, I didn't want to “bottom bounce” to get closer, but by using folds in the ground and crouching low I felt that I could get to about 30 meters from the bulls without being seen.
