Blackness was all I could see behind the handgun scope's reticle, the revolver resting on the shooting sticks. At what seemed arms’ reach from our makeshift blind, the Cape buffalo's massive frame and coarse ashen hair filled the optic. We had circled in front of the bachelor herd in hopes of intercepting them inside of 60 yards, a task that had eluded us several times over past days. But here we were, within 15 yards with little between us but tangled brush and a handgun.
My dream of taking a scarred Dagga Boy with a handgun became real as I eased the hammer back on my Magnum Research BFR wheelgun chambered in .45-70 Government.
“Take him when you're ready,” PH Stephen Bann softly whispered into my ear. A few hoofsteps later, and with the buff angled slightly away, my trigger broke crisply, driving heavy lead behind his shoulder and sending red dust - and the rest of the herd -moments later the quest ended with a single follow-up shot in a thorny thicket 50 yards away.
