A Morning in the Bush-Part 1

There’s no place I would rather be than in a blind or tree-stand with my bow watching the sun rise (or set) and the bush come alive. The birds start to sing and the trees slowly turn golden from the tops down as the sun creeps over the horizon. If I am sitting by a waterhole in the African bush, as I was 3 weeks ago, animals trickle in to the water eventually forming a continuous loop as they come and go. The time between midmorning and early afternoon is when the water is most active as multiple herds come to satisfy their thirst in this semi-desert environment.

 Wednesday the 1^st of August turned out to be an excellent day for Dad and I to sit in our blind. The flow of animals began about an hour and a half after sun-up with a herd of the ever-present impala. While we most certainly did a better job of camouflaging our blind than the last time we sat in that location, the impala, remaining true to their nature, were very spooky and refused to come within 30 yards of the blind though their spookiness gradually wore off as the morning progressed. One very nice ram closed the distance to 20 yards but he remained facing us and behind a tree as he examined our set-up offering no bow shot. I would have happily tried for him if the opportunity presented itself but after a minute of scrutiny he decided we were not to his liking and walked around to the other side of the waterhole. There were many herds of impala that came in and we recognized several of them from a previous hunt. One such herd was led by a sizeable battle-worn ram with part of one horn broken off. Several other species supplemented the endless cycle of impala including a decent waterbuck bull, a 2-curl kudu bull who is going to be a BEAST in a couple years, several kudu cows, some young warthogs, and something related to a bushbuck that I never made a positive ID on.

Our blind setup from the animals' point of view.

 

And so went the morning, birds flapping, chattering and chirping all over the place, hundreds of impala milling about the water, and us sitting in our blind, alternating between observing and reading. The wind picked up but never gusted stronger than 10 miles an hour and blew from the west (right to left), well away from the incoming animals. And it was in this manner that I saw the warthogs.

 The impala herd led by broke-horn (as I referred to him) was taking their turn to drink. Then, from one side came a flash of movement. The impala scattered as a large sow warthog plodded past, hair on edge, head swinging back and forth, displaying her white tusks. The impala backed down and made way for the sow and the adolescent warthog behind. This was impressive enough, but what caught my eye came after. A massive boar came walking behind, trailing the sow, enormous tusks protruding from his mouth, characteristically large warts jutting from beneath his eyes. The trio did not stop to drink as we expected, but continued toward us, where the water was shallower. Every step they took I expected them to look up and see us but onward they came (warthogs have very poor eyesight), and I was astonished as they closed the distance to just over 15 yards without hesitation. I readied my Parker Buck Hunter compound bow, release clipped to the string. Dad, preoccupied with the camera, did not see the boss coming and encouraged me to take the sow, who was impressive enough, but still paled in comparison with the monster following. Shocked, he stared at me, questioning, as I let the sow pass by. I still stared out the shooting window, every sense keyed up as the old boar came down the trail, nose on a string, swinging his massive head, uttering deep grunts, oblivious to our presence. I drew as he came past a tree in front of me, turning broadside, settling the string into my anchor point, the sight pins tracking over his shoulder. He was not going to stop. I grunted at him as he came broadside in my shooting lane. Dad, surprised that I would give away our presence, stared at me again, but I was ready. My grunt had the intended effect and he stopped in his tracks, the massive head swinging around to look at where the noise had originated as my sight pin settled just on his shoulder. An instant later, I triggered the release, and the world exploded into motion.

Moments before the shot.

 

My bow unleashed the 70 pound draw weight, amplified in the limbs and cams, with a sharp "thwpppp", transferring the energy into my broadhead-tipped arrow which leaped from my rest at over 260 feet per second. My arrow flew true, disappearing into the warthog with a solid THWACK! The trio launched into the surrounding bush. The impala took flight as well, stopping about 50 yards out. The atmosphere inside the blind was ecstatic celebration! In our excitement both of us made the rookie mistake of not watching to see which direction the wounded hog went. Finally feeling the adrenaline, I looked out towards the spot where the warthog had been standing and spotted my arrow, lying where it had stopped in a bush after passing completely through, the shaft and fletching stained bright red.