Limpopo Safari - Closure

After a stressful trip home, as no hunter wants an injured animal on his conscience, I received word that my kudu had been found.  The shot was as we surmised, going exactly where I had aimed, my countless shots fired at the range over the years for the sole purpose of being able to place the bullet exactly where I wanted, every time, to preclude a poor shot and suffering, resulted in taking out the left lung.  Had I placed the shot where I should have, had I surmised that the old kudu bull was more broadside than head on, despite the waning light and heavy brush, he would not have gone so far, and suffered less.  The old kudu male had made for a watering hole, and I will always feel sad about that trip he made.   But I don't regret the shot.  Animals die.  Death via starvation, or old and weak and taken by a leopard or lion, or worse, hyenas, must be horrendous, but I do wish I took him more honorably.  More quickly.  But I am a hunter, and if nothing else, practical.  Human encroachment, and dwindling habitat, will always take far more wildlife than a thousand hunters, and the habitat for these kudu, and all the plains game I took on this safari, exists solely for the purpose of their hunting.  If there was no money to be made in providing habitat for these beautiful animals, their remaining haunts would quickly be converted to something that did turn a profit, and as often as not, that would mean farming.  This old kudu bull has lived and bred and roamed these parts for years, and I'm sad to say, he'll roam here no longer.

The old bull's spiral horns, the most sought after horns by hunters in all of Africa, will go over fifty-six inches, and qualify for the Rowland Ward record book, as well as the Safari Club International record archives.   I wish only to have been able to place my hand on his still warm body, as with the other game I've taken, and pay my respects.