When people ask me what makes Africa different from anywhere else I’ve hunted, my answer is always the same.
It’s not the number of animals. It’s the feeling.
In North America, you’re often the predator. In Africa, there are moments when you realize you aren’t at the top of the food chain. That understanding changes the way you walk, the way you listen, and the way your heart beats when the brush ahead of you starts to move.
After returning to Motshwere, our focus shifted to helping the rest of our group fill their tags while continuing our own safari. We had traveled with ten hunters, and one of the things I appreciated most about camp was that everyone’s success mattered. Whether you were behind the rifle or standing behind the camera, every animal was celebrated.
The Lesson I Learned From a Waterbuck
The next morning we drove to another concession to help recover a kudu one of our friends had wounded the evening before. It was also an opportunity to look for a mature waterbuck for me and another kudu for Hank.
Before long, we bumped a group of waterbuck.
One mature ram paused just long enough to present what looked like an opportunity. As I settled into position, he suddenly broke into a run.
“Don’t shoot,” Juan said.
I thought I could make it.
I pulled the trigger anyway.
The shot was poor.
The moment the bullet left the barrel, I knew I’d made the wrong decision. Juan didn’t have to say much. I was already angry with myself. Hunting demands discipline, and on that shot I ignored the advice of the man standing beside me. It was a mistake that could have cost us the animal.
While the trackers began following the blood trail, we backed out to give the ram time and headed to another part of the concession. It was a difficult lesson, but an important reminder that experience doesn’t make you immune to bad decisions. If anything, it reinforces why patience matters.
We turned our attention to finding a kudu for Hank.
The country reminded me of elk hunting in the Rockies. We climbed through rocky hillsides, glassed draws, and slowly worked our way toward the top of a ridge. Kudu cows began appearing one by one until suddenly we rounded a bend and found ourselves looking at a mature bull standing among them.
The herd exploded.
They disappeared through the brush with the effortless grace that makes kudu one of Africa’s most challenging animals to hunt. Hank stayed calm behind the rifle, tracking the bull as it weaved through the trees.
For just a moment, the bull stopped and looked back.
The rifle cracked.
The bull sprinted only thirty yards before tumbling down the hillside.
Watching Hank make another composed, ethical shot erased the disappointment I felt from earlier that morning. As a father, there is something deeply satisfying about watching preparation meet opportunity.
Later that afternoon we turned our attention back to the waterbuck.
One advantage modern wildlife managers have today is technology. Before blindly pushing into thick cover, we launched a drone to survey the area. Within minutes we located the bull.
After closing the distance, I finished the hunt with a clean shot.
The same drone later helped locate our friend’s wounded kudu, allowing both hunting parties to recover every animal from the day. It was a reminder that technology, when used responsibly, can be an invaluable conservation and safety tool.
The First Cape Buffalo of the Safari
The following morning, five of us headed out in search of Cape buffalo and gemsbok.
Few animals command the respect of a buffalo.
Their reputation isn’t exaggerated. They’re powerful, unpredictable, and capable of turning a hunter into the hunted in seconds. Every member of our group understood that this wasn’t simply another hunt—it demanded complete focus.
One of our friends, Jared, borrowed my Christensen Arms .375 H&H for his buffalo hunt, so I accompanied him while carrying my own rifle.
We found four mature bulls shortly after daylight.
Several stalks ended with the wind betraying us or the bulls slipping into thick cover before we could get into position. Finally, one bull drifted away from the others, offering the opportunity we’d been waiting for.
Jared’s first shot was perfect.
The buffalo stumbled and collapsed.
For a brief moment, we thought it was over.
Then he got back up.
Another shot knocked him down again.
He rose once more and turned toward us.
Before the situation could escalate, Jared delivered a final shot that anchored the bull for good.
It was the first buffalo of our safari, and it served as a powerful reminder of why these animals have earned such legendary respect among hunters.
On the drive back toward camp, two gemsbok crossed the road.
After a quick discussion, Hank settled behind the rifle and made another outstanding shot at 125 yards. The bull dropped where it stood.
It was yet another example of the confidence he’d built through months of preparation before ever setting foot in Africa.
The Hippo That Fooled Everyone
While eating lunch at the skinning shed, someone noticed movement on the far side of a pond.
A hippo.
At first, all we could see was its massive body resting along the bank.
The problem was determining whether it was a bull or a cow.
The animal’s ivory appeared almost nonexistent, making identification difficult. Eventually, one of the property owners flew in to evaluate the hippo himself. After nearly two hours of studying it from different angles, everyone agreed.
It was an old bull.
As the rest of our group headed back after buffalo, Juan and I began our stalk.
The closer we got, the quieter everyone became.
Tall grass surrounded the shoreline, and before we started our final approach, Juan reminded us to watch every step.
“Crocodiles.”
He wasn’t kidding.
At one point we stopped to glass and discovered a crocodile lying less than five yards away, soaking up the afternoon sun. It was impossible not to glance over your shoulder every few seconds.
We finally eased to within one hundred yards.
The bull never knew we were there.
I settled the LH-6 1-6x24 SFP on the base of his ear, exhaled slowly, and squeezed the trigger.
The .375 H&H hit with unmistakable authority.
The hippo rolled violently from the impact, and Juan immediately shouted, “Keep shooting!”
I cycled the bolt and continued firing until the bull lay motionless.
Walking up to that animal was almost surreal.
Photographs don’t prepare you for the size of a mature hippo.
They are simply enormous.
As we admired the bull, both Juan and the property owner looked at each other in disbelief.
Neither had guided a larger hippo.
Then came another surprise.
When we opened its mouth, the tusks were almost completely gone.
Years of fighting and feeding had worn them down to smooth stubs, explaining why we’d struggled for hours to determine whether it was a bull at all.
The old warrior had simply lived long enough to wear away the feature that normally gives him away.
It took eight grown men and two winches to load him.
The best estimate placed the bull at more than eighteen years old.
Of all the trophies I brought home from Africa, that hippo may have surprised me the most.
The Cape Buffalo I Had Dreamed About for Nearly Two Decades
The next morning, we returned to the buffalo concession.
Fresh tracks from the previous day led us into thick bush where three mature bulls had spent the night.
Following buffalo tracks is unlike tracking any other game.
Every snapped branch, every fresh hoofprint, every patch of disturbed dust reminds you that the animal you’re following is capable of fighting back.
After one unsuccessful stalk, we finally caught up to the bulls feeding in an opening.
I settled behind my rifle.
The shot felt perfect.
The bull lunged forward and disappeared into dense cover.
Years ago, this is where the most dangerous part of the hunt would have begun.
Instead of blindly walking into chest-high brush after a wounded buffalo, we paused.
We launched the drone.
Within minutes we located the bull standing in thick cover. Blood streamed from his nose—a promising sign—but he was still very much alive.
Once the other two bulls moved away, we quietly advanced.
The drone remained overhead, marking his exact position and giving us another measure of safety as we entered the brush.
Some hunters argue that using technology like this diminishes the experience.
I disagree.
A wounded Cape buffalo is one of the most dangerous animals on earth. Standing beside me were my father and my twelve-year-old son. If using every available tool helps ensure we all return home safely, that’s not taking away from the hunt.
That’s exercising good judgment.
At twenty yards we found him lying in the brush.
My finishing shot sent him to his feet.
He charged through the opening.
I hit him again on the run, stopping his momentum, then fired once more.
Finally, the old bull collapsed.
Only after we approached within a few yards did the adrenaline begin to fade.
He was everything I’d dreamed of.
His bosses were deep and hard, his curls swept beautifully, and he measured forty-four inches across.
For nearly two decades I had imagined what it would feel like to stand behind a Cape buffalo.
Now, with my father and my son standing beside me, the dream was complete.
But our safari wasn’t finished yet.
There was still one more unforgettable chapter waiting for us.
Hank’s Final Hunts: Wildebeest, Sable, and Giraffe
With the buffalo behind us, you might think the excitement of the safari had finally begun to wind down.
It hadn’t.
Back at the Motshwere property, Hank still had several animals on his list, and he was hunting with the same quiet confidence that had impressed Juan all week. Every opportunity seemed to reinforce a lesson that had been learned long before we ever boarded a plane: confidence comes from preparation.
That afternoon we found a mature blue wildebeest bull.
If you’ve spent any time around wildebeest, you know they rarely make anything easy. They earned their nickname, “the poor man’s buffalo,” because they’re incredibly tough animals with an uncanny ability to find the thickest cover after the shot.
After a fast-paced stalk that turned into a bit of a rodeo, Hank settled the rifle and made another excellent shot. The old bull didn’t travel far before piling up in the brush.
The following morning brought one of the hunts we had all been looking forward to.
A sable.
Shortly after daylight, we located a mature bull traveling with a single cow through thick brush.
The pair stayed just inside the cover, never offering a clear opportunity. We eased into position and waited.
Eventually the cow stepped into a small opening.
The bull hesitated for only a second before following.
He stopped with little more than his neck visible through the brush.
Juan looked at Hank.
“You can thread that one if you’re comfortable.”
There wasn’t any hesitation.
Hank settled the crosshairs and broke the shot.
The sable collapsed where it stood.
As we walked up, we realized the bull was even larger than we’d thought. His sweeping horns measured just over forty-four inches, making him one of the finest trophies of the entire trip.
More than the measurements, though, it was the confidence behind the shot that impressed me. Watching my son handle himself with patience, composure, and respect for every animal was far more rewarding than any trophy I could have taken myself.
There was only one hunt left for Hank.
A giraffe.
The landowner had given us permission to harvest one of the oldest bulls on the property, and after spending time sorting through several groups, we finally found exactly what we were looking for.
Even among giraffes, an old bull stands apart.
His movements were slower.
His face carried years of scars.
His coat had darkened with age.
When the opportunity finally came, Hank made another well-placed shot.
The bull stumbled, regained his footing, and required several follow-up shots before finally collapsing.
It was a powerful reminder that ethical hunting doesn’t always end with a single pull of the trigger. Sometimes the responsibility is simply to stay composed and do whatever is necessary to end an animal’s life as quickly and humanely as possible.
Watching that giant fall marked the end of an unforgettable safari for my son.
I still had one final animal on my own list.
A lechwe.
The hunt was almost anticlimactic compared to the adrenaline of the previous days, but it provided a fitting end to my own safari. With that final harvest, my list was complete.
More Than Hunting: Kruger National Park and Three Generations in Africa
For my dad, Hank, and several others in our group, however, the adventure wasn’t over.
They traded rifles for cameras and spent the next four days exploring Kruger National Park. They watched elephants at close range, zipped through the African landscape on a canopy tour, and explored one of the world’s oldest known cave systems.
It reminded me of something I’d learned on my first trip.
Africa is much bigger than hunting.
The wildlife, the landscapes, the people, and the culture all become part of the experience.
While they explored Kruger, I joined another member of our group, Jake, on his buffalo hunt.
Like me, Jake carried a Christensen Arms .375 H&H topped with an Arken LH-6 1-6x24 SFP. Early in the hunt he made a solid shot on a mature bull, but the buffalo disappeared into heavy cover before we could recover him.
Hours later, we launched the drone and located the wounded bull.
The follow-up was intense.
At less than ten yards, Jake fired a series of finishing shots before the old bull finally collapsed.
As we stood over him, the relief was obvious.
He had earned every inch of that buffalo.
Watching another hunter realize a lifelong dream reminded me of my own emotions only days earlier.
By the time our group packed for the trip home, every one of the ten hunters had filled every animal on their package.
That alone says something about Motshwere Hunting Safaris.
The accommodations were outstanding.
The food was exceptional.
The staff treated us like family.
But what impressed me most wasn’t the success rate.
It was the people.
From our professional hunters and trackers to the kitchen staff and skinners, everyone took genuine pride in making our experience unforgettable. They celebrated every success, worked tirelessly behind the scenes, and reminded us that a safari is about far more than the person carrying the rifle.
What I’ll Treasure Most From Our African Safari
As I packed my gear for the long flight home, I thought back to a hot summer afternoon in Chicago seventeen years earlier. I remembered standing on a stranger’s doorstep, staring at a room full of African trophies. At the time, Africa felt impossibly far away. Almost unattainable.
I had no idea that a brief conversation would spark a dream that would shape the next chapter of my life. That dream eventually led me to teach generations of students about a continent I had never seen. It led my wife and me on our first safari. And, perhaps most importantly, it led me back to Africa with my father and my son standing beside me.
Years from now, I’ll still admire the trophies hanging on my walls. They’ll remind me of incredible stalks, remarkable animals, and unforgettable days in the African bush. But they aren’t what I’ll treasure most. The photographs of three generations smiling around a campfire. Watching Hank walk up to his first nyala. Sharing quiet conversations with my dad while the African sun disappeared below the horizon. Those are the memories that matter.
Africa taught me many things. It reminded me how vast the world really is. It gave me a deeper appreciation for the blessings we often take for granted at home. It showed my son a way of life completely different from his own and, I hope, gave him a broader perspective on the world he’ll one day inherit.
Most of all, it reinforced something I’ve believed for years. Money spent on experiences is rarely wasted. We spend so much of our lives chasing things—bigger houses, newer trucks, the next piece of gear—but in the end, the things we remember aren’t things at all.
They’re moments. If you ever have the opportunity to hunt Africa, take it.
Save a little longer.
Skip a few luxuries.
Make the trip.
And if you can share that adventure with your son, your daughter, your dad, or someone else you love, don’t hesitate.
The trophies will eventually gather dust.
The memories never will.
Note: If you haven’t read the beginning of the story, start with Part 1: [From a 17-Year Dream to a Family Safari in Africa].
FAQ
Is a 1-6x LPVO a good choice for dangerous game like Cape buffalo?
In this safari, it was. The author used an Arken LH-6 1-6x24 on a Christensen Arms .375 H&H for dangerous game, including Cape buffalo and hippo, where quick sight picture and low-end magnification mattered.
What makes a rifle scope suitable for African safari hunting?
The answer depends on the game and terrain. This story contrasts a low-power 1-6x setup for dangerous game with a higher-magnification 6-24x setup for Hank’s plains game rifle, showing why optics should match the actual hunting situation.
What rifle and scope were used for the plains game hunting in this safari?
Hank used a Bergara 7 PRC paired with an Arken EPL-4 6-24x50. His safari included nyala, impala, warthog, kudu, gemsbok, blue wildebeest, sable, and an old giraffe bull.
Can a hunting safari include both plains game and dangerous game?
Yes. This safari included plains game such as nyala, kudu, waterbuck, gemsbok, wildebeest, and sable, while also pursuing Cape buffalo and hippo.
Can a hunting safari be combined with a Kruger National Park trip?
Yes. After the hunting portion of the safari, the author’s father, son, and several members of the group spent four days exploring Kruger National Park, reinforcing the idea that Africa is much bigger than hunting.
What is it like to hunt Cape buffalo in Africa?
The story describes Cape buffalo as powerful, unpredictable, and capable of turning a hunter into the hunted in seconds. The tracking, close-range follow-up, and tension inside thick brush explain why buffalo hunting carries such legendary respect.
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