I squatted down to get a better look, the pack on my
back swaying me slightly off-balance. I placed the butt of my rifle
down on the ground to steady myself and a large drop of sweat
plopped into the red, powdery dust. The elephant tracks were several
days old. It didnít really matter that much that they werenít fresh
enough to follow, because I wasnít really looking to find their
I had been looking for fresher spoor when something
odd had caught my eye. It was a drag mark. This was neither the
usual scuff mark that was made just before the foot was placed,
rather than after or as it was lifted in the case of men for
example. Nor was it the often seen, playful doodling of a trunk in
the dust, such as a laid back chap might make as he wandered down to
the water to drink. This showed a harsh, continuous line on the
ground from the last track left by the front right foot to the
current track left by the same foot.
It was obviously a front foot because the track was
round in shape, rather than oblong which would have indicated a rear
foot. I could tell which direction the elephant was travelling
because of the five toe-nail marks left by the front feet and the
four toe-nail marks left by the rear ones. Actually, the left front
had four toe-nails. The elephant had lost one, which is not at all
an uncommon find with older bulls. I noted this along with other
individual "labels", in case I needed to follow him or recognise his
tracks at a later time.
I knew it was his right foot for a reason, which
also told the direction he was travellingÖ wearing on the sole. The
"pad" of an elephantís foot is covered in a network of fissures,
which show in the track as raised lines. The thick pad expands as
the elephant places his foot, putting his weight onto it, and
contracts as he lifts his foot, taking his weight off it. This sole
wears with age just like one of our shoes. However, whilst humans
can be both Ďover and underí pronators, elephants are strictly
underpronators, so the pad always wears on the outer side and, just
like a human, at the rear of the foot.
The wearing was on the outside, taking into account
the direction of travel, so it was his right foot. Judging by the
amount of wear and the depth of the fissures in his feet, it was
obvious that the bull was relatively old; the older the animal, the
more the wearing of the pad at the rear. I say old bull because the
same fissures were very raised on the large track; females have
finer and shallower fissures in their smaller feet, so they were not
raised in the track.
Sometimes it is necessary to compare the depth of
the fissures at hand with a mental image of a male and females
tracks of the same size, but in this case it was obviously male, as
the tracks were simply too large for a female.
Next, I turned my attention to the size. The bull
was roughly 2.75 metres at the shoulder. Easier to determine than
one might imagine, because the height of an elephant at the shoulder
is around two and a half times the circumference of the front track.
In this case, the track of this bullís front foot was around a
hundred and ten centimetres. This was not huge, but relatively large
for the Mutusadona or the Omay, where I was now squatting.
The bulls here are on average thirty centimetres
shorter at the shoulder than those in Hwange in the West of
Zimbabwe, and even shorter still than the incredibly tall elephants
from the deserts of Namibia. However, although they are small, they
have proportionally long, thin tusks. Beautiful to see but
weight-wise disappointing for trophy hunters. Although they look
impressive, they tend to weigh as much as a relatively short but
chunky tusk from the West. Many an apprentice professional hunter,
from the Hwange area, had come short by over-estimating the weight
of these elephantsí tusks. The size was another indicator of age and
combining the size, wearing, and fissure on the feet I reckoned he
was about thirty-five to forty years old.
Then, I noticed something strange. The bull had been
running. There was distance between the front and rear tracks. When
an elephant walks normally, his rear foot will be placed roughly
half-way over the front track. In other words, the put their back
foot down where their front foot was, the back one going down as the
front one is lifted away; on the left and right side respectively.
When an elephant speeds up, the gait changes
incrementally up to a fast amble. This is reflected in the tracks by
a spacing between the front and rear tracks; from overlapping, to
just touching, to a small gap, and eventually a large gap when at
An elephant walks at around seven kilometres per
hour and reaches a top speed, doing the fast amble I mentioned
before, as they canít trot, canter, or gallop due to their
This was a strange combination because the bull was
both moving relatively fast and dragging his front foot; sort of a
fast limping-run. Dragging his foot either meant an old disability,
such as some healed wound at best, or some recent injury at worst.
And, if he was trying to get away fast whilst in pain, he was very
frightened and this would be for a reason.
There were no other elephant tracks anywhere nearby.
I thought about my recent walk to this point. Not only had I seen no
other elephant tracks, but I had seen no predatorís tracks from the
time of the bullís tracks either. Other than the usual plains game,
such as impala and waterbuck, the only other tracks from around the
same time were from local fishermen, who had stopped and eaten on
the shoreline. I thought about it, his tracks were about the same
age. The bullís tracks had the same contrast, with the drizzle marks
around it, as the fishermenís, so had been created at the time of
the light rain we had had three days earlier.
I had another look round; the bull had been feeding
in the thick Mopani and had rushed away from the direction of the
lake, where the fishermen had disembarked from their boat. This was
very unusual because the bulls in this area tended to hang around
the same location and were used to people, so why did he bolt when
he came across people? It was starting to look like his bad leg and
people were connected. I suspected his injury had recently been
caused by man.
There was no blood. In the case of elephants this is
nothing unusual. Their skin is so thick that it will seal a wound
quickly and completely. This unfortunately means that the wound
doesnít drain and hence infection is rapid.
I re-assessed. A 2.75m tall bull, probably in his
late thirties or early forties, moving as fast as he could go, away
from fishermen who had stopped on the lake-shore; I strongly
suspected he had been wounded either by poachers or bad news hunters
who had not reported the incident. It was time to call it in.
I headed back to Musango where I was freelancing at
the time. I was mostly doing walking safaris in the Matusadona
National Park on the other side of the Ume River from where I had
just found the elephant tracks.
The area where the bull had been was part of
Gache-Gache Rural Councilís CAMPFIRE Project.
CAMPFIRE, or Communal Areas Management Program for
Indigenous Resources, was an initiative to reintroduce and develop
wildlife in the traditional or communal farming areas. Concessions
were allocated and tendered out for both photographic and hunting
safaris. Musango, Bumi Hills, and Katete Lodges were all within the
photographic safaris area.
Hunting areas were not too far South from where we
were, but the operators were professionals and I found it hard to
imagine them not reporting a wounded bull.
Steve, the owner of Musungo, radioed the National
Parks Warden at Tashinga, the headquarters of Matusadona National
At that time the warden was Zef, an older,
experienced, and no-bullshit officer with many years under his belt.
I got along well with him, especially since my proficiency exam a
couple of years earlier, when I had had an interesting time, running
into the middle of a herd of buffalos with him, and on his say so,
shooting an old "dagga boy". It turned out we both had the same
attitude towards dealing with difficult situations involving
dangerous game, but that is another story.
Zef told Steve over the radio, "Wellensky or Young
can shoot it in the Park if they find it has crossed over.
Otherwise, let me know if council is a problem and I will contact
Colin Wellensky was an ex-Parks PH, with many years
experience, and was doing freelance walking safaris at Musango as
Steve then radioed Gache-Gache Rural Council based
at Siakobvu. They advised us that they would send the scout, who was
responsible for the immediate area, to join us. Also that Colin and
I should "check it out", and determine whether or not the elephant
needed shooting, and if so, report back to them for the go-ahead.
A full day went by before the scout turned up. He
was nervous and cocky, and would not look us in the eye. Although
his behaviour was a bit odd, we did not think much of it, as we were
more interested in getting going, since the spoor was now four days
old. Furthermore, for the most part, the scouts were hand-working
and dedicated as a rule, and so deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Colin and I grabbed plenty of water and set off for
the spot I had last seen the elephantís spoor. Although the tracks
were now four days old, we followed them on the principle that he
was probably not going to be able to move far, and we would probably
cut fresher tracks sooner or later.
After tracking him till the end of the day, it was
clear that he was slowing down rapidly. Even more serious was the
drops of stinking liquid that lay on the tracks. Clearly, a very
infected wound was suppurating. When an elephantís wound reached
that stage, it was almost certain that sepsis would also have spread
throughout his system.
Something else I noticed at this point. His
droppings contained hardly anything other than the Mopani we were
moving through, not the normal healthy variety of foods needed to
supply him with the nutrients necessary to sustain him. The outside
of the dung was almost black with a varnish-like quality. This
indicated very high levels of tannin. Mopani and other trees pump
tannin into their leaves when browsed upon, and also message other
trees downwind to do the same. For this reason an animal has to keep
moving or the leaves will become bitter. Grasses do something
similar with arsenic. So, an elephant unable to move is going to get
very high levels of tannin and arsenic in what he eats, in addition
to a lack of necessary variety. Together with the infected wound,
this would ultimately cause a slow and painful death.
As this point, we had reached close to the Kariba
Lake shore, so we decided to head back to Musango via a boat
pick-up, rather than sleep on the tracks.
On the boat trip back to camp, we discussed the
situation. We had no doubt that he was deteriorating extremely fast.
He was also heading towards a fishing village. We could not let him
near people as he was now potentially deadly to man.
We had noticed this bull did not have anything wrong
with the base of his foot, because where he did put his foot down,
obviously gingerly, it looked normal. We both suspected some other
problem with his leg, and that was a bullet wound.
That evening, Colin heard that he had to head out
for some reason or other. There was a Learner Professional Hunter in
camp, apprenticed to Steve who needed dangerous game experience, so
I agreed that I would let him shoot or back up.
That evening a concerned couple asked me if we
couldnít bring in a vet to help. They even offered to pay for this.
We explained that infection spread so fast in such
situations that a vet would be able to do nothing for him.
Just as importantly, the amount of money necessary
to bring in a vet to dart and treat the elephant could be used to
save many more elephants and rhinos through anti-poaching and other
They immediately offered to donate the equivalent
amount to anti-poaching and other activities. I was very impressed
with their generosity and concern for our wildlife. They were
Americans, and I have had further occasion to admire Americans for
these selfless traits.
Lastly, the wildlife shared the area with people and
had been reintroduced for mutual benefit; the locals benefitted
financially from photographic and hunting safaris, and the animals
would be free to roam where they had before. That meant people lived
and worked in the same area, and no chances could be taken with the
communitiesí lives and property.
In this case, it was not only a kindness to the
elephant to euthanize him, it was also a duty to the local people
We set out the next morning whilst it was still dark
and arrived on the shoreline where we had departed the day before.
Our council scout was waiting. He had fallen behind
often the day before and we had not waited for him. He contributed
nothing and still seemed jumpy. There was no love lost between us.
He had his radio with him and a .458, but I made it clear he was to
keep the radio off and the weapon unloaded. When focusing on a
serious and dangerous task, you need to be focused, calm, and aware.
Some fellow constantly fidgeting and fussing behind you does not
help in any way, and is more of a nuisance than a help.
We set off, and very soon crossed fresher spoor from
the same bull. We followed for most of the morning. By midday, the
spoor was as fresh as could be. He was now hardly covering any
ground at all. We needed to end his suffering as quickly and
efficiently as possible. We were very close to a fishing village and
a person could easily bumble into him by accident. They would not
stand a chance.
Even though the bull could not walk properly because
of pain, and was so weak he was hardly moving, the sight of a person
would trigger a surge of adrenalin through his body that would cover
the pain and give him the energy to kill.
this point we crossed the road dirt road that went from near Musango
to Bumi Hills. I decided to stop and rest, as I knew we would be
doing the final approach very soon.
I looked at Craig and realised that he was wound up
as tight as a spring. The excitement was buzzing through him. This
was the first dangerous game he had shot and I realised he was a
likely candidate for a bout of buck-fever, so I told myself to keep
this in mind and instructed him to get ready. We chatted briefly
about dos and doníts and other bits and pieces, and I checked his
weapon and ammunition carefully. Then, I told the game scout to stay
well back and we got back on the tracks.
Within a couple of minutes, we were in short, but
dense, Mopani and couldnít see further than our nosesÖ but I heard
the bull rumble. We were next to a tree much larger than the rest,
so I handed my rifle to Craig and started climbing. Half way up I
had a good view of the bull who was only sixty metres away. He was
upwind from us standing next to a large Mopani with one foot off the
ground. Even from that distance I could see how his leg was
grotesquely swollen. The tree he was under stood in a small clearing
and I could see that we would have a clear shot from the edge of the
clearing but that it was only twenty meters from the bull.
I climbed back down and headed back to the road,
used the scoutís radio to speak to HQ and confirmed we were putting
We began the approach carefully and about 40m from
the bull I stopped and checked on Craig. He was so tense he was
shaking and was breathing way too fast.
I told him we were going back. He asked why and I
answered, "I need a smoke". His jaw dropped and he went red in the
face, then he followed me back to the road. By the time we got there
he had cooled down. Getting his mind off the hunt and getting him
pissed off with me instead had worked and he was now pretty calm.
I decided we should go back and get it done and that
this time he would probably be okay.
Just then, a Bumi Hills game drive vehicle came
along at high speed and pulled up next to us in a cloud of dust. Two
Learners climbed out with weapons, all talking at the top of their
voices, as is polite amongst Mashonas.\
They had heard from our scoutís radio chatter that
we had found the bull and had requested permission from Council to
also back-up. They announced this as though it were an instruction
for me. So, of course, I answered no.
There was silence. I explained to them that I was
conducting the hunt, and therefore it was my decision. Furthermore,
I was the only man present with a full license, and I would not sign
the letters they would need if they wanted the experience to count
towards their exams, so they could all f-off.
Without a letter, they could not claim an animal
hunted, backed-up or even accompanied. Then, I got onto the radio to
Council and let fly. Council apologised and explained that one of
the learners had over five yearsí experience and had been chosen by
a Pro Guide based at Bumi Hills who was known to me.
By this stage, the learners attitude had changed
remarkably, and they were standing humbly, hat in hand. So I agreed
that one could back-up. But first, I laid down the law and explained
exactly how the approach would be done, making clear that they were
not to shoot unless I gave the go-ahead.
We moved out, and approached the point we had
reached previously. There was no clear shot from there, so we would
have to move quite a bit closer. I checked on Craig and saw that he
was breathing smoothly, and was focused rather than tense. Then, I
signalled to the other chap to join us. He did well and I relaxed
I whispered to them, that we would move up another
twenty metres to the edge of the clearing, and when I gave the
signal Craig should shoot. Once he had fired, the other chap should
fire the back-up shot. Then, I made clear that if the bull did not
go down, because of the close proximity, I would deal with it. It
would be too close to take any chances. He could easily kill us all
from that close in a matter of a few seconds.
We approached to the point twenty metres further on.
The bull was dozing. His misery was obvious. Yet despite the agony
of his condition, I knew his will to live would be a deadly force if
"Just a few more seconds old chap and your suffering
will be over", I thought.
I turned to Craig, slipping my own weapon off safety
as I did so, and signalled to him to shoot when he was ready.
Craig fired, slightly too far back to be a heart
shot, but not a bad shot. I was a common mistake with an elephant
exactly side-on. However, I had no doubt the bull would drop soon,
but soon would not be good enough.
The other chapís back-up shot was terrible, straight
through the guts.
These two shots had both happened within a second of
each other. Within another second the bull screamed and turned on
us, immediately veering from the tree into a full speed change at
head shot on elephant is best described as "between the ears". If
you imagine a stick between the earholes then you are spot on. Even
better is to have a "3D" knowledge of where the brain is situated.
Most importantly at short distance, aside from shot placement, is
focusing on nothing but getting it done.
At about fifteen metres as he was lifting his trunk
to smash us, just a few steps for an elephant, I shot him through
The bull crashed to the ground as only as head-shot
can make happen. Then, I walked back to Craig, who was clearly
wondering what had happened. I explained that his shot was slightly
too far back but still a kill-shot. However, not enough for us to
have been safe waiting for the full effect of his shot to work!
I looked around for the other learner. He was
nowhere to be seen. We eventually found him up the same tree I had
earlier climbed looking for the bull.
Then, out of nowhere, people started appearing. In
no time, there were dozens of people armed with knives, axes, and
machetes ready to get stuck into the elephant. These situations can
get nasty, as people got out of hand and start fighting over more
protein that they usually see in a year. People get hurt, so we
organised leaders who would portion out the meat and clobber anyone
who stepped out of line.
Finally, I had a look at the elephantís leg. The
knee and most of the leg was badly swollen and full of pus. There
was a small entry-wound in the knee. Obviously, some bastard had
shot him in the leg and not finished the job. The question was
whether it was a poacher or hunter. There was no exit wound so Craig
and I got to work extracting the bullet. At the same time we noticed
the scout pacing around us, clearly a bag of nerves.
We located the bullet and it turned out to be a
.458. The scout carried a .458 and was responsible for this area.
However, so did most hunters. Then, he snatched the bullet out of my
hand, insisting that it had to go to Council, who would in turn hand
it over to the police. Now, I was really suspicious. I tried to
insist that I hand it to the police directly, but knew that I was
wasting my time; I had no legal authority whilst he was on his turf.
That evening, when we returned to camp, we
immediately got hold of council on the radio. They explained that
unfortunately the bullet had been "lost" in transit to Siakobvu by
the same scout. I ground my teeth with the sheer frustration.
That evening, I thought over the dayís events whilst
sipping a Scotch by the campfire. The bullís tusks were both over
sixty pounds apiece. This animal would have brought in a lot of
sorely needed funds into the area for both the local people and the
wildlifeÖ if hunted properly.
in Zambia, Rory Young has spent almost 25 years working
in Central and Southern Africa in wildlife and forestry
management as a professional safari guide, ranger,
manager and owner. He now alternates between guiding,
training safari and wildlife personnel and writing from
home, which also allows him time with his Dutch wife
Marjet and their two young children. He has done a lot
of problem animal control of African dangerous game and
passed the tough Zimbabwean Professional Hunter
proficiency. He now only hunts problem animals or for
the pot. He is a strong proponent of ethical hunting.
Rory writes a regular blog at
I was glad to have ended the bullís suffering, and
was pleased that Craig was a step closer to his full license and now
had an elephant under his belt.
I kept my face and body calm and still for the clients also
enjoying the campfire, but inside I was boiling with anger at the
attitude of a man who could wound an animal and then callously
condemn it to a lingering and painful death. I looked down at my
clenched fist and sighed.