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WRITTEN BY: JOELLA BATES
From 300 yards, the lion’s roar penetrated my body and forced every hair to stand erect. In two minutes, I undressed,
soaped, rinsed, dried, and redressed, then joined the gang by the fire. Ten minutes later, Zak and Louise got scalded by the
shower water from the same bucket.
That night, Vippie, the English rat terrier, slept in my sleeping bag and the Smith & Wesson .357 laid by my pillow.
Bedsprings were wired across the opening of our roundaval for a door.
The story begins on Tuesday, May 1, 2001. Jakes Grobler met me at the Johannesburg airport. He and his brother Zak and
Zak’s wife, Louise of Itaga-Motsumi Safaris of South Africa were my guides for the Cape buffalo hunt.
At Orion Ranch, we spent two days preparing me for African hunting, and then we traveled to the Itaga camp. That night,
we decided to hunt buffalo in wild tribal lands near the northwestern border of Kruger National Park.
On day four, we drove from Itaga to tribal lands near Zimbabwe and Kruger Park. We camped at an abandoned guard station
on 30,000 acres of unmapped unfenced land adjacent to the Park. Tribal leaders had invited Zak and Louise to bring me
there for my hunt.
Situated a stone’s throw from the Park fence, we used a large open air tent and two permanent roundavals, 15 foot diameter
round earthen buildings with thatched straw roofs, for shelters. The river had washed away a section of the fence. Two
weeks prior to our arrival, a renegade elephant had ransacked the camp and driven out the guards.
I earned the respect and the nickname Magic, after smashing lifesaver candies to powder with my bow. The leaders promised
to obtain the permit from Nature Conservation that would allow me to legally hunt the Cape buffalo with a bow and arrow
on their land.
On Monday afternoon, we found fresh, still steaming, buffalo dung. Villagers spoke of three dagga boys, Cape buffalo bulls
that had left the herd: one older broken-horned bull and a very aggressive bull. It didn’t matter to me which bull, I was just
ready to see a Cape.
We watched the giant full moon rise over the African landscape, but a short time later, our spirits sank. Pete Matebula had
spent three days meeting with officials but had been unable to get a definite answer or the permit.
That night, the lions closed in on camp. At morning, we packed up camp and traveled to a concession near Malelane where a
prearranged permit awaited us. This concession bordered Kruger on the southeast near Mozambique.
From 300 yards, the lion’s roar penetrated my body and forced every hair to stand erect. In two minutes, I undressed,
soaped, rinsed, dried, and redressed, then joined the gang by the fire. Ten minutes later, Zak and Louise got scalded by the
shower water from the same bucket.
That night, Vippie, the English rat terrier, slept in my sleeping bag and the Smith & Wesson .357 laid by my pillow.
Bedsprings were wired across the opening of our roundaval for a door.
The story begins on Tuesday, May 1, 2001. Jakes Grobler met me at the Johannesburg airport. He and his brother Zak and
Zak’s wife, Louise of Itaga-Motsumi Safaris of South Africa were my guides for the Cape buffalo hunt.
At Orion Ranch, we spent two days preparing me for African hunting, and then we traveled to the Itaga camp. That night,
we decided to hunt buffalo in wild tribal lands near the northwestern border of Kruger National Park.
On day four, we drove from Itaga to tribal lands near Zimbabwe and Kruger Park. We camped at an abandoned guard station
on 30,000 acres of unmapped unfenced land adjacent to the Park. Tribal leaders had invited Zak and Louise to bring me
there for my hunt.
Situated a stone’s throw from the Park fence, we used a large open air tent and two permanent roundavals, 15 foot diameter
round earthen buildings with thatched straw roofs, for shelters. The river had washed away a section of the fence. Two
weeks prior to our arrival, a renegade elephant had ransacked the camp and driven out the guards.
I earned the respect and the nickname Magic, after smashing lifesaver candies to powder with my bow. The leaders promised
to obtain the permit from Nature Conservation that would allow me to legally hunt the Cape buffalo with a bow and arrow
on their land.
On Monday afternoon, we found fresh, still steaming, buffalo dung. Villagers spoke of three dagga boys, Cape buffalo bulls
that had left the herd: one older broken-horned bull and a very aggressive bull. It didn’t matter to me which bull, I was just
ready to see a Cape.
We watched the giant full moon rise over the African landscape, but a short time later, our spirits sank. Pete Matebula had
spent three days meeting with officials but had been unable to get a definite answer or the permit.
That night, the lions closed in on camp. At morning, we packed up camp and traveled to a concession near Malelane where a
prearranged permit awaited us. This concession bordered Kruger on the southeast near Mozambique.
On day nine, Louise spots the first buffalo at 9 AM, but the ghost disappears. Soon, we spot a large herd of buffalo, but cows and questionable winds force a
retreat. From the Land Cruiser, we encounter a larger herd of buffalo. Jakes climbs out and I follow. I ape-crawl and move from the truck to Jakes. My heart
pounded in my throat and my pulse deafened me with ringing in my ears. Finally, I’m 40 yards from a big Cape buffalo bull, but no shot chance.
By day’s end, my intimidation of buffalo was replaced by admiration and respect. I can and will make the shot count. I am also comfortable and confident that my
professional hunters will hunt hard and keep us safe.
Late afternoon, we spot a lone dagga boy in a marshy meadow. Jakes, Louise, and I wade across the knee-deep canal water then leopard-crawl to inside 30 yards of
the bull. We cannot see the bull.
Zak and Jonnie watch from the levee. Crouched in the grass, Jakes reminds me not to move, not to talk, not to scream, not to scream, and again don’t scream. I tell
him I know, “Don’t scream.”
I visualize the finish of this encounter just like my coach, Dan Hart, had taught me. With the sun glaring in my face, I prepared for the shot. In my mind, I saw a
clear sight picture with the pin centered in the peep on the buffalo’s heart.
The Land Cruiser disturbed the bull. He got up. I still cannot see him. Finally, he appeared 45 yards away on the opposite bank of the ditch.
We followed behind the bull, but retreated when he enter the dark bush. We skirted the meadow and waited for Zak and Jonnie. Jakes, Louise, and I heard a
commotion then saw the bull at 15 yards behind a two inch hook thorn tree and my Spot Branch. Camo don’t fail me now.
I visualized the bull stepping from behind the huge tree on my right. I draw my bow and as he steps out; his heart will be mine.
Instead the bull bolted from Zak and Jonnie. I drawed my bow, but a running shot at a Cape buffalo was not an option.
My sleep was interrupted by a vivid recurring vision of the buffalo looking me eye to eye as he stood haloed by the sun. Blood-shot eyes stared at me as heavy drool
steadily dripped from his mouth. Each time, I awoke in a sweat.
At 4 AM, I bathed, dressed, and applied face paint. Breakfast was coffee and a rusk. I kept thinking of the vision. Would reality be the dream?
My head pounded all day. Maybe the headache was from the stress of time running out or exhaustion from not sleeping?
Early on, we intercepted the herd, but gusting swirling winds put us in danger of becoming trapped in the herd and them spooking into a stampede. We retreated.
I closed my eyes and rested my pounding head on my bow’s top cam and I prayed for God to let us see a buffalo. We rounded a bend and there lay two dagga boys.
Louise shook me awake. She said, “Here he is.
Jakes jumped from the Land Cruiser and we followed. For 45 minutes, we kept following them. Finally, it happened. The bigger bull looked straight at us with his
heart open. Jakes told me NOW. I drew the 85 pound Mathews Ultra II effortlessly and aimed.
I thought draw, aim, and shoot. Finally, Jakes said, “Let it go.” And, I did. With my sight level bubble buried to the right and both my 20 and 30 yard pins centered
in the peep and on the buffalo’s neck at the junction with his body, the arrow flew.
I watched the arrow appeared behind my pin and hit the buffalo square in the chest. The bull whirled to my right and ran with his head down and tail flipping. Blood
squirted from the arrow wound and left a 12 inch trail.
A million pounds were lifted from my back and the headache was gone. At 4:10 PM, I had placed the lethal arrow into the heart of the Cape buffalo and made history
as the first woman to successfully take a Cape buffalo with only a bow and arrow, but we had to recover him.
Seventy yards later, we found the whole arrow covered in blood. The buffalo was down in 200 yards; however, he ran into the dark bush when spooked by the tracking
dog.
Jonnie, the Nature Conservation Officer, advised us to spot him from the back of the vehicle rather than on foot. We feared that lions or hyenas would eat him if
he were left until morning.
We spotted the buffalo lying with his head outstretched. I shot three more arrows before he expired.
In the end, the bull let out seven death bellows as he bid farewell to me, his worthy opponent, according to the African natives.
I hugged his huge neck. Afterwards, Jakes told me I could yell NOW. And, I finally let out a loud celebratory
Tennessee Yahooooooooo!!!!
The postmortem autopsy showed an arrow channel 3/4 through the top heart chambers. No other arrows would have
been necessary had darkness not been a factor. But, the lessons learned from the other three arrows are valuable
for other hunters pursuing Cape buffalo. The second arrow went in about 12 inches but slid between the ribs and
skin, never entering the body cavity. The bull was lying down when the third and fourth arrows were shot with
marginal penetration of four inches past the ribs. The broadhead remained in a single piece, but the blades were
damaged.
Many thanks go out to Bodoodle for being the primary sponsor on this Big Game Adventure. Other sponsors include: Feather Vision, Heartland Guide and Outfitters,
Muzzy Products, Raven Wear, and Sure Loc Sights.
retreat. From the Land Cruiser, we encounter a larger herd of buffalo. Jakes climbs out and I follow. I ape-crawl and move from the truck to Jakes. My heart
pounded in my throat and my pulse deafened me with ringing in my ears. Finally, I’m 40 yards from a big Cape buffalo bull, but no shot chance.
By day’s end, my intimidation of buffalo was replaced by admiration and respect. I can and will make the shot count. I am also comfortable and confident that my
professional hunters will hunt hard and keep us safe.
Late afternoon, we spot a lone dagga boy in a marshy meadow. Jakes, Louise, and I wade across the knee-deep canal water then leopard-crawl to inside 30 yards of
the bull. We cannot see the bull.
Zak and Jonnie watch from the levee. Crouched in the grass, Jakes reminds me not to move, not to talk, not to scream, not to scream, and again don’t scream. I tell
him I know, “Don’t scream.”
I visualize the finish of this encounter just like my coach, Dan Hart, had taught me. With the sun glaring in my face, I prepared for the shot. In my mind, I saw a
clear sight picture with the pin centered in the peep on the buffalo’s heart.
The Land Cruiser disturbed the bull. He got up. I still cannot see him. Finally, he appeared 45 yards away on the opposite bank of the ditch.
We followed behind the bull, but retreated when he enter the dark bush. We skirted the meadow and waited for Zak and Jonnie. Jakes, Louise, and I heard a
commotion then saw the bull at 15 yards behind a two inch hook thorn tree and my Spot Branch. Camo don’t fail me now.
I visualized the bull stepping from behind the huge tree on my right. I draw my bow and as he steps out; his heart will be mine.
Instead the bull bolted from Zak and Jonnie. I drawed my bow, but a running shot at a Cape buffalo was not an option.
My sleep was interrupted by a vivid recurring vision of the buffalo looking me eye to eye as he stood haloed by the sun. Blood-shot eyes stared at me as heavy drool
steadily dripped from his mouth. Each time, I awoke in a sweat.
At 4 AM, I bathed, dressed, and applied face paint. Breakfast was coffee and a rusk. I kept thinking of the vision. Would reality be the dream?
My head pounded all day. Maybe the headache was from the stress of time running out or exhaustion from not sleeping?
Early on, we intercepted the herd, but gusting swirling winds put us in danger of becoming trapped in the herd and them spooking into a stampede. We retreated.
I closed my eyes and rested my pounding head on my bow’s top cam and I prayed for God to let us see a buffalo. We rounded a bend and there lay two dagga boys.
Louise shook me awake. She said, “Here he is.
Jakes jumped from the Land Cruiser and we followed. For 45 minutes, we kept following them. Finally, it happened. The bigger bull looked straight at us with his
heart open. Jakes told me NOW. I drew the 85 pound Mathews Ultra II effortlessly and aimed.
I thought draw, aim, and shoot. Finally, Jakes said, “Let it go.” And, I did. With my sight level bubble buried to the right and both my 20 and 30 yard pins centered
in the peep and on the buffalo’s neck at the junction with his body, the arrow flew.
I watched the arrow appeared behind my pin and hit the buffalo square in the chest. The bull whirled to my right and ran with his head down and tail flipping. Blood
squirted from the arrow wound and left a 12 inch trail.
A million pounds were lifted from my back and the headache was gone. At 4:10 PM, I had placed the lethal arrow into the heart of the Cape buffalo and made history
as the first woman to successfully take a Cape buffalo with only a bow and arrow, but we had to recover him.
Seventy yards later, we found the whole arrow covered in blood. The buffalo was down in 200 yards; however, he ran into the dark bush when spooked by the tracking
dog.
Jonnie, the Nature Conservation Officer, advised us to spot him from the back of the vehicle rather than on foot. We feared that lions or hyenas would eat him if
he were left until morning.
We spotted the buffalo lying with his head outstretched. I shot three more arrows before he expired.
In the end, the bull let out seven death bellows as he bid farewell to me, his worthy opponent, according to the African natives.
I hugged his huge neck. Afterwards, Jakes told me I could yell NOW. And, I finally let out a loud celebratory
Tennessee Yahooooooooo!!!!
The postmortem autopsy showed an arrow channel 3/4 through the top heart chambers. No other arrows would have
been necessary had darkness not been a factor. But, the lessons learned from the other three arrows are valuable
for other hunters pursuing Cape buffalo. The second arrow went in about 12 inches but slid between the ribs and
skin, never entering the body cavity. The bull was lying down when the third and fourth arrows were shot with
marginal penetration of four inches past the ribs. The broadhead remained in a single piece, but the blades were
damaged.
Many thanks go out to Bodoodle for being the primary sponsor on this Big Game Adventure. Other sponsors include: Feather Vision, Heartland Guide and Outfitters,
Muzzy Products, Raven Wear, and Sure Loc Sights.
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