Top_Heavy's World

The morning dawned clear and warm, the trackers, Allan and I went to look for my wildcat. I could tell I made the 19 yard shot, the white feathers looked like a tracer bullet in the tacticle flashlight. The lung tissue on the rocks and the massive blood trail was easy to follow to the beautiful little cat. Other than it's large size and the brown hair tufts behind it's ears, it looked just like a barn cat from back home. I felt sort of funny, having traveled half way around the world to shoot a stray cat! Pictures were taken, my arrow was recovered and we went in for breakfast.
Breakfast was completed and we journeyed to the burn area where we lost the eland tracks before. We found the tracks and started the millipede routine again, for the 3rd day. I was tired, the trackers were tired, we had logged way more miles on foot than I had expected in the past few days. We weren't on the tracks and it bacame obvious that we were getting close. The sand was very wet from their urine, the droppings were still warm, the sap was still running where the eland pulled down branches. We had to be close. The entire group worked up onto a pile of rocks for an elevated field of view. I was just settling in when the sound of an approaching vehicle. I sat in horror as Arlan drove by, about 400 yards away. I saw brief flashes of the white vehicle as they had decided to check the leopard baits on our side of the ranch. Allan was furious, his uncle was the PH for the other 2 hunters in camp and they had gotten so drunk last night he allowed the hunters to venture for themselves. They were not to be on this side of the 40,000 acre property! Movement caught my eye... 3 eland were now visible, about 100 yards away, racing through the trees with no hope for a shot. I was furious, I asked if I could shoot Arlan. The natives use a term "bwana" a respectful term for boss such as a PH. "Bwanga" means fat and bald man. Arlan believed he was being called the PH term but as I found out, he was the running joke on this farm. He had hunted ther for over 20 years and fancied himself MR AFRICA. I was ready to bury him there. The group returned to the truck, quiet and disappointed, we headed back to camp for lunch.