Days Of Schooling. 2.

The Land Rover pulled into the farmyard, and we proceeded right to the big thatched shed where we offloaded the kudu carcass, and hung it on the slaughter pole next to the shed by its hind legs. We stowed the four tusks in a corner of the shed and covered them over with a pile of empty potato pockets. While Edward started to skin the kudu, I took the Land Rover and trailer to the pump and started to clean them washing off the blood and dust. I opened the hood and hosed down the engine and cleaned it thoroughly to make sure that no buffalo beans were stuck in some crevice to blast us when we least expected it.

Buffalo beans are the bane of a hunter's life, and the Zambezi valley was full of them. Every donga and river bed was full of this menace. These beans climb up the elephant grass and scrubby shoots always in the way of the hunter when he is creeping through the bush stalking his prey. They hang in clusters on their vines, short stubby beans almost the shape of a broad bean, and they are covered in tiny hairs which have a barb at the end. As soon as the grass stem is disturbed, a cloud of tiny hairs descend on the unsuspecting hunter and are deposited on his skin and down his neck, and soon as he starts to sweat they start to itch. Itch? No, it is a torture devised by the Devil himself. Scratching the itch only makes it worse, far worse. All sorts of remedies have been tried, calamine lotion, petrol, mud, old engine oil, and a few pharmaceutical concoctions, but none of them work. All the hunter can do is grit his teeth and wait for the burning itch to go away, and be aware of the danger for the next trip and be wider awake.

On one trip to the Valley I had two young novices with me. One was a young Italian friend named Luciano Bertonotti, and the other an English speaker named John Weinand. Luciano had a new series two Land Rover fitted with a canvas top stretched over a pipe frame. What they lacked in experience they made up for in enthusiasm. I can say that they approached the hunting scene like a bull at a gate.

We had removed the canvas top, but retained the pipe frame, and after making camp the two hunters were keen to get at the animals roaming the valley. Each wanted to bring home a buffalo bull, and each had the vision of an enormous buffalo head mounted over the bar in the den. They had new rifles of the best calibers, and had worked up their eager enthusiasm by reading articles in the men's magazines, and listening to accounts by their friends who had, or claimed to have had, experience of buffalo hunts. Consequently they were raring to go, and this was the first morning actually on the hunt. We left camp and drove along the left bank of the river; the going was easy, as the grass was quite short, and it was easy to see where we were going. Then we came across a donga running across our path into the river bank. The bottom of the ravine was full of elephant grass I was sitting at the back of the vehicle, and as we approached the donga I stood up to be able to see over the windscreen which was still erect. I had told them to remove the screen, but they knew better, and left it up. As we travelled, the windscreen caused a turbulence which sucked in all the dust thrown up by the vehicle's wheels, which was most unpleasant, and with me sitting at the back, I got the worst of it.


Here we were then ready to enter the donga, and I could see masses of buffalo beans on almost every stalk of grass. My shout of warning was lost in the urgency to crash through the donga and get to its opposite bank, and the vehicle rushed through the long grass scattering buffalo bean pods all over the place. When we reached the level ground again I was sitting on top of the frame and shouting to them, "Watch out, buffalo beans!" Too late we were through them and John turned to me and asked: "What are Buffalo Beans?" Two minutes later they found out. Luciano had stepped out of the vehicle and was starting to scratch his crotch inside his shorts, and John was scratching his neck. I also started to itch, and it grew into a burning intensity that became quite unbearable. The Zambezi River was about thirty paces to our left, and a large sand bank stretched into the water "Lets wash it off!" John shouted, and both ran for the water as if a swarm of hornets was chasing them. Diving into the shallow water they pulled off their clothes and started to rub the coarse sand over their bodies. Of course this only intensified the problem, and I ran up to them shouting for them to beware the crocodiles. They were sitting with the water reaching up to their necks, and howling at the itch.

"Stuff the crocodiles!" Luciano shouted, "At least if they catch us this burning will stop." He redoubled his efforts at rubbing the wet sand over his inflamed skin. In the meantime I rinsed their shorts in the shallows while keeping my rifle at close quarters.

"Here, put on your shorts and let us rinse out the Landie, or we will get another infestation of the pest when we carry on." They happily complied with that suggestion, and the bucket was filled and splashed over the vehicle a number of times till we decided that no more stinging barbs were present.

You can be sure that those two hunters would make sure that they proceed very carefully when they suspect the presence of Buffalo beans in their future hunting excursions.

The following day I went into town with the four tusks to my Greek contact to see if I could convert them into solid cash, and found him out. While waiting outside his premises an acquaintance, a certain Swanepoel, whom I knew as a hunter in the business of taking rich clients on hunting trips also parked outside the shop waiting for Raftopolous to arrive, and we started talking. It transpired that he had taken out an American, a medical doctor, and they had bagged an Elephant with two very small tusks, and he was hoping to buy something better for his client who was most disappointed at his bag. He could see the point of one of my tusks peeping out from the canvass cover, and asked me if I would be prepared to sell them to his client if they were a decent size.

"I have two pairs here, the one pair weighs ninety two pounds, and ninety four pounds each, but for them I want a lot of money as they are a perfectly matched pair." I casually flipped the canvas cover aside so that he could see the tusks. I could see his eyes bugging and he almost drooled all over the back of my vehicle.

"Follow me to the Ridgeway hotel, and I will let my client view them, and maybe we can give you a bit of a better price than the Greek would offer." He tried to sound a casual as possible.

I followed him to the parking lot of the hotel, and he virtually sprinted in to the foyer. I decided that I would accept at least double the price that they offered, and soon the two came hurrying out. I had turned the Landie around as if I was ready to pull out of the hotel grounds, and Swanepoel came running towards me as if I was ready to depart with his wife. I switched off the engine and waited for them to catch up to me.

As the client reached the back of the Land Rover Swanepoel flipped the canvas to one side exposing the pair of Elephant tusks, and while his client was examining them he came round to me and with a flip of his hand as if dismissing a fly, he said. "We are prepared to offer you one thousand American dollars in cash, which is double what you would get from the Greek."

"You must be joking." I retorted, and walked back to the rear and flipped the canvas back over the tusks. "For these magnificent specimens I want twelve thousand American Dollars. Your client is not the only one who will buy them. In fact I know of an English count who also did not bag a good pair, and he will beat any offer your client can make; but thanks for the offer anyway." I extracted my keys from my pocket and rattled them while sauntering around to the driver's side. Swanepoel opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of the water, and the American ran around to my window.

"Wait, wait." He took hold of my elbow. "We can work out a trade." He sounded very anxious.

"What sort of trade do you have in mind?" I looked as if I was looking through him.

"Well we have the tusks from the elephant that I shot, and I will give you ten thousand Dollars for your pair." He stared fixedly at Swanepoel.

"If the tusks you have are as bad as I think they are, then the Game Department will confiscate them as being undersize, and I will lose out anyway. No thank you very much." I again started the motor.

"I can only give ten thousand dollars cash." He said. "That is all I have here in travelers cheques. But I have a new rifle, a Weatherby Magnum in the .458 caliber which I will be prepared to add to the deal with one hundred rounds of ammunition. It is in a tooled leather case, and I will include an ammunition belt also in tooled leather."

"Right, bring out the goods, and the cheques, and if the rifle is as good as you say then we may do a deal." They ran back into the hotel and soon they emerged carrying the goods.

I could not believe my eyes. The tooled leather gun case was exquisite with carved scenes of Horses and Cowboys in relief, and lined in green baize. The belt was tooled harness back leather with leather loops to hold the cartridges. When I examined the rifle, my heart skipped a beat. It had a deep blue heavy barrel, and a glossy walnut stock, and looked as if it had just left the dealer's store.

"You will have to give me a bill of sale for this rifle." I told the doctor, "Let's go fetch your pair of tusks and offload this pair, and then the deal is done." I stowed the rifle lovingly on the front seat of the Landie, and set off after Swanepoel and his client to Swanepoel's office and storeroom where I deposited the tusks, and collected my bill of sale. From there I sped to the Police station where I saw an a friend of mine, Pat Murray, who added the rifle to my arms license without even asking one question. Even if I live to be one hundred years of age I will never again do such a sweet deal as I did that day.

My bush schooling was being shaped and polished, and I learnt not to give away my hard earned lucre. Although the poaching was starting to really pay off, I could not live with my conscience, and decided that although I was addicted to the chase, and loved the bush, indiscriminate hunting of elephants was not for me, and I should do something to rectify the matter, but what? I had to wrack my brains for an equitable solution. But that is another story.