By Brett Stayton
What the fuck just happened?
That was the common question as the PH, the two hunters, and the cameraman all reconvened around the safari cruiser following the turmoil of an unprovoked buffalo charge.
They took inventory and assessed the damage, and it actually wasn’t too bad. The videographer was a bit rattled after he narrowly missed being gored, and the hunter who was trampled by the furiously stampeding bull was amped up on adrenaline, with only some fractured ribs and a rolled ankle.
The terrifying situation certainly could have been much worse.
As they made the drive back to camp, the outfitter gave the hunters and PH the green light to go back out and hunt the aggressive bull that had just ambushed them. Their plan started with swapping out the plains game rifles for significantly more firepower. They picked up a few more big-bore double guns and headed back out to the scene of the mayhem.
Looking For A Fight
They parked the vehicle and began walking down the dirt road again, readying themselves for a potentially intense evening hunt. The buffalo was already waiting for them and looking for a fight.
They found him through the binoculars in almost the same spot as the initial charge, pacing back and forth in the road, huffing and puffing while stomping his hooves and flicking his tail.
With their adrenaline pumping at full steam again, the PH and the hunter who had been trampled slowly approached within range of the agitated bovine and set up on the shooting sticks.
As he lined up the shot, the PH and the other hunter also steadied their rifles on target.
“Boooom!”
The first shot smacked into the buffalo’s shoulder, but it missed a little wide and hit meat instead of ripping through the vitals. The buffalo took off running with a bullet in its side while the PH and hunter each smoked more rounds into its backside as it fled.
Even after absorbing the three bullets, the buffalo kept running back into the darkness of the bush.
The PH quickly picked up the blood trail, and after determining it was dark red muscle blood instead of bright red heart or lung blood, he decided the rest of the battle would be better fought in the morning.
Back At It Again At Sunrise
While back at camp drinking sundowners that night, the crew readied themselves for the oncoming war at dawn. The next morning, the same four guys set out again down the same dirt road where all hell had broken loose the day before. This time they also had a fearless, quick little Jack Russell terrier with them in case they needed the dog’s nose to follow the blood trail and track the buffalo. Too agile and low to the ground to really get trampled, the terriers are tough and feisty scout dogs.
As the cruiser rolled up to the same spot where they had last seen the bull, they found him standing in the road again, pacing back and forth, this time with blood dripping off his hide and staining the dirt a different shade of red.
In the chaos of jumping out of the truck and grabbing the guns, the Jack Russell took off after the buffalo and chased it into the nearby brush, running alongside the road.
The PH and the hunter who took the first shot then followed the sounds of the dog and buffalo into the tall grass while the cameraman and other hunter trailed 50 or so yards behind.
Soon, the sounds of the approaching buffalo made it clear that it was coming towards them again, so the cameraman and second hunter strategically retreated towards the safety of the vehicle.
Simultaneously, though, the buffalo looped around the PH and the other hunter and now stood in between them and the cruiser. It was a classic showdown as the buffalo stared them down, standing in the road like an outlaw gunfighter from the wild, wild west.
Quicker than the hammer of a six-shooter, the buffalo shot off towards them like a hurricane, but the PH stood his ground as the hunter backed him up.
Just Keep Shooting
With the buffalo closing in on them like a runaway train, the PH let loose with a well-placed shot from his double gun. He smashed the charging bull right in the chest with some hot lead from about a dozen yards away. It dropped like a ton of bricks and slid right towards him and stopped within a few yards of his feet, like a scene from a movie.
Except this ain’t Hollywood, and the buffalo wasn’t dead yet.
It stumbled to its feet and took off for the bush while the PH, the hunter at the truck, and the other guy all emptied their guns into its ass end as it ran away.
The buffalo now had a bullet in its shoulder, a bullet in its chest, and like two or three bullets in its rump roast.
As the buffalo disappeared back into the bush, the Jack Russell continued to trail it, and the group followed in pursuit. When the long grass became too thick to navigate, the PH climbed to the top of the tallest tree around, and from there he pumped two more shots right into the haunches of the slowly staggering beast.
With five or six bullets now in it, the old bull slumped to the ground as the PH climbed down out of the tree.
He reloaded and moved in, cutting the distance to about 10 yards, and as the buffalo raised its head off the ground, he pulled the trigger on a knockout punch.
So like, seven or eight shots…
That’s apparently what it can take to drop a damn buffalo.
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