A “typical” day’s hunting in Africa? There’s no such thing. In Africa, you never know what hunting will bring. You may end up stalking oryx, bushbuck, or zebra. Or something entirely different. One thing is for sure: hunting in Africa is thrilling and breathtaking, and this was certainly my experience during my internships at two game reserves in Africa.

South Africa

My long-distance relationship with Africa started in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. For two and a half months I was an intern at a game reserve there, encountering numerous challenges, adventures, and dangerous situations.

The adventures begin

To set the scene…the landscape at the game reserve is dominated by rocky mountains dividing the open grassy plains and the savanna, with the Bushman’s River running through. As we drive down the mountain looking over the savanna, three white rhinos greet us 15 meters away while a herd of hartebeest passes in the background, in full gallop, and disappears into the open savanna. Zebras make their way through the wattle forest: only the trained eye can detect their black and white stripes moving through the branches at breakneck speed.

Tyler (my colleague and later best friend) and I have been standing at the top of the mountain for many hours, searching for a suitable zebra. A crackly radio call tells us a herd of zebras has been spotted on the opposite side of the valley in front of us. Our golden opportunity! Crawling through the high grass without a thought for the puffadders, whose naps we might disturb, we find our way down to a stream where we can sneak close to the herd.

An old stallion takes a few steps forward and presents himself away from the rest of the herd. He was no further than 110 meters away. The scenario was ideal, and the line of my shot was clear. I took the safety off, slowly squeezed the trigger, and bang. The zebra was down, and the rest of the herd scattered at the whip-like snap of the old calibre 308-win. It was the biggest animal I’d taken and my first African one. At this point I didn’t know that hunting African game would be part of our daily routine: the game reserve has a professional butchery on its grounds, and hunting to provide food for local communities and restaurants is an ongoing task.

Our daily activities varied enormously. Sometimes we would hunt, and other times we’d be walking the fences with our team of rangers, fixing old land rovers, catching poachers, or restoring power cables so our farm, and others, would have electricity. I didn’t have much experience with either electricity or the gears and brakes of rusty land rovers, but some things just have to be learned. Tyler and I spent several days repairing the broken-down game-view cars and somehow got them started.

Hunting Buffalo

In November 2021, I turned my attention to Cape Buffalo. I had been presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I never thought would happen: George Cawood (my PH, short for professional hunter, which is mandatory for foreigners when going hunting in Africa) and Anthony Yard (the owner of Tugela Safaris) had arranged a buffalo cow hunt at Anthony’s game reserve in Kwa-Zulu Natal. Never had I thought I would be hunting Africa’s most dangerous game animal at the age of 20.

From one vast hill to another, we scouted the terrain. We spotted a big herd of buffaloes in the distance and began loading our equipment onto the vehicle. George, Anthony, the local trackers, and I squeezed in and drove around the mountain to get a better view of the herd. Since I had never hunted buffalo before, I didn’t know what lay ahead.

Heart-stopping proximity

We parked and began our stalk. Slowly and methodically, we followed the tracks and the sound of buffaloes making their way through the wattle forest. We battled with the wind and the thought of not knowing whether the herd had moved onto the open plain or whether we would meet buffaloes in the dense forest.

We moved forward carefully, stopping at regular intervals to search the area. We had just reached the clearing end of the forest when Anthony and George froze mid-step. Being at the end, I was waved forward. 130 meters in front of us stood the herd of approximately 70 buffaloes we had tracked and stalked. They were busy grazing, completely undisturbed and unaware of our presence.

As we observed them through our binoculars, the wind suddenly changed…and so did the buffaloes’ behaviour. Dressed in camo from top to toe, we stood stock-still for what felt like forever. No sudden movements. No talking. With the 375 on my back, I tried to gauge how fast I could react if they charged us – and which one to aim for.

The smell of three hunters was out there…and the ten young buffalo bulls who caught it appeared to alert the whole herd to the potential danger. So we stood, statue-like. The young buffalo bulls approached us, shaking their heads, catching our smell, and trying to figure out how big a danger we were. I glanced at my PH, who tried to calm me down with his eyes. Holding an elephant rifle in his right arm while leaning it on his leather ammunition belt with maximum calibre, he made a sign for me to take the 375 off my back and put it on the shooting stick. “Emily, if you move any further back, you’ll knock me over,” Anthony said very quietly. Without realizing it, I had backed up so much that I was almost standing on his feet.

When I’d said “yes” to hunting buffalo, I had not quite envisaged what it would entail. I knew I was going to shoot Africa's most dangerous animal and let there be no doubt – the buffalo lives up to its reputation. “Do you see her? She’s the biggest.” Emerging from the left of the herd, a large buffalo cow appeared, perfectly positioned for me to take a clear shot. I pulled the safety off, put the rifle next to my chin, adjusted the optic, and took the shot.

My bullet went through the shoulder and into the heart of the most dangerous game animal in Africa. With all the close encounters and the young buffalo bulls having locked their eyes on us, I fully expected them to charge. The cow turned 180 degrees and started to run, but within 10 meters, my second bullet was placed in the opposite shoulder, and the cow was down.

“I told you she could shoot!” George said with a smile that went from one side of his face to the other. “Well done, Emily, what a shot!” said Anthony, his voice full of excitement and with a smile that matched George’s. I started shaking, close to tears, because of what I had now accomplished as a 20-year-old female alone on a hunting adventure in Africa. I no longer had to prove myself and my worth as a young, blonde female huntress in Africa to the guys I had been working with.

Poaching in South Africa

Even though our closest neighbours were warthogs and impalas, we faced many challenges from other neighbours outside our fences – the local communities. Every day we would take staff back to their communities and, for me, driving the old Toyota on the dirt roads while listening to bossa nova was the best way to end a day. For Tyler, not so much – and I soon came to understand why.

Tyler was the leader of the anti-poaching team and, together with his Belgian Malinois guard dog and the rangers, would hunt down the poachers when they set foot on our property. The poachers came from local communities and, as it happens, were often in some way related to the local staff working at the farm. Tyler had a lot of hate against him, and every time he drove into the communities, he put his life at risk. They would surround the car and yell at him in native Zulu and Afrikaans, threaten him, and hit the car. To them, he was the man who prevented them from getting food and money. To us, he was a protector: he protected the game reserve, protected us, and protected the animals from cruel poaching.

Houdini-like vanishing acts

Poaching is common in South African game reserves, and we battled with it. Even though our work was primarily to help care for nature and animals, we spent days and nights hunting poachers on foot and by car. With primitive spears almost as tall as me, made from old metal fence parts, and with 10-30 wild dogs, the poachers would climb or cut the fences and poach whatever they could get. They would surround the animal with their wild dogs, stress it, and finally spear it.

Poachers can be masters in hiding. Even when chasing them by foot or car, they would “pull a Houdini” and magically disappear. As soon as we went after them into the bushes, they were gone. Hiding in a treetop, inside a bush or, if desperate, a warthog hole. The poachers in our area weren’t poaching for trophies, they were poaching for food, and nothing or no one could get in their way. For some, it’s desperation and necessity. For others, it’s a sport.

Poaching in Namibia

Poaching in Namibia is in stark contrast to what I witnessed in South Africa. In Namibia, we also battled heavy poaching, but here it was for trophies. Just before I arrived, two black rhinos had been poached. Black rhino horns are special and rare, which is why they are highly-priced and prized on the black market.

Corrupt trophy killing

Poachers from all over the world will bribe locals, hand them rifles, and send them into the game reserves for the sole purpose of dehorning the rhinos, often resulting in a terrible death for the animal. Men who have never been taught to shoot are given rifles. They place shots all over the rhino until it hits the ground and while it’s still alive, they cut its Achilles tendon so it has no chance of getting up. The horns are brutally removed, and the rhinos are left alive, bleeding, with no chance of survival. It’s a fatal destiny and explains why rhinos are the most endangered and protected species in Namibia.

Chasing Poachers

One day, while our guests were resting and the PH’es were enjoying a break at the lodge, our anti-poaching unit set off the poaching alarm. Two poachers had been spotted running through the rhino area with rifles on their backs. Our two PH’es, Eddie and Christiaan, grabbed their rifles, loaded their cars, and drove. Within 30 minutes our reserve was filled with anti-poachers, the police, and neighbouring farmers ready to help. Like camouflaged zebras running through the branches, the poachers were dressed in black and white and hard to spot.

A helicopter, with AK-47-armed men hanging from the open sides, circled above trying to locate the poachers. At the same time, vehicles filled with drunk locals were spotted in various areas outside the fences, causing drama and trying to distract our attention. Where and who were the poachers? The hunt went on for hours. Eddie and Christiaan slept in the field, ready to act should they spot them, while Janina, the lodge manager, and I slept in the office surrounded by radios, ready to transmit messages to the police or anti-poaching units.

Sadly, those particular poachers weren’t found, but luckily no rhinos were hurt that time.

Red dust, glorious sun

It’s not just the poaching that contrasts South Africa and Namibia. My daily work, the culture, and the nature I encountered in Namibia were different to my South African experience in many ways.

Nothing compares to the red dust that covers your boots as you make your way through the Namibian thorny bushes, the sun setting over the dry savanna that turns the sky into a crazy, out-of-this-world colour palette of yellow, orange, and red (the same red as the sand you’re walking on). Or driving on dirt roads while gemsboks run between the bushes, springboks jump through the long grass, and giraffes reach for the highest leaves.

I’ve been lucky enough to travel extensively with my family and have been to beautiful tropical places, but in my opinion, nothing compares to a Namibian sunrise or sunset.

Gemsbok

I also had the pleasure of hunting an old gemsbok bull, also known as oryx, with my PH and friend Eddie. After several attempts, we finally spotted the gemsbok of my dreams. We had been joking for days about crawling while stalking, a love-hate relationship for Eddie and me. I loved it; Eddie’s not a big fan. But with the position we found ourselves in when we spotted the gemsbok, we had to. We crawled through the high grass and reached a reasonable shooting distance. When placing the shooting stick in the right position, the gemsbok spotted us. While it tilted its head down to eat, we slowly we moved to the ground.

Eddie whispered that I should take the shot while sitting down, trying to place the shooting stick in the correct position, but it wouldn’t corporate. We caught the gemsbok's attention every time we tried to move the shooting stick. It challenged us, looked us in the eyes, and stamped its feet, desperate to see us make a move to determine if we were a danger. Eddie slowly moved my shooting stick and told me to place the rifle over his shoulder and take the shot. While waiting for the gemsbok to turn to the perfect position, Eddie and I looked at each other and joked about how we had somehow ended up in this unusual shooting position. As it finally turned, I took the shot. It ran 100 meters, and I placed another shot in it. The gemsbok was down, and it was the perfect end to my Namibian adventure.

Africa…unforgettable!

Whether you’re a seasoned hunter searching for the big five, a new hunter seeking your first plains game animal, or a safari tourist, Africa is hard to beat. Hunting in Africa is a truly spectacular experience – one you’ll remember for