ESPERA FALLIDA, RECECHO FRUCTIFERO. / FAILED NIGHT, SUCCESSFUL STALK

Espera fallida, rececho fructifero. 

 Eran las cinco de la mañana de mi ultimo dia de vacaciones y Robert y yo tomabamos un cafe en el campamento, la noche anterior habiamos estado de espera en un comedero para intentar abatir un bushpig que llevaba noches entrando. La suerte no estuvo de nuestra parte y lo unico que conseguimos fue airear a los bushpigs y ver un chacal. De vuelta habiamos decidido que intentariamos pistear el grupo de bushpigs que habiamos espantado la noche anterior. 

 Con mucho sueño y mas ilusion llegamos al comedero, encontramos las huellas y empezamos a seguirlas, era una piarita como de 5 o 6 de las cuales destacaba una huella grande. Las seguimos en silencio, muchos años llevamos cazando juntos Robert y yo que apenas hace falta hablar. Las horas pasaban y las huellas de hacian mas dificiles de seguir debido al terreno, los bushpigs parecia ir en direccion a la zona mas montañosa de la finca, que aqui llamamos "koppies". 

 Aqui ya era trabajo de chinos seguir las huellas y avanzar era trabajo arduo ya que el color apretaba y las huellas eran apenas visibles, andabamos en circulos ya que los bushpigs parecian buscar un encame. Subimos a lo alto de una koppie que forma un vallecito donde vimos que una huella se separaba del grupo, sin razon aparente. Cambiamos rumbo y seguimos esta nueva huella que ya parecia mucho mas fresca. Una paradita para tomar un trago de agua y seguimos a lo nuestro. Ya llevabamos 5 horas andando y apenas habiamos andando 5 kilometros. 

 Robert estaba atento a la huella y yo buscaba al bushpig debajo de algun arbusto, y asi seguimos hasta que encontramos bajo una acacia un encame fresco, pero vacio. No dimos ni 20 pasos hasta que debajo de otro arbol vimos un bulto naranja, miramos con los prismaticos y sin decir nada, Robert puso los palos y yo me encare, puse el puntito rojo detras de los que parecia la paletilla y aprete el gatillo sin dudar. Al tiro el bulto cayo desplomado, y Robert y yo nos acercamos rapidamente, la sorpresa fue mayuscula, de cuerpo pequeño pero colmillos preciosos. Se trataba de un macho viejisimo con amoladeras gastadas y navajas despuntadas. Despues de una sesion de fotos nos pusimos rumbo a casa, felices y con una nueva experiencia compartida con un buen amigo. 


















FAILED NIGHT, SUCCESSFUL STALK









It was five in the morning of the last day of my holidays and Robert and I were having a coffee at the lodge. The previous night we had waited by a feeding place to try and shoot a big bushpig that had been coming in for a few nights. However luck was not on our side, and the bushpigs smelled us and run away, and only a lonely jackal came in. On the way home we decided to go back the following morning and follow the tracks of the bushpigs that had ran off. 

 Feeling very tired but filled with hope we arrived at the feeding spot from the previous night. We found the tracks and started to follow them. It was a sounder of about 5 or 6 pigs, and one track stuck out. We followed them in silence, having hunted together many years, we barely need to talk to know what each of us are thinking. The hours ticked by and the tracks became harder to follow due to the terrain, they seemed to be going in the direction of the rockier part of the farm, with rocky outcrops which here are called "koppies" 

 It was now very hard to follow the tracks, and it was an arduous task due to the heat and the spoor being nearly invisible. We walked in circles and it seemed the bushpigs were looking for a place to bed down. We came to the top of a koppie which formed a little plateau and here we saw that a track separated from the rest for no apparent reason. We changed course, following this single track, which seemed fresher. We took a five minute break for a drink of water. I looked at the watch, we had already been walking for nearly five hours and we had barely covered 5 kilometres. 

 Robert focused on the spoor, and I looked for the bushpig under the bushes where it may be bedding down. We carried on until we found a place where the bushpig had bedded down, but he was gone. We covered maybe a further twenty steps, when under an acacia we saw an orange shape, we both looked through the binoculars, and without a word Robert set up the shooting sticks and I got ready. I put the red spot tight behind what I thought was the shoulder and pulled the trigger. At the shot the animal collapsed, and Robert and I rushed to the spot, when we got there we were left dumbstruck. The bushpig was very skinny, he was a very old male with worn down upper and blunt lower tusks. We set him up for pictures and after that carried it back to the car. On the way home we were both filled with joy at an amazing trophy and an amazing experience I got to share with a good friend.