directly away from us, becoming obscured by scrub. Presently hitherto unseen ewes emerged from the trees and crowded around him, making a clean shot impossible. I whispered to the boy to get into a shooting position, reasoning that the young ram would possibly put some distance be- tween himself and the territorial ram, and would then stop. The bush behind which we sat offered nothing by way of dead rest. Standing up would be disaster. He beckoned me forward and put the ri- fle over the small of my back. Now I am no more a proponent of a place- kicker making use of a team mate to keep a rugby-ball upright than I am of someone making use of me as a dead rest. But somehow I just did it. And lying there I thought about the pictures of Erik Engelbrecht and Eunia Barnard which appeared in Magnum some years before. A sharp poke in my ribs brought my mirth to an end.
How many? I whispered. Three and a half poles he replied. That makes it about 250 meters I said. Go for a high shoulder shot I continued. Ja, op die knoppe he said, and then the muzzle blast kicked dust in my face. I distinctly heard the strike, and I restrained him when he wanted to jump up. I have marked the spot he said. Mine? I said, now wait a few minutes? It must have seemed like an eternity to him, it surely did to me.
Eventually we set off. The impala had all disap- peared into the thick stuff. When we came up to his mark, I showed him the impact-tracks, and a little further the first blood on the earth. The first blood he had spilled. Then he saw the ram, stand- ing in some brush, alert but clearly in trouble. With the binoculars I quickly saw that I had under- estimated the range. The bullet had dropped a lit- tle further than expected, and had been placed a tad to the right. The breastbone was shattered and some lung tissue protruded. I looked at the boy. He was steady. Then he took a dead rest and
put a round in the neck, just below the ears. When he had dragged the ram to a suitable place, I showed him how to remove the intestines. For a first time he did rather well, I thought. Now he ap- preciated the extra water I had insisted on. Having washed our hands, I helped him carry the ram to- wards the road. Then I sent him for the bakkie, which I actually do not let other people use. He walked tall. He was no longer a boy. He had com- pleted the rights of passage. He was now a hunter. And a man. He had taken his first buck. The cor- rect way. The only way. And the entire experience was filled with first times. Most profoundly for me. Memories that would last till the end of time. An umbilical cord that would connect us around the many campfires that will mark his passage through this life, and the few that remain for me.
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave, to the dark and endless skies - the tune mulled through my mind as I lay in my bed, feeling sorry for my aching feet. It was bitterly cold, and all around me the others were already asleep. Just before I surrendered to Morpheus I thought about the dynamics contained in making an authentic first time possible for someone else. A gift from the heart, intended to drive away darkness. And I realized that within the gift of a first time, there will of consequence be first time moments for oneself. But perhaps more profound was the reali- zation that should one fail in fuelling the synergy so created, that first time might very well be the last time. Filled with a mixture of melancholy and a deep sense of satisfaction, I drifted off to sleep.
My last thoughts were of the fine young man Douw had become.
Thank you my friend Colyn for these wonderful memories.
http://www.africahunting.com
I Shoot and Fish E-Zine December 2011
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