Issuu

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celebrating the hunting lifestyle

Volume 2, Issue 1

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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Jocelyn Engel PRODUCTION EDITOR Gerdi Fullard CONSERVATION EDITOR Ivan Carter

Volume 2, Issue 1

CONTENTS

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PUBLISHER Huntersinc.com LLC POSTAL ADDRESS PO Box 7920 Waco,Texas 76714 USA All copyright of the contents herein is held by the publisher, Huntersinc.com LLC. No part of the publication may be reproduced in any way without the express written permission of the publisher. The publisher accepts no responsibility for the content of advertisements. Editorial opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the publisher. The editor reserves the right to change, edit and/or shorten articles submitted to it by contributors.

Editorial contributions must be directed to the editor via email: editor@huntersinc.com

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Jocelyn Engel CONSERVATION CHRONICLES

10 Ivan Carter 16

KNOYDART Slots Media THE AFRICAN SYMPHONY

44 Sue Tidwell

UNBROKEN OPTIMISM

68 Marcus Gores

PROFESSIONAL PERSPECTIVE

94 Jimmy Banks

MY HUNTING HERITAGE

114 Christiaan Pretorius FINLAND 130 Esa Nykänen

WILD GAME BASED

144 Tony Caggiano

RHINO MOMMA (PART 2)

150 Jocelyn Engel

Cover photo by Slots Media

Perseverance | per-se-ver-ance: steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success I recently watched the rover “Perseverance” land on Mars in real-time. The Mars Mission 2020 launched on July 30, 2020 and successfully landed in the Jezero crater on February 18, 2021—a journey of seven months and 300 million miles until the NASA team could breathe a sigh of relief that their historic efforts had paid off. As I watched stunningly clear images of Martian rocks and heard the cheers of success from mission control, I was amazed at this endeavor of human ingenuity. Just imagine what we will learn from this monumental undertaking. As in the case with space exploration, we hunters know that there is always more to explore! With so many causes for grief and uncertainty in today’s world, optimism has become an essential survival skill. Like me, I know many of you are still enduring shelter-in-place orders, personal loss, limited travel and devastating setbacks to our businesses or professions which test our collective endurance beyond what we ever thought possible. But, in the midst of it all, I submit to you that the human spirit is truly indefatigable. Our creativity knows no bounds and when faced with overwhelming odds, new strength rises. It’s how we’re made. Like the Mars mission, perseverance and determination are in our DNA. This issue of WE ARE HUNTING is full of stories detailing various hunters’ capacity for endurance and overcoming the odds with persistent determination. See for yourself whether or not perseverance pays off in Britain’s last true wilderness in Knoydart. Read about embracing strenuous physical demands and overcoming mental fatigue to pursue an Alaskan trophy in Unbroken Optimism. Enter into an eye-opening journey when first-time author Sue Tidwell provides a sneak peek into her upcoming book that draws us into her story of facing fears and challenging assumptions in The African Symphony. And don’t miss out on the grit and courage of a team dedicated to preserve a species in Rhino Momma Part II. My hope is that this issue stirs your optimism, brightens your current landscape and gives you fuel to plan your next hunting adventure. All we need is indefatigable perseverance and we will overcome. Jocelyn Engel Editor-in-Chief

Artwork by Adriaan Grobler

When investing in an ELS & CO. product you are not only buying a top end leather item, you’re also buying into a belief that we can all make a difference, one small bit at a time. Els & Co. is a small leather studio nestled on the foot of the Simonsberg mountain range in Stellenbosch, South Africa. The backbone, heart and soul of our business is the incredible team of isiXhosa craftswomen who have been trained from scratch to the highest level of craftsmanship. We’ve even gone so far as to train our top three craftswomen to manage the entire production process from start to finish, taking them from domestic workers to production managers in a short 5 years. This is something we are immensely proud of. The Els & Co. story is one of upliftment, sustainability and revival of the lost art of fine leather craftsmanship. Each product is entirely handmade by a single craftswoman; from dyeing the leather, cutting the stitching groove, bevelling the edges, moulding the leather, drilling each stitching hole and finally hand stitching the product with two needles, one from each side of the hole. Lastly each item if finished by embossing has the craftswomen’s initials on it, giving her proud ownership of what she has made. As we continue to grow, knowledge gets transferred from the older craftswomen to the rookies, creating a strong, sustainable thread to ensure we’ll still be here 100 year form now. It’s become our mission to build a company that does not only produce exceptional leather products, but also one that cultivates a strong social conscience. By giving one woman an opportunity to uplift herself, we know it’s an entire family that will benefit from it, and so slowly, one woman at a time, an entire community is uplifted - making a genuinely notable difference.

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CONSERVATION CHRONICLES ™

with IVAN CARTER The chattering of oxpeckers was coming from a patch of impossibly tangled thorns in front of us. It was no coincidence that it was the very patch of brush that the same tracks we had started to follow at first light led into. The crisp, cool dawn had surrendered to the oven-like heat radiating down from the cloudless sky. Bashop, my lead tracker, turned to me with his wrinkled wise eyes telling me what I needed to know. He saw the target of our four-hour walk. As slowly as humanly possible, I lifted my binoculars and began scanning back and forth trying to see what Bashop had seen in the thicket. Finally, I caught a subtle shine of horn that led me to locate the bull lying quartered away from us, peacefully chewing his cud with no idea we were even there. We dropped back down to our bellies. Very slowly and carefully we inched our way over the burning, hot sand stopping every few feet to ensure we remained unseen and unheard. A low hiss from Bashop froze our advance and I simultaneously saw what he saw - the gaze of a second animal facing directly towards us. His eyes half closed and flicking an ear as an oxpecker diligently searched for any parasites it may have missed earlier. On his WE

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CONSERVATION CHRONICLES ™

I glanced back to where Mike lay behind me. He was unaware of our current situation, but excited and focused on what he was hoping for. There were several subtle indicators in this scenario that spoke to the conservation model. These old bulls were only two of many we had seen in the last week of hunting, and it is certain that

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the birds. As that bullet found its mark, the scarred soldier lurched forward and staggered to the ground.

As that bullet found its mark, Bashop and the entire local village The client lying behind me was found security in the fact that experiencing first-hand his financial today they would eat well. impact in terms of protecting the species he paid to pursue and As that bullet found its mark, trophy supporting the healthy ecosystem fees became payable - trophy fees they called home. The tracker in that would fund the protection of front of me, his co-worker behind this ecosystem. me, the camp staff and the tireless efforts of the antipoaching team As that bullet found its mark, the represented the employment of conservation gears moved around local community this moment was a notch. funding. As that bullet found its mark, Suddenly, I felt a cool whisper on an old, valiant buffalo bull, well the back of my neck reminding me beyond breeding, was harvested that we had to act fast. Mike quickly so that the species as a whole and shuffled into position beside me, the ecosystem could live on. and as if by planning, but rather by sheer luck, the veteran broken In conservation and until next time, horned warrior jerked his head up. His red eyes opened wide, and he IMC took an arrogant step forward. I Conservation Editor knew our window was short and if missed the opportunity would be closed forever. Mike raised his double rifle and a deafening roar shattered the morning air, echoing across the savannah and silencing

I shook my ash bag. The tiny particles danced and swirled to the ground signifying that, although light, the wind was slightly in our favor. Our position, however, left us trapped. If we inched any further forward, we were sure to be found out by the old dagga boy but retreating would take away our window to shoot.

without efficient anti-poaching measures in place, they would not exist. The oxpeckers and the plethora of other birds were also indicators of a very healthy biosphere.

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right side, a handsome black curl dropped from the enormous shiny boss. On his left side, a mere remnant of heat emanated from where once lay the second of a pair of magnificent horns. Yes indeed, this venerable warrior had seen, fought and survived many a battle - both with predators and his own kind. He was a living testament to the toughness of the species and his age was a strong indication of an excellent conservation model.

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"There may be a day I cannot make a difference, but there will never be a day that I do not try." - Ivan Carter w w w. i va n c a r t e r wc a .o r g

i n f o @ i v a n c a r t e r.c o m

KNOYDART BY SLOTS MEDIA

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Knoydart, Scotland is renowned for three things: isolation, high mountains and Red deer. A peninsula walled off from the mainland by mountains, Knoydart is only truly accessible by boat and has been referred to as Britain's last true wilderness.

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............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Supplies and people are transported daily, when weather permits, and making life work on the peninsula is certainly a community task. The only things readily available to the locals are sheep, deer and solitude. The approach to Knoydart is intimidating and it’s difficult not to be in awe. Mountain ranges in excess of one thousand meters are wreathed in mist; steep gullies and rocky outcrops promise deep dead ground and false peaks; minimal shelter from the elements makes it an imposing challenge; but mostly it’s the sense of emptiness--an almost endless expanse of hills covered with nothing but 12 inches of heather and grass.

Bobbing along on a small local ferry gives a hunter plenty of time to ponder what they’ve signed themselves up for.

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We spend the first hunting day on the Black Loch. We had arrived the night before in the rain and awoke to find the weather unchanged. Nevertheless, the roars of the local stags carry on the morning wind and get our blood pumping and provide motivation to embrace the bad weather. The forecast promises no improvements for our stay and with four stags needed in three days there’s no time to wait around anyway. The estate’s head stalker Ian and his ghillie, Terry, meet us at the lodge door to load the camera gear and the hunter, Matthew, into the back of the Land Rover before we set off down the glen. We are headed to one of the larger lakes, called ‘lochs’ in Scotland, on the estate. The estate track ends on the shores of the loch so we unload and use the opportunity to start glassing the mountains to find the source of the roars we’ve been hearing.

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If there’s anything that could make this place more exciting, it’s hearing a Red stag roaring his dominance to the world. The first two stags we spot turn out to be ‘feeders’ --a select group of stags that are fed around the estate buildings during the winter. They’re safe from the rifle so we set off along the loch shore to find the wilder stags holding hinds deeper in the mountains. A mile or so further on we spot the silhouette of a stag on the far skyline. A closer look through the spotting scope shows he’s a good target, but he’s a long way off and has the high ground so we’re immediately at a disadvantage. Ian explains his plan for the approach and we get to it.

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We set off, keeping half

an eye on the ridge where the stag was last seen and, two river crossings later, we reach the foot of the slope and start to gain height. Ian sets a steady pace as he reminds us that there’s no point killing ourselves to gain the height--it is, after all, meant to be enjoyable. As we climb, we pass waterfalls and sheer rock faces to eventually end up in a sheltered gully to take a breather. The weather is beginning to pick up now; pushing heather and grass flat when the wind gusts.

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We complete the last bit of the climb and Ian pauses

mid stride to check through his binoculars, a hind is lying right where we’re headed. Unfortunately for us there isn’t a way around, the rock face to our left and the drop to our right means we only have one choice, push her on gently with our presence and hope the stag is too far away to notice. She gets up, shoots an annoyed glance our way, and trots over the skyline with only one backwards glance. So far so good. After walking by the hind’s bed, we summit to find an expanse of small plateaus in front of us. Looking around us at the panoramic view, something appears immediately wrong. The end of the glen seems to just disappear. From this viewpoint we can see a front of dark clouds approaching and we scramble to hide unprotected camera lenses before the weather hits…but we’re too late! What started as a light drizzle becomes sideways rain and wind that you have to lean into! The lack of shelter we’d seen from the ferry becomes a reality. The lashing assault lessens slightly as we press on, but the stag has gone. A hind and calf lead him up the hill as we realise the plan has failed. They’re alert and out of our reach…for now.

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A short way along the slope, our plans change again. Ian spots a stag holding a large

group of hinds at the same height as us at around eight hundred metres distance. There’s a risky bit of open ground to cross early on so he leads us across slowly as a tight group. Nothing sees us.

As we creep along, we try to stay together. Three stalkers and two cameramen are hard to hide in such a bare landscape, but we make it to the cover of an outcrop without incident. We are now within two hundred and fifty yards of the stag. His roaring reverberates off the rocks around us as Matthew gets his rifle ready. Ian has a final check over the edge. We’ve been instructed to hang back until Matthew is fully set up, only then can we risk the stalk by trying to get the final parts on film. When Matthew is comfortable, we begin our crawl. There’s a lot of pressure attached to moving into a position the stag can see when the hunter could have already taken the shot. We manage it without incident and start to film the stag as Ian gives Matthew the green light. Matthew shoots and the stag drops. It’s a good shot!

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We waste no time getting to the downed beast and as Terry starts the gralloch we hear more roaring from just around the curve of the hill. A quick decision is made and Terry is left to finish off as we start another stalk. Nearly a kilometre away, we spot the same group of deer, only a new stag is roaring his supremacy now. However, this time, Matthew is told to take one of the smaller stags. Hovering around the fringes of the group they do no breeding so they are the perfect choice for stalkers looking to manage the deer on estates, leaving the bigger stag to enjoy his hareem. The wind doesn’t let up but Matthew places another perfect shot, two hundred yards uphill. The stag drops on the spot, hooves thrashing empty air and the newly dominant stag takes off over the hill with his ladies. With two stags down and Terry already dragging one down to the lake, it’s down to the camera crew to chip in. I give up my camera and set to dragging with Mathew. It’s steep. So steep that all you can do when you’re dragging a 16 stone beast is something worryingly similar to a controlled fall. But we get down to the side of the loch in good time, with no injuries, and wait for Ian to bring the boat for extraction.

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It isn’t long before the boat is loaded and sitting low in the water. With four humans and

two stags weighing it down, Matthew glances about nervously as small waves break over the side of the boat to soak his trousers. A third stag would definitely have sunk us!

We reach the far bank with only a light soaking, load the stags onto a quad bike and head back down the glen to the larder and some cold beers. That night the weather worsens.

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The next morning we wait for daylight to reveal how bad the weather is. The wind and rain we heard

battering the house during the night, best described by Matthew as ‘comedy’ weather, doesn’t promise an easy day on the hill. With the light comes a realisation that it would be another day of challenging stalking and filming. Undaunted, we put our waterproofs on and, with extra layers packed, head out into the weather.

"An uninterrupted vista of the storm wracked bay"

Early that morning Matthew had heard roaring from the slope north of the house. We find the culprit easily enough--a nice stag high up on the hill. Ian decides the best approach would be from above--easier said than done. Ian hatches a plan that includes a sizeable detour down the glen, a 600 metre climb, and a long stalk back along the rocky outcrop where the stag is holding his ground. The approach is uneventful and the weather holds up during the steady climb. Even so, Knoydart has a knack for catching you at your most exposed. Yet again a downpour of biblical proportion hits as we reach the top of the mountain, killing the visibility as it rapidly drops to around 20 yards--not that you’d know because no one wants to expose their face and look. We pick our way between the pools of standing water on the plateau in front of us and stop just short of the edge, the stag should be just below us. As we emerge between the side of a steep gully to our left, and a small mound to our right, the views are stunning. An uninterrupted vista of the storm wracked bay.

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A curtain of wild weather fronts both blurring and

revealing scenery in turn as they sweep the landscape. We spot the stag. He’s further down than expected and the wind is swirling along the rock face making any approach unpredictable. We try edging around the mound to our right with no luck, the range is too far for the wind on this exposed face. So we go left instead. Going left means crossing the gully further back and climbing higher on the other side. As we drop back down with the gully now on our right, the stag has disappeared. Our best guess is that he must have taken his hinds further round the hill, so we go with our gut and maintain our height. The stormy bay continues to open up in front of us and the wind increases again, making it hard to even stand on the steep, slippery slope. We shelter from the wind behind a rocky outcrop and take in the view while Ian looks into the next bit of dead ground. He comes wriggling back towards us with urgent words: “We have to be quick, they’re about to pass over the next ridge and that’s a boat extraction we can’t do in this weather!” As it stands, we’re all halfway through our packed lunches so we take our last bites and drop unfinished sandwiches into our packs as Mathew grabs his rifle and we scramble for the cameras. Edging around the outcrop reveals a large group of deer not far from the skyline but, luckily, our elevated position puts the stag in sheltered ground. Matthew shoots for the third time in 24 hours and the stag drops into the soaking heather, the rest of the herd sprinting over the skyline to vanish from WE

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view. As we sit and enjoy the moment, the weather clears a little--it feels like a reward for our persistence. Smiles break out onto the same faces that, minutes before, were braced against the driving weather. Then the smiles falter a little as a second herd of deer comes into view below us. Hidden by a bluff, we’d stalked above them and been oblivious of each other, but the stag driving the hinds is the original target for today’s stalk. The angle down is so steep that Mathew has to curl around Ian and use him as an anchor to get into a shooting position, but he can’t get comfortable. The stag roars as he drives his collection of hinds up the hill towards us. The wind surges to new strengths as Mathew struggles to find the right shooting position. The stag slows in a sheltered spot as Mathew finds his position. A sharp crack, followed by an impact sound, lets Ian and Terry know the pressure is off. Two days; four stags. perseverance after all.

Perhaps Knoydart does reward

................................................................................................................. Slots Media is a resource of professional photography and videography for all areas of the hunting and outdoors industry, be that private clients or large multinationals. They have the fitness and training required for the toughest hunting environments. Being hunters themselves uniquely places them in the best position to capture a brand's perspective or a hunt of a lifetime. Find them on Instagram @slotsmedia

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The African Symphony A Non-Hunter’s Awakening by Sue Tidwell

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"AS I LAID PARALYZED IN FEAR, THE FOG OF MY SLUMBER GRADUALLY LIFTED, ALLOWING PIECES OF REALITY TO SLIP INTO PLACE."

Umphh. Umphh. My eyes blinked open in alarm and confusion as the unfamiliar sound pierced the night air, instantly forming a knot in my gut. It was no human sound. At least, not one that I had ever heard. No, it was a low-pitched guttural cry. Something raw, distinctive, and primal. Umphhh. Again, the primal call cut through the darkness, sending another wave of chills up and down my spine. As I laid paralyzed in fear, the fog of my slumber gradually lifted, allowing pieces of reality to slip into place. Rick and I weren’t snuggled side by side on our king-size bed. No. He was sleeping in a narrow bunk, similar to mine, about six feet away. This new sleeping arrangement wasn’t behind the secure walls of our rural Idaho home. No. We were behind the canvas panels of a wall tent. However, unlike most of our outdoor excursions, we weren’t in Idaho’s backcountry wilderness. The distinctive umphh belonged to none of the wild critters that we were familiar with. No. We were in a remote expanse of the Tanzanian bush: an exotic land where the people, the terrain, and the animals were far different than anything we had ever experienced; a place where lions, hyenas, leopards, and elephants roamed freely throughout the landscape. With that awareness, I puzzled over the bestial grunt. The umphhh sounded nothing like the king of beast’s WE

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ferocious roars from MGM movie introductions. Still, there was little doubt that the foreboding sound belonged to anything other than a real, live, honest-to-goodness African lion. Simba. A simple but potent Swahili word. The dread I felt told me that it could be nothing else. We were, after all, in the heart of lion country: a fact that gave Masimba Camp, its name. Three days of international travel and sensory overload had turned us into little more than zombies when we crawled into our beds earlier that first night. Accordingly, we expected to fall asleep as soon as we hit the sheets. That, however, didn’t happen. The second the generator spit to silence and the staff vanished into Still, there was their quarters, the din of little doubt that the camp life was replaced by foreboding sound an unfamiliar barrage of belonged to anything primal voices. Whoop Whoop other than a real, live, Whoooooop followed by eerie chortles, honest-to-goodness heeheehee’s, and cackles. African lion. Then another Whhhoopp Whooop. “Hyenas.” Rick whispered from the darkness across the tent. Fisi’s insane choruses—squeals, roars, growls, and a maniac-like hysteria—seemed to seep through the canvas barrier from every direction, keeping me wide-eyed and drenched in fear. Next, a deep bellowing oozed through the tent’s walls. With this new vocal came Rick’s best guess “Has to be a hippo.” The next few hours continued like that, with Rick doing his best to decipher each new dialogue. A conglomeration of chittering, chattering, cooing, cawing, squeaking, shrieking, growling, grunting, and crying. A symphony, WE

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so to speak, of bestial serenades. Yet, during those first few hours, Simba’s cries had been missing from the ghostly composition. We listened and waited; but none had come. When exhaustion overpowered the unsettling vocals, we must have finally drifted off—at least, until that first hair-raising umphhh shattered our sleep. The deafening silence on the opposite end of the tent told me that Rick was also wide awake. After sleeping with someone fifteen years, the sound of their breathing is as telling as any words; he, too, was listening to the lion. How could he not be? The canvas walls, with eight mesh windows, offered little in the way of sound proofing. Even more alarming, however, the fabric provided laughable Suddenly, our tent protection against deadly - which had felt cozy predators. Suddenly, our and secure in the tent--which had felt cozy and secure in the light of light of day day—felt vulnerable and felt vulnerable exposed. Tense energy and exposed. filled the air as we listened to the lion’s guttural calls. After a few moments, Rick whispered “Our first lion.” With my gut twisted in a knot, a meek “aha” was all I could muster. Neither of us moved a muscle. We stayed frozen in our separate bunks with our ears focused on the night’s sounds. Eventually Rick’s hushed revelation “Honey, we aren’t in Kansas anymore” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “No kidding!” I quietly hissed as I slid out of my cot and climbed into his. Cramped. Uncomfortable. Overflowing. It mattered not. Traveling to Africa had been a dream of mine since childhood. Not like that, however: not sleeping in a WE

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primitive encampment where my slumber was cut short by wild creatures conducting their nightly shenanigans; not dwelling where dangerous carnivores and colossal pachyderms were lurking within a stone’s throw; not tromping through terrain riddled with snakes capable of ending life in minutes; and definitely not as part of a hunting safari hoping to harvest some of the world’s most iconic creatures. Although I’ve never been a hunter or had the desire to hunt, it wasn’t foreign to me. In rural Pennsylvania— where I grew up in a sizable male-dominated family of eight—deer hunting was almost a religion: Dad and all four of my brothers hunted, as well as most of the community; our lives revolved largely around hunting seasons; and wild game, of course, made up a huge Although I've never part of our diet.

been a hunter or had the desire to hunt, it wasn't foreign to me.

The idea of killing doeeyed creatures myself, however, was out of the question. I could barely make it through a Hallmark commercial without one of the boys sprinting to the kitchen, amid a bunch of giggles, to fetch a bucket for my tears. Still, hunting by association was such a part of my life that I had an innate understanding of hunting’s general merits—especially for subsistence and population control. Therefore, it had not been a deal breaker when meeting Rick and learning that he, too, was a dedicated hunter. As the strong silent type, he was the yin to my yang in many ways. His serious quiet nature balanced out my more social lighthearted disposition. Aside from that, he was a kind, intelligent, competent, hard-working country boy who grew up on a small ranch. As the cherry WE

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on top, he nursed a passion for the outdoors. That part of our personalities was totally in sync. Like me, he also dreamt of Africa. His vision of visiting the continent, however, was the polar opposite of mine. As a hunter, Rick wanted nothing more than to see wildlife in its natural state in some far-flung section of the bush, far from civilization and all of its trappings. He wanted to spend his days creeping through the savanna in pursuit of wild game and his nights sleeping in a primitive shelter with beastly serenades filling the night air. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of big game hunters such as Robert Ruark, Harry Selby, and Teddy Roosevelt.

He wanted to follow

He had zero desire to sleep in a fancy lodge, in the footsteps of big game hunters such as take an afternoon dip in a swimming pool, or cram Robert Ruark, Harry on top of a safari vehicle Selby, and Teddy with a hoard of photoRoosevelt. tourists. That also meant no electricity, no stick-built enclosures, and no nearby medical care in a place where danger lurked everywhere. He wanted to experience the real Africa, not the watered-down sugarcoated version. Understandably, as a non-hunter, I did want the watered-down sugarcoated version. My concept of such an adventure included morning excursions through the national park systems teeming with wildlife. Wildlife who, by the way, paid little heed to the oodles of tourists streaming by clamoring for views amid a torrent of ooh’s and ahh’s. Sweltering afternoons would be spent lounging in a sparkling blue pool. Evenings would include dinner with like-minded safari-goers gasping in wonder at extraordinary photos of the day. Nights WE

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would be spent cozied up in a safe air-conditioned lodge. Sleeping would be a peaceful proposition on a cushy mattress nestled under a ceiling fan’s gentle breeze. It was a wonderful dream. Instead of all that, however, I found myself in a cluster of grass huts hundreds of miles away from such luxuries. You know the saying Happy Wife, Happy Life. Well, that works both ways. Marriage is all about compromise. Although Rick’s version of the dream was insanely different than mine, it still allowed me to experience Africa.

Although Rick's version of the dream was insanely different than mine, it still allowed me to experience Africa.

Accompanying him, however, wasn’t without reservations. Aside from the danger factor, lions and snakes for example, it was hard to surrender to the idea of Rick hunting some of the world’s most beloved species. Extraordinary creatures that filled me with awe and admiration for five decades. While many kids were enthralled with Mickey Mouse and the Flintstones, I was held spellbound every Saturday morning with the cartoon adventures of Kimba, a brave righteous white-lion cub. Even though Kimba the White Lion only aired a few years in the mid 60’s, it kick-started my obsession with Africa. Next, I fed my fixation by watching as many Tarzan movie reruns as I could muster, especially on cold winter weekends. It wasn’t an easy undertaking. In those early days, our family only had one television. Therefore, the shows watched typically followed the unspoken guidelines of WE

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majority rules, especially if Dad was part of that majority. Just as Tarzan was about to rescue Jane from a pit of hissing vipers, my Dad and the boys would waltz into the room and—click—“the Pittsburgh Steelers kicked a field goal.” To this day, I am still traumatized by such interruptions. So many ghastly deeds in the wilds of Africa were left hanging in the air. Sometimes, literally. Tarzan, of course, didn’t fight the evils of the world by his lonesome. Aside from Jane, Boy, and Cheetah, he had the whole animal kingdom at his disposal, initiating exciting adventures in a distant captivating world. The fact that Tarzan movies were fictitious did little to take away from their charm. Instilling personality traits upon animals made them even more endearing. Consequently, like so many others, I fell in love with Africa’s ...and horse-like incredible species. A animals whose devotion that followed me vivid black and white into adulthood.

stripes help confuse predators.

Who isn’t captivated by creatures that totally defy the imagination: six-ton monstrosities with sail-like ears and accordion-like noses; towering creatures of mottled gold whose long legs and soaring necks allow them to browse the treetops; mane-covered beasts that are killing machines as well as doting parents; and horselike animals whose vivid black and white stripes help confuse predators. From my biased view, the Maker’s creativity seemed absolutely uninhibited and ingenious when designing Africa’s hodgepodge of wildlife. The idea of hunting such exotic species seemed different than hunting deer, turkey, and elk—all of which enjoy healthy populations. When animals were hunted to provide food for the table, it seemed acceptable. What WE

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kind of hypocrite would I be to judge hunters poorly as I slurped up the family favorite, deer-burger spaghetti sauce? It is also understandable that some animal populations must be controlled when faced with limited space. Mutilated deer carcasses littering Pennsylvania’s roads make that point with grotesque clarity. So, even though I hated the idea of killing an animal myself, essentially, I got it. Yet when it came to hunting Africa’s wildlife, I was deeply torn, especially certain prized species. Just like in the states, hunting would provide food, population control, and money for conservation. Yada yada yada. My head told me one thing, but my heart asked questions. Weren’t many of Africa’s species endangered? If so, why could some of those species still be hunted legally? Human/wildlife conflict is a huge problem in rural Africa but how did legalized hunting help that problem? Why was population control even needed in sparse lands that seemed endless? Why harvest a leopard or lion, an animal that doesn’t supply much meat for the local people? What about poaching? With animals already being illegally killed, was hunting just adding another nail in their coffin? Africa has a history of corruption. Is that still a widespread problem or confined to only a few nations; and if bribery is an issue, how does that affect wildlife populations? Above all else, doesn’t ecotourism provide enough money to aid in conservation, habitat protection, and help for local communities? Wouldn’t that be a better alternative to hunting?

Yet when it came to hunting Africa's wildlife, I was deeply torn, especially certain prized species.

The doubt, disapproval, and outright fear of sleeping

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amid wild critters almost led me to stay safely tucked away in our Idaho home. My zest for adventure and desperation to experience Africa’s wildlife, however, ultimately trumped my misgivings. I put on my big girl panties, packed a bag, and headed for bush Tanzania. Ummphhh. Simba’s grunt jolted me from my reverie. Still wedged against Rick on his tiny bunk, I returned my attention to simba’s primal serenade, fisi’s insane choruses, and the rest of Africa’s beastly symphony. Realization surged through me. Finally, after years of anticipation, my African dream was coming to fruition. It was nothing like I had envisioned. Yet, nestled in a grass hut hours from civilization, there was absolutely no turning back. Nor did I find myself wanting to. Even though apprehension filled my entire being, it became crystal clear that Rick’s version of the dream was far more than anything I could have conceived for myself. No doubt, there would be difficult and unsettling moments. Rick would very likely be harvesting some of the species that I had treasured since my first Kimba the White Lion cartoon fifty years earlier. However, it was also clear that each day would bring new adventures and amazing experiences. Would the boots-on-the-ground escapades change my romanticized view of Africa and, instead, allow me to see the reality of the land I had dreamed of for so many years? Would I feel the truths in my heart instead of relying only on the facts and statistics? Even with uncertainty gnawing at me, my feelings of trepidation, exhaustion, and disquiet foundered as other emotions trickled to the surface. Fascination. Excitement. Awe. Astonishment. Curiosity. Thankfulness. Lying wide-eyed, covered in goosebumps, and listening to the chortles, bellows, growls, squeaks, heeheeheehee’s, whistles, cooing, whoops, hisses, chatters, and ummpph’s of Africa’s beastly symphony, I realized that I had never WE

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felt so terror stricken—yet, at the same time, so alive and exhilarated by the promise of the days to come. And so began my journey of awakening. Experiencing Africa’s humble people, harsh lands, and wondrous wildlife first-hand opened my eyes to the real Africa—a vast, harsh, and dangerous land riddled with multifaceted complex conservation issues. I was, therefore, able to see the actual challenges facing wildlife--not the fabricated ones. Jolted out of my fairytale bubble, I began to understand the hunter’s critical role in habitat and wildlife preservation, even though my heart had initially resisted. Hopefully, by sharing my journey in a fun, story-telling manner, I will help other non-hunters understand. The reality is, I am not the same having heard the cries of wildlife in the savanna. Not only their savage songs— but their cries for the world to awaken. To understand the hard-truth needed to ensure that their cries forever remain a part of the African Symphony—and not just ghostly echoes from a distant past.

Sue’s Tidwell’s new book “Saving Africa’s Wildlife, Whatever it Takes: A Non-Hunter’s Awakening” thrusts readers into the wilds of Tanzania, with laughter, tragedy and wonder, shedding light on the struggles and complexities facing the people and wildlife of rural Africa. Sue’s journey offers a boots-on-the-ground view discussing hunting’s role in arming readers with the awareness necessary to save Africa’s wildlife. Find Sue on Instagram @suetidwell.writer or sign up to be notified about the book’s eminent release at https://www.suetidwell.com.

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WWW.511TACTICAL.COM

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UNBROKEN

OPTIMISM by Marcus Gores

The rams crested the backside of the mountain and we were finally able to make our move. We ran along the river bottom around the entire base of the mountain to catch up as they were feeding into the large shale bowl. Covering a mile and a half of river rocks, tundra, and shale we got eyes on sheep. Turning up a group of ewes and lambs in the bowl where the two rams bailed off, we had to be careful as the number of eyes watching for danger multiplied immensely. Inching forward as tight to the hillside as we could, we stopped every 10 yards to check for the rams. After the fourth or fifth time, my guide Hunter and I decided to make a run for it to a large boulder that would give us a visual of the entire bowl and set up for a shot if the rams were in there.

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The author, Marcus Gores (right), and his guide, Hunter Dane (left), fruit of their hard work hunting 68 enjoy theHUNTING

"Getting to this point on my quest to harvest my Dall sheep in Alaska came with many challenges and a little bit of luck."

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A quick sprint and releasing the legs on my bipod, I set up on the boulder and the rams were in sight. Glassing to confirm our target ram was legal, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I laid my face on the stock of my rifle. “The one on the right is him,” whispered Hunter. I barked off a shot with my Savage Arms 28 Nosler and chaos broke out. Getting to this point on my quest to harvest my Dall sheep in Alaska came with many challenges and a little bit of luck. I booked my Dall sheep hunt on a cancellation opening due to COVID-19. A pair of international hunters who booked the hunt couldn’t travel due to their country’s travel restriction opening two spots with Alaska Perimeter Expeditions just a few months before the hunt took place. I found out about the cancellations through one of the guides and booked immediately.

Float planes fly the hunters into the bush

Fast forward after two months of training, a minor leg injury, and tons of hunt preparation, I landed in Bettles, Alaska for one last night in civilization before taking a floatplane into our hunting area. This was not my first time flying into the bush via floatplane but being in such a small plane with a good amount of gear and supplies made the flight very noteworthy. Forty-five minutes of flight hugging the sides of mountains and nicking the tops of trees with the floats, we reached our destination of base camp. Landing on a wide-open lake I was greeted by the two guides in camp, Hunter Dane and Joe Latimer.

Hunter glassing for rams WE

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We had another hunter, Jody Waverek, being shuttled in after I was dropped off. With time on our side due to the early arrival to base camp, the four of us made the decision to push up the valley on foot to gain some ground into sheep country as we had a “free day”. In the great state of Alaska there are laws relating to a hunter’s ability to be transported by plane and having to wait until first light of the following day to start hunting. This gave us plenty of time to put some miles on our boots and shorten our journey the following day, or so we thought. We lightened our packs at base camp ridding unnecessary weight and packing enough meals for 8 days of pushing up valley. Hunter was officially assigned as my guide and Joe was assigned to Jody. As a group we started our push to 3-mile camp. We smashed through alder trees and tundra flats crossing the same river more times than I can remember. Looking back on training for this hunt, I felt as if I was going to have a leg up with my physical conditioning, but I was not as prepared as I thought. There is no true way to prepare for the terrain in Alaska unless you are actually training IN ALASKA. That being said, my mental conditioning took over and kept my feet moving forward every wet step of the way. As a group we reached 3-mile camp in 2 hours and made the decision to keep going up to 5-mile camp. Another 2 miles of the same terrain conditions mixed with mosquitos by the hundreds and temperatures in the low 70s made for a hike none of us would forget.

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Hunter Jody Waverek prepares for a long day of hiking

Setting up a spike camp at 5-mile, the four of us made a quick meal and turned in for the night to get some rest before our first big day of hunting. I tossed and turned with excitement all night and could not wait to get boots back on my feet and find some sheep. Morning one of hunting, Hunter and I split of from Joe and Jody as Hunter wanted to start gaining elevation to find a legal ram and Joe and Jody wanted to continue to push up to 7-mile camp and hunt further back in the valley. Hunter and I shed a little bit more weight and packed for a possible spike camp set up on the top of a mountain if we got into any sheep. We climbed roughly 2,000 feet in elevation above our 5-mile camp to reach our first false peak in an hour and a half. We hit a ridgeline and continued up the mountain until we could see into the next valley over called “Dragon Valley”. The views did not disappoint as the rock formations that made up the mountains folding into Dragon Valley looked like a scene from a movie. Hunter and I sat just below the summit and glassed as far as we could struggling to find any sheep. Hours passed as we moved slightly for different angles of the mountain range in front of us and we still struggled to find any sheep let alone a legal ram.

"When your mind starts to work against you, other factors such as hunger and physical ability dwindle as well"

Accepting defeat for the day, we made our way down from our first climb heading back towards 5-mile camp. The descent went quicker than our climb up the mountain but first day defeat started to test my mental strength. When your mind starts to work against you,

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other factors such as hunger and physical ability dwindle as well. Three quarters of the way back I started to feel a flair up in my left leg that I had injured during my training for this hunt. My pace became slow, dead slow at that. I knew I had to get back to my tent, recover the right state of mind, and rest my body. We arrived back at 5-mile to get a dehydrated meal in our system and sleep a solid 8 hours as both our bodies needed some recovery time.

After reaching our fourth mile of hiking for the day, we spotted two rams together roughly 1,200 yards away. We got the spotting scope out to get a better look at the pair. We determined they were both legal, and one of the rams was the caliber we were after. Knowing this was a shooter ram, we kicked it into high gear and cut the distance to 750 yards. The rams were feeding away from us and we had limited options on getting closer. We could back track a mile or so and work around the mountain they were feeding on or go straight for them from the base of the mountain and hike up. With the wind at our back going straight towards the rams, we made the call to sit in place hoping thermals would shift and change the wind direction as they typically do in the afternoon.

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Guides Hunter Dane and Joe Latimer making preparations in camp

The morning of day two, Hunter and I decided to get a jump-start and pack up our spike camp. “The world starts at 7-mile” is a known phrase for the valley we were hunting and that’s exactly where we headed. Two miles more and we were already turning up sheep. We stopped a couple of times to get a better look at some sheep only to find lamb/ewe groups. Stopping briefly at 7-mile camp to set up tents and shed more weight, we continued up the valley as we had finally gotten into sheep.

We sat for hours watching these two rams knowing one was exactly what we wanted but unable to get close enough for a shot without the possibility of pushing them further away. Knowing this, we put the two rams to bed and headed back to 7-mile camp to get a good night’s rest before our big day. Hiking back to 7-mile camp we arrived to an empty campsite. Joe and Jody’s tents and extra weight were left behind and it was quickly getting dark. Hunter and I made a ‘Mountain House’ dinner to get our calorie intake in and got in our tents. A couple of hours later Jody and Joe came back to camp with heavy packs. Jody ended up shooting a gorgeous ram the day before his 50th birthday and their pack out back to 7-mile was rough. We got a late start to day three as we had some weather move in bringing low clouds socking in most of the mountains around us and making glassing to locate sheep difficult. We spent the first two hours of the morning rummaging around camp and admiring the ram Jody shot. It was an awesome experience being with Jody on his birthday the day after he killed his first wild sheep and it was a ‘booner’ ram on top of that.

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Jody and his ram taken one day before 81birthday HUNTING his 50th

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The clouds started to break so Hunter and I threw our packs on and went for a hike. The last place we spotted the two rams was our waypoint. We climbed 3,000 feet in elevation and found the game trail on the ridge where we last saw the sheep sixteen hours before. It took Hunter and I hours to finally reach the peak as we passed tufts of sheep hair and plenty of scat along the way. Our day was half-gone and we had not found the two rams we were looking for, nor had we seen any new sheep.

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Marcus and Hunter celebrate harvesting a fantastic ram 83 HUNTING

Now three days into the hunt, we were losing the game of chess with these two rams. We accepted defeat for the third day in a row knowing our time was closing in on us. As we reached the alder trees that line the river bottom of the valley, we took a minute to turn back and glass the mountain we just came off. Within seconds of putting my binoculars to my face, I found the two rams rounding the side of the mountain feeding our way. It was almost comical that the two rams we’d spent all day looking for were found at the end of our day feeding directly into the location we had been only an hour before. Hunter and I looked at each other and agreed that both our gas tanks were on empty and today was not the day. We let the rams be, knowing they make a loop around this mountain regularly. They stayed at the same elevation and travelled counterclockwise from our position. We had them patterned and the next day was going to be one hell of a time. The morning of day four came fast as Hunter and I suited up for a long day. We beelined straight for the last known location of the rams, walking the river bottom instead of gaining elevation on the ridgeline. Hunter has a theory that you kill rams from above but I wanted to be the one to prove him wrong. Two and a half miles in we relocated the rams on their circle around the mountain. They were feeding towards us as we used the alder trees in the river bottom for cover. Pushing our way closer and closer we found ourselves almost directly even with them. The rams at the top of the mountain, and us sneaking through the alders 700 yards below. It was mid-day by the time we realized we ran out of trees to hide behind. The rams bedded down WE

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Marcus and his 87 trophy HUNTINGwell earned

Hunter passed a saying along to me that got us through some tough times, “embrace the suck.” We embraced all of it with grins on our faces in unbroken optimism.

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Jody (left) and Marcus (right) in triumphant 89 victory HUNTING

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Hunter salting the hide base camp HUNTINGback at 91

perching above us watching for danger below them. We were stuck just out of range with no cover to move closer. We were in a stand off, more or less a sit off, for an hour or two. Analyzing the rams’ movements as they got out of their bed to walk a few yards away for a different vantage point and bed back down, Hunter and I felt the pressure come down. Without any notice both rams got up and started to feed up towards the peak of the mountain and sky lined themselves. The chase was on…taking us back to where this Dall sheep story began. ”The one on the right is him,” whispered Hunter. I barked off a shot with my Savage Arms 28 Nosler and chaos broke out. The smoke cleared and we got eyes on my ram as he expired. All of the pressure we had felt for the last 4 days was gone. Hunter and I turned to each other and bear hugged almost falling down the mountain. I did it. We did it. I had successfully killed my first wild sheep.

Hunter and Marcus cooking the ram ribs over a campfire having their first real meal in a while

Looking back on this experience, I realize sheep hunting is every bit of what you hear. The highs and lows, the trials and tribulations and the joy of accomplishing such a difficult goal. Hunter passed a saying along to me that got us through some tough times, “embrace the suck.” We embraced all of it with grins on our faces in unbroken optimism.

Find Marcus on Instagram @huntingwithmarcus

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Joe (left) and Hunter (right) showing off their clients' trophies

PROFESSIONAL

Jimmy, over the last several years you and your team at the HiBanks Ranch have become well known Texas game breeders. How and when did you get into the professional breeding of Red deer?

In the early 1990s we started buying and selling exotic animals for our ranch near Waco, Texas. At one time or another we had Addax, Sika deer, Fallow deer, Blackbuck, Axis deer and Aoudad.

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Jimmy Banks with a tranquilized Red stag at HiBanks 95 Ranch HUNTING ARE

Jimmy Banks grew up hunting in fishing in the piney woods of East Texas and later moved to Waco to attend Baylor University where he’s lived ever since. In addition to being a specialized Red deer game breeder, Jimmy is a successful real estate developer and commercial real estate broker. He lives at the HiBanks Ranch with his wife Andra, and enjoys having their three grown sons, daughter-in-law and two grandsons nearby.

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PERSPECTIVE

About ten years ago we just determined that we liked the Red deers’ personality better and in general we liked the management of the Red deer better. So many of the exotic species are just ‘born looking for a place to die’. In comparison to Red deer, a lot of the exotics are pretty feeble and susceptible to predation. We found that the Red deer are very hardy and decided this was the direction we would go. We still have a small herd of Axis deer on the ranch, mainly just for pleasure, but my point was proven during the recent winter snowstorm in Texas. We lost an Axis, but all of our Red deer survived. The turning point for us converting this from a hobby into a professional business was a combination of things. The Red deer is an animal that yields a large venison carcass—in other words a lot of meat—and also not being very susceptible to predation we don’t see our investment being eaten up all the time. We were also intrigued with trying to improve the herd we had WE

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from an antler quality or trophy quality standpoint. So, it just became a challenge we wanted to undertake.

What makes the breeding of Red stags so special to you?

You know I think its several things. For one, it’s a species of which there are a lot of average quality or sub-average quality animals around the U.S. In my opinion there are very few places here that breed genetically improved Red stag that I think are doing it very well and doing it successfully. Another thing, as I’ve already said, it that it became a challenge we gave ourselves to grow a better herd with large antlers and I’m always up for a fun challenge. And speaking of antlers, the Red stag is just such a beautiful animal with so much potential to grow really large antlers that I always see that as something special and unique about this particular animal.

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Your deer herd is genetically from New Zealand. What makes New Zealand Red deer so large compared to other sub-species of Red deer?

Well, our genetic line came directly from New Zealand and even before that from some excellent breeding lines in England that were translocated to New Zealand quite a long time ago— many decades ago actually. The Kiwis have really been at the forefront in pioneering the improvement of the Red deer breed. The New Zealand climate is mild which makes it pretty easy to farm there, not to mention that there aren’t any natural predators in New Zealand. Another thing is that they’ve been doing it for forty to fifty years longer than breeders in the U.S., so they kind of got a head start and have been breeding what they call “safari stags” or “trophy stags” for decades now. In my opinion, we in the U.S. are still trying to catch up to improving the species the way they’ve accomplished it, but I feel like a few of us are doing a pretty good job at it.

You and your family went on a combination holiday and business trip to New Zealand not too long ago. What was that like for you and what did that trip entail?

Yes, a couple of years ago my wife and my three grown sons went with me on a wonderful holiday that doubled as a successful business trip as well. We’d been working with a consultant in New Zealand in order to set up our own quarantine facility so that we could purchase embryos and semen for our own use in Texas. We toured a number of Red deer farms and a deer museum, spent a lot of time with our consultant and finalized our contractual arrangements to get the quarantine facility set up. Getting to see where our deer came from was special to me and overall it was a great time in a very beautiful country.

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Speaking of the finer details of breeding, tell us about the October breeding season in the U.S. How hectic is that on the HiBanks Ranch?

The Red deer breeding season is called the ‘roar’, like with elk you have the ‘bugle’ and with Whitetail deer you have the ‘rut’. In the U.S. it typically takes place during the month of October, although it might go a week or two into November. Leading up to the roar we choose to cycle our females to come into heat all at the same time so that we can spend one day artificially inseminating (AI) and another day transferring embryos. The cycling is a two-week process prior to the breeding date and we’re awake pretty much all through the night for those two weeks. When I say ‘we’ I mean our ranch foreman Luke, my sons Evan and Seth and myself cycling those deer so that they come into heat at the same time. On the day of the AI, we have an AI tech that comes in who does the insemination of the deer while we bring the deer through the facility one at a time. These are the ‘hinds’ as female Red deer are called. Then, seven days later we bring in the recipient deer into the facility, which are essentially surrogate mothers. For that we have an international embryologist fly in as well as a veterinary surgeon on the scene and a Texas registered deer veterinarian on site as well. We transfer the thawed embryos into the hinds which are the ‘recepts’. When those fawns are eventually born on HiBanks Ranch their biological mothers and fathers are living and walking around in New Zealand. It’s pretty amazing!

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How dangerous can Red deer stags become during the roar?

They can be very dangerous. There are many people who’ve lost their lives due to interfering with or getting in too close a proximity to Red stags during the roar. We respect them during that time of year and basically give them their space and leave them alone as much as possible. All of us have been kicked or bloodied to some degree over the years. We spend a lot of time around our herd and have learned to read the deers’ emotions and so we’re very, very careful from the middle of September all the way through the first couple of weeks of November.

What is your vision for the HiBanks Ranch with regard to your breeding herd goals and the continued expansion of the business?

Right now we’re focused on improving our genetics and raising big, what we call wide-open, heavyframed antlers with long main beams and a lot of width and mass. These are what are called large ‘trophy’ stags or ‘safari’ stags as I said before. That’s our bread and butter and all of our herd— which is more than 400 animals—is for that purpose. I also see an opportunity to possibly develop a venison herd in the future. We’re approached often by people for our venison, be it farm-totable restaurants or high-end grocery boutique-type stores, but at this point we’re better suited to grow trophy heads. But, having said that I do see potential for the venison market and the velvet market. There’s a certain stage in the stags’ antler growth and development when they’re in ‘velvet’ and you can cut them off and grind and capsulate those antlers. People use the antler grounds for medicinal purposes like joint relief and other things, so that’s a really big market as well. To my knowledge no one in Texas is velveting Red stag at this time. There are other people in the nation who do it and are doing quite well and that’s something we may look to in the future. WE

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And then you also have your small-scale hobby farmers who just want some exotic animals to look at and see them sort of like their pets. I think another reason the breeding industry will remain strong is that people are coming to realize the fact that you also have the benefit of high-quality venison in a lot of your exotic animal species. Since Whitetail venison isn’t allowed to be

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Yeah, I’ve grown up hunting and fishing from the time I was a very young man—since I was about 6 or 7 years old. I’ve got a lot of favorite memories from hunting in East Texas where I grew up and then as I got older I was able to experience hunting in other places. I’ve hunted all over Texas and a number of other states. I’ve done Argentina high-volume dove hunts, and quite a few safaris to Africa. I’ve been blessed to have hunted in Namibia, South Africa and Zimbabwe for big and small game from elephant down to some of the ‘Tiny Ten’. Of course, all of my Africa trips since 2000

You know, I see the game breeding industry remaining strong, certainly in Texas and across the U.S. for a couple of reasons. One of them being the fact that people want to hunt and breeders enjoy seeing their trophies improve genetically to get bigger animals year after year. There’s also a lot of big ranches that simply want to watch these animals and like knowing that they’re roaming around out there.

Besides your breeding business you are also a welltraveled international hunter. Where and what have you hunted?

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How do you see the game breeding industry developing in the short, medium and long-term in both the US and abroad?

sold commercially, the other species have become a more readily available source of venison throughout the year.

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are part of my ‘favorites’ list. I left part of my heart there on that first trip and on every trip since then too. I’ve gone back every time to try find that part of my heart, but it’s still there waiting for me. So, I look forward to going back to Africa whenever I can. Any time you have the opportunity to be able to go overseas and experience different cultures and different people and their ways of life it’s always a blessing and always a memory that gets deposited into the ‘favorites treasure chest’.

Another one of your passions is predator hunting. You are part of the FoxPro Field Staff. Tell us a bit more about that and how you came to be known as “Jimmy Big Time”.

(Laughing)—I was given that name by Mike Dillon who’s one of the owners of FoxPro. I’ve been hunting with them and been part of their Field Staff for eight or nine years now. At some point early on, Mike just came up with that name and it stuck for the TV shows and with close friends. With FoxPro we’ve hunted the coyote-calling world championships out in Arizona, all over Texas and in a number of other states for coyotes, foxes and bobcats. Those have been good times and I’m looking forward to doing more of it.

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Your HiBanks Ranch also offers some lovely accommodation for visitors traveling to, or through, the greater Waco, Texas area. Tell us about your Red Deer Lodge and how someone can book a stay.

We have an authentic cabin on the ranch which we call the Red Deer Lodge. It has 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms and sleeps 5 people. Andra and I personally welcome all of our guests when they visit. It’s listed on Airbnb as well as VRBO, so anyone can go have a look. It’s easy to book and you’ll be staying on our working ranch, in view of our Red deer herd right off the back porch with deer all around you. The lodge is only about a 12-minute drive from the famous Magnolia Silos and close to lots of the great shopping and dining that Waco offers. Find Jimmy and HiBanks Ranch on: Instagram: @hibanksranch / @jimmybtbanks Facebook: HiBanks Ranch / Jimmy Banks Web: www.hibanksranch.com

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by Christiaan Pretorius

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emories of my childhood are very vague to say the least. But those memories which I can recall are moments spent with my dad outside. Like many outdoor enthusiasts, I was introduced to this way of life by someone who was super passionate. He taught me how to enjoy nature, but also from day one, how to respect it. I was brought up by a father who took extra time to show me how to preserve and protect it. All of these principles that I learned at a young age, out in nature in South Africa, shaped me into the person I have grown up to be. To this day I still respect nature and pristine environments--probably more than ever before.

my hunting heritage

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I had fallen in love with the challenge of fly fishing at a young age, and bow hunting was no different. I remember practicing with my bow as much as time allowed. Homework was definitely not a priority for me at the time.

At the age of 6, my dad took me to hunt my first animal--an impala ewe. It was an amazing stalk and I managed to make a good enough shot at 80 meters to successfully harvest the ewe quickly and cleanly. Not long after that, my dad decided to take up bow hunting—something that would change my outlook on hunting forever. I had fallen in love with the challenge of fly fishing at a young age, and bow hunting was no different. I remember practicing with my bow as much as time allowed. Homework was definitely not a priority for me at the time. Instead, I worked on my arrow grouping at 20 yards to hopefully be ready for my first bow hunt as soon as the opportunity would present itself.

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his respect and appreciation influenced my choice to pursue an unconventional career in fly fishing. Not really knowing how to make this happen, I knew only one thing--I was obsessed. I spent as much time as possible either tying flies or preparing for an upcoming trip. To some, I guess, it seemed silly at the time, but there wasn’t even another option for me. As long as I could be outside doing what I love, how could it not work? Right? Even though I didn’t have as many opportunities to hunt as I did to fish, I shared an equal love for both these sports. At the end of the day both require similar skillsets. You have to have patience, you have to observe, and you have to always appreciate where you are, just to name a few.

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y dream became a reality at age 12 when my dad arranged for us to go on our first bow hunt. To say that I was excited would be an understatement. Leading up to the hunt, my dad told me that we were mainly looking for an impala, as it would be a good animal for me to start with. On the first morning of the hunt, the professional hunter dropped us off at a small camel thorn tree with a compact platform, similar to a tree stand, to sit in for the day. The sun had just cleared the peaks of the hills when I saw a shiny glare reflect on a set of spiral horns. A young kudu bull was approaching, and my heart rate spiked even though I knew he wasn’t on our list. It was a surreal experience being that close to such a majestic animal. As luck would have it, the kudu decided to stick around longer than he should have, and my dad eventually changed his mind and gave me the go-ahead to get ready if he presented us with a shot.

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Since that day, it became a dream of mine to hunt a mature kudu bull with bow. I guess that was also the day that my bucket list started.

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I have a feeling that this kudu had my name on him, because he presented me with a beautiful broadside shot at 34 yards. It was time to capitalize. This was not only my first day out hunting with a bow and arrow, but also my first introduction to buck fever. My heart had never beaten that fast—so fast that my dad said he could audibly hear it beating. Despite the nerves, all of the practice paid off and I managed to execute a great shot, securing my first animal with a bow. It was another life changing moment for me. He was not the oldest bull out there, but he meant

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a lot to me--it was the launching point of my bow hunting journey. Since that day, it became a dream of mine to hunt a mature kudu bull with bow. I guess that was also the day that my bucket list started.

s I chipped away at my bucket list, the universe took great care of me and I managed to follow my dream of making a living as a professional fly fisherman. I started guiding full time in 2010 and haven’t looked back since. So far, I have been fortunate to fly fish in 34 countries, yet it feels like my bucket list is only getting longer. Even though I was super happy to be able to see and fish in many beautiful places around the world, I started longing again for the African bush and its beauty. I missed home, and I missed hunting with my dad. It just felt like my balance was off and something needed to change. In 2019, while managing Abaco Lodge in the Bahamas with my wife, Lindi, we made the decision to move back to her home country of Namibia. If you are not familiar with Namibia, do yourself a favor and google it--talk about a beautiful country. From epic landscapes, to healthy numbers of wildlife, I knew Namibia had everything I needed to live a balanced lifestyle. Due to Covid-19, most of my 2020 fly fishing trips got cancelled, offering me the opportunity to pick up my bow for a

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change. I don’t think I have ever hunted as much as I did in 2020. It was mostly for meat for my family, but also to control the number of animals in certain areas.

or years, Namibia had experienced a severe drought and natural habitat was disappearing at a rapid pace. Every season, outfitters get a certain quota of animals to hunt in their specific conservancies spread throughout Namibia. Usually, international clients looking for world-class trophies hunt most of these animals, but given the circumstances, very few clients were able to travel and hunt. This left an abundance of un-used quota in these areas. For a long time, I never even really thought I’d be presented with an opportunity to fulfill my dream of hunting a mature, freerange kudu bull, but that exact situation presented itself in September 2020. We assembled a small group of friends and decided to head up to the Caprivi strip in the north of Namibia for my 30th birthday to enjoy a week of African bush, campfires and one or two cold beverages. Even though it was a birthday trip, I was focused on capitalizing on this chance to hunt a big kudu.

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Like clockwork, I caught a glimpse of some spiral horns approaching through the thicket, sparking an instant spike in my heart rate. I had waited years for this opportunity. It felt like the kudu took forever to make his way into range--moving from one tree’s shadow to the next--until finally reaching the water at 38 yards. He was slightly quartering towards me, but I knew there was a good chance he might not stick around, and I was convinced that I could execute the shot. I quickly got my bow to full draw. My pin settled where I thought was the perfect shot, and I squeezed… and squeezed… “wack!”, the arrow was on its

After studying the pictures from the trail cameras, we identified more than one mature kudu that was using a certain water hole. I decided to go and have a sit in a naturally built blind at that water in hopes of seeing one of these bulls. The first couple of hours were quiet, with some young eland cows, kudu cows and a duiker coming in for a drink. I was optimistic though, as most of the bigger bulls usually start moving to the water late in the morning.

...I caught a glimpse of some spiral horns approaching through the thicket, sparking an instant spike in my heart rate.

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n the first morning, we decided to go for a drive to get a feel for the area that we would be hunting. We also took the time to look at some trail cameras we had set up the night before at various water holes to see what animals were moving around. It was quite scary to see how dry the area was, and we knew that hunting close to water would be our best chance. On our way to the lodge after a lengthy drive, we bumped into a monster kudu bull close to the 60-inch mark--an unquestionable a shooter. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, no one was prepared for this and all we could do was admire this majestic animal as it walked off and disappeared into the Mopane trees.

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way to my dream bull.

t’s amazing how everything goes into slow motion during those moments. I saw the arrow hit its mark, and the emotions hit me like a bag of bricks. I knew I shot him well and he wouldn’t make it too far, but we gave him a couple of minutes before setting off on his tracks. It didn’t take long until we found the first blood splatter, and, soon after, my bull. My dream had finally become a reality. I managed to arrow a giant kudu bull of 57 inches in a free-range hunting area. I couldn’t have been happier! In that moment, I realized how big a role bow hunting and Africa play in my life. I still get to travel and fly fish around the world, and I love every minute of it, but Africa will always pull me back. It’s my heritage--it’s where I belong.

Find Christiaan on Instagram @christiaanpretorius

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IT WON’T LET YOU DOWN

MICRO H-2™ The Aimpoint® Micro H-2 is a small and lightweight sight built for extreme hunting and shooting conditions. The rugged housing it is equipped with transparent protecting flip-up covers. The Micro H-2 has an outstanding optical performance and is available in three different MOA sizes; 2, 4 and 6 MOA. It offers 50 000 hours of operation on a single battery. The Micro H-2 combines simplicity, speed, ruggedness, accuracy and reliability - it won’t let you down. Read more on www.aimpoint.com

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by Esa Nykänen

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"...vast forests and 188,000 lakes characterize Finland, which gives the country the name “the land of a thousand lakes"

FINLAND

is an extraordinary,

safe and clean country rich in wildlife and unique nature.

Situated on the

boreal coniferous forest zone, Finland is surrounded by the Baltic Seas, Sweden, Norway and Russia.

The northern

most part of the country lies above the Artic Circle, whereas an archipelago of 179,000 islands dominates the southern area of the landscape, which is the largest archipelago in the world. Between those extremes, vast forests and 188,000 lakes characterize Finland, which gives the country the name “the land of a thousand lakes.”

ou can experience fair chase hunting and fishing in one of the most unique and beautiful countries in the world. You can legally hunt or fish nearly 100 different species of game and fish. Most of the game species are native though some are introduced. The most common introduced species are whitetail deer, raccoon, American mink and North American beaver. All hunting in Finland is truly free range, whether on public or private land. There are no fences and even if there were, hunting would be illegal inside them.

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"If you're lucky you may also see the northern lights or Aurora borealis"

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Effectively regulated hunting plays an important role in Finland’s conservation approach. In particular, sport WE

The best grouse, woodcock, caribou, beaver and wild boar areas are found in the central or eastern parts of the country. You can expect to reach everything within a 5-6 hours’ drive from Helsinki international airport. However,

sustainable numbers of willow grouse and especially rock ptarmigan are only found in northern Finland and Lapland. You can get there in 10-20 hours by car or by simply taking a connecting flight to Rovaniemi or Ivalo. If you time your trip well, you can expect to experience the “Ruska” which is commonly translated as the autumn colors. This natural phenomenon lasts in general two weeks and the best time and place to experience it is in middle of September in northern Finland. If you’re lucky you may also see the northern lights or Aurora borealis. Occasionally Aurora borealis is seen in southern Finland as well.

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Some species are located only in certain parts of the country, but the densest and most varied game population is found in southwestern Finland. The main hunting and fishing areas, including the unique southern archipelago-which is in the middle of the main migration route-exceeds well over 250 000 hectares. All deer, moose, seals, small predators, hares and waterfowl are possible to hunt only within a 1-2 hours’ drive from Helsinki international airport. Finland is also the most important producer of many waterfowl species in the European Union.

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“Our primary legacy is to make sure the same opportunities we have today are also available for future generations.”

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Wildmark Ltd. is a Finnish company located in southwestern Finland offering top-notch hunting and fishing experiences. The hunts we market follow the principles of conservation hunting, in which bag limits are set for certain species and correct animals are selected for harvest in a way that minimizes the impact on population numbers, demographic structure, and genetics. Our asset is that we are not forced to stay in only one particular area. We can, and will, go where we have the best opportunities to find targeted game or fish species which means where the best populations are found at the given time. All our

guides are highly professional and hand-picked because of certain skills and hunting or fishing methods they have specialized in. Building on this experience we are able to offer nearly a 100% success rate on all of our hunts and fishing trips. As the owner of Wildmark Ltd., I have gained extensive experience of in all kinds of different hunting and fishing over the past 25 years. I am a dedicated hunter with a family of five--with a wife who is a keen hunter as well--two daughters and a son. Wildlife, hunting and fishing is more than just a livelihood--it’s a passion and a lifestyle. This has always been and will probably always be the case. I have gained experience as an outfitter since late 90’s and have a proven track record of hunting and fishing in Finland and all around the world. I am also a divemaster and do seal diving.

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hunting by international hunters provides work and financial means which again motivates conservation of wildlife.

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SEAL

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“The Grey Seal is truly the great predator of the Baltic sea ”

SEAL HUNTING is a very unique hunting opportunity in Finland. The seal is one of the most prestigious trophies a hunter could wish for. Seal skins are unusual and you will not find two alike. The seals skull, with its razor-sharp teeth, out shadows any other large carnivore trophy. Hunting seals requires a lot of skill and special equipment. When shot on water they usually sink and the only way to recover them is by diving. Yes, this is what we do, we dive and get the seals from the bottom. Since the European commission closed commercial trading of seal products, you cannot buy a seal trophy either. The only way to get one is to hunt one.

FACT FOCUS • Finland hosts approximately 45,000 species of animals and plants, representing 29% of the total species described for Europe and possibly 3% of the species in the world. Finland is the most forested land in Europe and 86 percent of land area is forestry land. For every Finn, there is around 4,2 hectares of forest. • Finland is a land of strong contrasts. In the summer months, the sun doesn’t set at all and, in the winter, it is more or less dark or “darkish” the whole day long. This is called “kaamos” and the best time to experience this is between November-January specifically in Lapland where the sun doesn´t rise at all during these darkest winter months. • There are 40 different national parks scattered around the country´s archipelago, lakes, forests and fjalls. • You will find 7 Unesco World Heritage sites which include six cultural old fortresses and wooden towns and one natural, which is found in the Kvarken archipelago. The Kvarken Archipelago is a natural heritage site known for the phenomenon of the rising land. • The sauna was invented in Finland and you’ll find a sauna more or less in every household. It is also not uncommon for Finnish people to make a hole in the ice and take a refreshing dip, or just simply roll in the snow after or between enjoying the sauna. • Finland is nowadays named the world´s safest country. Finland is also one of the least corrupt countries in the world. It is very unlikely to run into problems of any kind. • Finland is one of the least populated countries in Europe and 85% of the total 5,5 million population live in urban areas.

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Having just returned from an amazing week of wild quail hunting at my good friend's ranch in South Texas, I could hardly wait to dig into the spoils of the hunt and chow down on some quail while it was still fresh as could be. We took a number of birds during our hunt, many of which were plucked and skinned, so they could be roasted or prepared whole. Several were "hit harder" than others, so I found myself with breasted and pieced-out birds as well. I decided to use these birds first and played with a number of ideas. My wife, Charlene, loves sweet and spicy shrimp, crispy fried, and glazed with Thai chili sauce. This recipe was an idea of hers, inspired by one of her favorite appetizers. The name comes from the beautiful South Texas ranch where the quail roamed wild! We prepared it as our main course, atop lettuce, with a side of homemade fried rice, but it certainly makes a delicious, attractive and easy appetizer for parties or events as well. Enjoy! Tony Caggiano #WildGameBased is about the lifestyle we live and love. A lifestyle in which cooking wild game provides our family and friends with healthy sustenance. A lifestyle of knowing where your food comes from, who has touched it, what is in it, and perhaps above all, taking accountability for your decision to hunt wild game and be a meat eater. WE

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SANTA RITA FIRECRACKER QUAIL Prep Time: 15 minutes Cooking Time: 20 minutes Ingredients: • 1 cup Thai Sweet Chili sauce • 1 tablespoon Sriracha (or to taste) • 1 cup mayonnaise • juice of 1 lime • 2 pounds of quail breast (most wild game birds should also work nicely) • 2 cups buttermilk • 1 cup cornstarch • salt & pepper to taste • oil for frying (I used avocado oil) • scallions, chopped • black sesame seeds Instructions: 1. Add the Thai sweet chili sauce, Sriracha, mayonnaise to a bowl and stir. 2. Slowly whisk in lime juice. 3. Let stand to incorporate flavors. Sauce can also be pre-made and refrigerated. I find the flavors combine better with some time. 4. Add the quail and buttermilk to a second bowl. 5. Stir and toss well, making sure the meat is completely coated. 6. In a pie pan or rimmed dish, add the cornstarch, salt and pepper. 7. Add 3 inches of oil to a heavy bottomed pan (Dutch ovens work well) 8. Heat oil to approximately 375 degrees. (over medium heat) 9. One at a time, remove quail from the buttermilk, and let excess milk drip away for a moment. 10. Dip the quail into the cornstarch mixture. 11. Place quail into the oil, fry to a light brown, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. 12. Fry in batches, so oil does not cool, and breasts have plenty of room in the pot. 13. Once fried, toss the breasts in the sauce mixture. 14. Serve over a bed of lettuce, or fried rice. 15. Garnish with chopped scallions & sesame seeds.

BOOM!!!

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Hunting Photography ... Because memories fade

Private Clients - Hunt photography - Hunt video - Photobooks & prints

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RhinoMomma Part 2 by Jocelyn Engel WE

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Rhino Momma I

can see this is Jaco’s ‘happy place’. He soars through the air in his gyrocopter on his daily anti-poaching patrol. Today his focused mission also includes locating a new rhino calf. Sandy, one of the pregnant females, has been missing in action for a few days and the team has high hopes that she has given birth. We wait anxiously for the crackle of the radio. Good news comes more quickly than expected, but with a twist. Jaco has spotted a mother and newborn calf. He goes in for a closer look and determines this isn’t Sandy, but rather another rhino cow named Splinters who is protectively guarding a day-old calf of her own—a pleasant surprise to find out she has calved successfully. No sooner does Jaco relay the information about Splinters when he spots a long-horned female with a two-day-old baby. This time they determine that it’s Kyla. This is even better news because this is only the second time that a cow born on the farm has in turn given birth herself and produced a secondgeneration calf Rhino Momma calf. It’s a clear testament to Jaco’s thriving breeding program. Suddenly, another family duo is spotted. In total, he locates three mothers with new calves on this flyover. After a such good morning ‘at the office’ Jaco decides to return to terra firma and search for Sandy again tomorrow.

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Rhino Momma

On the other end of the radio is Juliette Erdtsieck. ‘Jules’ as she’s affectionately called by Jaco, is the Rhino Momma Project’s very own “Rhino Whisperer.” Juliette joined the Rhino Momma Project in November of 2014 and her proven animal husbandry methods and tender care for this threatened mega-fauna specie have born great fruit. She is an invaluable member of the team and greatly respected by her colleagues. After the morning aerial patrol ends, Juliette agrees to give me a tour of the feeding camp facilities and to have me meet the youngest calf in her care—Zara— who is still being hand-reared. MY HEART SINKS AS Zara was recently orphaned when her mother was tragically ZARA WHINES HEARTILY IN A HIGH-PITCHED, killed by an aggressive bull.

NASALLY VOICE THAT IS DISTINCT TO RHINO CALVES.

I wasn’t quite prepared for how Zara would respond to Juliette’s call. She came thundering out of the dense Mopane bush and even in her comparably small size as a calf, it was no less intimidating to me, but not to Juliette! Juliette greets Zara with a soft, but firm tone as she prepares a giant baby bottle. “Wait. Wait. Stand. Good girl.” I’m in awe of how these two communicate with each other. If I wasn’t actually seeing a rhino calf in front of me, I would’ve assumed that Juliette was speaking to a well-trained and obedient dog. I see firsthand that rhinos easily learn their one or two syllable names and respond to short commands. Accompanying Zara are two subadult rhinos who watch out for her like protective big sisters. They feed placidly nearby on nutritious lucerne while Zara suckles a bucket-sized bottle.

Juliette agreed to arrange this special feeding so that I could see firsthand the hard work which goes WE

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Rhino Momma

into the daily care of this little one. Zara is sorely disappointed to find out that her normal 9-liter feeding is instead only a 2-liter mid-morning snack when her milk bucket runs dry. My heart sinks as Zara whines heartily in a high-pitched, nasally voice that is distinct to rhino calves. Juliette explains that rhino are very much creatures of habit. They respond well to routine and the entire staff maintains daily habits to build trust with the rhinos and to keep them as content as possible. Juliette also explains that each rhino has its own very unique personality. I feel terrible for having interrupted Zara’s daily routine, but this was a valuable experience I needed to see with my own eyes. The relationship that these huge pachyderms have with Juliette is something to behold. She raises them with ‘round-theclock-care—even sleeping with them if necessary and feeding them according to a strict regimen with fat-free milk mixed with glucose and an antimicrobial agent. Juliette informs me that rhinos are lactose intolerant and because of that, fat-free milk is the only option for rhino calves which need supplemental feeding—this as opposed to elephant calves which require full-fat milk in order to thrive. These are facts that one only learns from the ‘Rhino Whisperer’ who has gleaned this vast knowledge over many years. Most calves at Rhino Momma Project are reared by their mothers and are weaned when they’re approximately 18 months old, as is the case with all wild White rhino. In situations like Zara’s, where a calf is either abandoned, orphaned, or needs special attention for other health reasons, Juliette and her team take a more hands-on approach. When the rhino calf is old enough Juliette and her team WE

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Rhino Momma

gradually start the weaning process by getting them down to twice-daily feedings and then eventually just on lucerne. As they grow, the young rhinos are introduced to companions which ‘teach them the ropes’ of being a rhino. Sheep also make excellent companions for young rhinos and Rhino Momma has employed this strategy frequently in the rearing process. Other sub-adult rhinos can also play a significant role in bridging the loneliness gap that orphaned calves experience when their mothers are killed or die of natural causes. Some younger females display extraordinary maternal instincts and act as ‘gatherers’ for younger rhinos who need their surrogating THE HARD WORK AND care and protection. This is PASSION OF THE RHINO the case with Splinters who has a reputation for gathering MOMMA PROJECT ARE other rhinos to herself. One PAYING OFF IN SPADES thing is for sure—it’s extremely FOR THIS ICONIC hard work for a human to SPECIES. replace a mother rhino. The staff at the Rhino Momma Project work tirelessly to overcome the trauma inflicted on some of these beautiful animals and raise them to roam free on the vast acreage of the ranch. When the goal is to repopulate a country, or even a continent, it requires extraordinary effort. Another great success happened just a few months after my visit. After almost a year of planning and navigating numerous COVID-19 related delays, Jaco was recently able to arrange the translocation of several of his rhinos to a new location outside of Namibia.

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Rhino Momma

As is the case with any of Rhino Momma Project’s relocations, this will result in a new breeding population being established elsewhere, further expanding the footprint of these magnificent animals. With large areas of its former home range having become completely devoid of rhinos, or with numbers having sunk to dangerously low levels due to continued poaching, the hard work and passion of the Rhino Momma Project are paying off in spades for this iconic species. This is sustainable utilization at its finest and marks one more step to ensuring the White rhinoceros’ survival for generations to come. This recent translocation of rhinos comes on the heels of many that Jaco and his team have successfully completed throughout Namibia and neighboring countries in Africa. The driving force behind this success is Jaco’s contagious vision and passion for saving the Southern White rhinoceros. He welcomes visitors to the Rhino Momma Project and loves to share this passion with anyone who cares to listen. Take the time to either visit in person or at the very least, explore the Rhino Momma Project website to learn how you can help.

k info@rhinomomma.com

1 www.rhinomomma.com WE

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When you travel, anything can happen. When it does, Global Rescue gets you home. The most trusted travel services provider for hunters and adventurers worldwide. Click to learn more