Outdoors With Kevin Fox: That’s Why We Ask Questions

That’s Why We Ask Questions

I know that we are thinking more about fishing and turkey hunting right now than anything else. But within a few page flips of my calendar, I’ll be hunting again— more than likely for the last time in South Africa. So I’m kind of filled with thoughts about that.

There is a saying that I use a great deal for almost everything: “You don’t know what you don’t know.” We all have this deep-seated thought that we know things—or think we know things—that we really don’t. I’ve had fishing guides tell me straight out that the women on their boats always outfish the men. Why? Because the women will listen—they know they don’t know. The men don’t listen because they think they already do. After hearing that—and it’s not a big stretch for me—I’ve decided I’m the dumbest guy in camp, and I ask a lot of questions.

The other reason I ask now is because you learn things the hard way.

For example, on my first bear hunt in Saskatchewan, I let the owner know that I wanted to take my black bear with a replica version of the original Winchester 1895 in .30-06. They emailed me back and asked how far I would feel comfortable taking a shot with iron sights. I answered—and that was the only question I asked. I thought I was ready to go.

The pamphlet said two hunters per guide. I didn’t ask what that meant, but I assumed the guide would be with both of us the whole time. No. The guide drove the two of us out to the deepest, darkest place I have ever hunted, left me in a stand, and said, “I’ll see you about an hour after dark—unless the other guy I’m picking up first shoots a bear and we have to load it or trail it. Then it might be several hours.”

With that final statement, off he went on a four-wheeler.

I’ve often said— because it fit my feelings that night— that anyone can hunt and shoot a bear, and yes, it was extremely exciting. But the hardest part of the hunt was sitting in a stand 12 feet off the ground in the darkest, blackest night you could imagine, listening to two bears fighting at the bait barrel.

I still would have done it—and in fact, I’ve done it on three more trips to Saskatchewan—but now I know how it works. You prepare yourself to sit in the dark for an hour or more.

Many years ago, a friend and I prepared all summer for an October pronghorn antelope hunt near Upton, Wyoming. We practiced out to 300 yards with our .243s. His was a Remington Model 7, and I had a Remington Model 788—which is perhaps the ugliest rifle ever made, but very accurate.

We practiced at that range because that’s what all the hunting magazines said we would have to do if we expected to come home with a prairie goat.

About 20 minutes into opening morning, I walked over a small ridge top and shot my pronghorn at perhaps 60 yards. Maybe an hour later, Stan shot his antelope. I don’t know how far it was, but I know it wasn’t 300 yards. Neither were monsters, but both were very good representations of the species—and that’s all I was looking for.

That hunt was probably 45 years ago.

Prior to my first trip to South Africa, Doug Tuttle and I were practicing at his home with our rifles. I know what I was shooting, and I think Doug was shooting the same caliber—.300 Win. Mag. I had bought a Winchester XPR just to take to Africa because I had this fear that I would be undergunned if I uncased what I already had at home. At least, that was the story I told my wife when I explained why I was buying a new rifle.

It wasn’t a bad purchase. I later used it on a black bear in Canada and on whitetails at home.

But when I got to South Africa, my PH (professional hunter), Hannes, said it was a fine choice—but for most plains game, the .30-06 is still the favorite caliber. So I felt a little foolish, because I hadn’t asked. I had a .308 that would have worked just fine.

Back to the story.

We were shooting at 300 yards, and I would have been perfect for the biggest of Africa’s big game—I might have been able to consistently hit an elephant at that distance. But anything smaller than that had a pretty good chance of surviving. My shot groups may have shrunk a little, but my confidence certainly did not improve.

I had been shooting from a bench rest. I could only imagine how much worse it would be using shooting sticks while aiming at South African plains game for the first time, with a PH standing beside me.

No one wants to be that guy in camp who can’t hit a baboon in the backside with a banjo.

So I called the outfitter. During that conversation, I finally asked the question that had been bothering me: “How far can I expect the shots to be?”

Freddie Van Zyl replied, “Perhaps 100 yards or a little more, but I can’t see many shots being taken at 200 yards. What you really need to be able to do is take the shot quickly when it’s presented, because whatever we’re hunting won’t stick around long.”

I felt better hearing that—and to be honest, it has held true.

I took a black wildebeest at perhaps 150 yards and a bushbuck at about the same distance. Range wasn’t the concern. The issue was that I had little or no time to think about the shot as the animals were preparing to take off.

Freddie had been right—most of the game I’ve taken has been around that 100- yard range, and they were looking to get away.

As a side note, the closest shot I have taken in Africa was my Cape buffalo on my last trip—and it may have been 40 yards. I would have preferred it to be a little farther away. But once again, there was no time. The animal had busted through the brush and was coming at us with a determined, serious look on its face.

So that’s what I’m doing now in preparation for a trip later this year.

I’ve done some shooting at 200 yards, but at home I can take a 70-yard shot across the pond. I walk around a bit— sometimes even jog— to get a little short of breath. Then I stop, set up on my shooting sticks, and try to get on target as quickly as I can.

It’s not the same as hunting South African plains game, but being short of breath happens just about every time I try to keep up.

Hannes is probably half my age, seven inches taller, works hard, has been known to handle a poacher or two, and appears to have legs as long as a giraffe’s.

And I’m supposed to keep up with him.