The Bushman are amazing...they see a track crossing the road, and they indicate by pointing where the sun will be when they expect to intersect with the animal. They are always right, too. So we humped it to catch up with this big bull, and as predicted after a few hours of heat, sand and thorns -- Did I mention thorns? Straight ones the size of daggers, hooked ones, sneaky ones that can snatch a hole your trigger finger? I look like a pin cushion, or a blood donor -- there he is...90 yards away and behind a tree...The PH sets up the sticks...I take the safety off the big Ruger...I start taking up the slack on the trigger and focusing on the Leupold red dot...and the shot isn't there. It just isn't there...it's at best a gut shot, and I won't take a gut shot intentionally.
I juggle around, move the sticks, whine, pray and, poof, he's gone again...
Tomorrow I'll tell you about hacking a blind into a thorn thicket, falling into an episode of Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom and seeing every animal on the Ark...except an eland! I considered shooting a mongoose, but it was a big mongoose!