Alaska To Africa Is Worth Every Mile

Good Friends Share Entertaining South Africa Adventures

By Bob Bell

Originally published in the 2025 January-February issue of Safari Magazine.

I was talking with my college buddy George Conniff about returning to Argentina to shoot the bird of peace, also called doves. He noted he was going back to Africa and inquired if I wanted to go along. I gave it considerable thought for about 30 seconds. Since you get to shoot bigger stuff in Africa, I said “Heck yes.”

After a three-hour flight from Anchorage to Seattle, then a soul crushing 12-hour flight to Qatar, I arrived at Doha airport semi-conscious after 15 hours of flying. I picked up my bags near gate 1. My departure gate was 153. In my sleep deprived stupor, I set off down the corridor, pulling my roller bag with one duffle lashed to it and the other duffel on my back. This was the longest and most physically demanding slog of the entire trip. I arrived at the gate exhausted and in a foul mood as I tend to be when I experience lack of sleep, hunger and physical exertion at the same time. To top it off I learned it is very difficult to get a cocktail in Qatar.

George showed up looking quite relaxed. I asked him how he made the long trek with no apparent effort. He informed me there was a train that takes you between the gates and inquired as why I didn’t avail myself of that convenience. I suppressed my first instinct to kill or seriously maim him, took a deep breath and smiled. Six years in elected public office had taught me how to hide nefarious thoughts. The next leg was six more hours to Jo-burg.

George is a smart guy, but for some reason he had decided to bring his own gun. Well, that seldom works out. We soon found ourselves trying to find where the gun was and how to get it cleared before our flight to Port Elizabeth. It took an hour to get it cleared. We made it to the gate with 30 seconds to spare and a stress level through the roof.

As we boarded a 90-passenger Embraer jet, I gave a copy of my first book to the pilot. Just before takeoff he came to ask me if I wanted to sit in the jump seat for the trip. I accepted instantly. Once we were airborne, they went on autopilot, and we told Alaskan and South African stories, some of which were true, all the way to Port Elizabeth.

When we deplaned, the John X Safari people were there to collect us and four hunters from Texas who were also on the plane. Alaska is awash with Texas jokes, so this gave me an opportunity to pull out my inventory. By the end of the four-hour drive to the Woodlands lodge, near Grahamstown, I had told almost half of my jokes. They only had one Alaska joke. I had brought copies of three of my books and managed to sell one to each of them. I told them that a friend of mine had been arrested for smuggling books into Texas.

We arrived at the main lodge as hollowed out shells of ourselves. We hooked up with the rest of our party comprised of Paul Latchford and Mike and Janie Jarvis, had a quick dinner and went to bed.

The next morning, we were introduced to our guides. Clayton was assigned to me. He must have gotten the short straw. He is a pleasant young man as is his tracker, Bulelani. They were a great team. George and I then made the four-hour trip to a satellite lodge. I wanted to get a gemsbok, warthog and sable. George was looking for a kudu. That afternoon we drove up to some high ground. There was game everywhere we looked, but nothing we wanted.

The following day we went to a different property where we saw five or six gemsboks. One was a shooter. We scrambled up and down rocky hills and pushed through thorn bushes to get within 300 yards. I couldn’t get any closer without getting busted, so, I setup to make a long shot with an unfamiliar rifle. We were on a steep hillside, making it difficult to get a good steady sight picture. Clayton said to shoot him in the center of the shoulder. I was just hoping to hit him anywhere. He dropped dead at the shot. Naturally, I took full credit for a superb shot, not a lucky one. I supervised Clayton and Bulelani as they packed him up a steep rocky slope to the truck.

For the next three days we looked for a warthog for me and a kudu for George. We did a couple of stalks, but couldn’t close the deal due to wind shifts, terrain issues or just incompetence on our part. It was obvious the guides were not only well trained in hunting skills, but also in guiding old farts. The next day George shot a lifetime kudu.

Also the next day, we spotted a very nice pig way down in a deep valley with lots of brush and steep rocky slopes.

“We are going to go get that pig even if I have to carry you down there,” said Clayton.

This seemed to indicate he thought it was a good pig and that he was not entirely confident of my 80-year-old body’s ability to make the stalk. He was right on the first assumption and wrong on the second.

The stalk took well over an hour, and again it was a 300-yard shot. I guess John X has a thing about 300-yard shots. I managed to get my chronologically gifted body wedged between some rocks and a thorn bush to get a steady hold and promptly dispatched the critter.

The next day, we traveled up into the mountains so George could try for a vaal rhebok. You can only hunt these things in this part of the world. George made a really fine shot, 300 yards, of course. This fine shot was after eight not-so-fine shots. I had managed to miss a mountain reed buck twice that day, so marksmanship was not a subject of conversation.

The following morning, we set out in search of a sable. It was a fantastic day. We saw Cape buffalo, kudu, wildebeest, ostrich, giraffe and several other critters — also lots of sable. Unfortunately, nothing that met my high standards, which were defined for me by Clayton. We spent the afternoon chasing mountain reed bucks, which had somehow been added to my list. I had four opportunities but was out maneuvered or outsmarted every time.

We finally spotted a buck at the bottom of a 100-foot cliff. He neglected to look up which was a fatal mistake. There was some doubt as to who it could be fatal for. I had to stand on the very edge of the rim to shoot straight down, a very precarious position. Mountain reed bucks are not normally classified as dangerous game, but in this situation this guy was. The shot was successful, as was my balance, so it worked out well for me, not so much for the reed buck.

Returning to the lodge, we noticed a Cape buffalo bull with one horn broken off. This left him with an infected and likely painful stub. That was probably why he instantly charged the truck. Clayton hit the gas to avoid an unpleasant confrontation. This action almost threw Bulelani out of the truck bed, which would have had some negative impacts on his wellbeing due to a hard landing on the road and a seriously cranky buffalo.

It was time to go sable hunting again. After looking over several bulls, all of which seemed exceptional to me, we found one that met my and Clayton’s expectations. We made a stalk and, to Clayton’s astonishment, I managed to put a round through his boiler room, as he ran past us. They call the sable the “prince of the plains” for a good reason. What a regal and beautiful animal.

In the morning all five of us got in the van for a five-hour drive to the Tam Safari ranch that had rhinos and lions, critters you don’t find in a petting zoo.

It was a fun day looking at rhinos. After several stalks, Mike managed to get a dart into a bull’s posterior. When the dart hit, the critter ran right through a three-foot-high stone fence, sending rocks flying in all directions. A very impressive sight. When the rhino went to sleep, we all got pictures. The vet flew in with his helicopter, took samples and administered the antidote.

“I would suggest you get in your truck because when he wakes up he will not be in a good mood,” he said.

The 6,000-pound critter got up, gave us a less than friendly look and wandered off.

I had tagged out and was not sure what to do for the next three days. As I am wont to do, I came up with a marginally good idea. Let’s go after a spurwing goose. They are the largest waterfowl in the world. We then built a blind. Clayton and Bulelani did the work, I supervised.

We arrived before dawn and settled into the blind. A pair of spurwings flew past but too far out and landed on a hill about 150 yards away. They stayed there all day. In the meantime, a flock of guinea hens landed all around us and hung out for an hour. Egyptian geese came and went. So, we had a nice day of bird watching, but no bird shooting.

The next day George joined us in the blind. Again, the spurwings landed on the hill out of range. Around 2 p.m. Clayton gently woke us as we snoozed in our chairs to tell us the spurwings were walking down the hill. We couldn’t see out of the blind, but Clayton could so we waited for him to raise the camo net. What we didn’t realize was the geese were standing 10 feet in front of us. When Clayton raised the camo, George and I were stunned at the sight of the two huge birds. We froze as the birds flushed. We both missed as they flew away. A less than stellar performance on our part. Buck fever at age 80 is quite rare, but that was a sight we will never forget.

So, we came to the last day. We had all the animals we came after, and a few more. Clayton suggested we go out and look around to see if anything would interest us. We were looking over a river and Clayton was looking through the spotting scope. Suddenly, he got very animated.

“There is a really big bushbuck on the other side of the river,” he said. “This is an opportunity to get a real trophy.”

“OK, let’s do this,” I said.

It was a, yes, 300-yard shot, and I hit him hard. The bushbuck darted into the bushes as bushbucks do, hence the name. There are no bridges across this river, so it would be necessary for someone to cross the river to retrieve the bushbuck. I nominated Clayton, due to his youth and desire for a good tip. It worked out fine. Clayton, Bulelani and the dogs got wet, and I got the bushbuck.

It was time for the four-hour drive to Port Elizabeth and the long flight back to Alaska. This time there was an 11-hour layover in Jo-berg to make it worse than the flight down.

I must close by praising John X Safaris for an excellent experience, wonderful people, great facilities, fantastic hunting and spectacular scenery. I will be back.

Bob Bell, [email protected], has lived in Alaska for 55 years. He is an engineer and author with four books on outdoor humor.