Peronally, I have always believed that the hunting was better the further I got from my home in Southern Alberta.
I was on a South American hunting forum many years ago and got in contact with a chap named Lorenzo. He lived in Uruguay and he and his buddies were thinking of getting into the guiding business.
Lorenzo sent me an email inviting me and a guest to come down and hunt for a week in his 'lovely little country'. (His words and he was absolutely correct in the description). They would drive us all around the country and we could hunt wild boar, axis deer, waterfowl, doves and various assorted varmints. Our only cost would be shotgun shells at $11.00 a box. I accepted, of course.
But then I had to find a partner. Normally I would have taken my lady but our little dog was very old and we did not want to leave her alone with someone else.
I asked most of my friends, but like trying to get them to go to Africa - no luck at all. (Speaking of Africa - I could not get any of my amigos to go on a leopard hunt @$112.00 Canadian a day for 14 days. A stranger and I both shot leopards on day 7)
One buddy told me he would not go as it would cost too much money if he shot too many shotgun shells. Sheesh.
A friend of a friend from B.C. came along and we had a fabulous week of hunting in Urugauy. While I was there they showed me a video of hunting water buffalo in the north. That got me very excited and I told them that if they ever did that again, I would love to also do that.
A year or two later my Uruguayan friends contacted me. They had gone to the north of the country just a few miles south of Brazil and about the same distance from Argentina and had arranged to hunt buffalo.
I would have to get a partner and they would charge me $2,100 for a seven day hunt. Once again I asked my amigos to go hunting with me. Only this time they would have to pay $2,100 U.S. As you can imagine, I was again, turned down. One chap refused to hunt an animal that pulls ploughs.
I mentioned the hunt to an acuaintance from New York who had hunted deer with me in 1999. He immediately said he would come. I later told my long suffering wife that George was coming with me.
She was shocked and told me what I already knew. George was a jerk and we already knew that because of his behaviour when I took him hunting on a Hunter Host deal. I agreed but stated that Lorenzo needed two hunters to make the trip viable.
Lorenzo did not need a deposit as we, by then, were great friends. (Actually, I have never met nicer folks than those people in that country)
A couple of weeks before we were to leave, Ol' George found out that he could not bring a big rifle into Uruguay. A person could bring a rifle big enough to shoot deer but not those huge 1,000 k buffalo. So he promptly cancelled.
The man was indeed a jerk. Bah!
I put out a distress call on that same South American forum and got a chap from Conneticut to come at the last moment and he was wonderful company and eventually bought a place in that country to take his family and run horses and such.
Lorenzo was scared to death of these buffalo and said that no one bothered the big bulls. Which were very dangerous animals and he actually wanted me to sign a waiver in case I got stomped. I never did.
I was given a Ruger #1 in 416 Rigby and Gaucho (one of two brothers) brought along his 300 Winchester in a Ruger bolt action as a back up rifle.
Ed, the American, suggested that I shoot solids when it came time to shoot my buffalo. He had killed three cape buffalo, all with one shot over the years.
There were a good number of buffalo around feeding on the rice fields. Normally the herds would contain a few cows and calves, a satellite bull that always hung around a few hundred yards away so as not to get killed by the dominant bull, and of course, the big herd bull. From a distance the big bull looked twice as big as the smaller bull. And they are considerably bigger than a cape buffalo. Maybe 600 pounds bigger. Awesome looking critters!
They were aways close to heavy cover and seemed wilder than snakes.
One day we hunted a place known as The Tiger ranch. (Tigre, of course, being jaguar) We eventually spotted a couple of cows walking in the bush and decided to wait until sundown to see if they would come out to feed.
I had a rifle, Gaucho had his 300 Mag, Ed had a camera, Lorenzo had walking sticks and binos, and Pocho had a video camera. We sat in the small cover and waited.
Around sundown 4 cows and an enormous old bull walked out onto the rice field and started to feed.They were about a hundred or so yards away and I was hoping that they would feed a lot closer. My heart was pounding so hard that Pocho heard it and commented on it later. (I passed my stress test that evening)
They fed in a bit of a circle never coming closer so finally I stood up and with the shooting sticks I shot at the great bull's shoulder. The buffs ran like hell for the cover and disappeared.
Ed came over and said that he would never have taken the long shot but did hear the bullet hit.
After a bit of a wait we went looking for it. I told the chaps that they did not have to come. Only Gaucho and I even had rifles.
The replies were immediate. It sounded like fun. (I must admit, however, they did not follow too close)
Gaucho and I first went to where the bull was standing when I shot and then we followed the direction into the trees and bushes. A bit later I saw Gaucho crouch and point. I crouched and saw four sets of legs as the cows vamoosed. No bull. We were hoping that it was dead as the shot felt good.
In the growing twilight the two of us continued on and soon we came to the end of the trees and from there 6-8 feet tall grass. We stopped and my friend suddenly said, ' There it is, Richard!' I looked to my left. The ancient bull was broadside at only ten yards.
It dropped its head and came at us like a rocket! Later I figured that at that moment we only had one second to live. I later asked Gaucho (who was in his 30's and limber) if he could have gotten out of its way? He told me 'no' and that when people go hunting they do not expect to die.
Most hunters probably dream of stopping a charge but you must trust me on this, ten yards is way too close.
We threw up our guns and I shot the scope rifle like a shotgun. Gaucho also fired. The bull went down at 5 yards. Gaucho started yelling, 'We stopped the charge! We stopped the charge!'
I reloaded the #1 and shot it three or four more times. I remember 4 more times but the diary said 3! I had decided not to give it another chance to kill me.
If the buffalo had killed me that night, my mother would have heard about it the next day. The next day her sister died, it was the first year anniversary of my father dying. She would have lost her husband, sister, and first born son on the 14th of April.
I have a video of everyone chattering away in Spanish with me walking around with my mouth wide open for the next ten minutes. They called it Richard's buffalo look.
My amigos gave the entire buffalo to the local cops who arrived the next morning in their police car. There were three of them and two of them came up and gave me a hug. That was a first in my life.
Epilogue:
The following year I stalked about a five year old water buffalo in Arnhemland in Northen Australia. These are a different type, of course but still very very large. It never knew where I was and it took me 9 shots from a 375 to knock it down. That sort of puts things in perspective.
Years later the government of Uruguay decided that the water buffalo had to go as they were afraid they would bring disease into the cattle herds. My friends got the contract to shoot them all. So sad.
The policeman hugged me.
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