Roualeyn Gordon Cummings reached the bank of the Ngotwani River shortly before dawn. The early morning chill blanketed him and his horse and filled his trailing dogs with frenzy. The rising sun brought into view a river walled by limestone cliffs and deep thickets of thorn-covered brush. As the sun crested the horizon the darkness of the thickets gave way to shadows that turned to tangled forms and tricks of the eye. One of these apparitions garnered a second look and Cummings pulled on the reins to study an abnormality on the opposite side of the river. Cummings could barely identify a set of heavily ringed horns. It was a waterbuck and at the sight of the hunter it exploded from the thicket.
The dogs tore across the river in pursuit and once on the opposite shore quickly closed the distance between them and the waterbuck to less than thirty yards. The waterbuck climbed a jumble of limestone and disappeared over the summit. The dogs scrambled after. Cummings spurred his horse downriver with hopes of cutting the animal off at the next bend. His guesswork took him parallel to the river before angling down and across. On the opposite shore he spurred his mount up a steep rise but the horse lost its footing and began to roll. Cummings was thrown clear just as the animal somersaulted down the embankment. He got to his feet to notice his dog Alert, lying dead, gutted from stem to stern.
Cummings grabbed his rifle and ran toward the sound of his dogs howling. He found the dogs holding the waterbuck at bay in a deep pool in the river. Dogs that swam toward the bull were slashed at with the animal’s massive javelin-like horns. Fearing he’d loose another dog to the buck, Cummings shot the animal where it stood.
What truths Cummings discovered about waterbuck during his 1843 safari holds true today: waterbuck are one of the most dangerous antelope species in Africa. While its true that any species can be dangerous when wounded or cornered, waterbucks can be especially dangerous for a number of reasons. The first and foremost are the antelope’s horns. Reaching in excess of three feet in length and worn to a spear-tipped point, these horns are used in self-defense, territorial disputes, and to establish breeding rights among males during breeding season. During these fights it is not uncommon for rival males to end up severely injured if not dead. The extreme aggressiveness...
that leads to these types of fights is present in males throughout the breeding season as well as when the animal feels he or his herd is threatened.
Another factor in the waterbuck’s dangerous demeanor has to do with the fact that males often reach in excess of 550 pounds. This weight, combined with a massive set of horns and the evolutionary instincts of survivals make the waterbuck a force to be reckoned with.
The most current story I’ve heard of the waterbuck’s dangerous demeanor was relayed to me on the night before my first waterbuck hunt. I was hunting in South Africa with Limcroma Safaris. Over a sundowner, Professional Hunter Johan Le Roux told me of a recent encounter he and a client had with a waterbuck.
“A client of mine had just shot a waterbuck, a real nice one with tall horns that went maybe thirty inches. At the shot it ran into some thick brush. I told the client that we should wait a few minutes, as the shot had been a good one. So after about fifteen or so minutes we start following the blood trail into the brush. We go in about seventy yards when I see the buck on the ground facing us. My client starts walking up to it thinking it’s dead when it lunges straight at us with its horns leveled at our chests. The client luckily dropped it with a hip shot. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d missed. Still, the fact is that animal went in the brush and turned to face us. It’s like it was waiting to ambush us.”
Johan’s story resonated with me during my next two days of hunting. During that period neither my P.H. Eric Sorour nor I saw hide or hair of a waterbuck. With so much free time I asked Eric if he had any interesting stories about waterbucks being dangerous.
“I’ve heard all sorts of stories, waterbucks impaling lions and charging hunters, but I can’t say that I’ve seen anything like that. I’m sure they can be extremely dangerous when wounded but then you’re not supposed to just wound them are you?”
“I guess we have to find one first,” I offered with a small twinge of...
sarcasm."
“I bet we’ll find one tomorrow,” Eric assured me. “I’ve got just the place in mind.”
Eric’s “place” turned out to be an immense expanse of chest-high yellow grass dotted with several shallow indentions. To get to the area Eric and I would have to hike through a deep stand of bluegum trees that walled the area on its southern side
We entered the cathedral of tall trees with the wind in our face, the smell of eucalyptus heavy in the early morning air. The temperature beneath the high canopy was easily ten degrees cooler than the ever-warming air that stood near eighty outside of the wood. Halfway into the stand we accidently kicked up a sounder of five warthogs, their tails standing erect at our intrusion. Luckily the shallow pigs ran to our right rather than into the field where we were headed.
At the edge of the field Eric and I took to our binoculars and began glassing the area. It didn’t take long for Eric to zero in on what we’d been looking for.
“There’s a good-sized herd at about one o’clock, maybe three hundred yards out,” Eric whispered.
found the herd in my binoculars. “About fifteen of them,” I offered.
“Sixteen. Three bulls. One that looks pretty good,” Eric corrected. “Let’s get a closer look.”
Eric and I were crouch-walked through the tall grass in order to get closer. After fifteen minutes we had successfully bridged the gap between us and the herd to around one hundred seventy yards. We squatted behind a low tangle of brush to study the bull.
He was an older bull, burnt chocolate in color, with deep scars visible in the windblown parts of his pelage. His horns were tall and wide and well battered from confrontations at the bases.
“He’ll go twenty-eight, twenty-nine inches,” Eric quietly advised. “Definitely a shooter if you’re interested.”
I thrust the fore stock of my CZ Safari 550 rifle tight against the thickest branch of shrub before me and quickly found the bull in my scope. Stories...
of disemboweled dogs, wounded hunters, and lions being forced to cease their attack flooded my head. I trembled slightly then jerked the trigger.
“How did you miss him?” Eric exploded.
I launched myself upward and hastily found the buck in my scope again and fired. This time my shot was true and the animal immediately collapsed at the impact of the Remington 270 grain .375 H&H Magnum bullet.
“That’s more like it!” Eric congratulated me, extending his hand."
Just as Eric had called it, the bull measured between twenty-eight and twenty-nine inches (28 ½ to be exact) and weighed slightly more than six hundred pounds. Regardless of whether his was the most dangerous antelope species in Africa or not, he certainly looked as though he could cause some damage to anything that got in his way.
Congratulating me again Eric offered, “See, they’re not dangerous as long as you hit them right.”