A fine nilghai cow was espied looking in very truth a “blue bull.” She was about 200 yards away and, after standing and gazing at us with that peculiar deflection of the neck which one so often sees in mounted specimens of nilghai heads in museums, trotted off down the line at a good pace.”
----Bernard C. Ellison, India 1925
I was hunting the tall grass plains of India in the shadows of the Himalayan Mountains when I heard the noise. The sudden clap of thunder pierced through the center of my forehead and I instinctively grabbed my head in pain. I opened my eyes to the sound of laughter and the sight of interstate before me.
“Must’a hurt,” my hunting guide Garry Wright of Garry Wright Safaris snorted. “Really whacked your head on the dash didn’t ya’?”
After realizing that I had taken a forward dive after dozing off, I settled back into the relative comfort of the truck cab.
“Where are we?” I asked, trying to figure out how long I’d been asleep.
“Almost to Floresville,” Garry responded.
A far cry from India, I thought to myself. But actually that was a good thing.
Since India’s ban on hunting in 1970, the only place in the world to hunt free ranging nilgai antelope was the Gulf Coastal Prairies region of South Texas. The area I’d be hunting within the region was still four hours away. And with a truck full of supplies and a 4-wheel drive Jeep in tow legally keeping us five miles below the posted speed limit, getting there wasn’t happening very fast.
First released onto the world renowned King Ranch between 1930 and 1941, the original stock of nilgai antelope easily adapted to the harsh South Texas climate. With little regard for cattle fences or property lines, nilgai quickly spread across the southern portion of the state. Today an estimated 30,000 nilgai range freely through more than fifteen counties. By some accounts this may be a larger population than what remains in the animal’s native India.
Standing upwards of five feet at the shoulder and reaching weights of over 700 pounds, nilgai are the second largest antelope species in the world. Only the African eland is larger. Nilgai are brownish to dark gray in color with mature bulls taking on a bluish sheen. Because of this they are often referred to as Blue Bulls or...
Bluebucks.
Their hide is some of the thickest found on any animal. The skin around the neck and front chest reaches a thickness of well over an inch. This leather was especially popular with big game hunters in India from the turn of the century until the 1930’s. While accompanying H.R.H. the Prince of Whales on his royal shikar in 1921 Bernard C. Ellison commented, “The leather is as good as sambhur leather for making shikar boots and gaiters.”
“The leather is as good as sambhur leather for making shikar boots and gaiters.”
Colonel C.E. Luard, who was also associated with the royal shikar, used nilgai leather for other purposes. “A nilghai skin, if chrome tanned, is porous, and makes a wonderful water-cooler; it will make a jar of butter placed in it in the hot weather as hard as if it had been iced, and make the temperature of water as cold as possible.”
I shared these historical notes with Garry (it was a long drive-what else was there to talk about?) who told me a few modern anecdotes from his more than fifteen years of hunting these mammoth antelope. He told me of the nilgai’s brute strength. How he had seen them knock down cattle that had invaded their territory and bulldozed through barbed wire fences and seemingly solid walls of scrub brush as there was nothing in front of them.
“I think pound for pound they are one of the toughest animals on earth,” Garry continued. “I’ve had clients nail them right behind the shoulder with a .375. The bullet went through both lungs and the animal still went 200 yards before flinching.”
“I think pound for pound they are one of the toughest animals on earth,”
Despite this toughness and enormous size, nilgai have very small horns. Nine inches is considered a good trophy while eleven inches is almost unheard of. It was for this reason that I had told Garry I wanted to concentrate on finding a mature, dark colored bull rather than fixating on horn size.
We reached the coastal town of Port Mansfield, where Garry had rented a house on the bay, around mid afternoon. As Garry didn’t have access to the hunting concession until first light the next day, we spent the rest of the day prepping our equipment for the hunt and fishing off the...
rental cabin’s pier. That night after a meal of pork loin, scalloped potatoes, salad, and some choice wines I retired to a comfortable bed to again dream of the India I had read about in history books. The India that hosted big game hunters in search of the big five of elephant, lion, leopard, buffalo, and rhino for over a century.
I retired to a comfortable bed to again dream of the India I had read about in history books.
The next morning, after a quick breakfast and a forty-five minute drive, we crossed the cattle guard that marked the entrance to the ranch. Juan Hernandez, our hired skinner and ranch guide, was waiting and ready to help. Despite the language barrier of Juan’s broken English and Garry’s and my broken Spanish we quickly got the Jeep disconnected and ready to go. Without it we’d be confined to the ranch’s poorly maintained caliche roads.
Although familiar with the ranch, Garry probed Juan for news of nilgai sightings and movements. With no high fence surrounding the property, the nilgai (if there were any) could be anywhere within the ranch’s 65 square miles of native grass pastures and thick mesquite scrub.
Juan replied that finding a nilgai wouldn’t be a problem. While doing a cattle census the week before he and the other ranch hands involved estimated that there were between 2,000 and 5,000 nilgai on the property. More than he had ever seen before.
More than he had ever seen before.
“Muchos toros. Muchas vacas en la labor,” Juan reiterated.
With Juan’s assurances we loaded up the Jeep and drove to a point above a wide pasture where we would wait for the sun to show us our prospects.
We didn’t have to wait long. The eastern horizon hemorrhaged a rose colored sky that brought into focus a savannah dotted with turkey, whitetail deer, and close to eighty nilgai. I watched in amazement knowing that the antelope before me, although not native to the United States, were completely free ranging and feeding in numbers of almost one hundred. It paralleled anything I’d ever seen in Africa.
“Few males down there,” Garry announced, studying the herd carefully for signs of a trophy
“Toros muy grandes,” Juan added.
I grabbed my...
Meopta binoculars and tried focusing in on the point of discussion below. There were a few bulls mixed among the herd, their heavy bearded dewlaps shaking from their horse-sized necks as they chased wayward females back into submission. Each hoof that hit the ground in transit sent up a plume of dust and sod that I was sure fell back to Earth as mud given the stifling humidity. Studying them my mind wandered back to India where one of the more exciting methods of hunting nilgai was from mounted horseback with a long spear. Watching a particularly heavy horned bull broadside a female two hundred yards below I couldn’t imagine anyone thinking that hunting them that close up and personal made good sense.
“Tall horns,” Juan proclaimed, pointing out what he thought was a good prospect.
“Tall horns,” Juan proclaimed, pointing out what he thought was a good prospect.
“Si, tall horns and black body,” Garry reiterated.
We continued watching the herd for another half hour or so, studying the makeup for a dark bull to no avail. I was glad when Garry suggested moving on as already the February temperature was pushing eighty degrees. Even driving in the open Jeep the heat and humidity slammed against us like so many unseen waves. A real wave hit me in the form of the dashboard when Garry slammed on the brakes.
Even driving in the open Jeep the heat and humidity slammed against us like so many unseen waves
“Look,” Garry whispered, pointing toward two bulls standing at the edge of an island of mesquite scrub.
I pulled myself from the second dashboard incident of the trip (at least this one happened while I was awake) and trained my binoculars on the bulls. Both were good looking animals with fairly dark coats, stout bodies, and relatively tall horns. But before Garry could finish saying, “We can do better” the bulls exploded into the brush.
This was to be the cycle for the remainder of the day; glassing bulls at a distance only to have the ones we were interested in flee long before we could get into position for a better look.
“I’m telling you,” Garry exclaimed shortly after our open air lunch. “Their eyesight, sense of smell, and hearing rivals whitetails. They’re just hard to get on top of. ...
Plus they can outrun anything when spooked they’re so damn fast.”
Despite the fact that the afternoon turned into a repeat of the morning, I couldn’t complain. By even my lowest estimates I had seen over five hundred nilgai during my time afield. In addition I saw countless javelina, wild boar, deer, and turkeys. I had really spent the day in a vast and fairly untouched wilderness. Not something most people can say when hunting exotics.
The next morning Garry and I again met Juan at the gate prior to dawn. I asked Juan if he had done anything interesting the night before. As if to reinforce the wildness and isolation of the property Juan explained to me that he had left the ranch only two or three times since his birth more than forty years earlier.
Garry’s plan for the day was to try hunting some of the further pastures that had received little cattle pressure in the past year. This low lying area was home to several watering holes and a maze of live oak scrub.
“Just the kind of terrain nilgai like,” Garry explained.
His hunch paid off. By mid-morning I could add another hundred or so nilgai to my list of seen animals. We were just about to break for a snack when Garry spotted a black wraith woven into a tapestry of mesquite and catclaw cactus ninety yards to our left.
“This may be the guy we’re looking for,” Garry announced studying the form in his binoculars. “Get your gun.”
I grabbed my CZ .375 H & H from the scabbard in the Jeep and followed Garry in a slow crouch that skirted us from one hiding place to another. Halfway to the predetermined spot, we stopped to look the blue bull over once more. He stood just inside the brush, and despite his being partially hidden, Garry and I both agreed that from what we saw he was the bull I was looking for. Better than that, he was slowly walking out of hiding.
“When he gets out in the open I want you to take him,” Garry whispered. “But don’t shoot until I tell you.”
I nodded and got into position by bracing my rifle against a flimsy mesquite limb. The heavy humidity combined with...
the even heavier weight of anticipation seemed to meld with the mass of the rifle and holding steady began to seem like an impossibility. I was trying to resituate myself when Garry’s words echoed from behind me.
Better than that, he was slowly walking out of hiding
“Get ready.”
I focused on the opening, waiting for Garry’s spoken premonition to pass. Through my Burris scope I watched the sandy soil turn black as the once hidden nilgai came into focus. I placed the crosshairs just behind the old patriarch’s shoulder…
“Take him now!”
Garry’s command shook my tightly wound nerves and my finger pulled before my brain could tell it otherwise. Two hundred and seventy grain of Remington Express rifle load slammed against my shoulder and shouted into my brain. I jacked another round into the chamber just as Garry’s words began again, “You hit him too far back! Hit him again!”
I found the nilgai and fired once more. The bullet slammed home with the thud of a solid hit, but one that the animal failed to register.
“Let’s go!”
Before his words fully resonated within me, Garry had me out of my crouch and was pushing me forward like some stringless marionette. The trail before us opened into a cactus-dotted bowl of which the bull was about to exit on the far side. I chambered another round just as Garry slammed me into a kneeling position and yelled at me to fire. My rifle howled and the bull spun sideways at the impact of the third bullet.
My rifle howled and the bull spun sideways at the impact of the third bullet.
“Again!” Garry commanded.
I fired once more and the bull collapsed, falling forward into a tangle of cactus and brush. I stood in awe of the elephantine antelope, my arms and legs still shaking with adrenaline. The bull had respectable horns of over 9 inches, large bases, a hide the color of pitch, and an estimated weight of close to 650 pounds.
“Muy negro,” Juan laughed as he walked up to congratulate me and begin the arduous skinning process.
Taking more congratulations from Garry I watched Juan and wondered just how much hide it would take to make a water-cooler.