Selous Leopard

“Chui.” Warren whispered with tense excitement that cut through the dozy, heavy late afternoon miombo woodland. We had been in the mushan for nearly two hours. I was tired, from the normal demands and long days of safari life, but awake. I had been watching a fish eagle on a tall dead tree behind and to our right. Two little ring-necked doves had sat cuddled up together grooming, after their wash in a nearby waterhole, just above us. Not much else had happened in the interim though. The mushan was made simply of the cushioned back seat off the pick-up, surrounded by a long thatch grass skirt, tied in the forked branches of a tree twelve feet of the ground. The tree stood in open riverine woodland with eight-foot dense dry thatchgrass covering the ground. The bait was forty-five yards off in a dry riverbed. Both Warren and the shooter had a good view but I was behind the trunk of the tree and had to lean forward to look out of the shooters peep whole to see the bait clearly. We had a clear view of our immediate surround from up there. The cicadas were screaming and flies buzzed in the still heat. A ring-necked dove krrrook-KAROO-karooked with precise regularity and clarity from a tree near by. The fish eagle grated its harsh alarm. This leopard had been feeding for two days since I had first seen the track, and it felt at home. We had confirmed this two hours before and hurried to build the mushan while the clients ate a late lunch. A large cat scrambled up the back of the tree and tried to feed but fell down comically looking embarrassed, not knowing he should be, and was amusing us. I tried to judge its size and sex. If it was big enough and male I would be responsible for its death, so I looked carefully. It was just big enough and with an aged head and a slender lithe body. It took me a little time to find the balls peering around the tree. All of us were now tense with anticipation and I certainly will admit to a hollow feeling in my lower gut. The tom had not stood yet and was all fluid movement. Warren is a cameraman and was taking footage for the shooters father. We were co-conspirators already, both having a beach boy outlook on life. The shooter was fourteen and steady throughout. They had spent a week with the boss and after the bosses intensity he was enjoying being with a couple of South African beach louts out for some fun. He was shooting well with us too. The bait was a Zebra back legs tied low for lion and covered with grass to hide it from the vultures. It was six feet off the ground and four feet from the branch it was hung from. This was proving difficult for the tom who managed to bungle a further attempt at the bait but some how came away with a chunk of rather high meat. He moved off out of the shooters field and ravished the meat. This almost immediately made him wretch, either he was un-well or the meat was over, even for a leopard. Without a sound the tom disappeared into the grass on the left where we could only catch glimpses of grass moving through the trees. He climbed a tree in front of Warren out of sight for the shooter and I. There he lay and licked himself casually. The tension was building for me. The safari needed a cat and it was late in the day. No chance at a shot though and I wanted to laugh and swear. Suddenly the tom was on the move again, he slipped down into the grass ten foot below him effortlessly. Again the grass jingled as he came to within a few yards of our tree. We glanced at each other with bemused exasperated tension. “ Relax, take a deep breath” I whispered to the shooter and took my own advice. I slipped my leatherman from its sheath and opened it feeling very sheepish but wanting a blade. My rifle was ready to shoot forward and turning it would have given us away. The tom was clearly looking for a tree to climb and I thought he might choose ours. After another eternity he chose a tree at 10 o’clock and sprang gracefully into view. He lay down offering us his ass and little else. I put my arm up and held the tree in front of me and asked the shooter to pull his rifle back, slipping it out of the shooting hole and lay it over my arm to see if he had a shot. I smiled at Warren asking in sign if he minded a 375 going off inches from his ear. He shrugged and indicated his earplugs. I thought it should be OK. We had no shot unless the tom stood up and looked our way. I needed to stir him from his slumber but not scare him to flight. I told the shooter to be ready and threw my sunglasses out in front of us having to through them through the branches. He slept on. ” Shit, what now?” I muttered. I took my prized leatherman and flung it into the long grass trying to see where it landed for recovery later, not taking my eye off the cat. Not even a flicker of the ear. I exchanged exasperated looks with the shooter. “Just be ready”, I mouthed. OK then, plan desperation, I slipped, very noisily, a plastic water bottle from my backpack and tossed it away where it thudded to the ground. The cicadas shrieked endlessly and the cat slept on. Bloody hell did you ever see such a stupid wild animal, I thought. The light was fading fast now so I grabbed the last bottle of water and tossed it hard. Finally! The leopard stood and turned to look directly at us. I braced myself and waited for an eternity. Nothing happened. “What, shoot the dam cat” I hissed to the about to ask shooter. I braced again twisting to follow the cat as the 375 cracked, the leopard stiffened on impact then leaped falling heavily to the ground and rustled off into the grass. I was sure it must have been killer shot and we were excited immediately. I asked the shooter to stay in the tree and called the car in so that I could climb down. As it arrived I got down, followed by Warren. I was ready, having strapped a very powerful torch to the rifle and so I set off into the grass. Now I was really full of adrenalin and on edge. I refused the car preferring the near total silence on foot. At least then I would hear a charge start. “A thousand stitches a second “ Warren quipped helpfully. “Where are you going? “ I asked him as he got down from the hunting pick-up. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world” he answered. “What if it is alive and jumps on you?” I said. “I have total trust in you” his reply. “You really are mad then.” Was my retort. “You will see nothing from in the grass, stay up on the pick-up and enjoy my mauling.” I added. The tracker and I started to try and follow blood, but it soon ran out in the very thick grass. My heart was almost jumping out of my chest as we creped around knowing the tom was within feet but not being able to locate it. As the light really turned I called up the car and we drove in the direction we had heard an unhealthy cough earlier. The car, moving very slowly, came up against something and I called the driver to back up. There it lay, a very dead leopard, the beautiful coat still and quiet never to glide through the grass again. I felt sad but let out a great hoot of joy and relief, to lighten my mood and relax the crew. Time to celebrate with the hero of the hour, and contemplate my part in the downing of the king of the thicket, alone, later.