South Africa: The majestic Eland

My encounter with the Livingstone Eland bull - which could have ended terribly

There are moments in hunting that leave a mark far deeper than the trophy on the wall. Moments where adrenaline, emotion, and self-doubt collide in a way that humbles you to the core.

This is one of those stories.

To date, it’s been my most humbling experience as a hunter — and maybe one you can relate to if you’ve ever stood in front of something bigger than yourself, both literally and figuratively.

There was a point during this hunt where things could’ve gone terribly wrong. And yet, somehow, it turned into a memory I’ll never forget — not because everything went perfectly, but because it almost didn’t.

On the second to last day on our recent South African hunt I came across this magnificent creature. An enormous Livingstone Eland bull. Here is the honest story…

Gearing up to my first South African hunting trip I felt in good hands. I would be accompanied by three experienced friends and our trusted outfitter Alex, from Encinarejo Outfitters. My friends who had already been to S.A. and Alex, a born and raised South African and experienced PH had already told me the stories and prepared me as best as they could for what was about to come. Knowing well, that I would not fully comprehend before I would stand with my own boots on the red soil, glassing over plains and herds of species that us Northern Europeans only get to see in the zoo.

Going into this experience, Alex had advised me on which species would be suitable for a first-timer to S.A. based on types of hunting but definitely also financials. I do not have the means to just go crazy with Kudu, Nyala, Crocs, Hippo, Buffalo, Giraffe, Elephant and what not. I did not want to be stuck in a blind for several days or spend precious hours of potential rest out night-hunting - which we do plenty in Sweden for Wild Boar and it is surely not my favourite type of hunting. Knowing that the list could change once we got there - anything can happen in the bush. We came up with a plan for Impala, Blesbok, Springbok, Duiker, Jackal and Warthog.

Fast-forwarding to the latter part of our trip where we had acclimated to the S.A. summer temperatures and got into the adrenaline-fueled rhythm of eat-sleep-hunt-repeat I had set my eyes on hunting the Oryx. While being so very well adapted to its habitat and especially maintaining hydration, it just stands out beautifully with its pattern and distinctive long narrow horns. I felt confident after taking down a Blesbok with a perfect lung-shot on 280 meters, stalking, taking down an already spooked Impala buck in the thick bush at 120 meters and a Guinea Fowl and Francolin with a .22. An Oryx would be the perfect finale and a trophy would hang proudly above my dinner table as a cherished memory of an epic savannah adventure.

The boys had completed their targets, so everyone was focused on securing an Oryx for me, spotting vigorously and jumping off the bucky at every chance we got. We simply did not have the luck that day. It was as if all the great chances we had during the week while hunting other species had just evaporated into the hot and humid air of the bushveld - I started to worry that this was it, while being very grateful of what I already harvested and the experiences we had shared within the group.

Leading up to what was about to come, our friend Chris had been on about that he would go for an Eland bull, but he was stuck playing waiting games with an old croc in a lake not too far away. During the week we had only seen solitary Elands, smaller groups and no bulls. So, we knew that his chances would be slim to none. We had been bantering that I would take the bull if I got the chance, just to tease him.

Leading up to the trip, the Eland was not seriously on my radar. I was familiar with the species and its stunning presence, but I knew they could be difficult and time-intensive to hunt. The trophy fee was also outside my initial budget. After seeing the solitary animals and the trophies at the lodge it had grown on me though. The majestic and powerful stature, its natural history and meaning for the indigenous people fascinated me. The Eland is the largest of the spiraled-horned antelopes. I find there to be something mythical to these creatures. Bulls weigh upwards of 1000 kg. Don’t let the size fool you though. This massive antelope can clear a 2-meter fence from a standstill and still vanish like a ghost in the bush.

While bantering with Chris, I still did not believe that it would be a realistic scenario due the beforementioned circumstances. At this point some would have said; be careful what you wish for.

…Back to the hunt. While leaving the boys in the Land Cruiser, our PH Martin, Alex and I stalked towards one of the big plains in the early evening, where we had spotted Oryx earlier. We knew it would be the last chance that day. Deep inside I probably already had given up a bit. Instead of Oryx we surprisingly spotted a herd of Eland. At first sight only cows, but suddenly an absolute giant muscular dark-faced bull stepped out - hearts were racing immediately. Was this the moment?

While the sun was quickly setting, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime. With the sheer size, faint Livingstone-typical stripes and thick dark brush on its forehead, even Martin had a difficult time containing his excitement. Standing in the middle of the herd and at 400 meters, there was no safe shot at the bull. Martin whisperingly asked me whether I would want to go for it. I replied; YES! - completely forgetting about budgets and that Oryx might be hiding somewhere behind a bush or tree. But we had to move closer. With Martin in front, me with the .300 win mag in the middle and Alex in the back, we had to move while staying undetected by adjacent groups of Zebra and Wildebeest, that might alert the Elands. We stalked around the herd for 20 minutes, drenched in sweat before we found a decent hideout at 200 meters. But it was almost too late…

The herd had already started moving towards the thick bush where they would be forever gone. This was the point where it almost went terribly wrong… I was seeing the window of opportunity vanishing rapidly. The bull had started to cross into the bush. Visibility was hindered by trees and bushes. I was panicking. Not just because of missing out on a beautiful trophy, but the exhaustion after a long week, sleep-deprivation and the slow build-up had suddenly become very real, and the pressure hit me all at once. Thoughts were racing - this bull had to go down. Affected by a severe case of buck fever I almost subconsciously squeezed the trigger on a faint glimpse of the bull through the brush - no impact!

Alex and Martin, being very surprised by my irresponsible attempt, immediately made me aware of my mistake:,,NO NO NO! What the f* are you doing?!´´. I was terribly embarrassed, still grasping the stupid risk I had just taken of injuring this magnificent creature and messing up any remaining chance of success. This action goes against everything I stand for as a hunter, but here I was. What an absolute rookie… Standing there, not really knowing what to do with myself, something completely unexpected happened. The herd had obviously heard the shot, but was not spooked. Perhaps thinking that the noise came from the direction they were heading in, they turned around - back onto the plain. Alex and Martin immediately picked me up and helped me refocus. I had seconds to dig myself out of imaginative hole I was quickly spiralling into. 

A couple of heart-racing minutes went by, before the bull was standing clear of the herd and brushes on the plain. Perfectly positioned at 200 meters with his broadside towards my Bergara B14 .300 win mag and x12 magnified Swarovski Z8, he stepped out. Who is allowed to be this lucky, I thought to myself. I carefully squeezed the trigger. The impact was obvious as the bullet hit his huge muscular shoulder. He stumbled away with what seemed a fatal wound. While we were slowly moving towards him in the tall grass, we heard the heavy breathing that seemed stationary. A clear indication that his end was near.

I was shivering in spite of the intense heat. The buck fever was finally starting to fade. What felt like a thousand thoughts were racing through my head - Who was I to take the life of this magnificent creature after such a rookie mistake - had I earned this right? Excitement, humbleness, sadness and other feelings all across the spectrum were present. I knew Martin had called in our friends on the radio, who were now racing over to us in the Land Cruiser, still thinking that I finally got the Oryx - but boy would they be surprised. Going from a short-term depressive state to soon be celebrating with my mates. There is no better way to describe it than being on a world record roller coaster. This is what hunting can do.

Finally, seeing him laying still in the grass with a peaceful look in his eyes, my shoulders went down. Having a couple of minutes before our soon-to-be ecstatic crew joined, I made my peace with him. I had taken his life ethically despite the troubled lead up, without any other animals being hurt in the process. This could have gone terribly wrong. Something that I to this day still often think about, but try to live with by using it as a learning experience - and a reminder that something terrible has the potential to turn around in a blink of an eye.

Judging by his size and well fed stature he had lived a long life, spreading plenty of love to a lot of Eland ladies. His departure would now give room for new blood and his meat would be a feast to us and the local community. The feeling of unworthiness was quickly replaced by an immense gratitude to the bull and Diana or whoever made the herd turn around and for giving me another chance. I do not regard myself as religious person, but hunting and being in nature definitely sparks my spirituality. 

So there you have it, an honest hunting report about total failure, subsequent success and as a learning experience — a humbling reminder that even when we mess up, the right people and a bit of luck can give us a second chance.

Hunting is life. 

By the way, Chris did get his croc in the end. So, I did not feel terribly sorry that I took ‘‘his’’ bull.

-The end-