United Sportsmen's Journal

by Brendan Walsh

USJ Summer 2008

 

Sometimes luck just happens!!  Several years back, I was working in Reno at the Safari Club International Show.  I had the good fortune to meet a pro hunter/

conservationist from South Africa, Craig Maartens.  We hit it off right away; we BS'd, drank beer, smoked a cigar, and laughed.

            I told Craig if he ever passed through the Midwest to stop and visit my family, we'd show him some U.S. hospitality and home cooking.  Then we could hunt upland birds over a fine American gun dog.  I don't believe Craig missed one bird out of 30.  His gun etiquette and skills matched his fine sense of humor.  I put him on the “we will hunt again list.”  These Afrikaaners are interesting sorts!!

            Craig extended the offer to my family, if we ever passed through the Dark Continent, to sample exotic wing shooting and African cuisine-we must call him.

            As luck would run in our Irish family, I was the high bidder on a hunt that Rian Raas Safaris donated to the National Rifle Association (NRA).  Ever drink a few beers with your buddies and bid on something you don't really need?  Well I just didn't want that Rian Raas Safari to go too cheap, and besides Rian was helping Americans and our freedom.  So now I had bought a plains game safari.  My buddy Craig would cuss me if I went 20,000 miles to the Dark Continent and didn't call him.

            Now as I thought of this lifetime adventure, all of my boy hood dreams started to flow, and come back to me, especially in my sleep!!  Black and white Tarzan movies, I had watched with my Grandpa.  The “African Queen” with Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn.   Death in the Long Grass by Peter Hathaway Capstick filled my dreams.  Leopards eating natives out of their huts at night while they slept, killer lions stalking natives by day in the long grass.  During the below zero winter of 1977, a wild young boy dreamed, I forged spear points by the pot-belly wood stove and anvil.  I practiced with my homemade

blowguns in Grandpa's shop.  As a 10-year-old, I would gaze out the dark icy window; listen to the howling wind, watching the snow drift.  I would hand hone my spear points, and dream.  Someday I would go to Africa, and spear a Leopard. 

            30 years later... So when I told my wife I would be heading to Africa for a month long adventure, I asked if she would like to hunt a Wildebeest, she said “it would be too hard for both of us to leave our family farm for so long.”

            Just then, out of the corner of my eye at our dinner table I saw a glint of white like a giant buck's antler disappearing into the timber.  It was my little 9 year old girl, Nicole.  Her eyes sparkled like I had never seen, and she flashed her smile like a crocodile.  Then she said “Dad I want to shoot a Zebra.”  Where the hell did that come from?  I guess it runs in our blood.  It's settled Nicole would hunt a Zebra and together we would hunt birds on the African plains.  It would be her 10-year birthday present.

            After our plains game hunt near the Limpopo River, our bird hunt would begin.  Craig took us 5 hours down south to meet his friends Carel and Carine at the famous Grasslands Safaris.  The minute we arrived at Grasslands, Carine made us feel like we were back at our Grandma's house. I knew we were going to get spoiled.  The lodge/ranch had been in her family for generations.  Wars were fought on this ranch.  Carine's husband Carel came to meet us after cattle chores.  At first sight I knew he was a serious solid man with that Afrikaan sense of humor.  You could tell he worked hard and our hunt would run like clock work. 

            This hunt was

starting out to be even better than I had dreamed; great people, spotless

accommodations, five star food.  A rustic African

trophy room/library full of Dark Continent history, hunting books, classic African bird paintings, and mounts.  Did I mention overstuffed lazy boy recliners with a commanding view of the mountains and pool!!  The humor, laughter, and ice cold beer were even better with that damned Afrikaan humor!!

            At the dinner table, Nicole and I met some other hunters that evening that had shot over 1,000 shells a day each!  Anticipation overwhelmed me and I couldn’t sleep!!

            The next days hunt started with Carel, Craig, Nicole, and myself near a grain field that Carel & Fritz had scouted for doves.  I wanted to get my little girl at least a chance to shoot a couple of doves for dinner.  Nicole had never shot a dove before and her little .410 Stoeger was ready!!  Carel said the doves will come around 2:30 ‘til 4:00 in the afternoon, and like Moses of doves, Carel was right!!  Like parting the seas, thousands of doves came upon us.  Nicole was smiling bright.  She ran out of shells and wasn’t the least bit upset about missing any.  I think she got about 10 doves out of 100 shots.  I was so proud!!  We shot about 100 doves total in one hour.  It was glorious, not a mosquito in sight, 80 degrees-no humidity, and like Carel said at 4:00 pm not a dove to be found!!  Now we were ready for a dove feast!!

            The next morning, Craig and Fritz took us for Guinea Fowl at sunrise, morning dew dripping from the African thorn bushes.  They had a young German Shorthair ready to go!!  Barely five minutes into the hunt, the pup got birdy, just as I was clearing a barb wire fence, I closed my gun.  An explosion erupted under a thorn tree 20 yards out.  They were huge like hen turkeys; Guinea make sounds like American Sharptails.  Six Guineas rocketed in all directions, my SKB barked, one Guinea fell like a rock at 25 yards and the other at 35 yards just about as he was to disappear into the thorn trees.  Craig smiled as I admired these awesome birds.  Our hands were wet with morning dew and Guinea Fowl blood.  Craig said you Americans can shoot!!  Congratulations on a fine double on your first Guinea Fowl rise.  What a way to start a hunt.

            Later that morning Fritz and Craig took us for another treat.  We drove a few flocks of Guineas towards a thick canyon.  I mean 50 birds in a flock like antelope

running across winter wheat stubble, Guinea Fowl running 20 mph,

a half mile in front of us.  Craig, Nicole, and I sneaked up into the cactus canyon.  Fritz and several natives whose names I could not pronounce generously blocked for us half a mile up the other side of the canyon.  Craig said he thought we boxed most of them in!!  We were standing in 6’ high wall of Yucca cactus with black hooked, razor thorns when it happened.  You never know what your going to corner in Africa!!  The dust was erupting all around me, it sounded like hooves of a herd of Wildebeest, but I couldn”t see!!  I yanked on the

cactus to get into a clearing.  More blood squirted from my cactus torn arm.  Craig’s Browning side by side boomed.  Just then I was clear and I saw well over 100 Guineas in the air at once.  Feathers

floating to the ground from Craig’s perfect double.  

            It was a sight I have burned into my memory forever!!  Then Nicole yells “Dad, I’m stuck in the cactus, I can’t see!!”  Just as she yelled, another 30 Guineas erupted 55 yards out, I tagged a big bruiser 55 yards out, I tagged a big bruiser with a hot Kent 1 ½ oz. magnum #4.  Craig comes over and smiles seeing me

bleeding and Nicole stuck in the cactus.  “You Americans are tough

devils, and with his ever present wit says “we Afrikaans generally go around the cactus.”

            I have hunted all over the North American continent and never seen so many varieties of wild birds per acre as in South Africa.  On one 640 acre ranch that Carel of Grasslands Safaris

manages, we saw three species of Fracolin Grouse, 300 Guinea Fowl, several coveys of African Quail, Rock Pigeons, Doves, and a half dozen species of exotic ducks & geese.  It truly is something every serious wing shooter has to experience.  A wing shooter in pursuit of the ultimate grand slam of birds must hunt the Dark Continent!! 

            You only live once and its not forever!!

            More on hunting Cape Teal, Spur Winged Geese and the awesome

variety of African Grouse in upcoming Articles. 

Contact Craig Maartens (http://africanclassicsafaris.com) for all your African wing shooting

adventures.  He is also a gold level sponsor of the United Sportsmen’s Youth Foundation (USYF).

 

Have a question on wingshooting in Africa, email the author at

usjournal@hotmail.com

by Brendan Walsh       

 

Back in the 70's, I was just learning what it meant to be an American!!!

            As a young boy I knew very little about what makes a patriot.  I didn't understand the depths of personal sacrifice men and women have made so that we could be free!!!

            Our dad said the recession was on!  Interest rates were 15% and over, many good people were out of work.  His friend Jack would be staying in our spare room for awhile.  We kind of expected a bum or something, but the first time you looked into his hard black eyes you knew he was no bum!  His hand shake was firm and everything about him was serious.

            Jack looked like Clint Eastwood in the movie "Pale Rider".  To a young boy he was kid of scary, 6'2" tall, lean, very tough, and a bit mean.  When I met him he was wearing a tan Stetson hat, Ray Ban glasses, and smoking a backwoods cigar.  His shirt was tailored Pendleton wool, neatly pressed Levi's, a sheepskin coat, and Tony Lama boots. 

            I met Jack in the blizzard of 1978 back home in McHenry, Illinois.  The snow drifts were 6' high; wind chills were 40 below zero.  It was the start of a great friendship and many life lessons.  It was too cold to hunt or fish.  Most animals froze to death, and many fish died of lack of oxygen under the thick ice and snow.  So, I got to spend some time with this mysterious man Jack that moved into Dad's house.

            Dad told me to help Jack unload his work van.  For a young boy it was like a treasure chest!!  Wooden Kennedy machinist toolboxes, Perazzi shotguns, a matched pair of custom Anshutz Rifles, old Winchester lever gun, and a hand built western fast draw 2 holster rig complete with vintage Colt 45's.  Definitely not our image of a bum or a man on hard times!  This early childhood image always reminds me not to pass judgment on anyone until you know them.  Grandpa's words came back to me "some books are hard to read, some have pages missing".  Before Dad made us go to bed, I asked Jack if he was a cowboy.  He said "horses stink and I hate barb wire gates, go to bed punk."

            Two years later.  Jack and I had become good friends; he taught me and my sister a ton about the fine art of quality guns.  He worked very hard remodeling our house, taught us a lot about painting and metal work.  I never met any of his family; he never spoke of it except that he missed his mom and dad.  He said they loved him so much.  He grew up on a big ranch in Wyoming.  His parents both died and had to sell the ranch to pay medical bills.

            About a year more had passed.  One night my Dad had a few buddies over for a cook out and very late that night the Jack Daniels whisky was flowing a bit heavy. 

            I never had heard much about the real war before.  At our kitchen table was a marine that fought in the Pacific theater, an army man who fought in Normandy during WWII, and Jack from the Air Force who fought in Korea and Vietnam.  I don't think those men knew I was

sitting in the shadows that night a twelve-year-old boy sitting quietly in the shadows saw several grown men cry..  I never heard anyone of them talk about the service they did for our country before or since. 

            All three were spilling their guts together that night, and asked God for mercy on their souls.  They all were very proud of their service, but very sad about the thousands who didn't come home on both sides of the war.  I realized these men were scarred for life.  They made untold sacrifices for our freedom.  I learned much about Jack's hard black eyes that night. 

            Jack was drafted into Korea from his small town in Wyoming, he was in love with his high school sweetheart, who he married, and had a baby on the way.  Jack's memories of Korea were horrible, but men like him stopped communism at the 38th parallel. 

            When Jack came home from Korea, his wife had met another man and had another baby.  The war destroyed Jack's early life, and his family life.  Freedom has a price and if we aren't paying it, someone else did for us. 

 

I believe it was the summer of 1980.

 

            Jack told us stories of the Rocky Mountains, the awesome beauty of Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, and the joy of antelope hunting with a good rifle at his childhood ranch in Wyoming.  Jack thought a .243 cal rifle was the best antelope and deer for a skilled rifleman with patience to use it correctly!  Flat shooting, accurate, low recoil, and low meat loss.  He studied and worked hundreds of hours to custom build a .243 for his anticipated trip home.  He would teach me the fine art of rifle building.  Jack hand picked the American Black Walnut stock, feather crotch in the butt stock, straight grain in the forearm for accuracy, full Montecarlo rollover cheek piece.  I helped sand the stock and he hand cut the checkering.  Jack special ordered the African Cocobola grip cap and fore end tip for added style and contrast.  Jack hand buffed the finish with linseed oil.  He said “glossy stocks were for sissies, punk!!”  He built a custom Mauser bolt action, and jeweled it.  Jack said if you ever needed a rifle in battle, the Mauser extractor would not fail you.  The trigger was completely improved and hand honed.  The barrel was of medium weight, hand-lapped for accuracy, and double polished to a lustrous blue.  That rifle was built by a perfectionist, American craftsmanship to behold!!

            One day in my Dad's basement, Jack was teaching me about the Colt Peacemakers.  I asked him if he would ever get over the war and get married again.  Then he really hit me with more pages of the book.  Turns out after Korea he went on to fight in Vietnam and dropped Na Palm and Agent Orange out of bomber planes.  Also, he was a 50 cal. machine gunner.  Jack said when he got back from that war he wasn't right for a long, long time.  I never asked him if that's where he got the scars on his face.

            Ten years later. 

            My Dad and Jack kept in touch over the years and would sometimes get together for a duck feast.  They would call me when I was near town; we would talk about guns, the West, Women, and men talk you know!!  Jack's stories of the West and Alaska were very interesting to a young kid.  So as soon as I graduated school I hitchhiked to Alaska with my old rifle in hand and became a professional fur trapper and guide for a number of years.  Many of the gun skills Jack taught me came in handy.  Then one day I got the dreaded call, Jack was at the veteran's Hospital, cancer had him bad.  He didn't bitch about it, he said watch out for that Agent Orange and don't smoke.  He wanted me to have his prized rifle.  Jack never got back to Wyoming and never hunted with that rifle!  Many times I shed a tear about that, I should have made it happen! 

            As we sat there at Dad's house that last winter evening, we all drank coffee and sat by the wood stove.  The mood was pretty dark.  I said thanks for the rifle.  “Pretty damn nice for a right-handed rifle Jack”. 

            Jack said, “Notice that it fits your sister like a glove and your kids will probably be normal too!!”  Then he added a skilled rifleman should be able to shoot either handed. “Kill an antelope for me.  Get outta here you left-handed punk!!”

            That was the last time I ever saw Jack.  He didn't want anyone around at the end.  I will always value the time and wisdom he gave me. 

            I put the war hero's rifle in my gun safe for almost 20 years and never shot it once.  I thought it was too nice to beat up in the mountains on horseback.  I decided my oldest girl, Nicole, had been working really hard in school and on the farm.  We would go to South Africa for a once in a lifetime father/daughter hunt, just Nicole and I.  She tried several rifles, but said dad can I try that one?  It was quite a bit too long for her, but I said sure try it Nicole.  Her first three shot group was ½" at 100 yards.  Can you say divine intervention!!

            In the shadow of Thabazimbi Mountains, Nicole and I stalked a herd of Zebra.  She was very careful of black mambas as she crawled to close the distance.  Now finally within 125 yards, as the herd boss turned broadside, the other Zebra winded us and suddenly bolted into the thorn bushes. 

            At that split second, Nicole squeezed off, . . . . . .  "boom."  

I saw a solid shoulder hit.  Clouds of dust from twenty zebra running full speed into the thorn bushes, thorn branches snapping! At this second, while lying in a cloud of red dust, Nicole instinctively chambered another round.  Not a second too soon, the frenzied zebra ran head on into a hidden herd of Giant Waterbuck.  I was just lying in the dirt behind Nicole and before I could even speak the Waterbuck were jumping over us.  Nicole just looked at the huge 650-pound Waterbuck running full speed at us, 15 yards, 10 ..., 5 ... and, BOOM. . . . . . .  Cool as a cucumber, “Dad did I get him?”

            I can still taste the dust and blood, feel the hoof beats, and hear the crash of the beast.  First, we found the giant waterbuck only fifty yards away.  Our outfitter Riaan Raas took pictures of Nicole with her zebra and huge waterbuck. 

            Out of nowhere, a freak cloud burst opened up and soaked the desert.  A single thunder boom rang across the valley like a sonic boom of a fighter jet and was gone in minutes-quite odd in the desert!!  Pride overwhelmed me, I hugged my little girl, “Good shot, and tomorrow you turn 12-years-old, Nicole.”

            I silently turned to the departing cloud burst, tears in my eye, Thanks Jack, “I’ll do my part to Let Freedom Ring!! Guys like you made it possible.”

 

     A new series of children’s books by J.J. Reich and illustrated by Johnathan Kuehl shows hunters as role models and teaches kids about the outdoors and all of it’s pursuits.
    The books follow Jack Kampp as he learns about the outdoors from his family in interesting ways.
    Jack’s Dad learned hunting and fishing from his father and is passing down what he learned to his own kids.  In Deer Dad, for ages 3-7, Jack’s Dad teaches Jack about his favorite animal, “That smart, speedy, and sneaky white -tailed deer!”
    Jack’s Mom is an avid outdoorswoman who likes to shoot bows and guns with his Dad at the shooting range. “But her favorite thing to do is hike around in the great outdoors with us and take pictures of the beautiful scenery like flowers, leaves, birds and animals.”
    “Some people hunt because they enjoy spending lots of time in the outdoors,” she says. “They like the challenge of harvesting meat for special meals, and hunting helps control wild animal populations. Other people don’t like to hunt, but they still love being outdoors. That’s OK too. Everyone makes their own choices with what they like to do with their free time.”
    The rest of the Kampp family includes Gramps, Rusty, Gramps’ best friend and hunting dog, twin uncles, Carl and Uncle, cousin Joe, and Jack’s sister, Becka.
    The 64-page hardcover, Snort, Wheeze, Rattle and Grunt, designed for 8-12 year-olds, is about a day hunting for deer where Kampp's son learns about calls,
rattles, habitat, and hunting methods used when hunting deer and bagging the big buck.
    Two more Kamp Tales books are in the works, a 64-page chapter book on hunting, Mighty Fly and Piggy Fly, and a 32-page picture book on turkeys, Uncle Turkey.
    According to Kamp Tales, their “goal is to inspire and encourage parents and children to enjoy shooting sports through our storybooks, while also touching on topics like hunting safety and techniques, facts about animals we hunt, reasons for why we hunt, and learning to respect wildlife.”
    A portion of the profits from the sale of these books benefit youth hunting programs that promote hunting safety, ethics, and participation. 
    The USJ Staff met the author, J.J. Reich, recently at the POMA Conference, and found him to be a really cool guy dedicated to keeping outdoor sports alive and fresh.  A really great American!
 The books average $14.99 each and can be purchased at www.KampTales.com where you can also get a book autographed by the author., or contact the United Sportsmen’s Company at unitedsportsmen@hotmail.com or www.unitedsportsmensco.com to order your copy today.  These books will make wonderful Christmas gifts for the kids in your life!