After a 7-hour flight to Amsterdam, 5-hour layover, then an 11-hour to Johannesburg, followed by a 4-hour drive to the lodge my daughter and I collapsed exhausted into bed at 2 AM South African time. I immediately fell into a deep, deep, druglike sleep. But something was ruining this, a persistent, irritating noise. As if climbing up from the depths, consciousness rebelliously, reluctantly returned. What was that exasperating noise? Forcing a seemingly glued shut eyelid open a strange window appeared and beyond that a tall thorn tree. What was happening? Where was I? What room was I in? Then like a bolt of vivid lightning I remembered.

“I’m in Africa! I’m on safari!”

Excitement battled with exhaustion as my unwilling limbs stirred and my feet found the floor. My mind struggled to clear itself, my eyes focused, clearing as I stared dumbly about, finally opening my suitcase and dressing. Now the excitement was winning and life flowed into me as I finished dressing. combed my tangled hair and slipped on my safari jacket against the chill. Through the bathroom wall faint noises were heard. Good, Julie managed to rise as well; realizing how tired she was, it was wonderful she’d the energy to drag herself from bed after only 5-hours of sleep. We met on the veranda and after a quick hug gazed out at the African savannah surrounding us, breathing the fresh clean air, watching a hornbill squawk and fly by us as countless smaller birds sang, flitting from branch to branch. It was winter here, the grass yellow, the brush a dull grey, scattered Sheppard trees, straight from the bible, splashed green among the grey.

We turned down the stairs to the dining area and offset lounge. “Good morning!” Boomed Jaco Wentzel seated by a crackling fire. “Sit down, how was your trip?” Jaco’s a big man with a strong, almost overwhelming personality. His eyes sparkled, a big smile split his face. He was dressed in tan shorts, they never seem to wear pants no matter what the temperature, and a khaki short sleeved shirt. Both of us could barely manage small talk so we headed to the breakfast table. Max, the cook, had the long table set, plates perfect, napkins, glasses, silverware exactly placed. On the sideboard were sausage, bacon, fruit, a big pitcher of juice, homemade bread and eggs. I didn’t feel hungry until I started to eat. Everything was delicious and the homemade bread was to die for!

The food helped, returning Julie back into her perky self. Plates cleared, Vihan, Jaco’s son and our guide, spoke; “Let’s go sir! Grab your rifle.” I dashed upstairs, grabbed the 30-06, ammunition, my hat and binoculars, then hurried down to the Toyota truck. Its bed supported a pipe framework supporting high seats, necessary to look over the 4- to 6-foot-high brush and scattered trees stretching as far as the eye could see, the bushveld.

To the rifle range first. Sam, our driver and tracker, stapled a target at 100 meters and I settled in. Was the rifle still zeroed after the long flights? The 06 cracked, the bullet striking 1.5” high, 1 bullet width to the left. Perfect. Let’s go hunting. Adrenalin made me tingle; this was really happening, right now!

As we began driving the narrow, red, sand tracks I hoped we’d see a variety of game for Julie’s sake. Almost immediately Vihan said; “Impala.” A large bunch of the deer-sized, brown and white animals stood in the brush, staring some 100 yards off. As we stopped, they took off, running, jumping, dodging under limbs, leaping across the track in a cloud of dust. Then a group of unseen blue wildebeest, spooked by the impala, bolted. In the middle of the herd were 2 golden wildebeest, beautiful to behold. Not 15 minutes passed that morning between sightings. Julie, a bit rusty on African animal identification, was busy constantly attempting to take photos or staring entranced through her binoculars at oryx, blesbuck, warthog, zebra, duiker, nyala, sable and huge eland as well as the tiny steenbuck.

The animals seemed determined to make her first morning an unforgettable one and her face was alight with delight and wonder. Soon she was able to recognize and correctly identify every species.

But we were here to hunt. Vihan’s eyes were incredible. It took me 10 power binoculars to see what he could with his naked eye. Astonishing, literally hard to believe. A smudge on the road at 400 yards. “Kudu!” He says, “And a big one.” We focus our binoculars and sure enough, a kudu with long curving horns. How is it possible to see so clearly so far away?

All morning the elusive animals never presented an opportunity for a shot. Spooky indeed. After a great lunch and a much-needed nap, we headed out at 3:30. A short drive, Vihan stops the truck and we cut through the thorn bush to an open area and peek out. At the far end blesbuck! Vihan says: “The white 1 is very good. Shoot him, 174 yards.”

I settle on the shooting sticks and steady the wavering crosshairs, squeeze. Crack!

The 06 recoils and the blesbuck collapses in a heap. “Good shot!” Vihan says enthusiastically, relieved I believe, his client can shoot.

What a beautiful animal, wonderful horns, I’m so thrilled, tingling all over.

“Record book, I think.” Vihan says.

Can it get any better?