The Safari

November is a special month and a time for thanksgiving. Throughout the years and the days that celebrate the seasons, November has always been a family affair and an occasion when exciting and exotic tales are something to share beside a crackling fireplace or on a beautiful beach where the Marco Beach Boys and Girls also have family stories from the past.

Everything changes, including opinions, but the following is a story from across the Atlantic and much of Africa to where the equator finds Kenya. The year was 1959 and it was a time when big game hunting was popular. This was a glamorous era portrayed in many feature films, but a lifestyle that could quickly become deadly for anyone hunting big game. 

Our story begins at a car dealership in east Tennessee when a Ford dealer won an African Safari along with three other bestselling dealers from across the nation. Everyone was excited until the Americans learned a multitude of inoculations was required to survive a jungle safari in Africa. When the medical requirements were complete, the four hunters met in New York, and after enough airline connections to rival an Indiana Jones movie, a cargo airplane made a landing in Nairobi, Kenya.

Waiting at the landing field for the new arrivals from America were two British Safari guides, two Land Rover jeeps, and two large flatbed trucks. Onboard the vehicles were enough supplies and camping gear to last the full six weeks that was the allotted time for the Safari. Also in attendance were about thirty Kenyans who were also guides, cooks, and native experts from the nearby Serengeti where the upcoming Safari would begin. 

The coveted conquest for all of the American hunters was a male African lion, but even in 1959, the rules for a hunting party were explicit. There were strict limits on almost every species. Elephants were off-limits, as were rhinoceros, and all of the big cats with the exception of fully-grown male leopards and African lions. The leopards were tricky and very dangerous, the British guides quickly explained, and more than a few safaris ended with human casualties when hunting the big cats in leopard country. Leopards were fearless. Over 15 deaths a year were from leopard attacks. When the Americans agreed that leopard country would be out of bounds, a layer of tension seemed to evaporate from the British and African guides. 

After a few days into the adventure, life in the jungle became routine. During the days, the hunters would always shoot game for the pot and well before sunset, a stacked stone oven became a handcrafted creation for every campsite. After firewood was gathered, a bonfire was burning, and loaves of fresh bread were baking in the oven. 

Impala antelope were more than abundant and tasted like beef. Whenever migrating wildebeest were near water, shooting crocodiles was a camp favorite, but the plentiful bounty of food for the guides and the hunting party was easily taken and seemingly endless.

As the days turned into weeks, the Americans became exhausted. During the heat of the daylight hours, the hunters knew they must shoot enough meat for the 30-odd guides, and after the antelope harvest and cleaning, impala hams and shoulders became the hanging bait for the elusive male lions. Several bait trees stationed miles apart were the subjects of a cautious daily inspection.

After sunset and the evening meal, the Americans crept into their tents for sleep but by midnight - every night - the jungle came alive. Although big footprints of male lions were easy to find in daylight, no eligible lions were ever visible from dawn until dusk. At night however, and under the cover of darkness, the constant roaring of the lions was alarming and ever-present. Hundreds of tree monkeys also seemed to party all night and the laughing hyenas were another howling and fitful presence that were the worst of the night terrors for the Americans trying to sleep.

On the last day of the safari, at the final bait tree where a hanging impala ham was dangling from a branch, the four Americans and the two British guides finished the climb to the top of a steep hill and were looking down into the valley below. The British and the Americans were alone. The Kenyans knew better than to trespass on the hilltops and the valleys where the big rogue lions might be waiting. The rogue lions did not live happily with a pride of lionesses. Rogue lions were alone, irritable, and hungry. They were extremely unpredictable, massive, and dangerous.

At the base of the valley was a single tree with an antelope ham hanging from a branch. Beneath the tree, a large rogue lion was standing on his back legs and pawing at the antelope ham with his front paws and claws. He was the size of a small horse. At once, the two British guides began whispering urgently but quietly. “Everyone be very quiet.” One of the Englishmen insisted. “Take all the photos you want. This is very rare.”

The other guide spoke up. “That’s right,” he said. “We never expected to find an eligible male. We can take photos and climb back down the hill.”

One of the Americans spoke up. “What are you talking about?” he whispered. “Go back down the hill? We just spent six weeks for this very minute!”

The Englishman, who was the leader, spoke quietly. “There is no shame in this. We can take all the photographs we want and walk away. You don’t understand; that lion is a rogue. If you shoot and miss—he’s going to come up this hill and get all of us. Shooting a charging lion is nothing to take chances with; everyone misses.”

The Americans were quiet for a moment before the Tennessean spoke up. “I want to try, “he said. The guides looked at each other and nodded; but this was not what they wanted to hear. 

The big male became the target and the 100-yard shot from a 30.06 was fired. When the big rogue was struck in the shoulder, he paused long enough to look up the hill and find the man with the rifle. He then started up the hill in a very fast charge. With every massive stride, the bullet hole in the shoulder pumped out a spurt of blood the size of a garden hose, and the world slowed down. When the Tennessean with the shaking hands loaded another round and fired, the big rogue finally fell about ten feet from the American hunter’s feet.

When the Tennessean turned to look for the other car dealers and the guides, he found that he was alone. The others were already well in the distance where the Land Rovers were waiting at the base of the hill.