Sitatung Hunting in Tanzania
By Stan Gunderson August of 2008

I recently returned from safari where my primary goal was an East African sitatunga (Tragelaphus spekii). I booked my hunt in January 2005 at a safari convention with Game Trackers Africa/Ondjamba Safaris, and owner Jaco Oosthuizen {ondjamba@africa.com} agreed to be my Professional Hunter (PH).

My fiance Le, Sherry, accompanied me as a non-hunting observer, and Bud Bell rounded out our trio. Bud was primarily interested in hunting buffalo. The three of us left the States enroute to Amsterdam and on to Dar es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania. We spent the night (11 p.m. to 4 a.m.) in Dar where we caught a commercial flight to Mwanza. In Mwanza, we had time for lunch and a little souvenir shopping before we caught another flight to Kigosi Game Reserve in western Tanzania.

Things looked pretty straightforward to that point, with a minor glitch. Bud and I watched as our luggage was being loaded onto a different plane. Despite Bud’s efforts to talk to security about the luggage mix-up, their response was a curt “Get on the plane.” So Bud, Sherry and I got on the plane.

Onboard, our flight attendant told us that baggage handling had received our luggage too late to make it on our flight, that our bags would be in Mwanza about three hours later on the next flight. The reason our luggage had been late to the airport was that the Dar police hassled us about our guns and ammunition. It’s a good thing we had Juma along to get us through the police check. As Bud puts it, “TIA—This Is Africa.”

Kigosi Game Reserve encompasses about 1.9 million acres. The Moyowosi Game Reserve is on the western side of the Moyowosi River; Kigosi Game Reserve is on the eastern side. Kigosi has three camps—Palm in the south, Sable in the center and Nikonga in the north. Our home away from home was Sable. Sable Camp is a typical East African tented camp with en suite bathrooms. The singular difference is that the tents are elevated about four feet off the ground, allowing the camp to remain intact during the rainy season when everything gets flooded.

Bud’s PH was Dalil Abudulla. Dalil works year round in the Kigosi Reserve and is in charge of anti-poaching. In the Kigosi, there are no villages, and no one is allowed to fish, collect honey or hunt. The game reserve is strictly managed for safari hunting. I found it most interesting to talk to Dalil about his anti-poaching efforts and what a difference they have made in the area.

That evening, around the campfire, we learned hunting had been very difficult that year. The area received unusually large amounts of rainfall during the rainy season, and minor streams blocked many areas that are traditionally hunted. Sitatunga hunting had been extremely difficult, and only one animal had been shot that year in Kigosi.

The next morning we headed north, out of camp, hunting as we went. Jaco’s normal spots to hunt sitatunga were impossible to reach due to high water, so Dalil suggested several areas in the north. As we left camp, I pulled out my secret weapon, a slingshot. In Africa, a slingshot is called a cattie, short for catapult. We hunted as we drove north. In the distance, I spotted roan, and we made a long stalk to discover there were no bulls in the herd. Farther along, we saw a herd of sable, but this time, there were no large bulls

We continued north, and as we moved away from the Kigosi River flood plain and into the forest, we spotted an East African duiker. I immediately made the duiker call I had learned earlier from Cameroon pygmies. The duiker stopped running and looked at us. Jaco told me it was a good one. I shot, and I had my first animal of the trip.

Jaco and the trackers were curious how I made the duiker call, and I showed them. They were amazed the duiker stopped. In the past I’ve used my call on duikers, and it has had a 25 percent success rate, stopping animals when they aren’t too spooked. We continued driving till we came to Nikonga Camp. We dropped off the duiker at the skinning shed, and Jaco spoke with Goute, the PH at Nikonga. Goute told us he would be leaving in two days and would be gone for two weeks. He was okay with us using Nikonga as our fly camp when we were hunting sitatunga in the area.

We left Nikonga and followed the track adjacent to the Nikonga River. We stopped at several likely spots and walked out to the papyrus in search of fresh sign. We found a couple good areas and planned to build elevated blinds (machans) the next time we were there. We found several old machans, so we knew we were in the right area. We continued hunting all the way back to Sable Camp. That night, we reviewed the day around the campfire with sundowners. Bud had been in a herd of buffalo, but had not had a shot. As anyone who has hunted them knows, it is thrilling just to stalk to within close quarters of a buffalo.

Jaco and I made plans to hunt near Sable in the morning and spent two days at Nikonga hunting sitatunga. While hunting there, we spotted a big common reedbuck. Jaco and I bailed off the truck and climbed an anthill. The reedbuck was lying down in the grass when it disappeared. Jaco sent Nyoka back to the truck to retrieve his dying rabbit predator call.

He blew it and two reedbucks stood. I was on the shooting sticks trying to figure out if I could take the male and avoid hitting the female. I determined there was plenty of room and took the shot. The reedbuck ran off as if he hadn’t been hit. I shot again and got ready for a third shot when the animal fell over in his tracks. The first shot had been good

The following morning we left in search of sitatunga, hunting as we went. We saw plenty of animals, but no shooters. That’s when my secret weapon paid off. I shot a francolin, a member of the pheasant family, with the caddie. I hit that bird in the head and knocked it out. By the time we got there, however, it was revived but still dazed. Everyone was laughing at Jaco, Nyoka and I as we chased that francolin in the sticker bushes. Eventually, we got the francolin along with several scratches.

We arrived at Nikonga, dropped off our stuff and headed out to build the machan. We spent the better part of four hours building that blind. About 5 o’clock, we climbed into the machan and sat hunting sitatunga. With all the earlier building activity, I held out little hope of seeing an animal. True to form, we saw nothing that night.

The next morning, we were back in the machan. Again, we saw nothing. At 9 a.m. we left the blind and began looking for another area to build another machan. We checked out several likely spots, but didn’t see any sitatunga sign, so we headed back to the first machan for the afternoon hunt. Again, we saw no sitatunga. The next morning, back in the machan, I spotted a female sitatunga but no males. Jaco had the trackers climb a tree in a different spot to see if they could see a sitatunga. They spotted a female. Jaco and the trackers decided to take a closer look at the area where the trackers had seen the female, and they came back excited. There was plenty of fresh sign, and they were convinced there was a large bull in the area.

We built another machan in a sausage tree during the middle of the day. That afternoon we sat in the sausage tree machan, sent a tracker to the other machan and had our third tracker climb the tree where the female had been seen, and the female showed itself again. The following morning found us back in the sausage tree, and the other trackers were all in their places. Nothing was spotted that morning, so I suggested to Jaco that we leave the area for a few days and let it cool down from all the human activity. He agreed.

We hunted our way back to the Sable Camp, and as it was getting close to dark we spotted a herd of sable. Jaco said there was a nice bull in it. I shot, and I had another solid hit. We snuck a little closer, I shot again and another solid hit was registered. Then the sable fell. We approached the sable as it was getting dark. We got back to Sable Camp and celebrated. And in our absence, Bud had shot a pair of buffalo.

The next day we looked for roan. We saw several herds, but there were no good bulls, still the hunting gods presented me with a gift. There was a herd of buffalo feeding about 500 yards away in the short grass. We got off the truck and stalked to an anthill. We were about 150 yards away as the buffalo continued to feed toward us. I told Jaco that I’d shoot the big bull when he got closer, and the bull turned broadside at 100 yards. I shot, and I registered another solid hit. The bull staggered toward us, but he wouldn’t go down, and the herd appeared not to know what had happened.

The herd continued to feed, milling around my bull as I waited for a clear shot. I shot again, then again and again. The herd ran away with the bull staggering behind it. We stalked him, and I shot again and again and again. Finally, the bull went down. We walked up, it moved, and I shot him. We walked closer, the bull moved again and I shot him again. After nine shots, the great bull was finally finished. We loaded the animal and headed back to camp for a much-deserved hot lunch and nap.

Later that day, we made a stalk on a herd of roan ‘til dark. The best bull in the herd was marginal, so with plenty of time remaining, I passed. We headed south toward Palm Camp, where Dalil told Jaco he had seen a herd of roan. Dalil thought there might be a shooter in that herd. We hunted the entire way. On one of the islands along the way, we hung a lion/hyena bait as I really wanted a hyena.

We saw very little that morning, so after lunch, we drove on till about two in the afternoon, planning to hit the bait about dark. Jaco spotted roan about a mile away, but they were already watching us so we drove behind an anthill and hid the cruiser.

Jaco got off and looked at the roan. I suggested that if we waited 15 minutes, hidden from sight, the roan might settle down and forget we were there. Sure enough, they went back to feeding. We waited another 15 minutes, discussing our options.

The wind precluded us from doing anything but a frontal stalk. I suggested we cut palm fronds and use them as shields to break our outlines. There we were, Nyoka holding a frond, Jaco another and me in the middle walking toward the roan. Sherry and the rest of the trackers sat on the anthill watching our stalk.

The going was tough with tall grass and elephant holes along the way. Sweat dripped from me. I considered Jaco and Nyoka, and they were both sweating heavily. Still, we cut the distance in half to about 500 yards out where we stopped and caught our breath. Slowly, we proceeded. Three hundred yards out we stopped. Jaco and I discussed which animal was the bull. Two hundred yards out we stopped. Jaco thought the bull might be a shooter. And as anyone who has hunted them knows, it’s hard to tell with an animal lying down.

Jaco said, “It’s your choice.” I said, “Let’s go for it.” We stalked to within 150 yards with the animals still lying down. We made sure we were on the same animal, and I said, “Let’s try to get to the next bush.”

We moved 10 yards and stopped. At that point, the animals were up, staring at us. We set up the shooting sticks. I stepped out from behind the palm frond, aligned my rifle and fired. It was a solid hit! The cows ran off, and the bull lagged behind the herd. He presented me with a broadside angle, I shot and I scored another solid hit. The bull was down!

We walked up, and I could see that my bull was a very nice animal. Jaco was similarly impressed, surprised at how large the animal’s horns were. When the vehicle got there, I grabbed the tape measure. As it turned out, my roan bull has 25-inch horns with 10-inch bases—certainly, a Silver Medal East African roan!

On the way back to camp, we went by the hyena bait, and we saw a hyena. He ran off, but stopped about 75 yards out before going into the tall grass. I shot. The trackers said my shot was high. I insisted, “No way.” As it turned out, I was dead on.

Jaco and I checked for blood. Sure enough, there was blood and lots of it. The tall grass had blood four feet up the stalks. Jaco and I figured the animal was dead about 50 yards into the tall grass. We called the vehicle over and climbed on the back.

Slowly, we followed the blood trail into the grass from the back of the vehicle. Then we lost the trail. We backed up and found fresh blood, but we could not see where the hyena had turned. The trackers had gotten down to look for blood in front of the vehicle when a commotion began. Danny, one of the trackers, had stepped on the hyena. We had driven over the animal, never having seen it. We tied the hyena onto the vehicle and headed back to camp, waiting to take pictures when we got there.

The next day, we were headed back to Nikonga, hunting sitatunga. When we got there, we talked with the Nikonga trackers who had also been looking for sitatunga. They told us they had checked north and east of camp and found very few tracks. But they did spot one female near camp.

Jaco traveled to see if it was worth building a machan in the area; when he returned, he decided against it. Back we went back to the sausage tree; Danny camped out in the climbing tree and Dacho sat in the other machan, and still, no sitatunga.

The next morning, we decided to repeat the routine. Jaco and I sat in the sausage tree; Danny perched high above the ground in the branches of the climbing tree and Dacho sat watching in his machan. And still, no sitatunga showed its snout.

We spent the middle of the day trying to find a third, worthier location to build a machan. We checked out several likely spots, but nothing panned out. That afternoon, we repeated the routine. No sitatunga. This time, however, Dacho spotted the female, and the next morning everyone was at his post by daylight. And no sitatunga.

Wamburo, the game scout, knew where there were several hippo pools, and we decided to check them out. We drove five hours in a wide circle. Surprise, surprise, the hippo pools were the same places where we had been sitting. We drove that big circle and returned to the same spot, however, on the far side of the river.

So we hauled ass back and crawled back into our machans. Still, no sitatunga.

In 10 mornings and afternoons we had not seen a bull sitatunga, and I was really down. We decided to give it one last try, and if we didn’t see anything we would concentrate on eland and kudu.

The next morning, I was sitting there with little or no hope, going though the motions. I was glassing the African countryside, and all of a sudden I spied the tips of a pair of horns. I marked the spot and grabbed Jaco by the leg. “Sitatunga,” I whispered.

“Where?” Jaco replied.

“Watch those egrets,” I replied, “that’s the spot.” By now, we were both glassing. I could see horns and ears. He was beautiful. Sitatunga horns have a real nice shape with tips flared out. My heart was racing. I have not been that excited since I shot my first deer.

Then Jaco saw what I had been talking about. I grabbed my gun and tried to steady myself for a shot, but I was breathing hard. Besides, I could only see the bull’s head. We watched and we watched.

Finally, I saw the head and two inches of the animal’s back. He was walking slowly, feeding, looking. Jaco drew closer so I could use his shoulder as a rest.

I had my gun on the machan railing, my right elbow on Jaco’s shoulder, my left elbow on my knee. I was sufficiently stable. If only I could control my excitement!

“Wait,” Jaco whispered, “he’ll come to an opening.”

“All I see is his head and a sliver of his back,” I replied nervously.

“Wait!” Jaco ordered.

“Will my bullet make it through the grass?”

I asked. I studied the thick grass in the foreground.

“Wait for the opening. This is a really big one,” he said, increasing my heart rate. “Get ready, Stan.”

“I’m tracking him,” I lamented, “All I can see is his head and a bit of his back.”

“There’s an opening,” Jaco replied steadfastly, “ahead of where he is now.

Shoot when he gets there.” I said, “All I see is his head and a bit of his back. Should I shoot through the grass?” “Wait,” Jaco coached, “for the next opening.” “Okay,” I sighed. “Okay, he’s getting close, get ready. Let me know when you’re going to shoot so I don’t move.” “The thing is facing me directly,” I said, “I don’t want to take that shot!” “Wait,” Jaco replied adamantly, “there’s another opening.” “Where the hell did he go?” I growled. “He stepped behind some grass,” Jaco said. We have him dead to rights. He can’t get out of there without our seeing him.” We waited and watched. I looked at my watch. It was 7:13 a.m. I put down the gun and began systematically glassing. There was no sitatunga. Jaco was doing the same. Seven-thirty turned to 8:00 and still, there was no sitatunga. How the hell did he get away? I should have shot through the grass, I thought. But Jaco said he wasn’t sure. The grass was really thick, and the sitatunga was about five yards beyond it. It was 8:15, and I was feeling really dejected. I was secondguessing myself for not having taken the shot. If only I hadn’t gotten so excited, I could easily have shot him in the neck. At 8:30, I told Jaco I had given up. Jaco insisted I wait till 9, that he’d get the tracker to try and locate the animal.

At 9, Jaco radioed Nyoka. Nyoka came with the cattie and Jaco’s predator call. Jaco blew on the call several times. Nothing. He shot the cattie toward the area where we had last seen the sitatunga, but it was too far for the slingshot. Then my eye caught movement. We all looked down, and there was a nice serval cat staring up at us. Jaco called the serval cat with the predator call. Jaco and Nyoka climbed down and started walking toward where we had last seen the sitatunga bull. Nyoka came back, and Jaco said Nyoka would help me look. Jaco approached the area where we had last seen the sitatunga. He shot a few mud balls into it with the cattie, but nothing happened. Then he walked in, and nothing happened.

Jaco began tracking the sitatunga toward us, but I could not see the man’s waist; the grass was chest- to shoulder-high. Jaco followed the tracks to the papyrus reeds and indicated that was where the sitatunga had entered. Jaco looked in to decide whether or not he could continue tracking. He took two steps in and stopped. Suddenly, the sitatunga was up and running through papyrus. I could see horns, but nothing else. Papyrus was moving. Nyoka began hollering, “Shoot, shoot.” I couldn’t see anything but horns and moving papyrus.

The sitatunga barked like a bushbuck, but with a much deeper tone. He would stop, take off, bark and stop. I had his exact location, but I couldn’t see him, no horns, nothing. Jaco tried to follow, but he gave up because of the water. Instead, he circled around the animal on higher ground as we kept giving him directions. Jaco would get five yards away from the spot, but there would be nothing. At three yards, the sitatunga would break out, and all I could see was horns and reeds moving.

Then the sitatunga broke out of the papyrus and into the tall grass. He was jumping as he ran quartering away from me. Nyoka kept shouting, “Shoot, shoot!” I was yelling at Nyoka to stop moving. As I would swing my barrel on the animal, I would get the animal in the scope, ready to pull the trigger when a tree branch blocked my shot. I keep tracking the sitatunga, and Nyoka kept yelling “Shoot!” Finally, Nyoka stopped moving. I shot and jacked another shell in as the animal fell over. I was ready for him to get up. We waited. Jaco hollered,

“Is he down?” “Yes,” Nyoka said, “we got him!” I yelled, “Wait!” Nyoka was giving Jaco directions. All the while, I was ready for the sitatunga to break out again. Jaco raised his hands in the air and hollered, “Kabobi, kabobi.” Nyoka hollered, “Kabobi, kabobi.” Nyoka kept hollering. The tree was shaking like we were in a major windstorm. We climbed down and tried to go straight to Jaco, walking in papyrus. Soon, we were wading in knee-deep water and papyrus, so we backed out. Jaco sent Nyoka back to the vehicle to get the other trackers and logs to make a litter. He told me to walk around the way he had. I went the long way and worked my way through the papyrus. I finally got out of it and headed into the tall grass. Walking in papyrus is far worse then walking in tall grass!

We walked over to the sitatunga. It was magnificent! I had carried several bottles of water. Jaco and I drank as we admired my animal. The shot entered its back, striking the heart and lungs before stopping in the front shoulder. Using the laser range finder, we confirmed my shot had been 160 yards. Jaco said he heard the bullet hit before he heard the shot. The trackers arrived with material for a litter, we strapped the sitatunga to it and the four trackers carried the bull out.

Hilifa fell several times, and Jaco took over for him, sending Hilifa back to the truck to retrieve Sherry and our cameras. Finally, we got out of the papyrus and posed my animal for pictures. After photographs, Danny and Dacho were in the front of the litter with Jaco in the rear as they carried the sitatunga to the vehicle. Danny was walking on the trail as Dacho high stepped to it through the tall grass.

Back at Nikonga, we celebrated our successful hunt. It’s hard to describe the highs and lows of such a hunt—the total frustration of not seeing anything for 10 hunts and then the excitement and adrenaline rush of spotting a bull on your 11th day – only to lose sight of him without firing a shot. Watching and hearing the buck run through papyrus with Nyoka yelling, “Shoot, shoot,” finally, to make the best or luckiest shot of my hunting career was amazing! My sitatunga will score close to 67 SCI, putting him very high in the record book. We headed home to Sable Camp where we spent the remaining two days looking for an East African kudu or eland. But I had used up all my luck on the sitatunga, and it was not to be.

The last night in camp, we had a celebration with all the staff. They beat on the drums, danced and sang, but the party ended and we got to bed at two in the morning. Bud, Sherry and I had a great safari with sufficient memories to last a lifetime.