This is a story of fate, bad luck, bad karma—call it what you will—taking a surly hand in an unlikely way. It is proof that in Africa, no one is allowed to get ahead of himself. Danger in some shape or form always lurks, even though it may not be of the type expected. What is important is to find a way to survive the setbacks, and then if possible, to laugh about it. Happily, that’s what happened here.
If anyone ever looked the part of an African professional hunter, Adrian did. Added to the persona was the pedigree that came with being the son of Norman Carr, a figure who attained legendary status in hunting and wildlife circles in what was at the time Northern Rhodesia and later the independent Republic of Zambia.
Norman Carr was born in Chinde, a place that no longer exists, at the mouth of the Zambezi where it enters the Indian Ocean in what was then Portuguese East Africa. His father ran the small British concession that supervised the movement of goods into and out of the colonies of Northern and Southern Rhodesia. Immediately after completing school in England, Norman took to the bush in pursuit of elephant. Initially he concentrated his not always legal activities in northern Mozambique. But when he was then given a post as elephant-control officer in the Nyasaland protectorate, his pursuits became legitimate. Later he joined the Northern Rhodesia Game Department and went on to play a leading role in the establishment and management of the Kafue and Luangwa national parks, which remain today two of Africa’s great game reserves.
Adrian appeared on the scene when his father was serving in the game department. Growing up in the wilderness, the boy learned the ways of the wild from the time he could walk. Like his father, he had hunting in his blood. Having shot elephant and buffalo when barely into his teens, Adrian saw the hunting profession beckoning to him. He plied his trade in the Sudan and throughout the Congo and Zambia, gaining a reputation as one of the best in the business, attracting the rich and famous from around the world.
Like his father, Adrian found that his prowess in the bush was not overshadowed but possibly matched by his love of, and ability to seduce, beautiful women. Tall, dark, and handsome, and possessed of a gentle and disarming charm, Adrian was irresistible to women—and always happy to oblige.
While he was hunting in the Luangwa Valley, a hunting guest with his family arrived from Italy. The man was a textiles tycoon from Rome by the name of Gianni, and with him was his wife, Virginia, and their twenty-year-old daughter, Gina. Gina was the quintessential Roman beauty: slender of figure and reeking of class. The jet-black hair flooding her face, huge brown eyes, soft, full mouth, and dusky complexion riveted the handsome hunter. The safari was to be twenty-one days long, and Adrian was in love even before it started.
The hunt was to be on the east bank of the Luangwa River in one of the game management areas, which then offered some of the best hunting in Africa. An exceptional safari was in the offing. Gianni was after the Big Five, as well as all the rest of the dangerous and lesser game that made up a “full bag.”
The drive to the camp took about four hours, and they arrived at nightfall. Hunter and camp staff showed them to their tents and made them feel at home. That night after dinner the group retired to the campfire. To the soothing sounds of the river flowing but feet away, hippo snorting noisily, and lion moaning softly in the distance, Adrian painted a rough picture of what lay ahead. There was to be excitement, certainly, and with the subtle skill of the master storyteller he left little doubt in his guests’ minds that their safety was in direct proportion to their proximity to him. In truth, his warnings were anything but frivolous. This was cat country. His close friend and colleague, Peter Hanken, had recently fallen victim to the great predators.
Peter’s story was a grisly one. With a hunt soon to start, Peter had indicated a strong desire to return to the camp he shared with Adrian to make preparations. Despite Adrian’s attempts to dissuade him, Peter was determined and left. When there was no word from him on the radio in the morning, Adrian hastened to the camp and was confronted with a ghastly sight. Little was left of Peter. Man-eaters had ripped his tent open and killed him where he lay. So departed an icon of the Zambian professional hunting fraternity. It was left to Adrian to follow and kill the perpetrators, a task successfully completed the same day.
Not long afterward another acquaintance, by the name of Cliff Bishop, was making his first entry into the world of professional hunting as an apprentice. It was his very first day on the job, and his task was to go to Mfuwe airport to collect arriving clients and bring them to camp. As an apprentice, he was considered qualified to hunt only soft-skinned, nondangerous game. He had strict instructions from his seniors to collect the passengers and bring them directly to camp.
That all seemed simple enough until, as fate would have it, they saw lion en route to camp. The client had already been on several safaris in a futile pursuit of lion. Now, here was one in front of him barely hours after arrival. Desperate not to pass up the opportunity, he demanded that the rookie hunter stop and allow him to shoot. Reluctantly, and in the face of almost irresistible pressure, Bishop agreed, and rifles were quickly removed from cases. There was a shot, and a lion disappeared into the long grass. The young hunter set off in pursuit, leaving the clients to the rear and entering the elephant grass. The lion charged through the grass, savaging him before departing the scene. Although Bishop survived the attack, he lost a leg and his new career at one and the same time.
After delivering his bush-homily, Adrian was only a little perturbed to notice that, unlike the parents, the daughter did not appear to be enthralled by his speech. She was cool. Sleep found a man besotted.
They were all up at first light, and the breezy beauty of the young Italian set his heart off at a pace. It was unusual for him, but looking at her took his concentration away. When she greeted him, there was no response. Only when she repeated her greeting did it occur to him that his mind was in another world, and he stammered an apology while regaining his composure.
“What we shoot today?” she asked with a relaxed smile.
“Maybe we shoot a lion?” he responded.
“Very good,” she said.
He was again a little disturbed that mention of shooting a lion to a young Italian girl who had never before set foot in Africa did not seem to faze her. Her confidence irritated him.
With two trackers in the back they loaded up the Land Cruiser for the day and drove out of camp. As always, the cool wind in his face, the smell of Africa, and the excitement of the hunt were exhilarating for Adrian, and the occasional scent of the girl filled him with delicious thoughts. Just what she had covered herself with was a mystery, but it was out of this world. He reminded himself to work hard at applying his mind to the task at hand, which was to satisfy his client—the daughter would come later.
As the sun came slowly over the horizon, splashing the landscape with its golden light, the beauty of the scenery enfolded them as they drove along the flood plain. Under the acacias were herds of puku and impala while hippo splashed, snorted, and cavorted as they motored by. Even Gina appeared a little ruffled by the explosion of life around them.
After some time, Adrian spotted a puku ram with a respectable pair of horns, and he stopped the vehicle. After indicating to Gianni which animal he had in mind, he motioned him quietly out of the vehicle, and they slunk off into cover. There they waited until the animal presented itself side on, and Adrian ordered him to shoot. The strike was perfectly positioned behind the shoulder, and the force of the hard-hitting .300 magnum downed the animal instantly.
“Good shot!” Adrian exclaimed and gave his client a congratulatory thump on the back.
Gianni was thrilled. As they approached the animal, they found the shot had hit precisely where he had aimed, and the animal was well and truly lifeless. The first kill of the hunt had been quick and clean.
Daughter and wife came quickly to the scene and joined in the enthusiastic congratulations. Adrian looked on, mesmerized by the girl. She was smiling and laughing with her parents, and he felt an overwhelming urge to get closer. It was now abundantly clear to him that there was nothing in this world he would not do to bridge that gap. He was completely and utterly in her thrall.
They set off to set a bait for leopard. Not far along, in a dry riverbed, he was happy to notice the pug marks of a fairly sizable cat. Stopping the vehicle, he exited to point out the track and the direction it was headed, seizing the opportunity to display his tracking ability by explaining the marginal differences in the spoor of different cats. A quick glance at Gina revealed that she was listening closely. That pleased him.
After the head of the puku was removed for the trophy and a backstrap taken for camp meat, the carcass was fastened firmly to a limb that extended parallel with the ground. Adrian ensured that the view of the bait was unobscured by leaves and branches. Intestines were dragged in the immediate vicinity, to enhance the smell that might attract the leopard’s attention, and the area immediately around the tree was swept clean to make spoor identification easier on their return. If the cat fed, they would build a blind in which to sit in the evenings and wait. The whole process had the desired effect: The Italians were clearly fascinated by the preparations and excited at the prospects.
With the midday heat upon them, the shade of a large acacia provided welcome relief, and a picnic lunch with chilled white wine appeared. It was their first feast in the veld, and a sublime mood prevailed. After a rest and in the cool of the afternoon, Adrian took his party away from the flood plain and into the foothills at the base of the escarpment. They followed a rough track, and the higher they went the more spectacular the view below became.
Just before sundown “Shorty,” the tracker, tapped Adrian excitedly on the shoulder. Shorty had been in the business of hunting longer than Adrian had been alive. He knew the country backward, and had had more than his share of close encounters with dangerous game.
“Kakuli, kakuli!” he exclaimed in a loud whisper, while pointing vigorously in the direction of the animals.
On seeing them, Adrian turned off the ignition and whispered to Gianni. “Buffalo! There are three bulls there. Let’s go and have a look.”
Quietly the two men took their rifles in hand and, along with the little tracker carrying a shooting stick, crept off into the grass. After checking the wind, Adrian explained to Gianni roughly where the animals were and how he planned to approach them. As they drew closer to the buffalo, however, Gianni became unnerved, his hands moistened with sweat, and his rifle shook. Adrian comforted him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and telling him to relax. Gianni noticed that the rifle was now slippery in his hands, and the excitement and physical exertion had made him slightly breathless.
Tried and tested in these situations, Adrian noticed and motioned him to sit for a moment and regain his composure. They sat for a while, after which Adrian explained again that Gianni was to shoot only upon his instructions. Then they resumed the stalk and with the wind in their favor moved briskly along the tracks until three animals came back into view.
Gianni felt another rush of excitement when he looked at them through his field glasses. Their size, muscle mass, and threatening demeanor spelled danger. He got the shakes worse than ever as his guide calmly surveyed the scene.
Adrian shook his head.
“Not big enough,” he said to Gianni, indicating the horns with his hands. “Let’s go back to the vehicle. It will be dark soon. We’ll look again tomorrow.”
They walked back, and Gianni was delighted to see the vehicle come into sight. Big smiles from his family welcomed him to the vehicle.
“Mama!” he exclaimed to his wife, “these things are too beeg.”
In Italian, and with great emotion and excitement, he explained what had happened. His wife and daughter were fascinated, and his story drew gasps and frantic questions.
“But this man,” he gushed and pointed at Adrian, “he is too calm. I think he has no nerves,” he said in his heavily accented Italian.
Adrian simply shrugged and smiled, thrilled to note an admiringly wistful gaze directed at him by the girl. He was on track in more ways than one, he thought. He quietly scolded himself for being smug, but he was feeling a warm glow rising deep within him as his emotions began to feel as if they were spinning out of control.
Before dinner Adrian gave careful thought to how he would present himself, and he put together his finest evening combination while making liberal use of the best aftershave. Tonight he would start closing in.
They dined on puku fillet, and the wine flowed. Foremost in his mind was getting the parents to bed as soon as possible. He paid special attention to keeping their glasses well charged while lavishly boosting the father’s ego by telling how fine a marksman he was. It worked. The old man was soon tired, well watered, and happy to leave with his wife for bed.
The path was clear.
“Shall we have some champagne?” he asked expectantly.
“You have nice champagne?” she asked.
He could see her eyes dancing in the light of the fire and, like Gianni earlier, found himself struggling to regulate his breathing.
“Dom Perignon.”
“Ooh, my favorite!” she said.
Soon a bottle in a bucket of ice was in place, and the popping cork broke the silence. With the champagne coursing deliciously through her veins, the excitement of the African night upon her, and the glamorous hunter alone at her side, Gina felt a strong attraction to this man she had so recently met and about whom she knew so little.
“I like you very much, Adrian,” she said.
He held her gaze firmly. “I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world.”
A smile came slowly to her face, and her white teeth shone in the night. She moved effortlessly toward him, and the next moment he felt her soft mouth upon his. Her touch was like an electrical charge, and he embraced her firmly. The feel of her body running the length of his moved him to tighten the embrace, but she pushed him gently away. He stood there, arms limp by his side, feeling utterly helpless. A smile flashed across her face, and she looked at him and said simply, “Wait!” Then she kissed him lightly and was gone.
It was all too much for him. He felt physically and emotionally drained. Now alone, he slumped back into his chair and tried to clear the alcohol from his fuzzy brain while dealing with a mind awash with emotion and desire. Had he tried too hard too soon? Drunk too much? What was on her mind? Was she toying with him? Elation had been visited briefly upon him, but now all was very unclear.
After a fitful sleep, he sprang out of bed early in the morning to get a look at himself in the mirror. He swiftly reached for the eye drops to take the red out, then shaved, washed, changed, and headed hurriedly to the dining tent for coffee. She was sitting there, graceful and relaxed as ever, and as he walked in she stood up and kissed him firmly, then stood back with a grin on her face and looked him in the eyes.
Nothing was said, but his morning could not have got off to a better start. Early indications were that all was not lost, but more effort was certainly required. He could live with that. The thrill of the chase returned.
“What we shoot today?” the recently reassured Gianni asked.
“Elephant!” Gina casually replied.
“Yes, elephant!” Gianni shouted jovially. Adrian quickly noticed that the father was positively full of the joys of spring.
“Today we shoot the beeg elephant,” he repeated loudly, while waiting on a response from the hunter.
A little bemused, Adrian asked, “Are you sure you want to hunt elephant today?”
“Yes, I am positive,” was the confident reply.
All this took Adrian a little by surprise. He had been under the impression that the old boy was happy to soft-pedal things until he got his confidence up, but, after all, it was the client’s decision. There was elephant on license, and Gianni was paying his salary.
After checking to see that Gianni had brought his heavy caliber rifle, and after scrutinizing the ammunition in the magazine to make sure it was loaded correctly, a quick lesson followed on points of aim and the basics of elephant hunting. It was comforting to note Gina listening with great interest. The car was duly loaded up, and the party set off.
During the day, the elephant were generally in the thicker woodland areas at the base of the hills. The hunters moved slowly through the trees looking for sign. After an uneventful and tedious four hours, a herd of what Adrian immediately knew were cow elephant with calves appeared out of the trees, in a clearing en route to the river. These were the first elephant they had encountered, and there was great excitement amongst the visitors.
Almost certainly there were no mature bulls with the herd, so there would be nothing to shoot, but seeing them had broken the monotony. It seemed sensible to capitalize on the moment by approaching the herd on foot to take a closer look. That would serve two purposes: kill some time, and, more importantly, give him an excellent opportunity to impress the lovely Gina with his skills as an elephant hunter, thereby luring her into greater intimacy.
The client was obviously not aware of any of this. All he knew was that they would go in closer, to see exactly what was in the herd. Just to add a bigger charge to the electricity in the air, Adrian recounted the possible dangers that lay before them, particularly in dealing with the female of the species. The Nimrod of the Luangwa announced that he would approach them alone, while the lesser mortals would bring up a distant rear with the trackers. If he found a suitable animal, he would signal to Gianni, whereupon the two of them would close in for the kill. In the event of a charge, he would be in the vanguard to shield his wards from harm. A look at Gina told him that she was suitably impressed with his manly selflessness. That cheered him greatly, and he felt renewed enthusiasm after the dull morning.
“OK,” he repeated loudly, more for Gina’s benefit than anyone else’s, “if they come for us, back off toward the vehicle. I’ll deal with them.”
Buckling on his gun belt with a swagger, Adrian took his rifle from the tracker’s outstretched hand and casually but ostentatiously chambered a round. He checked the safety and the wind, and without further ado loped decisively toward the herd.
Only after covering about a hundred yards did it dawn on him that, such was his preoccupation with Gina, his mind had been less than attentive to the task at hand. On coming to his senses, he heard an alarm ring quietly in his mind.
He suddenly found himself in a slight depression surrounded by grass far taller than he had envisioned while in the vehicle. The result was that the elephant had disappeared from view. Mild panic took over, but he was pleased to note that the wind was in his favor. Looking over his shoulder, he could see his companions behind him looking on rather nonchalantly. It was clear that they, being higher, had sight of the herd; they seemed perfectly relaxed.
He was in a quandary. He was reluctant to advance any farther because he had no way of knowing how far he would have to walk before his view cleared. Yet he elected not to retreat. He well knew that the grass meant he was blinded to immediate danger. It was also imperative that his clients perceive no hint of his difficulty. Uppermost in his mind was the serious concern that, if the wind changed and the herd did come for him, his chances of reacting effectively were not great. Given the problems of distance and visibility, they would be on top of him before he knew it. He had to find a way to get higher, in order to see where the hell he was. This little sortie had quickly turned into a bit of an ordeal, and the sweat on his forehead oozed forth in ever larger drops.
There being no trees in the vicinity, it occurred to him that his rifle might serve as a makeshift pogo stick, to be used as a sort of pivot to lift himself higher off the ground and make possible a look around. Behind him, all eyes were focused with great interest as the indomitable hunter went deftly about his work. He thought briefly of shouting to them for help in identifying the herd’s whereabouts, but his pride intervened.
He placed the rifle barrel at belt level, gripped the muzzle, and then bent his legs at the knee. He heaved himself up into the air with all the spring and strength at his command. Back on his feet all too soon, it was not clear to him if he had caught sight of them or not, so he immediately launched himself into the air for another look. To his everlasting regret, however, on his second try he lost purchase on the rifle, and his descent to earth met with tragedy.
No gymnast, the fearless white hunter plummeted down to land on top of his .416 Rigby, and the barrel entered his person not through any existing orifice but in the area known as no-man’s-land. The exquisite pain, however, was easily overshadowed by the horrendous embarrassment he instantly felt as he pitched forward, face down into the dirt, with a loaded elephant rifle firmly embedded in his rear. The clients and the trackers were aghast. They looked on, not sure what exactly they were seeing.
For Adrian, his thoughts were of Gina, what she would be making of this, and how to extricate himself from this most compromising of positions with the greatest possible speed. Being trampled by elephants now didn’t seem so bad.
“Shorty,” he shouted, trying at once to indicate a sense of urgency without letting on his level of desperation. He was also trying to limit his movements as much as possible, for the barrel in his bottom was painful.
The two trackers came hurrying to the rescue. As they neared, the impaled one had to work hard to suppress his inner panic. He implored them, in a calm voice, to “pull the bloody thing out, but watch out. It’s loaded.”
Shorty was very embarrassed for his bwana. A simpering, hangdog expression shrouded his wrinkled face. Disbelief sprang from his eyes. He stood there and shook his head.
“Pull it! Pull it! Pull it!” the embarrassed one hissed through gritted teeth.
Shorty moved reluctantly to the rear, looking down at the ground much as a golfer circles a difficult putt. In over forty years as a tracker, he had never been presented with such a novel problem. Never before had he been instructed to remove a rifle from a bwana’s bottom. Gingerly he lifted the rifle off the ground and followed the line of the barrel to confirm that the weapon was in fact stuck where he thought it was. Shaking his head forlornly, he gave a gentle tug, but nothing seemed to give.
“Shorty, pull it out!” was the louder exhortation, panic now creeping into his master’s voice.
“Careful, there is a round in the breech,” he said quietly and somewhat halfheartedly. It crossed his mind that the rifle’s discharging might not be altogether a bad thing. Death might well be the sensible route out of this mess. All the time he kept thinking of what Gina must be making of this most bizarre spectacle.
Shorty pulled harder, but still nothing gave.
“Pull!” Nothing.
“Pull!” Still nothing.
Then louder: “Pull! Pull! Pull!” he roared.
By this time the other tracker joined the struggle, and together the two were now dragging their esteemed bwana, face down across the ground by his rifle, firmly impaled in his posterior. In the course of this miserable translocation his worst fears were realized when he passed within feet of Gina. He looked up to see her studying him closely, coolly, contemptuously. It was as if she were asking herself, “What is this idiot doing?”
After traversing approximately 150 yards of the Luangwa Valley on his belly, Adrian gave the order to stop. The foresight of the barrel was obviously firmly imbedded, the rifle well and truly stuck. Now resigned to the most ignominious fate imaginable, he told Shorty to unload the weapon, which was done while the owner of the rifle held his breath in prayer. Then he told him to bring the vehicle.
At this point the lovely Gina approached.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
Such was his embarrassment that his face remained committed to the earth. Just why this unspeakable fate had been foisted on him was unclear, but if God would grant him one wish it was to be removed from her sight forever.
His plight became only slightly more bizarre when the Bussi family and the trackers combined forces to lift him into the back of the truck and place him face down, in preparation for the drive back to camp and on to hospital, four hours away. The drive would spare him nothing because the length of the rifle prevented the tailgate on the back of the truck from being closed, fully exposing him to a fascinated world from the rear of the car.
All along the way villagers caught the unusual sight of three clients in a vehicle with a white hunter lying in the back with a rifle sticking out of his ass. They waved, cheered, and clapped. He lay there and thought wistfully of dying.
At Fort Jameson hospital, surgery was performed and the offending article removed. A get well card from Gina Bussi arrived. It went unread.
