Phil Whittemore's Namibia Kudu Hunting Story

Namibia Kudu Hunt

Hunting the Grey Ghost and the curse of the Kudu!

In January my Namibia trophies arrived at Terry Van Loenen's taxidermy shop, Game Tracks Wildlife Studio. As soon as I could I headed down to his shop where he showed me a cardboard box with my Kudu, Gemsbok, Hartebeest and Springbok hides and horns. I was surprised at how small and empty the box seemed - not at all like the animals I remembered.

Fast forward and by now I have the Gemsbok, Hartebeest and Springbok back from Terry, expertly mounted and adorning my "trophy room" (which doubles as my office). I remember taking these three home with the Hartebeest in the passenger front seat of my truck, the Springbok on the passenger front floor, and the Gemsbok on the back seats.

So as I headed to Terry's I was imaging folding the back seats down and putting the Kudu there. Until I walked into the back of the shop and saw my Kudu shoulder mount. My breath was almost taken away. This guy is huge. The tip of his nose must be at least four feet away from the wall! And the work Terry did is amazing! The kudu looks... well like I remember him... a magnificent animal.

We loaded him in the bed of my truck, secured him, and I headed home with Kudu horns high above the sides. I could only imagine what people thought as they drove by me. Once in my "trophy room" it quickly became evident that the Gemsbok needed to be moved a bit to make room for the big guy, and I had to locate a stud in the wall. Six or seven holes later and he was up. I sat in my chair admiring and remembering..... and I was transported back to Africa.

I had just finished hunting for 13 days in South Africa, 12 of them without the use of my left arm which had been injured the first day. As the plane approached the airport outside Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, my arm still hung useless by my side and it was clear the next 8 days of hunting would still be done with just one arm.

Danie Van Vuuren, my Professional Hunter, met me at the gate, helped with my rifle permit and walked me through customs. We boarded his Mercedes Benz Mini-bus and hit the "highway" for the 45 minute drive to his fathers 40,000 acre ranch where my hunt would start. I say "highway" because it was at least as big as our four lane versions, but was perfectly manicured dirt and gravel. Ah... Africa!

We arrived at his father's 5-star lodge and I settled in to my room and we prepared for the first of what would be the best meals I've ever had while hunting and maybe some of the best ever (after my wife's cooking of course). After dinner we sat around the mopane fire drinking some fine Namibian wine. After all the days travel and my injury I wasn't long for the world so I excused myself and headed for bed.

I was awakened at 6:30 am, had a great, leisurely breakfast, and around 7:30 (Ah.... Africa!) boarded the hunting car and headed out of camp. An hour or so later we spotted him. A lone Kudu bull coming out of the thick brush into a vast open field. We disembarked the truck and began our stalk. The first order of business was getting close enough to judge the trophy quality.

Our first stop was at about 500 yards. Up went the binoculars and after a few minutes Danie informed me that this was a very old bull, with a thick neck and a very long mane, but only about 48 or 49 inches in horn length. Danie asked if I wanted to take it and I told him I would do whatever he said, whenever he said it. As we watched this old guy graze along Danie thought out loud and finally convinced himself that since this was only the first day of the hunt we should pass - although his extreme age and large mane would still make him a fine trophy.

With that decision Danie asked if I'd like to stalk and see how close we could get before being spotted. Sounded like fun to me. There were exactly two bushes between us and the Kudu, and only two. One at about 200 yards and one at 100 yards. We would have to cross 300 yards with nothing higher then our ankles. The stalk began. With both of us hunched over and me directly behind Danie I imagined us as some strange four legged beast. We moved each time the bull bent down to take a bite and froze when he stood up.

Finally after what seemed like hours we made it to the first bush, 200 yards from the Kudu. After admiring each other's great stalking skill the decision was made to head for the second bush. Again the uncoordinated strange four legged beast moved forward with nothing between us and the next bush 100 yards away.

As we made it to the final bush the thought crossed my mind that perhaps it wasn't so much our stalking skill but the old age of the kudu that allowed us to get this close. There now remained only a 100 yards and nothing between us and this horse-sized antelope of Africa. A whisper between Danie and I and the decision was made, we stepped out from behind the last remaining bush and walked forward. At about 80 yards the kudu looked up with amazement in its eyes, turned and bolted. We walked back to the hunting car with a feeling of satisfaction. Little did I know at the time that passing on this old bull would trigger the "curse of the Kudu".

Of course there was still the Gemsbok, Hartebeest and Springbok to hunt so off we went in search of them. And then the wind started to blow. And continued to do so day after day. This I learned puts the Kudu on edge and it seems all we saw of the grey ghost was butts as they were always running away from us by the time we spotted them.

Then on the fifth day at Danie's ranch, another four hours further north, we were making our way down a mountain when our tracker spotted him, a Kudu bull hiding under a tree not 20 feet off the track we had just driven down! With my injured arm there was no time to get out of the hunting car so as Danie tried to judge the bull I tried to get into a position where I could rest my Fite .30 Super on the roll cage. So far I had used shooting sticks, rocks, trees, bushes, even my PH's shoulders as a rest, but I hadn't used a roll bar. To make matters more difficult the only position I could get into was with the rifle barrel itself, not the stock, resting on the roll bar. The Kudu was 150 yards up hill, facing us. As I steadied the cross hairs on the spot where the Kudu's neck met his chest I thought about the conversations Randy Fite and I had about the importance of the barrel being floated in the rifle stock so it touches nothing. As I waited for Danie to make the call I was certain this would be anoter one shot kill, as all the other animals I had hunted to date had been.

After what seemed like an eternity Danie whispered "Take Him". I touched the trigger and the 150 grain ballistic tip achieved Mach speed before it left the barrel. I waited for what I knew was coming - pats on the back and many congratulations on a shot well taken.

"You missed, shoot again!" hollered my PH. As I struggled with one arm to eject the spent round and chamber another I thought there is no way I missed that shot. 150 yards? No way. I never miss. I don't shake, I don't get buck fever, there is no way I could have missed. Yet there the Kudu stood in all his glory, I'm sure wondering what all the noise was about. Thoughts were racing through my mind as to what had just happened. Had my shot gone wide? Had my shot gone high, or low?

Finally the second round was chambered and I saw that the Kudu had now turned, giving me a perfect side shot. I steadied up the cross hairs right behind its shoulders, touched the trigger, and sent another ballistic tip up hill.

The Kudu didn't flinch. "You missed again" Danie said in disbelief as the Grey Ghost decided it had enough of this foolishness and disappeared into the brush never to be seen again.

I was stunned! Two missed shots. How was this possible?

The drive back to camp was understandably a quiet one. As night began to fall I took out my cell phone and called Randy Fite, my gun builder, to try and understand what had happened. The answer was a simple one. Resting the barrel on the roll bar had caused it to jump, sending the bullet about 5 feet above the aiming point. Well I'd certainly never do that again. I hung up the phone and felt much better.

And we continued to see Kudu butts as they ran from us. Until my final day in Namibia when we awoke to no wind. After the usual outstanding breakfast we loaded into the hunting car and were once again off in search of the elusive grey ghost.

It wasn't 45 minutes and Danie spotted a big bull with a broken horn on the side of the hill, about 200 yards off. "This might be your only chance at a Kudu" said Danie, "take him".

I rested the stock of the rifle into the shooting sticks, put the cross hairs behind his shoulder, touched the trigger and the big Kudu bull dropped in his tracks. "Yes!" I yelled. My manhood had been restored.

Up the mountain the skinners went and down came the Kudu to the truck, and off to camp we went. As I watched my Kudu being unloaded Danie said "let's get some drinks and go see if we can find another".

We did just that. Another 30 minutes of driving and there they were, an entire herd of Kudu on the side of the mountain. Danie picked out the big one. 250 yards. I steadied up on him and BAM! Kudu number two. A 52 incher. The rest of them stood and looked at us. I could have shot another. What a difference the wind makes. Ah..... Africa!

The skinners quartered him on the mountain and then we headed back to camp. A huge smile on my face. And my time in Africa up.

And now that magnificent Grey Ghost hangs on my wall, and every time I look over at him the memories come flooding back.