Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/464218
"There's a grumpy old lioness that's been causing all kinds of trouble. This one could get exciting 'cause she's almost certain to charge on sight." T he idea was grand, just as certainly as it was built on a rickety scaffold of logic. Earlier in the day I'd found myself absent gainful employment. With one job or another having been an unrelenting nuisance since high school, it seemed appropriate to mourn this passing and worry up a good lather over what was likely to be a dismal future. After a few minutes I'd resolved that the better brands of dog food don't taste all that bad and electricity is overrated. Worrying done, I keyed a message to Jamy Traut, a professional hunter who has dragged me across the length and breadth of Namibia several times and become a great friend in the process. Jamy phoned right away, asking for details without so much as a hello. I laid things out. "Everything happens for a reason," he responded with absolute predictability. "When are you coming over to hunt?" I told him whenever he thought best, adding that I could now stick around for as long as he was willing to tolerate me. "What'll it be this time? You're booked for another go at leopard and I already have two in mind. Either will do nicely, as both are cursed with big feet." "I'm thinking we should pull the stops and look for a shaggy-headed lion or a toothsome old elephant. That probably means late season. I won't mind the heat and recall you mentioning that October and November are the best time for such things. There's nothing pressing to keep me in Montana then, although I'll surely miss the whitetail rut, and I can write just as poorly sitting under a camelthorn tree as I can at my desk." As arranged, I pitched up in Windhoek with the intention of spending the entirety of November hunting leopard while waiting for a lion to misbehave or the right elephant to turn up in the Caprivi. But Africa proved yet again that her hunters need a sense of humor. Early rains had lured the elephants, or more pointedly the big bulls, away from the Chobe River and out of Jamy's concessions. Not a leopard was coming to bait, either, and the block where my lion permit was valid was pretty much devoid of anything larger than a duiker. At least, that is what the scouts had to say. For my part, I was where I wanted to be and doing what I wanted to do. Beyond that, nothing mattered. After spending a few wonderful days hunting plains PHOTOS BY DWIGHT VAN BRUNT