Songimvelo Safari with Matthew Greeff
The years I spent as a guide in
When I arrived in Nelspruit, Matthew Greeff was waiting at the airport, We were
to be hunting Songimvelo nature reserve, a mountain reserve bordering the
Right out of camp, we saw a kudu bull.
Along the way there were many Impala, Zebra, Warthogs and Blue Wildebeest. Soon
Matthew spotted another very nice Kudu, the 5th we had seen, crossing the
hillside headed in our general direction. Matt and the trackers discussed the
animal in fanagalo, a local dialect. He was estimated in the 52-inch range. And
though the bull had length, and ivory tips, he did not have the depth of curl
Matt said I should be looking for.
There was heavy dew hanging on the leaves and grass, and a dense fog enveloped
the bottoms and low hills as we crossed a tributary of the
In the afternoon Matt decided to check out the valley floor and spotted a
bachelor herd of impala to our right with one very nice ram. Leaving the
trackers behind, I got into prone shooting position using my backpack as a rest,
I was about to take my first shot in
The next morning we headed out with clear Kudu intentions. With no mist in sight
we worked our way up mphondo hill, after glassing a few minutes the tracker
called Matthew over, as he had seen a kudu bull 330 yards below us. As the big
bull stepped out into the sunlight, even I knew we were in business. Matt said
he had everything, deep curls, heavy neck, Ivory tips, and heavy horns. As the
bull cleared an opening, Matt flicked open the shooting sticks, An unexpected
kudu bark to our right froze him in his tracks, leaving only the front half
exposed, Matt whispered, "just go up the leg, top of the bottom third"-I
squeezed of the shot! The bull wheeled in his tracks, disappearing in the thick
brush. I looked back at my PH and asked,” How did it look?” Matt gave me a
positive nod. Feeling good about the shot, we walked up and found where he had
stood. Loaded and ready to go with the leupold at the lowest power, we followed
his track. We found some blood after 20 yards or so of tracking, we were coming
into an open area when Thomas whistled. A kudu bull was running about 200 yards
away, my heart sunk, he looked very healthy as he moved along at a fast trot,
Matthew leaped onto a boulder and glassed the bull as he headed toward some cows
in the distance, Matt spoke to his trackers in hushed tones, the trackers seemed
to think it was my animal, Matt seemed to be explaining something to them as he
pointed at the bull. Matt turned to me and said" Its not him, he’s not wide
enough. Returning to the track, the
blood trail improved, and when I looked up and saw the horn tips under a tree 30
yards in front of me, I knew it was ours. As we approached we could see the
beautiful markings on his side and when the excited trackers lifted his head we
saw what we were looking for, 57-inch horns, with such a deep curl, one could
slide a baseball bat down them.
Being in the heat of the day, wanting to leave the later part of the afternoon
to glass for our mountain reedbuck and having zebra on my list, we worked our
way into an area of tall yellow grass with some patches of low scrub here and
there. We drove along a game trail
in the tall grass, passing a wooded area with many Zebra; Matt spotted a nice
large Stallion in the brush. We drove a few hundred yards further on. Then we
stopped, leaving the engine on, and Matt and I climbed on the rear bumper of the
landcruiser, Matt carrying the rifle, and I the shooting sticks. The trackers
drove past the scrub again, and Matt and I jumped off the back, landing behind a
tree blocking us from the herds view. We lay low in the game trail as Matt
glassed our stallion. Although we could clearly see him, he kept feeding with
his friends, while Matt and I crawled back and fourth on the trail, trying to
line up a shot. The sun was high in the sky, we were being barbecued, and the
red ants seemed to enjoy crawling over every inch of our skin, covered by
clothing or not. After an hour or so, our stallion turned head on to us, and
with no other in front or behind him, I fired. He ran in a small semicircle,
clearly hit hard, and sank to his knees and went down, shot through the heart.
Later, as the afternoon cooled down, we found ourselves glassing a tall ridge
when we spotted a herd of mountain reedbuck at the bases of the ridge. The
family group had a young buck of about 5 inches with them, but there was no sign
of a good ram. After glassing them
a few minutes Matt noticed a light brown color of another mountain reedbuck ram,
lying in the shade of a small shrub just above them. The look on Matt’s face
told everything, as he pulled out the spotting scope Matt said "Holy moly" a
phrase matt only uses for the exceptional animal.
Leaving the trackers at the vehicle, Matt and I headed down the trail with
shooting sticks and rifle. Before us lay a mountain valley that drained to our
left. Directly ahead of us lay the beginning of the reedbuck ridge, arising from
the flats of the valley floor and continuing in a series of hills to our right
that culminated in a large peak, whose flank we were actually traversing
downward to reach the valley floor. There was a dry streambed that was lined
with small scrub and trees, its various channels reaching into the mountains and
hills in front of us, and on our right. Walking quickly and silently we reached
the floor on the near side of the streambed and moved through broken cover to a
position 500 yards or so beneath the reedbuck. We stopped and glassed from
behind a tree. The reedbuck group was still there, including our trophy. To our
right and beneath him were herds of zebra and Impala. They were his first line
of defense, all those eyes and ears. If we could get past them somehow, we still
had to contend with his brethren on the slope below him. Our big buck was laying
in the shade, beneath a small shrub with a clear view of everything downhill for
300 yards in all directions. As we glassed we could clearly see his horns rising
inches above his ears, which is the telltale sign of a really big ram.
Matt turned to me and said in a whisper " He's positioned himself very well, and
with this blustery wind we are lucky they haven't scented us already, its either
straight up the middle, or we need to get up the ridge to our left and come down
behind him". My Montana mountain hunting instincts kicked in as I looked at the
wind and the ridge, though the wind was uncertain, the mass of air was generally
moving toward the ridge, and as I imagined the conditions in the saddle above
the ram, I was sure we would have the wind in our favor up there, we needed all
the advantage we could leverage with this careful animal, and in the mountains,
I am in my element. My confidence was rising.
I said to Matt quietly, "Let’s cross the creek, move up the ridge to the left
and get behind him” without looking back at me matt noted the ram’s position
through his glass, and looked over the terrain of the hillside. He slowly turned
to me, set his jaw and lower lip a bit forward; a slight smile crept into his
eyes, as he gave me a nod.
Matt found a game crossing through the
steep brushy creek bottom, and we rose from the riparian zone and began our
ascent of the ridge. We moved upward and to our left, taking advantage of a
rocky outcrop, which shielded us from the reedbucks to our right and the herd
animals grazing below us. As we gained altitude we had a spectacular view of the
bottomland to our left and the great mountains arising from the next valley
behind our ridge. As the wind became steadier, it was now blowing our scent
behind the mountain, away from our ram. As we climbed, I said to my PH, "We own
the wind", and now our only concern was other game that might be spooked ahead
of us.
Behind the rocky outcrop we were ascending, the foliage grew thicker, with a
game trail in the middle and a thin canopy over and around us I felt well
concealed, we moved quickly as we climbed, no words were needed; we were of one
mind in our strategy. We continued to climb.
As we came around the top of the mountain and into the saddle that would
overlook the ram, the top of the peaks were covered with short golden grass,
shimmering gently in our wind. On our left and now slightly behind us there was
a deep valley with mountains glowing in the distance, in front of us there was
the saddle, with a single well worn game trail leading to our right, toward our
destination.
Matt stopped in the last of the cover, surveyed the scene, and in hushed tones
said, “I hope there are no other reedbuck up here".
Our strategy had put us in the pass, the wind in our favor, above the reedbucks,
and to their right as they looked down the hill, they were still out of our
view, Matt headed us slowly down through the saddle, along our reedbuck trail.
We began to loose elevation quickly, traveling sharply down and to our left .As
we came to a rocky outcrop studded with small knurled trees, the path
disappeared, as the do so often in feeding areas. Matt was a few yards ahead of
me, keeping very low. As he lay down the shooting sticks, he motioned me to
creep towards him. Matt said "there five of them, he's the one grazing closest -
with the big horns, crawl up and take a dead rest on the rocks. I've done my job
now you do yours, stay low, on the bottom third he's 150 yards away, don’t go
high."
The shot echoed in the thin mountain air, the sharp whistle of reedbuck rang
through the valley as the previously calm herd ran circles in confusion. As I
chambered another round, a young female stopped and looked to her companion to
follow them from the hill. But he lay in the short grass, in the shade of the
tree, unmoving.
Matt and I rose together, smiling broadly, "well done mate, you have just got
yourself one of the best mountain reedbucks you could ever hope to see!"
Sitting next to my trophy reedbuck and happy ph we shook hands and marveled at
his perfectly symmetrical 8 inch horns, I said to Matt, " What a great hunt, we
had strategy, teamwork, a good mountain stalk, and a great animal at the end"
Matt’s eyes sparkled he grinned and said " it doesn’t get much better than this"
We later took some other very nice trophies, but I will always remember Matt and
I stalking this Southern Mountain Reedbuck in his mountain home, and to Matthew
Greeff I say ”Thanks Mate!”.
