Ghosts Of Africa

- David E. Petzal

He was very big, even for a Cape buffalo (around 1,800 pounds) and very old (around 12 years) and very smart. But he was condemned to death by his hooves, which were also huge and which left an unmistakable track in the sandy soil of the Zimbabwean lowveld. When you leave a signature like this and have three people following you who can track the memory of a ghost over hard rock, the odds are not in your favor.

­ OR YOU COULD SAY that his death was caused by a book. In 1953, when I was 11, I read Killers in Africa, written by a professional hunter named Alexander Lake. It permanently scarred my youthful brain, and I developed a fascination with Africa that persists to this day.

And so, having been on 10 safaris, I decided at the age of 74 to go to Africa again. A great many of the people who go on safari do so in late middle age or old age, when they can finally afford it, but when they are well past their prime. I know of two men who had only weeks to live when they made their last safari. I know of another who had major back surgery and was wheeled directly from the operating room to the airport, pumped full of painkillers. I shared our camp with a 62-year-old who had seven vertebrae fused, and who could not stand erect without effort; another hunter in another camp was 65, diabetic, had suffered a stroke, and could not completely control one of his legs.

They all came and they all walked, sometimes a lot, and with great effort, and sometimes in great pain, because this is Africa, and if you are an African hunter and if this is the price you have to pay, why, you pay it.

The Hunter

Why the hell am I here? My last three safaris I hardly pulled the trigger, and on one of them I spent three days sitting in a baobab tree above a water hole, simply watching animals and having a hell of a good time. I don’t need to kill anything more.

When I was in college, I read