HUNTRESS DIANA: SOUTH AFRICA

lady of the NightBy Bob Markworth

No matter how hard we tried, Diane and I could see no eyes. Webegan to think that Roy and the trackers had gone totally mad.

Once the African bug has bitten, that's it - it's in your blood. One victim of AAS(African Addiction Syndrome) is Australian -born, Diane Malek, a big-game hunting,fish ing, and white-water rafting adventuress from Down Under. On her latest visit toSouth Africa, her unusual quest was to take a wide variety ofnoctumal creatures.

It was early moming in mid-May, almost winter, when Diane and I arrived at RoyWormald's camp and game reserve, Chikwero, twenty-two miles east of Cradock inthe Eastern Cape. Roy and his wife Jenny run an operation with a wide assortmentof plains game and some small indigenous predators available.

The first night of hunting would begin just after dark. Diane's list ofdesired gameincluded the African lynx (caracal), two indigenous fox species, genet cat, andporcupine. Finding this unusual assortment of uncommon game would be a majortask requiring a large amount of luck, plus askilled and knowledgeable guide, aposition well filled by Roy.

As the last traces ofaspectacular, orange fireball melted below the westem horizonleaving a dim, grey veil over the African veld, achanging world began toenfold. Thiswas the magical moment when creatures of the night began to prowl. After changinginto thick, warm clothes we climbed onto a back seat of the open Toyota LandCruiser, with a mounted gun rack, with a .243 rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun withinconvenient reach against the rear ofthe cab. Just behind us were two Xhosa­speaking trackers, Deneese and Chaku, each with a hand-held spotlight. Theheadlights from our vehicle cut a swath along the deserted dirt roads, occasionallyilluminating a rin har hopping alongside the road , whi le the spotlights exposed astartled grey duiker or grazing impala. We hadn't gone more than two miles whenChaka's light picked up a pair of foxes searching for edible insects along a nearly dryriverbed. Deneese continued to identify the numerous eyes that stared atour light aswe passed by - springbok, impala and some female kudu.

Then, just as we rounded the bend in the road and the spotlight swept past aclumpofacacia thom trees, asingle pair ofeyes caught our trackers attention. Ingwe

yeziduli - African wildcat! Roy quickly stopped before the curious feline could lookaway from the piercing light beam; I produced my Johnny Stewart varmit call - justthe solution for keeping a hungry predator looking in our direction.

Momentarily, the eyes vanished from view, but as I began blowing a frantic rabbitdistress call, those curious eyes came back into sight only a few feet from where wehad seen them. Diane swung into action. A loud report ofthe 12 a broke thestillness of the night and the two eyes disappeared from view. Assuring Diane thatshe had made agood shot, Deneese and Roy led her across the field while I heldthe spotlight fixed on the area where we had last seen the eyes. Within a matter ofminutes the victorious trio retumed with Diane's first night critter, a large, maleAfrican wildcat. Our team effort proved to be the perfect formula for success. By10.00 p.m. when we retumed in time for a late supper, Diane had collected anAfrican wildcat, a rin har ,a Cape fox - an encouraging start for the first night ofhunting.

The following moming, astrong northerly wind brought near freezing temperatures.Throughout the day conditions worsened, and by early evening an icy rain fell. Wespent the night around the cosy fireplace in Roy and Jenny's living room drinkingSouth African Cabemet.

A break in the weather wasn't predicted for another two days, so the followingaftemoon, between rain and showers, Diane harvested a nice springbok on a hillsidenot far from the main ranch house. With hunting clients fully booked for the season,Roy found it necessary to keep his freezer fully stocked with fresh game,and springbok was high on the list.

Time was running out, and bad weather had become an unexpected factor. Withonly one night left, and two days set aside for acaracal hunt with hounds in adifferent area, Diane's chance ofsuccess was fading fast The next evening was thelast of the night hunting, and fortunately the weather cooperated. We left the ranchhouse atdusk and by 7.00 p.m. we were in the area that Roy felt would be mostproductive.

Sticking to our proven game plan, we scanned the fields and stood atthe ready withpredator call and shotgun. Diane missed ashot atagenet cat, and caught a fleetingglimpse ofan aardwolf, all within a two-hour period. Itappeared that after two nightsof immobility due to the wind, everything was now on the prowl.Suddenly Deneese began shouting something in Xhosa. Roy immediately stopped,and joined us on the top. Diane and I frantically stared at the end ofthe spotlight

beam but were unable to see any reflected eyes. We couldn't understand Roy's andDeneese's reaction as they spoke e cltedl to each other in Xhosa. Diane and I stillcould see no eyes, and be an to think that Roy and his tracker had gone totally mad.Then our PH said, "It's orcu in . They only come out at night and never look intothe light. You're just bloody lucky to run across one because you'll never see theireyes. Quick, Diane use the rifle, he's too far out of range for the shotgun."

Diane pulled the .243 from the rear rack, flipped off the safety, and searched for theanimal in her scope. With eight power magnification and a light-gathering scope, shewas able to locate her target, and quickly squeezed off ashot. Her bench restpractice with that wea n on the da ofour arrival had paid off. She cleanlydispatched the large ale orcu in with asingle shot at 150 yards, agreat climaxto an eventful evening.

We left Roy's ranch before daybreak to drive to Grahamstown, to meet up withJeff Ford, the professional predator hunter and dog owner, early enough for thedogs to strike a caracal track before the midday sun evaporated the scent. Ourtiming couldn't have been better. His hounds, all 14 of them were anxiouslyawaiting their release from their cages on the back of his pickup .

Jeff had quite an assortment of hounds, mostly Blueticks and Walkers, with asingle greyhound named Baby. Speed was her forte and, as Jeff explained, shewould often out-distance the hounds once they were on the track , and put thecaracal up a tree before the fleeing animal had a chance to out-manoeuvre theother dogs .

We watched as Jeff released asingle dog named Potsooi from the back of thepickup, and sent her off down a dirt road that transversed the property. He followedbehind in his vehicle as the strike dog scurried along, criss-crossing both sides oftheroad, attempting to pick up a track. We trailed behind Jeff in our own vehicle,allowing enough distance to avoid the dust from the parched road that had obviouslyescaped the northem storm. An occasional yelp ofexcitement arose from one of thehounds in the back ofJeffs truck, but Potsooi remained silent, nose to the ground,intent on picking up a track.

We hadn't gone more than two orthree miles before Jeffs strike dog found a trackthat sent her baying loudly offthrough the brush to our left and down into a wideravine. Once Jeff was assured that the track was fresh, he released the other frantichounds, and the race was on. Itwas music to Diane's ears listening to the chorus of

fourteen excited canines chasing the top predator of the area, an elusive Africanlynx.

Diane, Roy and I left our vehicle and followed Jeff into the ravine, not far behind thebaying hounds. The terrain was undulating bushveld with a little more brush and afew more trees that we had seen further north. From previous experience ofhuntingcougar, bobcat and coon in the States, Diane and I knew from the hounds 'bellowing that they were in hot pursuit, perhaps even within sight of the fleeingquarry.

As we descended further into the ravine, the entangling brush became higher andthicker, slowing our progress. Then about a hundred and fifty yards ahead, a varyingarray of barking could be heard. The pitch ofthe baying hounds had changed to aslower bellowing sound, intertwined with short, steady barks, acanine chorus thatDiane and I knew only too well - the dogs were barking "treed".

It took us nearly fifteen minutes to fight our way through the tangled, scratchingbrush before we caught up with the hounds grouped around the base ofone of thetaller trees. Two ofour over-enthusiastic Blueticks had actually used some of thesurrounding brush to launch themselves partly up the tree, closer to the regalrust-coloured caracal that was partially visible on one ofthe upper branches, thirtyfeet above our head. Roy handed Diane the 12 au e and after catching her breathand manoeuvring around the tree for aclear shot, she dispatched the handsomeanimal from its lofty perch. You can be sure that this was a fitting conclusion for theAussie lady and her unusual quest for the creatures ofthe night.

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