An “Old School” Safari for Old Kakuli Bulls

A .470 cartridge dwarfed by a fresh bull track.

It was Ruark who said that a man only needs one lion, but he will always hunt buffalo. And his view has evolved to become a “principle”. For hunters who hunt Africa frequently, if a safari license entitles taking a buffalo, most elect to hunt one regardless of having taken one or more buffalo before. Who can blame them? To hunt buffalo on a remote safari is to live the true meaning of safari.

That principle has proved to be prophetic on a personal level. Despite hunting them on several previous safaris, I had wanted a different buffalo challenge. The thought of hunting them on foot in the mountains struck a compelling chord.

The plan took shape when I started discussing safari options with a good friend and client, Ron. He is solid to the core; a no-frills and true hunter who relishes anything out-of-the-ordinary to give meaning to whatever he does. He spent his much of his life hunting and flyfishing but had worked with his hands. That gave him a certain quality of ruggedness and desire to probe the unknown for adventure. He was a competitive cyclist and participated in various Iron Man competitions. He’s a hunter-athlete by any definition and remains a beast who looks after his health religiously.

Ron savoring a gourmet bush lunch. He's game for anything that is unusually challenging.

That’s exactly the mindset needed for this type of safari and Ron jumped at the chance to hunt buffalo by the old school method – on foot. This was going to be a kick-ass, portered backpack safari in the same fashion that the old ivory hunter-explorers had hunted and feel like the classic safaris of the old Kenya days.

The Luangwa River. Legendary safariland.

One destination was obvious; the high forested hills above the Luangwa River in Zambia. This would be my 5^th trip to the Luangwa Valley. It always feels like home thanks to the universally wonderful Zambian people and the professional hunters I have worked with for many years.

PH Derick Van Staden, Zambia’s most senior experienced PH, had discussed doing this safari with me years ago and rekindling that flame with him was easy. He jumped at the chance to pull the game plan together with Ron intent on taking two buffalo and I taking one after Ron filled out.

Accompanying us was Derick’s son, Mayer. He is an apprentice PH with the skills and human attributes that will make him an outstanding PH and safari companion. He’s the do-anything resourceful type that can figure anything out. He would get his chance to guide his first buffalo hunt.

We needed a good team, a virtual human pack train that could carry food, water, camp equipment, and hunting gear for a 14-day sortie. So, Derick assembled 20 good men, some of whom had hunted with him for 30 years. Lean and strong, their strength and stamina were outsized compared to their body weights.

It was encouraging to hear and actually feel how enthusiastic the team was. This was more than a job to make a few bucks; it was a resume builder for each with bragging rights that they helped outfit a classic foot safari high and deep into the mountains.

Getting Ready

The King Air was comfortable and fast.

We chartered into West Petauki and spent a full day staging the walk-in. Tents and provisions were laid out in base camp so that the items could be packed together logically and with equally distributed weight in each man’s backpack. We joked about organized chaos, but there was a method to the madness as packs filled up and assignments were given. It was fun to watch, and we could feel the excitement building. Meanwhile, Ron and I pared our gear down to the bare essentials.

Will we have enough?

As one would expect, a safari beginning in late September came with hot temperatures of 95+F. We planned to carry plenty of water in hope of being able to top-up our supply at springs and streams high in the hills.

It takes a lot of kit to support 20 guys in remote country.

We assembled the next morning for a final check and posed for a picture at our launching point. We set out in a column without any real idea of how the journey would unfold. Despite having a pre-sent plan to camp each night until we reached our final spike camp, we sensed that like any plan, it could become an artifact of history the moment we took the first few steps into the bush. It didn’t matter. We had all signed up for adventure.

The Trek

No sooner had we launched onto one of the trails, it became clear that we would need to kill the buffalo with our feet. I don’t want to over-dramatize the effort because we got what we paid for – a classic old school walk about with no guarantees of anything beyond sweat and probing into the unknown.

We were intent on finding Kakuli bulls – the old dagga boys who hang out solo or in small bachelor groups. If we tripped onto a wide, deeply hooked, hard-bossed bull – great. But “trophy” was to be defined much more by age and cantankerous behavior.

Overnight stopping point.

On Day 3, we reached our intended destination and set up camp again next to a small stream. The plan was to set out in different direction daily and eventually cover an extensive 360° arc of territory.

Sam the Man. He attended to our tents, chalets and laundry. Need to find some wild honey? Dial 1-800-Sam.

The real thing - wild honey.

But despite the water at our fly camp, it was evident that the Spring rains had stopped too early. Where we had anticipated water was bone dry. The buffalo had also figured out there were better places to hang out and the tracks we followed went into the abyss.

On the march. Miles and miles but worth it.

It wasn’t until we reached a high valley that we found swamps with green grass and water. The good news was the green grass and water. The bad news was the green grass and water; the buffalo were wandering aimlessly and could find water everywhere they decided to go. Some lions got into the act the night before and scattered the buffalo into no man's land. This cat and mouse chase was consuming precious time.

How the red ants made it inside remains a mystery.

Derick’s instinct was to move camp back toward the Luangwa River. Little did we know it at the time but after breaking camp, a major early thunderstorm washed out the camp and would have made a mess of the hunt strategy if we had stayed. Part of our team was stuck in camp there and finally got out soaked to the core.

Rest time along the track in what shade we could find.

The shift in strategy and location paid off quickly. We spotted a good bull on our way to a new camp and returned aftyer the heat subsided to pick up his track. He was running with another bull that we could not see but one track was big and fresh enough to find out what was standing in it. The tracking was intense and a veteran like Abraham could follow them over cement if he had to. But his real power was showcased using God-given instinct. He coulld sense where the buffalo was headed and when we were near.

Ron was on high alert as he edged into to bush. When Abraham spotted the buff, Ron put a 350-grain TSX from his Gunworks .375 H&H through the heart. It did not need a follow-up shot but a couple of finishers provided extra insurance that he wasn’t going to get up.

Kakuli No. 1. What we came for. Derick's son, Meyer, was on point for his first buffalo taken during his PH apprenticeship.

The old bull had all the character of a survivor and a nobleman. His boss and horns had worn by time fighting lions. He was the poster child for grand old Kakuli bulls, and he was taken fair and square.

With the bull down the mind's contemplative replay of the event takes over.

With the first Kakuli down, a wee dram of single malt was in order that night.

The skies that betrayed us with rain a few days before dropped more on us. This was still September and we would typically not be tracking in the rain in this timeframe. But the wet ground yielded a massive fresh track that we picked up immediately in the deluge. We eventually bumped a small herd but stayed with them until they stopped. Ron approached the bull and downed him with another clean shot. That bull, likely a bit younger, had a good boss and spread.

Ron shot his second bull cleanly, proving yet again that a well-place shot from a .375 delivers.

Ron and Abraham with the "shoty gun" and a guineafowl for the pot.

Keeping with the “old school” theme, I carried a refined custom 1917 Enfield in .458 Lott crafted by Gil Van Horn. He was a former stocker for Roy Weatherby before handing out his own shingle. Custom rifle maker, Ryan Breeding, refers to him as his mentor. There are many similarities between Van Horn’s big bores and Breeding’s. But Breeding has taken the craft he learned from Gil to a whole new level.

Gil Van Horn Custom 1917 Enfield .458 Lott

When the time came, the .458 Lott dumped a good buffalo in the tall grass. He was with a lesser bull and disappeared at the shot. The Buffalo Bore load using 450 gran Barnes TSX bullets tore the heart apart and we saw him flip hooves-up just 30 yards from where he was shot.

Kakuli taken in the tall grass with Bwana Derick.

Our attention shifted to plains game and Ron took signature species of the Luangwa bush – the Puku and stunningly beautiful Chobe bushbuck.

The bulls were docile. The cows were not.

And so typical of the riverine bush close along the Luangwa, elephants showed their dismay at our incursion. A fierce, determined, long distance charge by a nasty cow that caused Derick to shoulder his Rigby .470 double. A fallen tree was the only thing that prevented her from covering the final 15 feet, except for the .470, if needed.

It was one of the closest charges I had witnessed in Zambia. And the severity of the situation was brough home with the story of a teammate who was killed riding his bicycle on the track just a few weeks earlier.

The value of protein cannot be underestimated in Africa.

I had taken hippo before but wanted another skull for my trophy room. A brain shot dropped him late one morning. The rest of the day was spent retrieving and butchering it on the beach.  In the end, the real reason to hunt them was to gift the meat to the team for their hard work.

Jolo - a pastor and one helluva a good man.

Felix - our chef with many talents to make things look and taste good.

We were accompanied by an AK-47-toting female Game Scout that was the equal of the men, and we also tipped our hats to her in respect for her valor and contribution.

Georgina, our Game Scout, as nice and as tough as they come. That AK never left her hand.

Bula - He always knew what to do and had a sixth sense of what was about to happen on the track.

Sylvester - don't let his lean profile fool you. He always jumped in with both feet and is as strong as an ox.

Abraham - Derick's main tracker and right hand for 30 years. A highly skilled talent who has seen and done it all.

Alick - Professionally trained to work in the hospitality industry, he tended to our table wherever we were camped in 5-Star fashion.

This his was close to the end of the season, and the team now had a significant amount of meat to take back to their families. Ron also gifted the entire team with new boots. It was a big hit and his generosity overwhelmed them. They were a deserving group of humanity.

Elias - He worked tirelessly in the background and led the hippo extraction. Totally dependable and born with the strength of a wild beast.

Alek - Driver and multi-functional team player with years of experience. He grew up in the very bushveld where we were trekking.

Derick - Registered gun nut and master of the hunting craft trying to cool off.

Would we do it again? In a heartbeat. After hunting buffalo that way, a buffalo by any other hunt strategy will be short on emotional fulfillment.

Quite a baobab!

With any luck, Ron will be back to hunt leopard next year. Dating back to my first safari to Zambia in 1988, I always regard the Luangwa as “cat city”. It upheld its reputation again in 2026 with Derick taking six chunk leopards and in one case two in one day.

But for the moment, we are simply grateful for a uniquely classic experience supported by incredibly good people in a remote part of Africa. It likely will be the safari that defines safari hunting and that we speak of most for years to come.

A burning sunset. A fitting farewell to friends and a great experience.

There were many other team members involved in our safari and we thank those not called out by name in this post. We thank you and will never forget you. You are real men, the best of the best, who have earned a place at hunting's altar of honor.