Namibia — The German and the Ruger No. 1
My first African hunt was in Namibia. I was hunting alone and staying at what I’d consider a fairly high-end lodge. It was pretty distinct and not like a hunting camp, more like a fort out of a 30’s Beau Geste remake. The other hunters were two groups of German industrialists, and there was no shortage of money floating around camp. One gentleman owned a company that manufactured specialized equipment for heavy machinery—CAT, Hitachi, the works.
Before daylight, our rifles were lined up against the natural-stone wall outside the lodge while the trackers moved around the beat-up Land Cruisers, preparing for the morning. The smell of coffee drifted out from the lodge into the cold morning air. My PH, Andreaus, was loading gear into the well-used Toyota Hi-Lux, you know the kind that is kitted out for an African safari.
One morning I was down on one knee tying my hunting boot, the cold stone pressing through my trouser knee, mentally checking off my gear, when one of the Germans wandered over and stopped in front of my rifle.
She was a Ruger No. 1 chambered in 9.3x74R.
She wasn’t a beauty queen, but she’d certainly take you to the prom.
The walnut carried its share of scratches, dings and rubbed spots. To me, those weren’t flaws. They were beauty marks. She looked like a rifle that had actually been hunted with.
He asked politely if he could pick her up.
All of these fellows were carrying beautiful European rifles. Heym. Blaser. Fine walnut. Fine engraving. The kind of rifles that easily cost ten thousand dollars or more. The kind that required white gloves when handling them at home.
Standing among them, my Ruger looked like she’d shown up to the dance in a Pinto.
He looked her over carefully before asking,
“A single shot?”
Then came the obvious questions.
“What about follow-up shots?”
“Why would you put a Nikon scope on a rifle like this?”
“And why such an odd caliber?”
I smiled. It’s an African caliber that can do the job and has a proven record from Kudu to the Black Death, Cape Buffalo.
“The rifle and scope will only do so much. After that, it’s all up to the guy pulling the trigger.”
Then I added,
“If you can’t shoot a ten-dollar Western Auto BB gun well, why spend the price of a BMW on a rifle you shoot once a year and aren’t really that good with?”
He smiled.
No one said another word about it.
What I never mentioned was that I’d watched their entire group spend the first afternoon in camp sighting in those beautiful rifles.
Welcome to Africa, my friend.
