A report of crop raiding eventually came in and I set out to investigate that afternoon in my trusty 1955 Morris Oxford station wagon, complete with golden pine strips and back door frame which all station wagons worth the description had to have in those days, and picked up our tracker Lifi at the Tuli breeding station.
He had been a tracker to many past District Commissioners and while not being in the same category as a Bushman, was very competent.
The owner of the raided crops was also waiting to guide us to the lands. I found that a field of approximately 2 hectares of mixed sorghum and millet had been systematically reaped of every single head of grain by a small herd of elephant which had spent the night there, despite all efforts of the owner to protect his land with a stout bush fence. He had banged tins and shouted in vain but the big animals were enjoying their feast and only left in the early morning. By the time he had cycled to the Tuli Breeding station, 60 kilometres away and got them to telephone the message through to Gwanda, the herd had moved many kilometres away.
On the way there I shot an impala for the pot and used the guts to provide bait for the hyenas which were alleged to have been raiding the stock pen. I rigged up an old .303 rifle as a trap gun that night but although it went off it did not seem to score a hit. We had camped on the spoor of the departing herd, because by the time we had reached the kraal it was too late to do any tracking.
The next morning I woke shivering in the small cool damp breeze of another "guti" dawn and after a breakfast of eggs, bacon and impala liver we set out on the old spoor. I carried my .500 with a cartridge in each barrel, and five in each of my shirt pockets, which my wife had sewn so that they sat vertically with just enough tension to keep them in place even while running, but not enough to make them difficult to remove in a hurry. I also carried a water bottle, while Lifi carried a .303 and an axe.
As the morning progressed the spoor became more difficult to follow especially in the conditions of wind and occasional light drizzle. Eventually it became impossible and as so often happens, we had to abandon it. We turned round to retrace our steps by a different route and much to our excitement came across crisp clear tracks made that morning. Following this, we soon came across warm dropping still damp. As it happened, the wind was coming from the direction of the herd, so we tracked without any diffic ulty until we saw the great grey shapes about 200 metres ahead. An inspection from that range revealed that they were browsing amongst scrub mopani, much shorter than they were, and that unfortunately, they consisted of cows and large calves. However, they were definitely the crop raiders and had to be driven away from the arable area before they did any more damage. I would have far preferred my first elephant to be a bull on his own, because cows with calves are not the most placid creatures when disturbed.
Many elephant have been killed with .303 rifles but I regarded them as far too small and told Lifi to stay back whilst I carried out an easy stalk amongst the scrub mopani until I was an estimated 25 metres away from the nearest animal in the small herd of 15. It was a time of great excitement, mixed with the emotions of fear and doubt. Here I was, all by myself about to shoot my first elephant, with not the faintest idea of how the herd would react. Should I retire gracefully from the scene with the dubious story that there was no worthwhile ivory? But that was not what I was there for. I had set out to punish the herd for interfering with Man's livelihood. So, taking a grip on myself, I slowly rose from my crouching position and took a heart-shot aim at the largest cow which had wandered into position as the nearest animal in the herd. Squeezing the left trigger, the .500 went off with a mighty roar and the massive kick that I had become used to with practise shots, and the big old cow spun round 180 degrees with a trumpet of rage and pain, whilst the rest of the herd squealed in fear, with their trunks questing for scent. I immediately shot her again, in the other side that was now facing me, and she collapsed whilst the rest of the herd thundered away from me upwind, much to my intense relief. I gave her a head shot with the .303 just to ensure that she would not revive, as sometimes happens, cut off her tail as a trophy and followed the rest of the herd, but they showed no signs whatsoever of slackening their pace and as they were headed away from the arable area, we soon gave up the chase.
I was most disappointed that the locals showed not the slightest interest in the meat when we returned to the kraal, and so that mountain of protein rotted away to the benefit only of the scavengers of the veld. The tusks, curved and slender, only weighed 6 kilograms each and were removed for me after about a week when their surrounds became soft and rotten.
The next elephant of the two on my permit was a classic case of beginner's luck because he turned out to be the then Southern Rhodesian record. I was on the annual dip fee patrol in the south Gwanda district with Tony Hunt, then a cadet and later to become a District Commissioner. At complaint time after the collection, which fortunately for us ended at about 11 a.m., we received the usual story that elephants had completely wiped out a harvested crop of sorghum that had been stored prior to threshing on a rock outcrop near the complainant's kraal. On investigation we found that tracks led towards the Tuli river so we set off in that direction and Tony bagged a large impala ram en route with his .375 rifle.
We made camp and then set off into the nearby wild country to try and intercept the raiders. We walked for six hours at a steady pace, finding no fresh tracks but in a sandy patch clear of grass and scrub came across an interesting sight of an area of sand heavily and clearly marked with the pattern of the skin of an elephant that had been lying down, something that is rarely seen.
We returned to camp just as the sun was about to set. I had removed my boots and was walking down to bathe my hot and aching feet, when I saw, about 500 metres upstream and across the river, the most enormous elephant bull, with great tusks clearly visible even at that distance, gleaming in the evening light. Hastily putting my boots back on, I called Tony and we set off along our side of the bank until we were well past the big bull which was quietly feeding. We then crossed the river upwind of him until we had reached the nearest cover, a large acacia galpinii tree, 70 metres away. There was absolutely no cover left so not wishing to reveal ourselves, we agreed in a soft whisper to fire. I fired first with my .500 which made him stagger then Tony tried a head shot with his .375 and I then fired my second barrel which was effective, and the magnificent old creature collapsed dead.
We camped the night at the Tuli, went back the next morning as scheduled to where we were to collect dip fees, and afterwards took a couple of volunteers with us to remove the tusks which I did not want to leave lying for the usual week in case they were stolen. It took several hours of horrible gory work to remove them, and once again, the meat was left lying whilst the only thing taken was the nerve inside the tusks which was used as "muti" (medicine). It took two men to carry each tusk back across the river and we loaded them onto the roof carrier of my poor overloaded Morris, which was never ever designed for that purpose, especially with 6 large men on board as well.
When we eventually returned to Gwanda, the District Commissioner , Bill Baker, who was an avid elephant hunter, took his disappointment very well - he had been after that jumbo for years. The tusks, when fresh, weighed 42.5 kilograms and 49.5 kilograms, which were accepted as the Southern Rhodesian record.
I received the then outstanding price of 8/6d per kilogram for the tusks. Had I retained them I would probably have been able to sell them for $15 000 such has the price of ivory escalated. I submitted the details to Rowland Ward for inclusion in their book of game records, but was told that their records started at 54.5 kilograms per tusk weight, obviously based on the East African type of elephant.
When I was eventually transferred from Gwanda I sold the old .500 and a few years later bought a magnificent Winchester .375 magnum rifle which I was called upon to use on only two more occasions to sort out crop raiding elephants in the wild country on the border of the Urungwe and Kariba districts. I only received two reports and on each occasion went out, called at the village from which the reports came, set off on tracks and found a big bull. Both collapsed dead on the spot with one shot from the .375. I still have one bullet which had passed clean through the brain of one bull, coming to rest just under the skin on the other side. I cut it out and found it totally undamaged except for rifling grooves. The Makorekore people in that area had no inhibitions about eating elephant meat and the sight of them burrowing into the carcase is unforgettable. I took some meat home to eat, but it was tough and unpleasant - probably I didn't cook it properly.