The Zambezi ate my Crocodile!
A moment ago the large Nile crocodile having eaten most of the elephant leg we had so generously provided for it, had been sunning itself on the steep river bank, its snout pointing towards the water. Now all that was left were the marks in the sand from the thrashing of its powerful tail and a pool of blood in the Zambezi River which was fast disappearing before our very eyes. The Zambezi had eaten my Croc!
A half an hour earlier we had quietly made our way along the steep rocky banks of the Zambezi, moving in slowly to check the last bait site that we had started a few days ago with the intention of shooting a large crocodile. The hot sand and rocks burnt the soles of our naked feet as we closed the last 75 yards. The direction of the wind and the Go Away birds were our biggest enemies now. Soon we would be on our final approach, crawling our way through the final obstacle - a small dry river bed which flowed into the Zambezi. I looked up to see my PH, Mitch Bunce belly crawling in the hot river sand ahead of me, making it look so much easier than it was. The last few yards dragged on forever as I did my best to imitate his fluid snake like movements.
At last we were in position; at the base of a little sandy mound below which lay our bait at the waters edge. Mitch slowly made his way up the little rise inch by inch scared that anything at that last moment would give away our position to a wary crocodile at the bait. As he peered over the top his body went rigid and he excitedly whispered to me to pass him my rifle and motioned for me to crawl up the rise quickly. The huge scaly head barely 25 yards from the muzzle of the rifle filled the scope as the crocodile lay facing towards the water offering a rear angled side brain shot. A moment later a 300 grain Swift A frame delivered from the 375 H&H hit the crocodile! At the sound of the shot all hell broke loose. All the Go Away birds within earshot took off making a loud noise, a couple of smaller crocodiles which we had not seen earlier at the bait jumped with a loud splash into the river and Mitch was now up from my side running, shouting and falling down the steep river bank.
I took this all in, in a flash and what alarmed me most of all was the large crocodile with a now bloody head was writhing and rolling, its powerful tail thrashing, propelling it towards the dark and foreboding Zambezi. Mitch was now nearly at the bank when I shouted out to him to get out of the way. I fired again trying my best to anchor the crocodile by shooting it between the shoulders, but to no avail!
At the sound of the second shot Mitch went for the crocodile like a terrier after a rat. He lunged for but missed the end of the powerful tail as the huge prehistoric animal entered the water and slithered out of view!
We couldn’t believe our eyes! Where had it gone? We strained to catch a glimpse of the large reptile in the stirred up muddy water stained red with its blood, within a few moments all the evidence was washed away and we were left gaping at an empty sand bank and the river swirling before us.
The boat was dispatched back to camp for any equipment they could find that would help us locate the wounded crocodile! The 10’ poles the trackers cut in the meantime would have to do for now. From the bank we poked and prodded and discovered to our horror that at the very edge of the bank where we stood there was a steep drop off going down into the depths of the mighty Zambezi.
The sound of the outboard engine and the returning boat brought new hope, but very little in the way of recovery gear! A coil of rope and a very thin but pointed anchor shaped like a treble hook was all that they had been able to find.
Unlike their watery companions the Hippo, crocodiles do not float after being shot, they sink to the bottom only to return to the surface when the body is completely decomposed and the trophy ruined, if one is lucky!
The minutes and hours slowly ticked by while we played every card that we had in our pack! The boat’s anchor had snagged for over an hour in some rocks costing us precious time, we had even risked an International incident by seeking help from a Zambian fishing camp across the river enquiring if they might posses a fish finding device which we could use. Six hours had come and gone, soon it would be time to give up and make the ride upriver back to camp before darkness fell.
With the evening’s lengthening shadows our faces grew longer as we got down to play our last card! We had noticed earlier that when we threw some twigs in to the river to gauge the direction of the current some of them would get caught up in the fast current and hurtle downstream while others thrown a foot or so closer would swirl around in the little cove where the bait was positioned. After several attempts due to the current the boat was finally anchored in the right position, Mitch took up his position as the wireman, the line was attached to the feeble treble hook shaped anchor and the casting began.
On the 4th cast Mitch shouted out that he had felt something at the end of the line, he threw it back in the same spot over 20’ deep and again shouted out that he had felt something as before but was unsure as to what it was! This got all our attention. He bent the barbs of the thin anchor like treble hook so that it would bite into whatever was down there and cast it out once more.
Gently pulling in the rope he announced that the hook had seemingly snagged again on whatever was lying at the bottom of the river. By this time we were all standing up on the bank watching the proceedings. Hand over hand steadily the rope came back while we all held our breath; Mitch broke the silence saying it was probably a rotten log, but kept up the steady rhythm. Suddenly he shouted “there it is”, through the clear water he could see at the end of his line a large greenish scaly monster dangling precariously from a single barb of a hook. Time stopped as he slowly brought in the last few feet of line, Norman and Richard the trackers lent over the side of the boat and as soon as they could they grabbed the dead crocodile and held on to it for dear life.
It was far too heavy to pull onboard, with the boat listing to one side they started the outboard and made for shore. My somersaults of joy and happy shouts rent the air as the rest of the crew grabbed hold of the crocodile and dragged it ashore. A single barb had snagged the crocodile in its soft underbelly, not even puncturing the skin but just barely holding it.
My two shots had been perfect the first shot had entered directly behind the right horn angling forward towards the brain cavity and had killed the crocodile outright, the hastily fired second shot missed the front shoulders but had hit the base of the neck. The crocodile had been dead instantly but the reptilian mechanism of the beast which has worked for thousands of years had worked one last time pushing it back towards its home and safety.
As far as trophy crocodiles go, at 12’ it was not a record breaker, but I would guess that there are not that many Crocodiles that have been recovered from the depths of the mighty Zambezi.
The moment they got hold of it!
On their way to the shore, everyone has big smiles!
Top view of the brain shot - you can see where the bullet entered on the left and went right across the brain pan.
Mitch and I with our trophy! At the end of its jaw you can see where the 2nd bullet exited.
They are truly great trophies and unique animals to hunt! The next one I shoot however will not be facing the water, I don't care who says what shot to take 
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