Hagen Denker
On the last day of a safari this past season we were sitting on a small granite ridge overlooking a gentle valley. I often think of it as the fossil floodplains of the ancient Khan River. I am in a state of deep contentment. I am truly relaxed and able to savour every moment of the scene in front of us. It is a chilly early evening in late July. The sun is just above the horizon near the Spitzkoppe, painting everything in the softest of lights.
In the valley not far beneath us, two or three Sparrow Weavers are foraging on the ground, looking for some late dinner. Every now and then they fly to “their” tree with their nests and return again shortly afterwards. They are followed by a Fork-tailed Drongo that probably feeds on the insects which the large weavers flush out while hopping around on the ground. Between its forays for insects the Drongo perches on a bush and – as usual – sings its very versatile song. I have always marvelled at the Fork-tailed Drongo and how it imitates other birds and even a meowing cat.
Suddenly a pair of Yellow-billed Hornbills joins the feeding session. It is a scene of such natural harmony that I am overcome by a feeling of deep gratitude: gratitude for being able to call a place like this my home and to be able to experience nature in such an unadulterated way. And to be able to partake in a tradition as old as man: hunting. We are on the granite ridge to give our quest for brown hyena one last try – we had hunted very successfully so far, bagging old trophy carriers in fair-chase hunting on foot in their natural habitat. My hunter, Georg, also wanted to go for a hyena, though not in the traditional way over a bait but rather leaving it more to chance.
On a hunt earlier in the season we had witnessed from a distance how a leopard (we had four leopard sightings in broad daylight on that safari) had tried to snatch a young baboon on the granite ridge on which we were sitting now. When the rest of the baboons noticed what happened they quickly turned against the leopard, chasing him around between the boulders and crevices. It was a huge commotion with lots of screaming from the baboons and growling from the leopard. Suddenly all the smaller baboons took flight while the bigger ones stood around a crevice.
“It is a scene of such natural harmony that I am overcome by a feeling of deep gratitude: gratitude for being able to call a place like this my home and to be able to experience nature in such an unadulterated way.”
A big cloud of dust came from the crevice and in the next moment the leopard shot out of the large crack and leaped away, the three biggest baboons hot on his heels. After some 400 metres the leopard disappeared in the shrub and the baboons let him be. We again shifted our focus on our actual quarry, kudu. Only later, after not spotting a bull, I decided to check on the scene of the morning. As we approached the crevice from which the leopard had leaped, we heard sounds as if something was moving along the granite. I assumed that it was the badly hurt baboon which the leopard had grabbed and cautiously peered into the crevice, only to barely see a dark creature disappear deeper into the crevice while a pungent smell came from the rather narrow hole. There was no blood, however, and when we moved around to the entrance of the crevice, the tracks of a brown hyena were visible in a small patch of powdery sand. I could not help but chuckle at the thought of how the brown hyena must have felt when a leopard suddenly plunged into its living room, and how the hyena decided that its peace had been disturbed enough. The dust cloud must have been from the moment when the leopard and hyena had a brief scuffle and the leopard had to leave.
So, because of this episode I decided that we would wait for the hyena, hoping that it was in the den and would appear before dusk. Although the hyena never appeared, this evening was the perfect end to a successful safari. It once again reminded me of the blessing of being able to offer hunting safaris in my own hunting area, where one is able to follow long-term objectives and truly act on sustainability and fair-chase principles.
Nonetheless, I am always drawn to the vast hunting areas of communal conservancies or concessions. In the modern age of hunting, where everything is subverted by business and profit-optimising goals, there is no place for true adventure anymore – at least, not in the eyes of someone who grew up in these areas in a time when they were still largely wild and untouched. I cannot help but indulge in memories I made as a boy and young man in what was then Bushmanland, especially on occasions like the experience with the hyena or the leopard.
When I was 11 or 12 years old we were spending school holidays in the Nyae Nyae Conservancy where my father held the hunting rights at the time. The hunter in camp had wounded a spotted hyena and my father allowed me to participate in the follow-up, but not at the front, of course. Two of the San trackers had been instructed to keep me constantly by their side while we followed the others tracking the hyena. It was an extremely exciting experience for me as a young boy. Initially the tracking was slow, but when the spoor got hot I remember running after the trackers and feeling the blood of the hyena on my shins as we rushed through the brush. Then again progress was slow as the hyena went into aardvark holes and we started digging to open the holes, only to find out hours later that the hyena had already left through a secondary exit – and the pursuit continued. In the end the hyena had circled back almost to where we had started in the morning and my father was able to put her out of her misery. Still, at my young age this was a defining experience and a lesson in persistence and not giving up.
Seven or eight years later, I am accompanying my father on an elephant safari. Early on in the safari, while on the way back after a long day of walking in search of elephants, we happen upon a big warthog feeding on a small clearing late in the afternoon. The hunter takes a shot at the boar and hits it. The warthog does not go down but rather speeds off into the bush. As the sun is setting already, we are not able to hold the spoor for long in the fading light and decide to continue the next morning.
Early that morning I am given the task to follow the wounded warthog together with two trackers, while my father and the hunter and other trackers continue elephant hunting.
For the first hour we are able to follow the tracks relatively easily. The sand is soft and there is some blood, though not much. Then, however, the ground gets harder and almost no blood can be seen, only a drop every few metres. We do not really make any progress, and on top of it, the tracks of the boar join those of a female and they both disappear in an aardvark hole. I remember having a flashback of the hyena story described above and already expect that we will have to start digging. But the trackers – who do an excellent job that day – think that the warthog is not that badly wounded and only went into the burrow for the night. Therefore we circle the area and soon find the tracks and tiny drops of dry blood. The warthog does not seem to be doing too badly and as noon approaches, we decide not to spend too much more time on the follow-up. After another half an hour or so, the sand becomes softer again and the vegetation changes. We are moving towards a water hole and decide to call it quits there, unless we find the warthog first – against all expectations. As we discuss this on the spoor, we come to a place where the whole ground is all ploughed up across a large area. Small bushes have been uprooted: a big fight has taken place here not too long ago. Our closer investigation reveals that the warthog had run into a big male leopard which tried to catch the warthog, of course. From the obvious evidence this must have been quite a battle, and we don’t know yet whether the leopard won or whether the boar got away.
We try to make some sense of where the fight moved to and after a while walk onto the warthog, dead, lying half underneath the low branches of a large bush. We approach with the utmost caution, not sure whether the predator is still under the bush – he isn’t. We pull ‘our’ quarry out from underneath the bush. The leopard has barely eaten anything. He must have been so exhausted that he went to rest first, probably even close by. I feel bad about taking his prey away. More so, because the bullet had only gone through the brisket without any vital damage.
After having our lunch sandwiches we discuss how best to take the meat and trophy the long way back to the hunting truck. We decide to tie the warthog by its legs to a long pole and two of us would take turns carrying the heavy animal while the third one carried our rucksack and the entrails. Each of us had one more item to carry, be it a water bottle or rifle.
Off we go on our long hike back. The warthog dangles from the left to the right and – as I walk in front when I am carrying – blood drips onto my calves and into my vellies. The best and the hardest part of a successful hunt.
The trackers have to carry more weight, because they are much shorter than me and the weight bears down on them. But as usual, not a single complaint comes from their lips and I follow their example. Lessons you learn when hunting with the true hunter-gatherer.
Luckily, we are now able to walk on the wider elephant paths as long as they lead into our general direction. I cannot help but think of what would happen if we would run into an elephant on its way to the waterhole, especially since at times the bush left and right is quite thick, almost impenetrable. And, of course, late in the afternoon we suddenly hear something moving into the bushes just ahead of us on the game trail – around the next bend we find the fresh tracks of an elephant bull. Fortunately he moved out of the way, but he still got my blood pumping.
Other than that, and apart from our brief rests, our walk back is uneventful, albeit exhausting, and with the sun just above the horizon we arrive at the car.
Moments of relief and camaraderie after a long day, as we wait for the elephant hunters to return. We admire the beautiful trophy: one tusk broken off, the other one long and curved.
Back in the here and now – and no hunting rights in a concession area – I realise over and over again what a truly special place the Erongo Mountains and the surrounding foothills are. To call this hunting area my own, even if we are ‘just’ stewards and custodians for past and future generations, is something I have to remind myself of more often. Not least, of being in and part of a bigger conservation area and project here in the Erongo Mountains: a project that spans 160,000 hectares across property borders and allows indigenous game to move freely and react to the seasons. Outside of communal conservancies, this is a rare thing on freehold land and something worth protecting.
This realisation comes easier when on safari right here. When I am out in the bush 24 hours of the day. When we have leopard sightings in broad daylight on almost every safari and sometimes even four times on one safari – each sighting remarkable in its own right. And where we are able to observe the critically endangered black rhino in its natural habitat on every safari. And, of course, all the ‘little’ moments in between, with the Drongos and Hornbills, the inquisitive black mongoose and the occasional call of the African Scops Owl at night in the tented camp under massive and ancient leadwood trees. And so much more. Yes, this is worth the while and it makes hunting (here) worth the while.
From the 2025 issue of Huntinamibia
Every accolade credited to Africa is well earned. Perhaps William Burchell’s thought most accurately sums them all up: “Nothing but breathing the air of Africa, and actually walking through it, can communicate the indescribable sensations.” Words are a paltry attempt to raise images of buffalo charging out of the reeds or burning sunsets beyond brilliance in the minds of those who have not been favoured to set foot on the continent.
For fifty years, the Namibia Professional HuntersAssociation (NAPHA) has stood as a beacon of ethical hunting, conservation and community. This golden anniversary marks a significant milestone on a journey defined by dedication to the land, respect for wildlife and the preservation of Namibia’s unique hunting heritage.
An opportunity arose to hunt a trophy lion in the Torra Conservancy in north- western Namibia. For the past years the lion population had grown in this area and the human-wildlife conflict increased as a result. The Ministry of Environment and Tourism invited professional hunters to the opportunity to hunt these problem animals, rather than taking the risk that entire prides are poisoned by communal farmers who lose their livestock.
