It is possible that I will never again post a picture that will evict such a confluence of emotions. Even amongst the most dedicated of hunters a picture of a fallen Simba leave many at a crossroads unsure of how they feel on the matter. The truth is that each year a very select few lions are taken across Tanzania and the revenue received from that handful of trophies, whose age requirements are managed by law under the threat of severe jail time if not old enough I might addd, are utilized to fund privately run anti-poaching operations across hundreds of thousands of acres throughout the whole of Tanzania. This investment goes a long way to ensure prides are protected, strong and wild as they should be for generations to come; where you stand on the matter, I will let you decide that for yourself.
First, I would like to say thank you to my friend, Zidane Janbeck, owner and managing partner of Kilombero North Safaris for having me back in camp again this year and to Chris Walters who allowed me the privilege and honor of being a part of this particular pursuit. Although I have to admit, finding myself at falling light with all camera and no gun proved to test my resolve.
Back to it, this particular Simba having been observed over the last few months gained notoriety with the professional hunters in camp, having been blinded in one eye and whose visibly failing body condition made this chap the ideal candidate of our pursuit, however having only been seen a handful times over the long span of winter, would we be able to get him on bait?
Having just arrived in camp after a long two days journey from the east coast of the US, I found myself in quite the yard sale with camera gear and safari accoutrements scattered about my tent hastily preparing for the afternoon foray as news had come in that our lion had fed that morning and had been seen lingering not far from the piece hanging mbogo, whose wafting pungent aroma finally caught the attention of our hungry lion. With cautious optimism, we boarded the cruiser to begin our heat stricken ride to where the lion had been seen. Approaching the bait and with the low guttural hymns filling our ears from somewhere in the thick bush that lay ahead, it was becoming quite clear that we would soon be face to face with a Simba who was much more suited to assist in my demise than I with his armed, especially armed with only with a camera. As we approached, our formidable foe held his ground unaware and unafraid as we closed the distance the distance to a mere 10 yards and with each soft step the tension was growing thick in the dwindling light to the point it could physically be felt in the air. With all my attention firmly affixed to the Simba, out of my periphery I could see the barrel of the rifle swiftly being raised and just before the report I had enough time to whisper one last prayer….please let this shot ring true. I am not sure I ever heard the rifle or felt the concussion of the mighty 416 ring out but one thing I can recall clearly was the sea of angry tawny muscle erupting from every piece of grass within a 2o yard circumference. In a volley of surprisingly calm chaos, a cool and collected Zidane turned to me and firmly said “put down that camera and take this rifle, IT’S HOT” as he bailed from the cruiser as we rolled in to collect our cat. The roars of the surrounding pride who refused to fully abandon but held their barricade, announced their displeasure with our presence as every piece of thick bush was writhing with an angry lion which made the whole follow up and recovery a less than enjoyable, although memorable experience!
Sitting around the campfire that night in repose and admiration of the fallen king and in full celebration of his life, obviously well lived, reminiscing about a hunt that few will ever have the opportunity to experience. My dear friend Stuart Anderson Wheeler prognosticated so eloquently “you know… with all the power they hold and the regal untethered lives they live, the king of beast is not privileged in any way with a quiet or pleasant end”.
