Based on a May 2004 newsletter
Many Olifants shareholders will remember the anger and frustration they felt when they received the news report confirming that eleven of our lions had been shot. The lessee of the neighbouring state-owned land and his associates systematically killed these lions with the official backing of the Department of Environmental Affairs in Phalaborwa. In his motivation for the destruction permit, the lions were listed as being a threat to his livelihood. If only the authorities had taken the trouble to look at the seven emaciated cows that constituted this man’s supposed livelihood, a permit would not have been issued and instead, the Animal Anti-Cruelty League would have been notified. The poor cattle were in such pitiful condition that death by any means would have been an act of mercy. They were obviously kept on this property for one purpose and one purpose alone, to be used as an excuse to hunt predators that could be deemed a threat. In terms of the Act’s definition of stock-killing predators, everything was legal and above-board. So, you can imagine the sense of utter helplessness and failure I felt at having my hands tied by an outdated law. This law, which is still enforced, and which governs the relationship between stock farmers and predators, was devised by farmers, for farmers. It is filled with loopholes so big you could drive a high-suspension Land Cruiser through them with ease.
We had made many attempts over time to resolve the impasse with our neighbour, ranging from offers of compensation for proven losses caused by our lions right up to a suggestion we build, at our expense, a predator-proof cattle kraal for him. But his obstinate resistance made it obvious he had only one agenda, and the fact that the law protected him suited him down to the ground. Little did he know that, ultimately, the law would be used with great determination against him.
Happily, I am now able to report that there’s truth in the sayings, ‘What goes around comes around’ and ‘The big wheel turns.’
Law enforcement in its many forms is dependent on informers to some extent. Our ‘bush telegraph’ is no exception. So, it came to pass that information gathered from various informal sources that constantly monitor ‘things’ in our area revealed that an illegal hunt for a leopard on this same farm was being planned. Subsequent investigation by our anti-poaching team over the next few days confirmed this information was correct. The hunting locale was found and there was no doubt as to the intent of the set-up, complete with a well-prepared blind from where the hunters would shoot. An impala carcass being used as bait had already been secured with wire high up in an apple leaf tree, so they were specifically targeting a leopard.
Preparations for the apprehension of the would-be hunters were made. Photographs for later use as evidence were taken of the impala carcass bait. The blind from where the hunters would shoot was also photographed in relation to the bait. The relevant authorities both national and local were informed and involved. Together with our anti-poaching team, wardens from the north of Balule and an official from the local Department of Environmental Affairs, the sting was planned and implemented.
The following week we observed that the remnants of the old bait had been removed and a fresh carcass put up. The blind was made more comfortable with a mattress and they had also fitted a spotlight, complete with a dimmer switch and a battery. This ingenious device allowed the bait area to be slowly flooded with light so that no matter how wary the leopard, it would become a clear target in the rifle sight without suspecting a thing. To round things off, a bottle of Dimple Haig was tucked away in the corner of the blind, no doubt for anticipated celebrations. We knew this was our cue and that they would be sitting up for the leopard that night.
Late that afternoon, the vehicle was heard approaching. It was still far in the distance, it being forever amazing how far sound can travel in the bush. Then they came to a halt about 300 metres away, more or less. Not long after this, the two hunters quietly approached the blind, crawled in and, in eager anticipation, settled down to monitor their bait, blissfully unaware that another three pairs of eyes were simultaneously watching their every move.
With the onset of darkness, we needed to get closer, so until it got dark, all communications were by silent text messages only. The official accompanying us was convinced there was now enough evidence to show intent and we didn’t need to wait for them to actually shoot a leopard. Initially, we had considered and accepted this sacrifice of a leopard, and as difficult as that decision was to make, it was an indication of how desperately we wanted to nail these bastards.
At a given signal, the team quietly approached the blind. The hunters had no idea we were there until the voice of authority boomed out from behind the hide. After the greeting, the two men in the blind were asked to explain the purpose of their activities. One of the men was well known to the officer, so it must have been much more frightening when out of the darkness he was addressed by his first name. This courteous demand was so intrusive, however, that even the nightjars shut up for a while. How those poor so-called ‘hunters’ must have felt! I use the word ‘poor’, because they both ended up quite a bit poorer a few months later.
Stammering a little, the two men said they were ‘waiting for poachers’. When shown and asked about the carcass in the tree, they changed their story, now stating they were baiting for hyaena, which were killing their cattle. Despite the official pointing out that it would be impossible for any hyaena to access a bait four metres from the ground in a tree, they stuck to their story. On the way to the police station they turned to one of the regional wardens, Marius Fuls, who was chiefly responsible for coordinating the arrest.
‘How can you want to arrest one of your own people? You are also an Afrikaner!’ one of them said to him in Afrikaans.
‘I know,’ replied Marius. ‘But that doesn’t make me a criminal, which is what you are!’
As it turned out, one of the men was the unofficial, unsigned lessee of the farm and the other was a friend who later admitted to having shot four of the eleven lions two years previously. The men were taken to Phalaborwa police station and three charges were laid against them.
Prior to this, they asked sheepishly if they could change out of their camouflage outfits. Short of the black SWAT team war paint on their faces, they looked like two turkey hunters straight out of ESPN’s outdoor huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ show. Suppressing the urge to parade them through the middle of town in their ridiculous outfits, we relented.
The two men were found guilty and convicted of illegal hunting. Their rifle was confiscated and a hefty fine imposed, and they now have a criminal record. With the new firearms regulations now in place, this effectively means they will probably never qualify for a rifle licence ever again. That is really going to hurt. To separate a Boer from his ‘roer’ is, next to divorce, probably the most traumatic separation he has to face.
To put this in context, if this had taken place in the south of my father’s homeland, where getting even is an accepted part of their culture, the lion killer would have lost much more than his rifle; he’d be sleeping with the fishes, wearing a pair of newly cast, custom-fitted, cement shoes.
Do I believe in the concept of ‘vendetta’? No, not really, but the unmistakably sweet taste I savoured may have had more than a little to do with the good few litres of hot Italian blood in my veins.