Life of a Safari Rifle
Thomas Maxwell
Hey there! My name is Holland. At least that is what I now call myself because of my chambering. I am a Ruger Number 1, single-shot falling-block rifle chambered in .375 Holland and Holland. I am the centerpiece and the most prized possession of my owner, Henry Attison.
A long time ago, I was just a large piece of iron ore. After being dug up, I was carted off to a place called a steel mill. Later, I was then sent to a factory to be machined. After being further milled, shaped, and having other parts fitted to me, I took on another form. I become long and tubular with little moving pieces attached in odd places. All of this seemed to happen out of nowhere. After being nothing more than a piece of iron ore for all I can remember, all of this happened at what felt like light speed. Not long after a couple of test firings, I was closed into a box and shipped off to somewhere new.
My packaging was opened in a building that had many other guns inside. Many similar but none like me. I was put in my own personal display case. It was not until Mr. Attison came along one day did get selected for purchase. While being boxed up, I overheard a couple of phrases such as “four years,” “gold engraved,” “custom built,” and, “twenty-grand.” Whatever those meant, I had no idea. I was just happy to be taken somewhere else.
I would get to know Mr. Attison personally over the next several months. I would also come to understand the many aspects of human life after being hung up above a large stone fireplace and listening as well as watching human interaction. Early on, Mr. Attison lived on his own and spent much of his time working as something called a “Lawyer.” When he was not working, he was typically out shooting or planning a hunt with his other guns, I would later learn that he bought me specifically to be the centerpiece of his collection of weapons. I was also part of his preparations for a big safari hunt he was planning. Being chambered in the powerful .375 H&H, I was more than up for the task. My first major hunt would be somewhere in Zimbabwe Africa.
Four days of traveling later, I was slung over his shoulder hiking through a thick brush under a beating hot sun. I personally didn’t mind the heat as it warmed my steel components and made my gold inlays shimmer. Mr. Attison however and the rest of his guide group struggled to move in the heat. Apparently, we were looking for something called a “Cape Buffalo.” Apparently, these supposedly “oversize cows,” were extremely aggressive and notoriously tough to bring down. The first two days of the hunt yielded nothing. Despite being large and populous animals, we were unable to locate a specimen worth taking. Although we did see several small herds of them, none of them were apparently big enough or worthy enough to be shot.
On the third and final day of the hunt, we came upon a large herd of buffalo hiding amongst the brush. Overcast had hidden the sun’s rays and helped us to home in on the location of the animals as well as conceal us. The lack of sun also did well to hide the glimmer of my engravings which enabled us to move in a stealthier fashion. Although Mr. Attison had test-fired me before and sighted me in, this would be his first time shooting me when the pressure is on. It was also his first time hunting a full-grown Cape Buffalo Bull. After hunting primarily antelope in past years, he was apparently a bit nervous about his first dangerous animal. Being carried on his back the whole time, I had no idea what was going on beyond what I could hear and beyond what we walked past. Upon being shouldered and raised at the intended target did I see what we intended to shoot. About 75 yards off, the shape of a large dark animal could barely be made out through the brush. The buffalo in question was enormous. It had to have been at least 1800 pounds with horns at least four feet in diameter. The black hue of the buffalo we were stalking blended in almost perfectly with its surroundings. Known as the “Black Death,” by locals, these animals had been known to commonly kill hunters in the past who did not achieve a kill shot. It felt as if I spent an eternity being set up for a shot. The woods around us had seemingly turned to silence. Nothing but the breeze in the brush and the chirps of birds. Not even bugs. No one dared to breathe. Click, Henry pulled the set trigger. He then began to slowly squeeze the primary trigger. BANG! The rifle crack ripped through the air. Birds flew off in the trees around us. However, the animal in question did not go down.
The bull in question was now staring directly at us. Although a hit was scored, it was not a killing blow. Less than a second after the animal spotted us, it began barreling through the vegetation toward us! Ripping through branches, stomping through small trees, and even throwing a log out of the way with its enormous horns. 70 yards, 60 yards, 50 yards, the bull was closing fast! The guide behind us raised his own rifle and squeezed the trigger. Click. The round in his gun was a dud.
It felt as if time had stopped. Almost as if it was in slow motion, Mr. Attison reached for another round off his belt and slammed open my falling-block action. 40 yards, 30 yards, 20 yards; the bull was still closing. The bullet was slammed into the chamber and the action closed. In an instant, Mr. Attison took aim again. Just as I was raised again to fire, time seemingly returned to a normal pace. Fifteen yards, 10 yards, BANG! The shot was true and hit its intended mark, dead center on the animal’s chest. Diving out of the way last second, the bull flew through where we had just been positioned a mere moment ago. Despite maintaining its charge even after being hit a second time, the second shot had been fatal. Before the bull could turn about, it slumped over and fell to the ground. Mr. Attison and I had just dropped our first Cape Buffalo and it had nearly cost him his life! Either way, we had just taken perhaps one of the most dangerous animals on the planet and I couldn’t have been prouder of my owner. We donated most of the meat to the locals for them to enjoy. We kept the skull to mount and the hide to tan and display. As a thank you for the generous donation, the local guides invited us back again next year for another hunt. They also promised to change ammunition brands.
Of course, I would be taken on many more hunts across the world where we would hunt all sorts of large animals. Too many hunts and too many animals to count if I am being honest. Anyway, I will never forget our first hunt however with that darn buffalo.
A long time ago, I was just a large piece of iron ore. After being dug up, I was carted off to a place called a steel mill. Later, I was then sent to a factory to be machined. After being further milled, shaped, and having other parts fitted to me, I took on another form. I become long and tubular with little moving pieces attached in odd places. All of this seemed to happen out of nowhere. After being nothing more than a piece of iron ore for all I can remember, all of this happened at what felt like light speed. Not long after a couple of test firings, I was closed into a box and shipped off to somewhere new.
My packaging was opened in a building that had many other guns inside. Many similar but none like me. I was put in my own personal display case. It was not until Mr. Attison came along one day did get selected for purchase. While being boxed up, I overheard a couple of phrases such as “four years,” “gold engraved,” “custom built,” and, “twenty-grand.” Whatever those meant, I had no idea. I was just happy to be taken somewhere else.
I would get to know Mr. Attison personally over the next several months. I would also come to understand the many aspects of human life after being hung up above a large stone fireplace and listening as well as watching human interaction. Early on, Mr. Attison lived on his own and spent much of his time working as something called a “Lawyer.” When he was not working, he was typically out shooting or planning a hunt with his other guns, I would later learn that he bought me specifically to be the centerpiece of his collection of weapons. I was also part of his preparations for a big safari hunt he was planning. Being chambered in the powerful .375 H&H, I was more than up for the task. My first major hunt would be somewhere in Zimbabwe Africa.
Four days of traveling later, I was slung over his shoulder hiking through a thick brush under a beating hot sun. I personally didn’t mind the heat as it warmed my steel components and made my gold inlays shimmer. Mr. Attison however and the rest of his guide group struggled to move in the heat. Apparently, we were looking for something called a “Cape Buffalo.” Apparently, these supposedly “oversize cows,” were extremely aggressive and notoriously tough to bring down. The first two days of the hunt yielded nothing. Despite being large and populous animals, we were unable to locate a specimen worth taking. Although we did see several small herds of them, none of them were apparently big enough or worthy enough to be shot.
On the third and final day of the hunt, we came upon a large herd of buffalo hiding amongst the brush. Overcast had hidden the sun’s rays and helped us to home in on the location of the animals as well as conceal us. The lack of sun also did well to hide the glimmer of my engravings which enabled us to move in a stealthier fashion. Although Mr. Attison had test-fired me before and sighted me in, this would be his first time shooting me when the pressure is on. It was also his first time hunting a full-grown Cape Buffalo Bull. After hunting primarily antelope in past years, he was apparently a bit nervous about his first dangerous animal. Being carried on his back the whole time, I had no idea what was going on beyond what I could hear and beyond what we walked past. Upon being shouldered and raised at the intended target did I see what we intended to shoot. About 75 yards off, the shape of a large dark animal could barely be made out through the brush. The buffalo in question was enormous. It had to have been at least 1800 pounds with horns at least four feet in diameter. The black hue of the buffalo we were stalking blended in almost perfectly with its surroundings. Known as the “Black Death,” by locals, these animals had been known to commonly kill hunters in the past who did not achieve a kill shot. It felt as if I spent an eternity being set up for a shot. The woods around us had seemingly turned to silence. Nothing but the breeze in the brush and the chirps of birds. Not even bugs. No one dared to breathe. Click, Henry pulled the set trigger. He then began to slowly squeeze the primary trigger. BANG! The rifle crack ripped through the air. Birds flew off in the trees around us. However, the animal in question did not go down.
The bull in question was now staring directly at us. Although a hit was scored, it was not a killing blow. Less than a second after the animal spotted us, it began barreling through the vegetation toward us! Ripping through branches, stomping through small trees, and even throwing a log out of the way with its enormous horns. 70 yards, 60 yards, 50 yards, the bull was closing fast! The guide behind us raised his own rifle and squeezed the trigger. Click. The round in his gun was a dud.
It felt as if time had stopped. Almost as if it was in slow motion, Mr. Attison reached for another round off his belt and slammed open my falling-block action. 40 yards, 30 yards, 20 yards; the bull was still closing. The bullet was slammed into the chamber and the action closed. In an instant, Mr. Attison took aim again. Just as I was raised again to fire, time seemingly returned to a normal pace. Fifteen yards, 10 yards, BANG! The shot was true and hit its intended mark, dead center on the animal’s chest. Diving out of the way last second, the bull flew through where we had just been positioned a mere moment ago. Despite maintaining its charge even after being hit a second time, the second shot had been fatal. Before the bull could turn about, it slumped over and fell to the ground. Mr. Attison and I had just dropped our first Cape Buffalo and it had nearly cost him his life! Either way, we had just taken perhaps one of the most dangerous animals on the planet and I couldn’t have been prouder of my owner. We donated most of the meat to the locals for them to enjoy. We kept the skull to mount and the hide to tan and display. As a thank you for the generous donation, the local guides invited us back again next year for another hunt. They also promised to change ammunition brands.
Of course, I would be taken on many more hunts across the world where we would hunt all sorts of large animals. Too many hunts and too many animals to count if I am being honest. Anyway, I will never forget our first hunt however with that darn buffalo.
Thomas Maxwell is an outgoing and active cadet hailing from the Great State of California. He is a second year cadet at NMMI looking to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice and a career in Law Enforcement. He enjoys several hobbies which include but are not limited to: hunting, shooting, fishing, urban exploration, scuba diving, hiking, metalworking, and just being outdoors in general.