African Outfitter is an independent bimonthly publication promoting
fair hunting and ethical business practices within the hunting industry.
From a hunting perspective, the preservation of biodiversity on the
African continent is the first and foremost priority. The emphasis
is however also on the sustainable utilisation of wildlife.

Herman Jonker

Hell hath no fury like a necktie

It was a Saturday afternoon – I must have been 8 or 9 years old at the time – when I came across Mrs Heydenrych in full stride. She had her elbows out and she was stomping off somewhere with thunder stamped all over her freckled frown.

Everyone in the village knew that "that red woman", as old Mr Jordan referred to her (not in her presence, of course), was a feisty heavyweight who was best avoided. Even so, I just had to see what was brewing, so I swung my bike around and tailed her at a safe distance.

Straight to the Commercial Hotel she marched, banged open the panelled swing doors of the bar and let loose with such a scalding scolding that Joe, her second son who at the time was an apprentice panel beater at Sonop Garage, staggered out of there and to his doom without even a murmur.

What followed was the most fearsome display of motherly love that I was to see in my entire life. She laid into Joe with flying fists and proceeded to physically chase the spirit of the demon liquor out of him with such vigour and venom that she lost her shoe after the third kick. Then, when she was quite out of breath and curses, she dragged him home by his ear. Joe, whimpering and limping, left a tearful snot trail all the way down Constitution Street.

This outburst of spitting, violent anger made such an impression on my young mind that I could well have turned queer out of sheer fear of women. What probably saved me was another incident a year or so later when I was witness to a display of snarling fury that, by comparison, made Mrs Heydenrych seem like a playful ginger kitten.

My dad and I were hunting near the Mbabat River in the Lowveld just west of the Kruger National Park boundary, in those days still very much pioneer cattle ranching country. Early one morning, while we were walking along a track out in the bush, the farmer came past with his beat-up old pick-up truck.

He was on his way to go and check a jaw trap he'd set for a leopard that had been hammering his calves, did we wish to come along? When he eventually stopped at what seemed like no particular place in the bush, he and my dad were in the midst of earnest conversation up front in the truck. I hopped off the back where I'd been riding and stood there impatiently waiting for them to finish.

What happened next would have killed anyone older than my youthful 10 years outright through utter and immediate cardiac arrest. From behind the shrub not 6 paces away a yellow streak exploded into the air with a sound that I in my fright took to be a flying saucer bouncing off the face of the Transvaal.

The big tom was caught firmly by the front foot but that didn't stop it launching itself at us repeatedly before the farmer managed to put it down with his .303. It came flying, trap and all, only to be brought down in mid-leap by the chain that anchored the trap. Whilst adventures of another kind have since taught me that women ain't as bad as Mrs Heydenrych at all, I have to this day not lost my respect for leopards or my disdain for traps.

It's the eyes of that trapped animal that I remember; the searing anger at being so underhandedly ambushed, the hatred for being rendered so helpless, the fury at the insult. It all burned in those eyes. There was no fear there, only anger, and undying pride.

Indeed the leopard has much to be proud of.

Despite being persecuted since the first stockman cracked a whip, it has held its own against man. Where other species succumbed to the advances of so-called civilisation, the leopard just adapted and sharpened its act.

Today, 350 years after settlers stepped off their ships carrying muskets and powder, the leopard still roams over much of its original territory. Where the roar of lions fell silent two centuries ago, the tracks of unseen leopard can still be found. Panthera pardus survives in pockets of bush and in mountain ranges, even on the fringes of human habitation, through its solitary, secretive ways and its mastery of stealth.

It does so proudly. It does not rely on strength in numbers, it catches its own food and it is not easily fooled. Fences don't keep it and it is not to be tamed. It avoids confrontation but it is a fast, furious and formidable shredding machine when cornered. Above all; it's the one species that you don't just go and hunt. Chances are you may spend weeks at it and not even catch a glimpse of a leopard.

The stuff of legend indeed: a species so successful and so proud. Should a hunter have reason to hunt it, leopard would present the ultimate challenge.

What a pity then that so many leopards are killed without respect. Probably hundreds die illegally each year at the hands of farmers who use poison, traps and dogs to avert stock losses. (A sad reflection indeed on the authorities who should be assisting farmers in dealing with problem animals.) Dozens more are killed on permit by trophy hunters, in most cases by shooting them out of a tree where they'd been baited or chased.

I cannot speak for others but having seen the fierce pride in those eyes, I personally will find it hard to deal death to so proud an animal in such a way. But to each his own, I suppose. That said, what I find particularly disrespectful is the practice of posing for a picture with the "conquered" leopard draped over the hunter's shoulders.

You need not have looked into those eyes; you need not to have almost shat in your little shorts as a kid to know that a leopard can never be just another spotted necktie. Everyone knows it would have whipped the guy with the tie in five seconds flat in a fair fight...