When I was a boy in Natal Kwazulu,the

farmers of the district organised hunt

each year. They used a hundred beaters
and their dogs the beaters would drive
the game towards a spot where the
hunters would be waiting with their
guns.
The valley was full of wild animals but
the hunters favourite was the grey
bushbuck. He was fast and clever and
could be dangerous when wounded and
caught.
There was one buck we called greybeard
a magnificient buck who, year after year
,had escaped the hunter’s guns. I was
ten years old when I first saw him. he
was stepping proudly across a small
clearing. His horns were long and sharp.
His fur was a deep grey with patches of
white. It was every hunter’s dream to
shoot greybeard. From the day , I could
think of nothing else but shooting him,
proving myself a good hunter’s. my had
said that I would have to wait until I was
fourteen before I could join in the shoot.
I spent the next three years worrying
some years worrying that some other
hunter is shoot my buck. But somehow
greybeard had survived.
Once, he followed silently behind a
younger buck. When it fell under a blast
of gunshot, greybeard jumped the
clearing with one jump before the
hunter could reload. At another time, he
dashed past the line of guns with a
frightened doe on either side of him
there was a low against shooting does,
so no one dared to fired greybeard. The
third year, the hunter had chosen there
places carefully but greybeard had once
again broken through to safety. That
evening, the farmers could talk of
nothing but how greybeard had escaped.
All through that year I thought of that
magnificent creature so many hunters
had tried unsuccessfully to kill. When my
father offered me my first shotgun, I -
choose one that was heavy-I wanted a
weapon worthy of greybeard.
On the day of the hunt, in the grey
light of dawn, the hunter’s met in the
valley and drew lots for their positions.
Were close to the cliffs because when
the dogs are chasing bushbucks, they try
to escape by climbing. I was very
disappointed when I drew a position
down near the river.
My had drawn a good position and I
heard him say ,I will change with my boy.
I did like him to have a good place for his
first hunt.’’
I scrambled up the steep slope,
determined to find the best possible
hiding place I chose a pile of broken
rocks, with bushes on either side of it. It
gave a line of fire across a small clearing
between the cliff and me.
For a long while, there was no sound.
Then came the sides of the beaters, the
noise of sticks beaten against and the
yelping of dogs. First came a doe in
panic-stricken flight, then a young buck .
I let him pass. Greybeard might be
following, and I was determined not to
be betray my position. But there was no
further movement for a while. Then,
suddenly, I saw the bushes before me
tremble. Not ten yards away, greybeard
steeped to the edge of the trees. He was
silently inspecting the clearing before
trying to cross. Greybeard stood still
before me. I had only to squeeze the
trigger to bring him down.
Yet something made me hold my fire.
The buck had turned his head now,
and his big ears moved slowly as he
listened for the barking of the dogs.
His moist noise trembled. His eyes,
soft and shining, watchful and
fearless, seemed to stare straight at
me. He held himself with such pride
That I suddenly found that I could not
destroy him. for a few moments
there was no sound, no breath of
wind.