A couple acacia trees were growing out of a small depression. The hole was about four feet deep and the size of a dance floor at a local dive bar. I suggested it as a good hide and we crawled in under the thorns with the wind in our face. Geoffrey Wayland of Fort Richmond Safaris was on the right, Bat was in the middle, and I was on the left.
The FoxPro was positioned about 50 yards to our front. I selected the dying jack rabbit call and when I pushed the button we could hear the squealing. We could also see the little wiggling decoy dancing around on top of the call. Brushy Africa was behind us but to our front was 400 yards of open ground, intersected by a three-strand cattle fence.
I figured 15 minutes and we’d try another location. It didn’t take 15 minutes.
A pale chanting goshawk came swooping in and landed within a few feet of the call. Bat and I were marveling how cool that was when a second goshawk landed beside the first. Apparently, they both wanted whatever was making that irritating noise. The first bird attacked the call, grabbed it by the handle, and attempted to fly away. The load was more than it could stand and the call fell to Earth from about six feet.
Both birds of prey seemed to realize their attraction was not edible and they soared out of sight. The FoxPro never missed a squeal. Like an over coined jukebox it just kept belting out its mournful tune.
I figured the show was over. It wasn’t. Not in Africa.
Movement caught my eye at about 400 yards. A lone jackal was headed our way, just across the cattle fence. I alerted Bat and instructed him not to shoot until it was within 100 yards. The jackal was curiously cautious; continuing to our left in a flanking maneuver, I imagine wanting to get down wind before committing to the call. When it had closed to about 200 yards I noticed there was another jackal, running along closer to the fence.
The second jackal could not stand the audible enticement. In a burst, it broke under the fence and headed toward the call like a horse that could see the barn. I whispered to Bat, “When he gets in range take him. As soon as you shoot, I’ll take the furthest one out.”
Seconds later Bat’s custom Mossberg MVP Predator in .25-45 Sharps – my CUR rifle – barked. Bat yelled, “I got him.” just as I was taking up the pressure on my trigger. My bullet went high, probably taking some fur with it. Then things got western. Bat and Geoffrey found their feet and collaborated on a volley of fire that did nothing but kick up dust behind the other jackal which had become a blur of fur. Nothing to brag about except fast bolt cycling and a lot of noise.
We crawled out of our hole and Bat said, “I want to do that again!”
