A Day in The Life of A “Great White Hunter” by Wayne Muller During the first half of the 20th century, the term "Great White Hunter" was given to men of Western and European descent making a living by pursuing Africa’s deadliest big game animals and by selling ivory, meat, and animal hides to trade merchants from around the world. The term was given to these men by the African natives who benefited from their work in terms of employment. Present-day "Great White” hunters are called Professional Hunters or simply “PH’s” and I am proud to have served this industry for the past ten years; during this time I was blessed with a lifetime of memories and experiences. One such memory started a few years ago. Before the crack of dawn, my team and I would have a meeting in our boardroom which mostly consisted of rustic Hemingway chairs set around the campfire, still smoldering from the festivities of the night before. Our chef, Innocent, would quickly bring the fire kettle filled with water and set it on the hardwood coals in front of us. There was a slight chill in the wind as the sun’s rays started piercing the darkness of the night sky; the cry of a jackal could be heard in the distance and the aroma of fresh coffee being brewed filled the air. So started a new day. The coolers got stocked, vehicles were cleaned, and breakfast was served. Innocent always did a fantastic job making the best meals. Who knew something as simple as breakfast could be turned into an absolute delicacy? Although our client was new to us, a stranger from another country, we sat at the table together as a family. A brotherhood was formed, time and time again, a camaraderie forged in the rural African bush, a new lifelong friendship was born. My trackers and game scouts came calling to me on the radio; the static sounded like someone trying to tune a television from the early 1950s. This could only mean that they were out of range. The previous evening, they started tracking a herd of buffalo through a thicket of Acacia brush. Because they were one of the most dangerous animals in Africa, I hastily gathered my equipment! My team, consisting of one other PH, a driver, and my tracker, ignited life into the trusted diesel engine of our Toyota Landcruiser. Together with my client, we made haste in the direction of the scouting party. In my mind, I expected the worst and only hoped for the best. Two hours went by driving as fast as we could on the interconnected farm roads. Suddenly the radio call became crystal clear, “Bwana, come in, Bwana? This is Robert, we have found a Dagga boy. We will meet you under the old Mopani tree.” My heart started racing. As it pumped the adrenaline through my veins, my concern turned to excitement. The Dagga Boy Robert referred to indicates an old buffalo bull, exiled from the herd by a younger bull in his prime. The word Dagga is a Zulu word for mud, thus Dagga Boys, as their name suggests, spend a great deal of time in mud holes. They cover themselves in mud for a few reasons, including covering their scent from potential predators, as an insect repellent, and simply as sunscreen. These bulls will either live completely solitary lives or they will form small bachelor groups of up to five animals. We arrived at the old Mopani tree Robert instructed us to meet him at. With the African sun beating down on us, I instructed my client to hydrate. It is a very odd occurrence for one grown man to remind another grown man to hydrate, but in Africa, people do not realize how fast they start dehydrating. Robert grabbed a shovel and cleared the top couple of inches of sand from under the Landcruiser. This exposes the cool sand beneath the sun-seared
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