Who shot the Donkey? It reminded me of the nursery rhyme song – "Who shot Cock Robin? I said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I shot Cock Robin.
This story takes me back many, many years. To about 1984 as I remember it. The time of a devastating drought that tortured our South African Lowveld for months on
Johannesburg to Addis Ababa – seven hours on the efficient Ethiopian Airlines. From there, two hours in a Cessna Caravan to the landing strip at Murulle Camp on the eastern
Growing up in Cape Town in a strictly non-hunting, non-shooting family, my interest in wildlife and hunting began with a trip to what was then called the Cape Town Museum
Chad, Tchad or Tjad. A name to conjure with. I knew it was a poor country, torn by civil war, somewhere in the Sahara Desert. But where was it situated
When I awoke to the first ominous signs at midnight, I knew immediately it was something I had eaten or drunk at supper. I also knew it was going to
Early morning. The grey of early dawn is lifting over the two and a half kilometre long glade on either side of the Batou River in the north central region
It all started many, many years ago. There were four of us. Amongst other things, we hunted together and, because I was the anally retentive one, I got the logistics
Last week I was reading the book of the earliest recreational hunter to visit South Africa, Captain (later Sir) William Cornwallis Harris, originally called, Narrative of an expedition into Southern
The late Dr. Lucas Potgieter read and commented on many of my articles before they went off to editors or publishers. He was often my litmus test as to whether
