We continued our search for a few more days, seeing scattered herds, but no trophies. For a change of pace, I hunted with the head guide Peter on day four, and he took me across a lily-pad covered lake to a new area, where a truck awaited on the bank. Normally this area was too marshy to hunt, but the dry conditions meant the wetlands were navigable, and we took quick advantage, cruising the forest edges and doing a few stalks after promising bulls. I spotted what looked to be a pretty good bull on top of a hill bordering the plains, and we quickly jumped out and snuck closer. He turned out to be the one, nice and wide, and he gave a mighty jump and spun around at my shot. I quickly did a follow-up into his shoulder, and he dropped into the dust. What a monster. These buffalo are larger, body-wise, than Cape buffalo. His horns measured about 103 inches, and he was a magnificent, ugly, hairless old beast. I loved him. Peter made quick work of caping, and we headed back across the lake.
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