My lion hunt began on 7 August this new millennium at a place called Mokwalo under the auspices of Francois de Klerk and Mossie Mostert. Mokwalo is a nature area bordering the famed Kruger National Park.

Mossie is leading the White Lion Project Ð selectively breeding white lions for conservation.The white lion is light in colour and at 280 kg, about 30 kg heavier than the normal panthera leo. Francois, a professional hunter for many years, has guided many successful bowhunts. With these two professionals at my side, you can understand how I had the courage to hunt the big cats, or for that matter any animal on the Dark Continent.

My morning began at 06:00.After a breakfast, which I was a little too excited to enjoy, I assembled my equipment. A Mathews Black Max bow, set to a drawn weight of 70 lbs, was to be used to push the Haston A/C/C 3-7s, crowned by 125 grain Thunderheads. The bow, plus this 680 gram missile should deliver adequate punch to do the job.

Thirty minutes after leaving the lodge we cut the first lion tracks. Unfortunately the paw prints were those of a female or immature male. We continued cutting tracks for two hours, but none were of the type of trophy for which I was looking. At 8:15 we crossed the spoor of a very large male. He was alone and probably thrown out of the pride by a more dominant male.It took half an hour of following sign before we caught our first glimpse of him and an old black-maned beauty. We made our approach but without success.He didn't get to be his age by being stupid.

We knew from this first attempt that it would be difficult to get within bow range of this cagey old fellow. Mossie suggested that we go back to the lodge to obtain an old impala carcass which would be likely to lure him and keep him in the same vicinity. His situation, old and alone, made him a poor hunter, likely to gratefully accept a free meal.

While Mossie went to fetch the carcass, Francois and I stayed close to the road where the lion had crossed. Mossie had not yet returned when our Simba appeared again some 150 meters away gazing down the road. We were kneeling down, trying to relax as the lion ambled on his merry way towards us. He either didn't see us, or was ignoring us as no threat, until we stood up. He paused for a moment, then disappeared.

We heard Mossie's vehicle in the distance coming from the direction of the lion. The lion heard him as well and came back out onto the road, where he again started towards us in his nonchalant manner. A big cat coming straight at you on an open road is not a good target for a bow shot. Discretion being the better part of valour, we moved off into the thick bush, allowing the feline to pass less than ten meters away. A clean bow shot was possible from our vantage point. I say possible, but not preferable, as we had no fall-back area. At that close range a charge by him would have resulted in not needing that old impala carcass for cat food.

Shortly after the lion passed, Mossie appeared with the "free lunch" that we intended for the old fellow. We chained the carcass to a tree and headed back to camp, since we did not want to spook the lion out of the area. We planned to return in two hours to remind the cat that there is no such thing as a free lunch!

We did return after two hours, but little else went according to plan! We were supposed to ambush the lion to the west of a large anthill. 

The lion approached from the eastern side of the mound. Francois and I heard a noise, but it was only a steenbuck. Ten seconds later the lion approached. 

It was almost upon us not more than two paces away! We turned around to see him staring straight at us. I didn?t know who got the bigger fright, the lion or us. He moved off a few hundred meters and bedded himself down, shaded from the hot midday sun.

We started another approach with Mossie in the lead. At forty meters he and the lion were watching each other. Mossie's object was to get the big cat accustomed to our presence in his territory without provoking a charge. This stare-down had been going on for about thirty minutes when I moved into a shooting line about 35 paces in front of the lion. This gave me only a frontal shot with an extremely limited margin of error. As I drew my bow and settled my pin on the lion?s throat, he rose and moved towards us. Then, turning, he moved off another hundred meters before settling down again. This old lion was too wary and did not like us being in his domain.

We reassessed the situation and decided to ambush the lion once more. Mossie radioed his father and directed him to where we were, and how to approach the area so as to lure the lion into our ambush. We chose another anthill with plenty of cover and height in an attempt to fool the lion as to our whereabouts, thus trying to prevent a charge on us. Ten minutes later we could hear Mossie's father approach in his fourwheel drive.We could hear the lion approach us, then silence. We were frantically looking around us, thinking the lion was going to turn the tables and place us in his own ambush.The silence for those few minutes was deafening. 

We spotted the lion ahead of us. He had climbed a tree to escape. We saw our window of opportunity and approached the lion in great haste. 

I approached the lion, at thirty meters I paused, drew back my bow and released the arrow. The arrow found its mark in the lower chest angling to the opposite shoulder, the arrow burying itself into the shoulder bone. We retreated with great haste back some seventy meters to the fourwheel drive.

The lion had fallen to the ground and ripped the arrow out. We moved in again, stalking the lion at the most dangerous moment. I placed a second arrow into his front shoulder, lungs and heart. The hunt was over.

I have hunted and have been involved in culling programmes for some fifteen years now, in Africa, Europe and in Australasia. The build-up to this hunt was absolutely enormous. The time and preparation (both physical and mental) was phenomenal compared to any other hunt I have been on.

This hunt left me with a strange feeling, an emotion I am still trying to come to grips with.The emotion is not like that of my first impala, or my first stag.It is the emotion of an anticlimax, where you are left wondering. The fact that a primitive weapon, the bow and arrow was used, makes my emotions even more complex.

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Reprinted from AFRICA'S BOWHUNTER Magazine