One summer afternoon there was a report from our fellow rangers of a wounded buffalo bull, which appeared to have a deep wound in his stomach from a conflict witnessed between him and a larger, but younger herd male. A couple of us were not driving guests so we volunteered to track the wounded bull, and stay with him until the vet arrived to dart him and investigate the problem. Now, it is fairly common knowledge that lone, old buffalo bulls are quite cantankerous, and that they are a wiley adversary to any who hunt them, and whether it is to help them or to eat them matters not. These old bulls are known as Dugga Boys, which refers to mud, or Dugga, in which they love to wallow.

The particular male that we were following was well known for his aggression, even when healthy, so it was, we assumed, an interesting afternoon of sports that lay ahead (We had no idea). The thickets he usually frequented were quite dense, not affording much visibility, so we moved very cautiously, listening for the sound of a snort or the smacking sound of him chewing the cud. This was what we expected anyway. What we didn’t realize was that this cunning old bull had been warily expecting another attack from the younger bull, and had cleverly positioned himself away from his tracks and scent trail which the other bull would probably have followed. He was watching our unwitting approach for quite some time and his position above his previously walked trail was perfect for him to launch an ambush from behind us. This he duly did.

This is one of the few times that I have been thankful for thick bush, and I managed to run for the nearest tree seconds ahead of the enraged eight hundred kilogram beast, and launch myself through the air at the trunk, kicking away and grabbing at a thick branch. He tore past, about a foot below me and turned the charge around to focus on my companion. At this stage he had abandoned the rifle at the base of a large Seringa, and was scrabbling into the upper branches. The following behaviour of the buffalo was quite amazing, as he decided it was now time for him to play sentry. He was walking between the two trees that he had trapped us in, almost like he was making some kind of cunning plan, and then he seemed to arrive at a decision. He walked up to my tree, and started to reach up to me, and not with his horn as I would have expected but with his tongue. He tried, with its great length, to lick against my boot. This was amusing at first, and cause for a few nervous giggles between my companion and me, but after a while I realized that the situation was quite serious to the buffalo and he was not trying to be friendly. His tongue was like sandpaper, and was scraping of big pieces of the coarse Seringa bark wherever it licked. If that tongue got close enough to my bare skin it would lick off the skin and flesh without even resistance. So, realizing the potential trouble I was in I managed to climb one branch higher, but now I was in danger of the branches this high up not being able to hold me… not a good situation to be in. The creaking and cracking of the branches made me very nervous, but they held, thank goodness.

Luckily for us, after a half an hour or so he lost interest and slowly moved away. The arrival of the vet was a moment of great relief and gave us an opportunity to recount our tale, but I am not sure to this day whether he believed me.