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Old 01-10-2017, 06:05 AM
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Mozambique Man-eaters

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The old routes through East Africa to ports in the Indian Ocean along which the Arab slave gatherers drove their captive hordes to this day are the hangouts of lion who have no fear of human beings and therefor see us as food and not as the apex predator a powerful big calibre hunting rifle makes us feel.

One must only once experience the nauseating rotten smell of a male lion in the dark very near you, with your .416 Rigby standing against a tree stump opposite your rickety camp table you are sitting at writing up your diary by the half light of a hurricane lamp to realise that we are NOT the apex predator at all.

Then, getting the loaded rifle and retiring to your little nylon tent, full knowing that you are camped right on that old slave route straight to the old Arab coastal town of Pemba south-east of you, and for three hours endure the yards-away challenging roars reverberating in your chest, challenging you to come out like a man and fight while you very well know that not your best spotlight will give you an advantage. And then the following morning finding this yards away from where you had sat the previous night and smelled him and fortunately recognised it for what it was and not thinking that it may be some rotting carcass a distance away brought to you by the night breeze:

Mozambique Man-eaters-reason-not-have-your-pants-round-your-ankles.jpg Not small in any language

Mozambique Man-eaters-img_20160509_090451.jpg The other paw damaged by a poacher's trap

Mozambique Man-eaters-1464061953562.jpg Fly camp.

This area on the old slave route, close to the Tanzania border still has an average of two hundred people killed and eaten every year, not counting those that survived with terrible injuries.

About 200 miles to the north around Njombe in Tanzania was where at least 1,500 people had been killed and eaten until George Rushby was contracted to shoot every lion of that generation that had been reared on human flesh. While he was at it during 1941-1942 another 163 humans were killed and eaten, and as he was chasing the remaining 15 identified man-eaters they killed another 86.

The question is often asked what makes some prides search for humans to eat and Terry Irwin, the author of the article in the December 2016 issue of Man-Magnum states that of the many maneaters he had hunted down and killed, not a single one was in bad condition. These prides appear to exist in the exact locations along old and err.. not-so-old slave routes at the junctions where the sick lame and lazy were discarded to die.

Many rural tribes in Mozambique and Tanzania to this day do not bury their dead, and since AIDS had been taking its toll the numbers of dead had increased tremendously the past twenty years. Driving through the Mozambique outback you pass through towns with gravelled streets and intact houses and huts where not a single living human being exists.

Hunting the wilderness areas of Mozambique and Tanzania one very soon gets the feeling that you have stepped back in time by a hundred years. Yes, you will see cellphones even in the most wild, remote areas (in fact the Mozambique government has put much of the Western Slope to shame regarding cellphone coverage into the deepest wildest areas where there is zero other infrastructure). I had to blaze a 20 km trail from another 50 km 4x4 track through virgin bush to be able to build a hunting camp right in the heart of big game wilderness.
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"n the sixties, American kids were dreaming of building rocket ships and going to the moon. Today, they’re trying to figure out what gender they are and which bathroom they should be using".

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Last edited by MusgraveMan; 01-14-2017 at 02:57 AM.
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Old 01-10-2017, 10:02 AM
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Well, now that the hair is standing up on my arms, it makes me realize that about the biggest threat I have while hunting here in Texas is getting run over by a cross eyed sow looking for a ditch to hide in.
Interesting reading for sure.
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Old 01-10-2017, 10:08 AM
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Thank you. I enjoy reading about that kinda stuff too.

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Old 01-10-2017, 11:06 AM
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TPV, that made me smile.. many more hunters get hospitalized here by bushpig tusks cutting a femoral vein during night hunting than anything else. Exactly as you decribed. Stalk them as they feed on uprooted peanut stacks, turn on the lights and shoot the first one in your beam. The rest flee in any direction it was facing, often into your light beam and as you jump aside they swipe at your groin.

It is very few of us who experience the silly compulsion to now and then be free from any demands for three months other than that needed to hunt for your meat and feed ten other mouths and live in a tent while building a new camp where there is real life around you, all the time, day and night. To sleep calmly at night but to not really sleep at all, to in a way be aware of the natural random sounds of the bush and be wide awake at the stop of sounds or a coherent rhythm when no rhythm should be there. To know that no matter the thing in the crosshairs, it still needs breath control - in-out-in-halfway out until the crosshairs settle on the brain or heart and afterwards realise the let-off was by itself at the right moment. It is humbling to realise that while the .416 Rigby is a very pleasing rifle, if it is two yards away from you when you needed it in your shoulder you wish you had stayed at home and bought a steak at the butcher.

It is in a way uplifting for the soul to be scared but not scared witless - to be more afraid of maybe having to shoot that particular lion and later explain why you had shot it, than being afraid of looking it in the eye, or knowing it is right there but not seeing it. To know that men better than you had walked the very sand banks of the Loureco river you are walking - names like Terry Roosevelt and Harry Manners and writer Terry Irwin. To have the very footpath of the slaves under the soles of your sockless feet inside the soft ankle height kudu leather bootlets and see the tracks of a lioness on your own in the dust of this ancient land of slaves when you return tired and empty handed after a twelve kilometer unsuccessful hunt.
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"n the sixties, American kids were dreaming of building rocket ships and going to the moon. Today, they’re trying to figure out what gender they are and which bathroom they should be using".

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Last edited by MusgraveMan; 01-16-2017 at 08:25 AM.
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Old 01-10-2017, 12:53 PM
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Awesome pictures Musgraveman, thank you.....
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