The Dream of Africa
Just like Lucy’s footprints embedded in the Tanzanian dirt, my first steps onto African soil are just as indelible. In my mind, a set of size 11 Danners are still pressed into the mud along the Senegalese banks of the Gambia River, where I waited, shotgun in hand, in the fading orange sunset for the flocks of ganga, or four-banded sand grouse, to arrive. I’ve returned to Africa a few times since, notably wingshooting rock pigeons in the Free State and hunting in the snow for gemsbok and Cape kudu high among the Drakensberg mountains. Each trip has left a permanent mark upon me, and in my dreams, my tracks are still lined out across the landscape, leading the way for other hunters to follow. As mythical as Africa looms in the…