I noticed the strong colors of autumn as we drove on the bumpy road through the bushveld. My gaze fell on the green hills full of yellow spots. It was the end of one season and the birth of another. It was also the birth of my first hunting season.

On arrival at the camp, I gave my equipment a last pre-check and shot a few arrows. I thought I would have to re-zero my bow to the new Trophy Taker arrow rest, but thanks to Folkers of Archery Afrika, the sight was already tuned in and the arrows were hitting the spot. I noticed a great gain in forgiveness using the new sight. This put me a little more at ease, as I had been warned a million times about buck fever.

The next day was spent in the blind. I witnessed my boyfriend shoot a kudu and I was looking forward to the challenge of my first hunt. The following day would be my turn.
When we arrived at the blind the next day, I felt positive and ready for my first bowhunting experience.

My guide analyzed the hunting situation and we decided to settle down in a small blind close to the waterhole. My excitement increased as we approached the time of day when warthog are most active. But there was no sign of them.

I laid back with my bow on my lap, listening to the leaves fall and the sound of nature. I felt very relaxed and calm. My guide suddenly disturbed the peaceful atmosphere by pulling at my arm. I could feel the urgency in his hand. My heart raced like a racehorse on steroids. I saw a group of warthog drinking and slowly moved into a sitting position. So many warthog eyes were watching, but I felt confident dressed in my Sniper camos as I drew the 45 pounds.

My 20-yard pin came to a halt on the spot I chose behind the shoulder. Everything around me moved in slow motion: the ripple of the shoulder muscle, the sound of the water dripping from the warthogs¹ mouths, the rustle of the leaves in the wind. I felt myself squeezing the release and the bow let off 33 foot-pounds of energy. The silence before the storm was broken.

All the warthog ran off in an explosion of feet and mud. I confirmed the shot with my guide. He was as confident as I that the shot had been well placed and assured me that the animal did not move before impact.

We waited half an hour before taking the blood trail. The guide had no problem following it, but to me it looked rather faded in the soft sand. Fifty yards further we found the dead warthog  my first kill ever. I was bursting with pride.

After another 45 minutes we returned to the camp. The pride that I arrived with was soon swallowed with a piece of warthog liver. Thank goodness this tradition only has to be honored once!

It was time to assess the performance of my equipment. The arrow had hit the rib smack in the middle, penetrating the heart and both lungs as well as the opposite rib. The arrow entered the warthog at a few degrees quartering away and made an exit wound after hitting the shoulder bone.

 The experience was one I had never dreamt I could be comfortable with. Yet it made me feel that I had made history within myself.

For more African bowhunting adventures: www.africanbowhunter.com

Reprinted from AFRICA'S BOWHUNTER Magazine