Pointers in Africa

Walk-up hunting in the South African Highlands

The Milky Way paints itself overhead, and satellites streak across the southern constellations, their paths lit like comets. A tail drums rhythmically against the dog box as Chris picks sandspurs by flashlight from the feet of his pointers. The patterns made by the satellite trails seem reflections of the paths we and the dogs made earlier through lush grass and of the trajectories of swing and shot and flying francolin. And now here we are, earth-bound in starlight, squeezed between land and sky like the filling in a cosmic Oreo. The ice in our gin-and-tonics tinkles in the darkness, tiny bells ringing in another evening in the bush. It’s good to be chasing wild birds in Africa again. 

What was new about this hunt was the dogs. All the other African wingshooting I’d done had been conducted without dogs of any kind, sometimes due to local laws restricting the use of dogs but more often due to the absence, to me inexplicable, of a pointing-dog tradition in the places I’d hunted—chiefly Kenya, Tanzania, Botswana and South Africa. Having grown up in Georgia, where “bird” means bobwhite quail and pointing dogs are nearly as common as shotguns, it always had seemed odd that fine flushing birds like francolin and spurfowl weren’t pursued with pointers by anyone I knew. So when Dave Cruz from Country Pursuits & Outfitters called one day with a short-notice opportunity to hunt behind pointers in the South African highlands, I jumped. Three weeks later Dave, our friend Thomas Hudson, photographer Alexis Greene and I were on a plane to Johannesburg.

Some of the Swainson’s francolin sported very impressive spurs. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

To make gun transport a little easier, Dave very kindly supplied both Thomas and me with shotguns from Country Pursuits’ inventory of fine guns. For me, he chose a beautiful and rather famous Symes & Wright 12-gauge over/under known as the “Bird of Prey Gun” for its stunning engravings of falcons, eagles and hawks in action. For Thomas, Dave chose a classic between-the-wars Purdey 12-gauge side-by-side, and for himself, he opted for his personal Holland & Holland 12-gauge over/under. Even if we missed every bird, at least they’d be honored by our arsenal!

We were met on arrival by our outfitter, Chris Christodolou of Ourano Pointers. Chris hails originally from Cyprus but was raised in South Africa and has been training pointers and leading wingshooting safaris in South Africa for several years. His passion is pursuing francolin, especially grey-wings, in the South African highlands, and the itinerary he’d assembled for our trip was designed accordingly. From the airport we headed southeast to a section of the Drakensberg mountains in the Free State province near Verkykerskop, an easy 3½-hour drive on mostly paved roads. Chris assured us the area held a strong population of both red-winged and grey-winged francolin along with a variety of waterfowl. 

We arrived after dark and settled in with the help of Chris’s apprentice hunter, Dylan Botes. Our lodgings were in a guest house at a small corporate retreat that Chris uses when his preferred lodging, a charming manor house, isn’t available. We found our rooms clean and comfortable but a little, well, corporate. On our next hunt we’ll probably arrange our schedule to stay at the manor house, which looked spectacular as we drove past it on the way to and from the hunting grounds.

A pointer locked up on the grasslands. Note the classic European low-tail position. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

Morning broke bright and a bit warm for May, when temperatures usually start to drop for the South African winter. After a quick breakfast, we drove on dirt roads about 45 minutes through hilly farms up into high rolling grasslands atop one of the more prominent Drakensberg ridges. The country reminded me very much of Montana or Wyoming sharptail habitat: big-sky summer grazing lands with the occasional barbed-wire fence, endless views over undulating ridges and rock-rimmed escarpments, and valleys dotted with marsh-edged wetlands. Chris’s hunting range in the area totals about 25,000 hectares—roughly 60,000 acres—which meant we could pretty much wander to the horizon, if we wished.

Luckily Chris had scouted the area thoroughly, so it wasn’t long before we started finding birds. When Chris dropped the first pair of pointers, Alba and Bianca, it took them only a few minutes to cover 500 yards of open ground, loop back in the opposite direction another 500 yards, do another couple of loops, and lock up like marble bookends on a hillside way out in front of us. 

As we fast-walked several hundred yards to the point, it was interesting to see how the dogs managed to hold the birds, snaking around as needed to head off a potential runner. Chris prides himself on how his dogs back a point and work as a team to contain a covey, and this first point showed their training nicely. When we walked past the lead dog, six red-wings exploded at our feet and headed for the horizon. Two of us doubled on one bird, a second bird fell to the third gun and there we stood in drifting feathers, happy as hunters can be.

Red-wings were a new species for each of us. In size and color they’re a bit like a ruffed grouse, but with white and yellow markings around the head and of course the characteristic red wing feathering that shows in flight. After pausing for a few minutes to examine them, we carried on after the dogs, up one ridge and down another, following point after point for several hours. I have to say that we were more than impressed by the number of birds we put up that morning. By the time we broke for lunch we’d seen upward of 30 francolin, all red-winged, in coveys ranging from three to seven and had dropped the legal limit of nine. In terms of sport, the red-wings were good flyers, much like Hungarian partridge, and of course the gusting wind around some of the escarpments added to the challenge. Relatively light 1-ounce loads of No. 7 shot performed just right.

Flocks of yellow-billed ducks and Egyptian geese offered challenging pass-shooting. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

Lunch that day was a delightful picnic conducted in the British safari tradition—table, chairs, proper tablecloth and silverware—but with a distinct Afrikaans/Greek flavor: samosas and an excellent local Chenin Blanc, which reflected Chris’s heritage. We loved it.

After lunch we ambled down a valley to a marshy waterhole in search of waterfowl. We found quite a few snipe, which made for some very sporty shooting around the edges of the marsh, but larger waterfowl were a bit thin until the last half-hour of shooting light, when we started to see flocks of yellow-billed ducks and Egyptian geese as well as a couple of spur-winged geese. 

Because they caught us chasing snipe out in the open, we didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the ducks and geese to circle down for an easy shot. Once they spotted us crouching in the mud and grass, we had to take the shots they offered on the first pass; but we did manage to pull down several at 60-plus yards using heavy loads of No. 6 shot. Had it occurred to us to bring calls or decoys, I suspect we might have done well with both. Our European pointers, on the other hand, proved to be much better water dogs than I would have expected, retrieving everything we shot with considerable enthusiasm. I hasten to note there were no crocs in this watershed to spoil their fun.

The sun had set by the time we picked up the last duck and returned to the vehicle. We lingered for a little while, talking and enjoying the final afterglow of the sun and hunt, then drove back to the lodge for drinks, a fire and dinner. 

From left: outfitter Chris Christodolou, the author and Dave Cruz with a francolin. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

Chris and Dylan did all of the cooking—on this evening a blesbok stew and on other evenings a variety of game dishes, including a delicious guinea fowl pot pie and a couple of Greek recipes Chris inherited from his great-grandmother. Chris and Dylan proved to be fine conversationalists, and we enjoyed discussions on topics ranging from rugby and cricket to sculpture and poetry, dogs, natural history and, of course, fine shotguns.

One of the most enjoyable parts of camp life was lounging in front of the fire with Chris’s five pointers. They were exceptionally well-mannered and easy to sit with, unlike most of the plantation pointers I’ve hunted behind over the years. Chris attributed their pet-like qualities partly to breeding but mostly to the fact that they were, in fact, pets. They were with him pretty much all the time, inside and out, and were used to the nuances of social situations. In consequence, they seemed almost spaniel-like in their responsiveness to human moods and wishes. One of these days I’d like to try one of his puppies on our farm.

The next day we focused primarily on grey-winged francolin, casting the dogs through mile after mile of high hills in areas where Chris had been seeing grey-wing coveys recently. As far as I could tell, the cover and terrain were essentially identical to where we’d seen red-wings, but this area just happened to include grey-wings as well. 

Dave Cruz unsheathes a lovely Holland & Holland 12-gauge over/under. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

Our luck wasn’t quite as good as the day before, with fewer coveys and a couple of wild flushes. I liked the way the grey-wings flew—quicker on the rise than red-wings and quicker, too, to hurtle over cliff edges toward safety. A fine challenge. We managed to get some long shots at a few grey-wings but didn’t connect. We ended up having more luck along the way with a couple of coveys of red-wings. Such is hunting. 

At this point we needed to decide whether to stay in the highlands or move to a different area in search of other species. In retrospect, we probably should have stayed, enjoying the hard walking and beautiful country, but we were intrigued by the possibility of Swainson’s francolin in the low country; so on the third day we moved camp to an area in the central Free State near Ventersburg. This area is largely agricultural, with huge expanses of corn and sunflowers, extensive grasslands for cattle and numerous high-fenced areas for hunting plains game. Its topography resembles Kansas/Nebraska in some places, Texas/New Mexico in others.

The Ventersburg area is perfect for shooting rock pigeons, doves and driven guinea fowl over grainfields, but we weren’t doing that this trip. Instead we focused on hunting field edges and grasslands for Swainson’s francolin (also known as Swainson’s spurfowl), a somewhat larger bird than red- or grey-winged francolin and similar to the yellow-necked spurfowl I’d hunted in Kenya. In fact, some of the spurs we found on the Swainson’s we shot were quite impressive. Their spurs together with their bright-scarlet and orange throat coloring make them a highly distinctive gamebird.

Thomas Hudson hoists a helmeted guinea fowl. (Photo by Alexis Greene)

We enjoyed good shooting for Swainson’s, especially in late afternoon, and the dogs managed to point and hold a few helmeted guinea fowl along the way. I’m not much of a fan of seeing high fences, however, even though they make no difference to the birds, and it was hard not to miss the high open country we’d been hunting in the Drakensbergs. On our next hunt with Chris I suspect we’ll spend more time in the highlands, and if we do hunt the low country, we’ll be sure to include driven guinea fowl, which I believe is some of the best driven shooting anywhere. 

Chris, in fact, prides himself on being able to arrange exactly this kind of “bespoke” hunting. His first love is walking behind his pointers, of course, but for hunters who want to hunt the highlands without enduring long days of walking steep hills, a horseback hunt might be a good option. For hunters who prefer high-volume shooting, guineas, rock pigeons and doves in the low country may be preferable to walk-up hunting behind dogs. And for hunters who want the ultimate high-country experience, Chris mentioned some beautifully tough areas with spectacular views and even a few trout streams.

If I had to pick a single highlight from the trip, it would have to be spending time with arguably the best set of pointers I’ve hunted behind. The image of those dogs streaking across wild country under endless skies is enduring, as is the memory of waking after a nap to find a sleeping pointer’s head nestled under my arm. 

One way or another, we expect to return. 

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