Actually, they almost caught us, because we hadn't expected them to bed again so soon. Wanda glimpsed buffalo in deep shadow ahead, so we flattened out and crawled into cover, assessing the situation.

The author's buffalo was an old timer, with teeth nearly gone and his bosses polished smooth. Bulls like this are usually only found near herds during the primary mating season--May and June in Zimbabwe.

The herd was bedded in a narrow valley with a fairly steep ridge on the right side. Perfect. Paul led us through, expecting we'd get a better view of the herd from above. It was ideal. Right below us, almost at the rear of the herd, four bulls were bedded tightly together. All were shootable, though two were marginally mature. We had time, so Paul immediately discounted them. The other two were older and better, very similar with big bosses, deep hooks and long tips. One was clearly better than the other.

Paul and Donna crawled forward while I watched the fun. Paul set up the sticks and Donna got ready, but there was a problem. The two good bulls were lying almost on top of each other, and there would be no shot until one or the other moved.

Two-and-a-half agonizing hours passed before the best bull finally moved--right into cover rather taking just one step left and offering a shot. We moved with them, almost getting a shot two or three times. We had plenty of time to hunt, so we were all fixated on this one bull. In order to kill him (which was becoming increasingly less likely), we had to keep tabs on him in a shifting mass of more than 300 buffalo. He stayed pretty much at the rear of the herd, as bulls do. But so did the other mature bulls, including his almost twin. While he was bedded, we saw that he had a red patch high on his right rump that turned out to be a still-healing wound, probably from a close brush with a lion. Twice we almost shot the lesser look-alike, but he didn't have that red patch. Then, as must happen eventually, we bumped them. And then we bumped them again, badly.

Twice more we isolated him, but it was too thick to shoot. Eventually we pitched up on a tall, brushy termite mount, with the rear guard of the herd milling around in the open below us. The distance, probably 100 yards, was far for a buffalo, and very far for a first buffalo. But it was now past 4 o'clock and we'd been on this bull for nearly six hours. We waited some more while he fed on the far side of a large tree. Then, finally, he came back and stood almost broadside and perfectly clear.

Donna's 400-grain solid entered the on-shoulder and exited the far side. The great herd thundered off in panic, but her bull went just fifty yards and stood, head down. We moved closer and she finished him, and then the most amazing thing happened. After he gave his death bellow, the herd came back, surrounding him and staring at us for several long minutes. Grudgingly they moved off and we went forward to see if this buffalo had been worth the wait. Oh, yes, he definitely was.