We knew the Hartmann zebra would come from the edge of the Namib, dust white, heads hanging, crowding the shallow stone paths that led upward and through the turmoil of tortured rock that lay far below our camp.
In the drifting smoke of our little fire at the top of the highest mountain, we waited for our first sunset, watching a black finger grow from each lesser mountain that stood below and against the setting sun, while we on the highest point, burnt red.
We talked hunting until the sky turned dark velvet and the fire, perched on the edge of a cliff, summoned the lights that now flickered across the heavens above us. We were quiet now and knew from this moment, that whatever followed in our lives, this fly camp in the Auas Mountains would be the most remembered.
With the morning came the cold, clear light that showed us the very edge of the world, a place ruled by the sun, a place where its white glare left a scorched, hot silence. There was one amongst us who knew it was from this desert that the Hartmann would come, drawn by the winter grazing, the pools in the deep gorge and the mountain sides that gave them protection from the leopards that waited for this winter's bounty.
Hidden on the steep slopes of the gorge below the Black mountain we also waited.
Pages
16
Format
Kindle Edition
Publisher
Bruce Parker
Release
September 26, 2014
A Hartmann hunt in the Auas Mountains: an African hunting story...for when you can't be there (African Hunting Stories Book 3)
We knew the Hartmann zebra would come from the edge of the Namib, dust white, heads hanging, crowding the shallow stone paths that led upward and through the turmoil of tortured rock that lay far below our camp.
In the drifting smoke of our little fire at the top of the highest mountain, we waited for our first sunset, watching a black finger grow from each lesser mountain that stood below and against the setting sun, while we on the highest point, burnt red.
We talked hunting until the sky turned dark velvet and the fire, perched on the edge of a cliff, summoned the lights that now flickered across the heavens above us. We were quiet now and knew from this moment, that whatever followed in our lives, this fly camp in the Auas Mountains would be the most remembered.
With the morning came the cold, clear light that showed us the very edge of the world, a place ruled by the sun, a place where its white glare left a scorched, hot silence. There was one amongst us who knew it was from this desert that the Hartmann would come, drawn by the winter grazing, the pools in the deep gorge and the mountain sides that gave them protection from the leopards that waited for this winter's bounty.
Hidden on the steep slopes of the gorge below the Black mountain we also waited.