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Blog Posts > Travel > The Great African Adventure, Part 9: Leaving Chobe

The Great African Adventure, Part 9: Leaving Chobe

WTA Team

| January 3, 2017

WTA Team
January 3, 2017

Sunday May 18^th Moving Day Chobe River Front

We wake up extra early, head out and climb the rocks to the Bushman Paintings and watch the African rise and show us her rosy face. Pictures are taken of the 2000 year old paintings of the giraffe, buffalo, Mopani Worm and Sable. It is an incredible anthropological site. Cheri loves this. I sit in my spot and try to take it all in so I can remember every detail. We head back to our camp and the fellas load up the Green Mamba and we are off to the Chobe River Front for our last camp.

We head up the main Chobe road through 2 small villages and arrive around noon. We stopped and gathered fire wood. It is fun. I run around the 2 small ponds a little bit for some exercise. I’m certain I will get scolded but instead I get a big round elephant poo tossed at me. Close Call! We see some new birds….Pied Babbler, Rock Pratincole and the Pearl Spotted Owlets – cousins of the facial cleansing towelettes. We help set up camp and honestly Cheri and I are really more trouble than we are worth – but we do give it a good try – and it feels as though maybe we are contributing!

The Last Camp

Once again our camp is lovely – up on a ridge that overlooks the Chobe River. There are elephants nearby and a busy troop of baboons are very interested in my shoes which I have left by the door of the tent. Cheri and I do a little laundry and I watch them look at my pajamas hanging on a branch…I’m hoping they will put them on someone’s head! We drive down to the water’s edge for Sundowners and a game drive. It is a beautiful place for a cocktail and we just take it all in. There are giraffes, baboons, elephants, many birds and a beautiful sunset. I’m trying very hard to remember every detail.

Monday May 19^th

We take our leisure at the fire in the morning, drinking coffee and chatting. Clinton and Dad are telling stories of adventure in the wilderness…. I love the stories of who they are. We head out and bumble along. We see some new birds a black breasted snake eagle, Schwarro Herron and a blue wax bill. We see a raft of hippos and yet another journey of giraffes and a family of elephants with one very little guy…very cute. We drive through the water…I love this…and come upon a big water monitor lizard. And this time I don’t scare him away. We get really close and get to see his feet, tongue and weaponry. Very Interesting Fellow!

We have coffee on the beach and then continue to drive through the water’s edge. I look out over the Chobe River and just feel incredibly happy. That afternoon we come upon a huge male elephant in musth and Clinton gave him a lot of room to navigate around us. Even though I have seen elephants every day they still fascinate me. This fellow meant business. Dad said that he was very proud of himself. I don’t know… he seems irritable to me…not at all like those elephants playing in the water. We had our last Sundowners on the beach and it is a little bittersweet – ok maybe more than a little. When we arrive back at the camp Lawrence and Degree are making a fun dinner for us. They let Cheri and I help cook and it is very festive, delicious of course it is wonderful.

The Final Night

No sleep tonight, I lie away and listen to the night sounds and I think about all that I have seen. It occurs to me that all of my life I have had this misguided belief that humans have the corner on the market in the way of bravery, kindness, family bonds, joy, friendship, perseverance and sacrifice- qualities that we try to develop within ourselves. I have seen every one of those fine things undiluted in this place…from that brave little lapwing on day one to a mother lion and her pride. We’ve all got our stories…I hope that I can live this story…

Tuesday, May 20^th

We wake early and make a quick soiree through the Chobe Riverfront and look for some lions which are not to be found. We head back to our camp, fetch the loaded trailer and the six of us drive to our drop off point where Dad, Cheri and I will head off to Victoria Falls after a boat cruise and leave our guide, Clinton and Lawrence and Degree. We drive along and see a Sable for the first time – he is a beauty – and I believe a farewell gift to us. There are not many things I hate but goodbyes are one.

We arrive too soon, give quick hugs all around. Degree is on top of the Green Mamba tossing down our bags and just waves with both hands and a big smile. I can’t look in his eyes so I just wave and walk away with a sharp sadness. I will miss my African friends, their warm kindness, generous laughter and their deep abiding love for this beautiful place they call home.

And one day I will come back.

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Dialed In: A 360-Inch Bull Elk and the Luck that Made It Happen

Winning one hunt sweepstakes through Worldwide Trophy Adventures feels like a long shot, but winning two? That’s the kind of luck I still can’t fully wrap my head around. I started entering WTA sweepstakes a few years ago, taking full advantage of their Bonus Bucks program and hoping to win someday. I’ve hunted whitetails in Minnesota’s flat woods, mule deer out West, and Sitka blacktails in Alaska’s rugged country, but this was different. When Worldwide Trophy Adventures called to tell me I’d won their 2024 Nevada bull elk hunt, just a year after winning a Utah mule deer hunt from them, I was stunned. Two sweepstakes wins in two years? Unreal. And the icing on the cake? I’d be hunting with a crew that truly knows their elk. As Erik Schell put it: “John, when it comes to elk, these guys are paid killers.” He wasn’t wrong.

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Baker is a speck of a town, population 16, just shy of the Utah line. The outfitter set us up in an Airbnb called The Corner Place. It was homey, with enough beds for me, another hunter, and the guide crew. The kitchen had stacks of premade meals like casseroles and snacks, whipped up by the outfitter’s wife. We heated them up after long days, but if we got back late, we’d hit the Border Crossing, a bar and greasy spoon split between Nevada and Utah. One side had slot machines, the other a gas station. We’d grab burgers and a bucket of Budweiser, the guide Richie’s favorite, and swap stories. It was simple, but it hit the spot.

The outfitter’s team was world-class. They’d been scouting for a week, pinpointing a bachelor group of bulls in a canyon 20 miles north. That first night, we sat around the Airbnb’s kitchen table sipping beers and scrolling through their scouting videos. Three bulls stood out: a beat-up 6×6 they called Bondo, a heavy 5×5, and a narrower 7×7. We decided to hit the canyon at dawn.

Day one was no joke. Richie, my guide, led me up the mountain before light, climbing a couple thousand feet. The air was a bit thinner than in Minnesota, but Richie kept a steady pace. Two spotters, Cameron and Ryan, worked the opposite canyon rim. It felt like I had the dream team for this once-in-a-lifetime elk hunt. We eased onto a rock ledge about 400 yards above a bench where five bulls were feeding: Bondo, the 5×5, a thin 6×6, a young 5×5, and a spike. No 7×7. This was the first time I was faced with taking a bull elk, but Richie talked me through it. “The 5×5’s got 30 inches of mass per side, swords in the 20s, probably 9 or 10 years old. Scores at least 330. Solid first bull.”

I went prone on the ledge, dialing my Gunwerks Nexus in 7 PRC to 387 yards. Richie double-checked: “386 yards.” Right as I lined up, the bull bedded down. Great. I’d waited out a mule deer for five hours once, so I knew the drill. Lying on snow with a 20° northwest wind kicking up, I started shivering after an hour. Richie saw it. “You good? We can back off, build a fire, or shoot him bedded. There’s a branch over some of his vitals. Can you slip a round under it?”

I’d put in time at Gunwerks’ Long-Range University: a hands-on, no-BS school that focuses on real-world shooting conditions, not just benchrest skills. They train you to read wind, manage stress, and make clean, ethical shots in exactly the situations that hunters face in the field. I knew my rifle, my dope, and my limits. “I got it,” I said. I checked the yardage, my level, controlled my breathing, and squeezed. The bull collapsed. “You smoked him!” Richie said. When he tried to get up, a second round finished it.

Reaching the bull was an experience I won’t forget. I’ve taken plenty of deer over the years, but this 360″ elk was in a league of its own—sheer mass, thick beams, and antlers that looked heavy even from a distance. Standing over him, the scale of the hunt hit me. We built a small fire, took photos, and soaked in the moment. Then came the hard part. The canyon was steep and treacherous, slick with snow and loose shale. I took a spill on the descent, and every step down was a test of footing and balance with meat on our backs. It took over three hours to reach the canyon floor and get the bull out, but it was worth every bit of effort. Back at camp, we celebrated the way hunters do—cold beers and a good story to tell.

We caped the bull that night and packed the meat in coolers, though it was cold enough outside to keep everything fresh. I hung around a few days, spotting for the other hunter’s bull, glassing canyons, and enjoying the Nevada backcountry. No pressure, just good times behind the glass. When I left, I strapped the antlers to my truck, crammed the coolers in, and drove 24 hours straight home, still buzzing. Back in Minnesota, I vacuum-sealed the meat, enough for months of meals, and dropped the rack with a taxidermist for a shoulder mount.

This hunt was as good as it gets. The outfitter knew every inch of that country, had bulls dialed in, and gave me options. For a guy who’s now won two WTA sweepstakes, I’ll tell you straight: these hunts are real and the sweepstakes are worth it. Nevada’s elk country and that crew of “paid killers” gave me a bull and a story I’ll be telling for years.

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