DESPITE the distance at still over 300 metres, I was prepared to send a pill his way, probably due to us not seeing any Kudu and maybe not any more either. Before I could take up the trigger pressure, the bull stopped behind a bush with only his head and horns poking up over it. “Don’t move,” Boet hissed at me, him standing there with bino’s glued to his head and myself still lining the bull up over the sticks. The bull meanwhile, just standing there, head in our direction, eyeing us over. Our stance wasn’t a comfortable one, muscles started aching from the lack of movement while being stuck in awkward positions, but we had no choice. Move and the bull would be gone. Boets watch beeped to indicate…
