It wasn`t a very auspicious beginning. I glared at the bullet hole through my binoculars, which had punctured the cardboard target about 10 inches to the right of the bulls-eye, and heaved a sigh.

I was rushing through the obligatory sighting-in of the rifle before we left to look for game, and I just wasn`t concentrating. Naturally, the first shot from a rifle new to me was usually a bit off, what with the unknown trigger pull and in this case, an untried caliber. But I had so wanted to make a good impression for this, my first Cape buffalo hunt.

I had been in east Africa for two weeks already, savoring the photographic delights to be found on a private tour of four national parks that I had arranged prior to my hunt. It`s a policy of mine to mix the hunting with some sightseeing; I just can`t justify that long tortuous plane ride for a hunt without some side trips.

Watching the various big game species I was planning on pursuing greatly increases my enthusiasm for the hunt to come, and educates me on what to look for in a potential trophy. On this, my fifth trip to my favorite continent, I visited the Lewa Downs Conservancy and the Masai Mara in Kenya, and finished up with a trip through the Ngorongoro Crater and Tarangire National Park in Tanzania, ending up a mere 20 kilometers from the hunting concession. The parks were fantastic; the wildebeest migration was in full swing, accompanied by myriads of zebras, gazelles and all the major predators. I had my fill of wonderful photo opportunities, very useful in my career as a wildlife artist.

The only problem in planning this trip involved my firearm. I had not been encouraged to lug a gun case through these parks and on all the charter flights involved; no doubt it would have given many of the visiting tourists and officials some concern to see me packing a gun around in the national parks. So I had arranged to borrow my ph`s .375 H&H when he collected me at the end of my photo safari. I`ve borrowed rifles on hunts before, and never had a problem.

My hunt took place in the Burunge concession of northeastern Tanzania the first week of September, and I booked it with friends Claude and Jill Kleynhans of Mafigeni Safaris out of South Africa. At the SCI show, I told Claude that I was very interested in hunting the Grant`s and Thompson`s gazelles along with a buffalo, so he recommended this area of Tanzania, although he did caution me that we probably wouldn`t be seeing any thundering herds of buffalo in Burunge, which can be encountered in other areas like the Selous. Those words would come back to haunt me during my hunt!

After I managed to improve on my initial shot at the target, we trundled off in the Land Rover, keen on spotting one of the seven species I hoped to encounter. Not 15 minutes out of camp, the first herd of zebras was spotted milling in the bush 125 yards off the track. The stallion presented himself broadside, like a gift, and the .375 roared. I had my first Tanzanian animal down. I could almost hear the sigh of relief from the trackers and the game scout--no doubt they had been having a few second thoughts about the wisdom of a single woman out hunting in the hinterlands

We returned to camp, which was well-situated in the bush not far from Lake Burunge. This was a semi-permanent camp, so the accommodations weren`t quite as spiffy as those I`d experienced in southern Africa, but they were perfectly comfortable and adequate for the environs. I was the only hunter in camp, and greatly enjoyed the culinary talents of the chef and his assistants. I had never gotten the chance to try zebra before, having been told I wouldn`t like it on previous hunts, so I insisted on having it for dinner that night. It was wonderful!

Claude and I spent some time discussing our hunting strategy for Burunge. He is a keen buffalo hunter, and has led many clients to some awesome bulls. I could hear the concern in his voice; it was extremely dry, and much of the brush had been burned, leaving formerly lush vegetation parched and blackened in many areas, with no sign of fresh water anywhere. Much of the indigenous wildlife had changed their patterns of movement and areas of concentration, so it was a whole new ball game for this hunt.

Nevertheless, relief was evident when we took an afternoon game drive along the shore of Lake Burunge and encountered thousands of zebra and wildebeest milling in the long grass along the brackish lake shore. I had never had so many "targets" to choose from; it was overwhelming, and reminded me of caribou hunting. In the manner of wildebeest, they kept up a steady walk or trot while we tried to pick out a really large bull, which proved far more difficult than it sounds. There was no rush, however, with so many to chose from. The sun set behind the lake before I managed to connect, but I knew I`d have other chances.

The next morning we set out for the nearby Masai village grounds to look for a Thompson gazelle. They were occasionally spotted in these areas, where the grazing cattle and goats kept the grass cropped short. I was somewhat dubious, but the trackers did spot a nice ram and a few ewes within sight of the mud huts of the village. After a tense stalk, we could only get within 225 yards, but that proved sufficient, and soon I had a lovely 13" tommy for my collection. I`ve had a fondness for these small, energetic, tail-wagging gazelles ever since I could remember, and it was a real treat to enjoy his delicate beauty and elegant ringed horns up close.

That afternoon, we went back to the lake edge, where we finally located an exceptional white-bearded wildebeest amongst the throng of zebra and gnu relaxing in the surrounding woodland. He was a beautiful old bull, with a pitch black face and a shining silvery hide and white beard, and horns that should put him in the top 20 SCI, so I was a happy camper. But there was still no sign of buffalo anywhere. We were constantly checking all the major game trails and luggas for fresh tracks, but without success.

By the end of the third day, we had crisscrossed most of the small hunting concession, bordered on one side by Tarangire National Park, and the brackish lake on the other. It seemed obvious that the dry conditions and lack of water were really going to make it a challenge to find a buffalo. Claude, indicating a few dried-up mud holes, told me about the lush grass and standing puddles he`d observed last season, when the weather pattern was more predictable. That painfully familiar phrase I hear all too often, "You know, it`s never been like this before" started to pop up, and I began to revamp my mental priorities.

The idea of not seeing a buffalo at all had not occurred to me; usually, I`m consumed with imagining exactly what I want as a trophy, how big, what I would pass up until the last day, etc. I now had to redefine my objectives, going from the hopeful possibility of choosing between a wider, soft-bossed younger bull and an older, broomed-off dugga boy, to just hoping to see ANY buffalo at all in the remaining few days. Africa can spoil a hunter, and I had certainly been spoiled in the past, having had very successful hunts on my previous trips to South Africa, Namibia and Zimbabwe.

Our game scout Cyte (pronounced "Side") was a tall, poised, soft-spoken man, and we all relied on his instincts, advice, and intimate knowledge of the area . His idea was to go to the local tribesmen and ask if they had seen any buffalo, since they are constantly on the move, forever looking for fresh grazing for their livestock. We found a group of them at a borehole, drawing water from deep underground. They told the trackers about a bull they had seen two days earlier, but they weren`t too encouraging. We found a fresher set of tracks later that day, but they led straight towards the park boundary, so we turned back.

Despite our lack of success thus far, I greatly enjoyed seeing other wildlife in this area. Besides being replete with zebra and wildebeest, there were many impala, dik-dik, reedbuck, giraffe, a few waterbuck and lesser kudu, some really nice elephant bulls, and even a pride of lions we stumbled on in the tall grass by the lake. One thing I didn`t enjoy was the tsetse flies chewing away at all exposed areas, a normal side-effect of buffalo hunting.

On day five, I was awakened at 4 am by the rather unmistakable sound of several large elephants feeding on the trees about 20 feet from my tent. They left ample evidence of their visit, and seemed to enjoy chasing the kitchen staff as they went back and forth between the cook tent and the dining area.

I was a bit glum, feeling discouraged; it was almost painful remembering the hundreds of buffalo I had seen and photographed in the first two weeks of my trip. We set off for a dry riverbed to see if the bull we`d heard about was still in the area, and carefully walked along the bank. The trackers found some fresh spoor and a few dung piles from the night before, so that was certainly encouraging.

We paused to make a game plan and consider our options, and Juma, one of the trackers, drifted back along our trail to peer under some thick brush. Suddenly, he was whispering frantically and motioning to something 75 yards off the trail. We hunkered down and scrambled over to where he was crouched, pointing under some large trees and shrubs. It was almost black in the depths of the shadows, and at first I couldn`t make out a thing. But then the faint outline of a buffalo`s back was barely visible, where he was laying quietly and no doubt had watched us all troop right by him. Claude quickly set up the shooting sticks, and I steadied the rifle on them, trying to catch any sign of movement in the gloom under the trees.

It all seemed to happen so fast, of course. The bull suddenly lurched to his feet, whirling around to look in our direction. But it was so dark through the scope; all I could make out was the shine from his nose, one glaring eye and the sweep of his right horn; all the rest of his body and head was shrouded in darkness and brush. I had no recollection of his size at that time; all I knew was that this was a bull, THE bull, the only buffalo we`d seen, and I didn`t care how big he was, I was going to try for him, as soon as Claude gave the word. I just couldn`t figure out where to hold on him, since I couldn`t see any vital areas. Claude told me to shoot, so I dropped my sights down to about 3 inches below his chin, where I hoped his neck was, and fired. He spun around and bolted out behind the trees, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

The bull headed straight for the park, with all of us in hot pursuit. The terrain varied, with open areas of sun baked hardpan and thick groves of brush and trees, so it became a slow, painstaking job of tracking the wounded bull, trying to guess where he might be headed, or where he could be waiting for us. I crept with Claude and the trackers up to likely bushes and hiding places, gun at the ready, heart in my throat. We flushed him twice, and he always headed away from us.

He finally burst out into an opening, where I was able to get a few shots off, and he fell to his knees. I ran up to finish him off, and for the first time got a good look at this majestic, amazing animal that had led us on quite a chase for two hours. It was an incredible emotional release: the thought that I might have lost this bull was, well, unthinkable.

After some exultation and a few tears of gratitude and relief, I examined the bull and discovered, after some discussion, that the bull had not been standing and staring at us in classic buffalo fashion, but was crouched down low and peering underneath the brush, so my shot had obviously not broken his neck as planned, but merely wounded him. Needless to say, I was incredibly grateful to the trackers for all their hard work.

It was then that we all realized just how enormous this bull was. His horns, full of character, were so deeply curved and dropped so low that his head was held aloft when it was on the ground. His 14 inch bosses were covered in dried mud, and his noble face was scarred and weathered by his life in the bush. He was a truly magnificent old bull, far larger than what I had hoped for, and bigger than almost anything I had seen in the national parks. And did I mention, he had a 47 1/2 inch spread; what a buffalo!

In sticking with local tradition, after the bull was photographed and loaded up, we festooned the truck with green branches and drove back to camp singing at the top of our lungs. Or rather, the trackers were all singing; I was still in a daze from this awesome experience. They hoisted me high in a chair (and that`s not easy; I`m 6`4"!) and carried me in a victorious circle around camp, shouting and clapping.

Oh, happy days...Claude and I could relax now, with such a huge buffalo in the salt. We chattered and carried on for hours about the hunt. Then we started planning my last few days; I still had a couple critters to chase! The next morning we got a very early start for Longido, a large area within Masailand northeast of Arusha. After a 4-hour drive we arrived at the beautiful acacia covered hills, bordered by Mount Mero, with the mighty Kilimanjaro visible in the distance. This was gerenuk and lesser kudu country, but I was searching for a Grant`s gazelle, and it didn`t take long to find a likely ram grazing on a grassy plateau. He had wonderful long ringed horns and a scarred face from fighting, a terrific trophy. We spent a few hours looking for a good impala, but they were escaping the heat in the dense woodlands, and we couldn`t get close enough.

There was only one day left. I was allowed to shoot another buffalo, but I wasn`t too concerned about it. My bull would be a tough one to top! So we spent the morning in Burunge looking for impala, and I shot a nice heavy horned ram by the lake. I had hoped to find a hartebeest, and we went on a drive to an area along the lake that they frequent, although I was told they weren`t very common in the area. We did spot a herd a quarter mile away, but despite a long and very careful stalk in the tall grass, we just couldn`t determine if there was a bull in the group before they moved off.

Nevertheless, I couldn`t have asked for a more exciting, nail-biting, fun- filled hunt! The animals were all trophy book quality, the staff incredibly organized and competent, and my ph Claude was top-notch. The hard part for me is always the horribly long wait to see these wonderful creatures brought back to life and hanging in my house. But at least I have my memories and photos to reflect on the hunt whenever I wish. And I certainly have LOTS of first-hand inspiration for many future paintings!