Monty Browning was following a herd of Cape buffalo.
He had been tracking them since gray light that morning. In the distance he spotted a big bull moving left to right through the brush. That was the one where he wanted to put his arrow.
The bull stepped out at about 38 yards and growled. Professional hunter Paul Krueger whispered, “Shoot the bugger.” It was a long shot. Monty picked one of the bulging shoulder muscles, drew his 90-pound longbow, and released the 1,500-grain arrow. The buffalo took off running. Paul jumped up with the .458, but Monty stopped him. “Don’t shoot him. He’s good.” He told Paul it was only one lung and wouldn’t kill the animal.
This encounter happened on about the second day of the safari. Monty was hunting with Paul Krueger. They had circled a group of buffalo moving through the brush. Monty was shooting well with his longbow and two-blade broadhead. When the bull stepped clear at 38 yards, Monty was down on one knee. The bull growled, Paul urged him to shoot, and Monty took the shot. The arrow looked as if it might sail four feet over the bull’s back, but at 38 yards it dropped in right behind the front leg. Unfortunately, it struck a heavy rib at a bad angle and the broadhead may have turned horizontal. Monty achieved only about 12 inches of penetration.
Still, it was a beautiful sight — the big yellow feathers slamming into the black hide. The bull crashed away into the brush. Monty and Paul tracked him from 10 that morning nonstop until 3:30 that afternoon, covering miles of rugged country. Eventually they found the arrow. Monty had used hot-melt cement on the broadhead so it would pull free if it hit bone. The animal’s body heat had softened the glue, allowing the heavy shaft to work itself out. After the bull rejoined the herd near the Zambezi River, Paul studied him carefully and declared the animal healthy. “He’ll make it,” Paul said. “Right now he’s thinking more about mating than dying.” They continued the hunt.
When Paul had to leave, Monty switched to hunting with Angelo. Toward the end of the safari he still had not gotten a clean shot. Late one evening they were tracking another herd since gray light. They could not get close enough. Angelo, an excellent bowhunter himself, turned to Monty and said, “We’re not going to get a stalk on these buffalo now. Would you like to just walk up to them?”
They were positioned behind a Mopani tree with the tracker behind them. Darkness was approaching. Monty thought about the 13 days he had spent crawling on his chest, pushing with his toes, trying to close the distance on these dangerous animals. Now Angelo was suggesting they simply walk up. Monty agreed.
Angelo opened his .458, checked it, eased the bolt forward, and took the safety off. He stepped out from the tree. Monty nocked an arrow, drew a couple of practice pulls to loosen his muscles, and followed. “Do as I do,” Angelo whispered. The buffalo stood 40 yards away. Since Monty was taller than Angelo, he felt exposed when they emerged. Still, the two men simply walked toward the herd.
It was one of the coolest experiences Monty had ever had in the wild. They approached without crawling an inch. At 30 yards the light was fading, but Monty could still see the big bull in the back walking left to right — exactly the animal he wanted. They reached 25 yards. The buffalo began turning their heads to watch them. When a buffalo stares at a man at ground level, it feels like it is aiming right at the belly button, because that is where it will hit. Now they were inside 20 yards with cows, calves, and young bulls scattered around them.
Suddenly one buffalo spun, its horn cracking against another’s ribs, and the entire herd exploded into the Mopani trees and Combretum scrub. A thick cloud of dust rose. Angelo took off running. Monty stayed right on his heels, chasing the animals down valleys, up hills, and through thorn brush. They got scratched up badly, but the chase felt exhilarating. Eventually the herd outdistanced them. It had grown too dark to identify the right bull. Angelo stopped. Both men were soaked in sweat after a long day in the bush. Monty could not wipe the smile from his face. Angelo had taught him something valuable that evening.
The safari ended without a kill. Monty returned home, but the following year he was back in Africa hunting with Angelo again. They located a group of bulls lying on a hill among the Mopani trees. Monty told Angelo that too many people were making the stalks difficult. “Just let me go up there by myself.” Angelo considered it and replied, “Okay, monkey. You must be careful, but go.”
Monty checked the wind, circled wide, and moved in. At 75 yards he dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling through the grass with his longbow. He worked his way to 40 yards and kept going lower. A row of slender Diospyros trees — the same wood used locally to make bows — stood like jail bars in front of him. Behind them he could see six big bulls lying in the grass.
He continued low-crawling with his chin on the ground, pushing the bow ahead. Now he was 25 to 30 yards away. While studying the bulls, movement caught his eye. A large buffalo head eased out from behind a tree and stared directly at him. Lying on his stomach and looking up, Monty remained completely still. After a long moment the bull turned and walked away. Monty whispered to himself, “That’s good.”
He sat there thinking, “All right, Monty Browning from central South Carolina. You’ve come this far. You’ve got to do something.”
Monty nocked an arrow and decided to stand up quickly. He hoped the herd would jump and take one step forward, giving him a shot. Instead, when he rose they wheeled and crashed away without that helpful step. Something primal clicked in his mind. He jerked the arrow off the string, gripped the bow in one hand and the broadhead in the other, and sprinted after them in his stalking shoes.
They raced over a hill, down into a valley, up the next slope, and across a wide flat. Each time the herd plunged through briars or thorn trees, they would pause and look back. Monty would throw his arm up to shield his eyes, crash through, and emerge to see the wall of buffalo standing there. Before he could nock another arrow they would run again. He chased them like this three times. Then he made a bad decision.
The herd stopped in the open. The big bull stood broadside. Before Monty could get an arrow ready, the bull began to turn. Monty thought he could drive the heavy arrow up the hind end all the way into the vitals. He was pulling nearly 95 pounds and shooting well, but it was still a poor choice. The arrow struck just left of center in the hindquarter. Only the nock remained visible. Blood poured out as the bull ran over the hill.
Angelo soon came crashing through the brush. “Did you hit one?” Monty told him the truth. Angelo took a rifle shot at the running bull, roughly 75 yards away. The bullet only grazed the top of the back, tunneled through the hide, and exited without doing serious damage.
They tracked the bull, which was bleeding heavily from Monty’s arrow. After about a mile, around three that afternoon, they jumped him again. He ran and Angelo fired. Monty tripped hard, struck his head on the ground, and blacked out briefly. When he regained consciousness, the world was spinning and he heard shots. Bleeding from several scrapes, he grabbed his arrows and ran toward the fight.
He caught up just as Angelo fired his last round. The bull stood broadside and the shot broke its neck. It collapsed. Monty sprinted past Angelo and ran straight up to the animal. Camera in hand, he moved so fast he had to jump over the fallen buffalo to avoid tripping. He captured a striking photo of the bull lifting its head with a defiant look that seemed to say, “If I could just get up, I’d kill you.”
Although Monty’s arrow would have eventually killed the bull, he could not count it as a bow kill. He felt sad about the poor decision, but he faced the truth of what had happened.
Monty had to return once more. This time, hunting with native tracker Mquo, everything finally came together. He closed to just 10 yards and placed an arrow straight through the center of the heart. The bull ran only 60 yards before it dropped. It was a clean, ethical, and deeply satisfying end to his long journey.
Those hunts taught Monty Browning patience, humility, and profound respect for one of Africa’s most dangerous animals. He learned that failure is part of the pursuit and that bad decisions under pressure carry heavy consequences. But by continuing to show up, staying honest with himself, and learning from every chase across the African bush, he eventually succeeded.
As told in an interview by Monty Browning.