Sable, hippotragus niger, is an incredibly majestic antelope. On my first safari to Namibia in 2018 sable were not native to that area so I’d had no experience with the species.

However, in South Africa, they were common. Some research became necessary.

Sable calves are born a light tan in color. After 2 months they gradually turn a rich, deep chestnut red which females remain. After 3 years the males turn coal black with prominent white face markings and a white tipped tail. Males exceed 500 pounds while females are just behind, topping out at 490. Males display a distinctive black, ruffed mane on neck and throat.

Both sexes have majestic, ringed, swept back horns. Female horns are 24 to 40 inches and mature males average from 32 to 50 inches.

One male rules a herd of 10 to 30 females and calves. As a young bull nears maturity they’re exiled from the herd, living together in bachelor groups of up to 12. Once fully mature these bachelors will challenge herd bulls for the females. Fierce battles are conducted on their knees to lessen the danger of serious injury, but many contests are fatal.

Sable seldom run from predators such as lions or leopards, choosing instead to face their opponent and fight. Their long horns easily reach their back and hind legs where they can seriously injure or kill a predator attacking from their favored position. Predators usually pass sable by looking for less dangerous prey.

Mating’s timed so calves are born during the rainy season when cover is thickest and greenery lush.

I found myself irresistibly drawn to the large sable mount on the lodge wall; it made my heart race. That coal-black neck and head with its ruffed, high standing mane, reddish, chestnut-colored ears, and those thick, heavy, ringed horns sweeping majestically up and back were an awe-inspiring sight. What an animal!

The first two days of hunting were packed with sightings, the majority of which involved a short look at alert game that bolted off immediately if you stopped to look or belatedly attempted a photo. Occasionally, we’d turn a corner and see a big dust cloud hanging over the trail where a herd of unknown animals had thundered across before we’d even had a chance to glimpse them.

Late the third day as the sun hung a hair’s breadth above the bushveld, I glanced to my left and there underneath a shepherd’s tree lay a big, black sable, those incredible horns sticking up out of the thorn scrub. Oh, my word!

Continuing on for a quarter mile we stopped and, grabbing the rifle, excitedly climbed off the truck. The dry, sandy trail allowed silent stalking. After 400 yards we slowed to a crawl. Ahead of us the tell-tale shepherd tree became visible but the thick scrub kept visibility to less than 30 yards. Closer we eased, step by careful step.

Then a loud, grunting snort as two unseen wildebeest leaped from their beds 50 yards to our side and dashed off. Immediately, the sable jumped up, spun and vanished hardly 35 yards away. I shook my fists at the wildebeest, the rotten buggers!

On the fifth day of the hunt, Vihan grabbed my arm: “Sable! Very nice.”

The alert sable immediately spun and ran. We continued on and turned onto a crossing trail. There, standing in the thick scrub under a prominent thorn tree, stood the sable. He slipped off slowly, knowing the cover prevented a shot. For two hours we pushed him on foot and from the truck, back and forth through the thickets. He remained cool, slipping silently through the cover, never allowing us any but glimpses of him, though once he stood in a shady patch of brush for some time knowing we could do nothing about it.

Finally, we stalked quite close but the bull scented us and busted out, running into a veritable maze of brush, thorns and thickets. Undiscouraged, Vihan gave Sam, our tracker, a bottle filled with pebbles and he entered the far side of the labyrinth, shaking the container. On the opposite side of the thicket we waited, rifle ready.

When Sam was only 100 yards off, I looked over Vihan’s shoulder and here came the sable. “There he is!” I exclaimed, raising the rifle. Vihan thought I was joking until he saw my expression. Too late, the sable leaped the clearing and vanished.

Quickly to the far side of the square and a quiet stalk along the trail, peering intently into the brush. Vihan and I saw the black silhouette simultaneously. The sable was again in thick, grey thorn brush; you could barely see him but, amazingly, his shoulder was visible through a small opening.

Heart pounding, I settled on the sticks, aimed carefully and squeezed. The .30-06 barked and the sable collapsed. Incredible, it had happened!

It was impossible to walk straight to the animal, so we weaved our way for 75 yards, thorns tearing at our clothing, and there he lay, magnificent beyond belief — and those incredible horns! The sun was setting, the sky a deep orange streaked with purple bands, breathtakingly beautiful.

I really didn’t know what to say, too deeply moved to do much more than grin and shake hands.

Daughter and father hugged; it was a priceless moment, a trophy, an experience to lovingly cherish time and again.