Sunset was approaching fast on the last evening of the hunt. Several kudu bulls had fed out into the thick hook thorn bushes, and one of them was a real dandy. No, he wasn't a 60-inch monster, but he had deep curls and perfect shape, and he would be one of the better kudu I've ever taken. And it was the last evening, which would put a perfect outdoor writer's finish to the story that was half-written in my head.

The author knew the rifle, Ruger's first Number One single-shot in 9.3x74R, was properly sighted in because just a day earlier it was used to take this gemsbok, a much more difficult shot.

The wind was just fine as my old friend Dirk de Bod and I started to slip in on him, but the dry thorn was extremely noisy. The lesser bulls paid no attention, but the big guy was nervous. His great horns floated above the thorn as he walked away, and I could see a hint of white stripes, but it was just too thick to shoot.

We stood motionless for a few minutes, then followed him. The game of cat and mouse went on for several minutes. The bull never ran and had no need to. He knew exactly where we were, and the thick hook thorn bushes were his armor.

Now he stood on the far side of a tall bush, just the tips of his horns visible. We were looking across a slight depression, and to the bull's left the brush was slightly lower. Dirk put up the sticks, whispering, "If he comes out to the left we'll have a shot."

I saw he was right and also saw that it probably wasn't going to get much better. I got the rifle ready, and the bull stepped out to the left. Only the top third of his body was visible above the thorn. High shots are always risky but especially so on animals with high, humped shoulders, such as kudu. I knew it wasn't perfect, but it was the best chance we were likely to get. This in itself is the worst reason in the world to take a shot, but there were positives as well.

The distance was fairly close--no more than 100 yards, and probably just 80 or 90. I was shooting Ruger's first Number One in 9.3x74R, with a tough 285-grain bullet. Lots of bullet, lots of gun, and I knew where the rifle was shooting. And it was a kudu. African game is legendary for being tough. Perhaps mythical is a better term because (just like everywhere else) some African animals are tough for their size and some are not. Wildebeest and zebra are very tough, as is the entire sable-roan-oryx tribe. Kudu are not tough.

In the split second before the bull stepped out and the rifle went off, did I properly evaluate all these things? Probably not, but I knew them all intuitively and the preponderance of evidence told me to take the shot, which I did. It is very hard to force yourself to shoot down into grass or brush, but I knew the portion of the kudu that was perfectly clear wasn't good enough. So I put the Trijicon's bright blade just slightly down into the thorn on his shoulder, almost reaching the halfway mark when the trigger broke.