On The Trigger: African Hunting Trip

In May, TriggerTech’s VP of Operations, Taylor Bacon, took on a challenging hunt in South Africa’s Baviaans River Conservancy. After months of preparation, he faced a true test of skill and patience. In our inaugural “On the Trigger” blog, Taylor shares his unforgettable experience.

My long-time hunting buddy, Ben, and I had talked about going on a hunt in Africa for over a decade. He had given me Green Hills of Africa many years ago as part of my groomsman gift at his wedding, which became the perfect catalyst for our adventure. We both have young families and busy careers but in late 2024 we decided to stop finding excuses and commit to a hunt in May of 2025.

For this hunt, Ben and I chose a South African hunt with Crusader Safari’s – an easy decision.  They offer true free range hunting across massive conservancies and have a great reputation. We were inspired by the spirit of Hemingway’s legendary escapades and decided to make a pilgrimage to Hemingway’s Bar in Paris before kicking off the safari.

We arrived in Paris in the morning and navigated the bureaucracy required to check my rifles into storage with Customs at Charles De Gaulle—visiting Hemingway's Bar didn’t constitute a valid reason to clear French customs with a rifle. The process wasn’t straightforward, but once everything was squared away, we set out to enjoy the day. We spent the afternoon indulging in fine food and wine, then wrapped up the night with perhaps a couple too many drinks at Hemingway’s Bar. The following day, we attempted to nurse ourselves back to health before boarding an overnight flight to Johannesburg in the evening. 

After a quick layover in Johannesburg, we flew to Port Elizabeth, where we were met by Fred, who would be Ben's Professional Hunter (PH), and set off on the long drive to the Baviaans River Conservancy, arriving at Crusader Safari's camp just after sundown. There, we met the other hunters, shared a few drinks by the fire, and tried to get some rest before the hunt officially began the following morning. 

The morning began with confirming the zero on my rifles and discussing the hunting strategy for the next eight days with my PH, Dave—a very experienced, no-nonsense gentleman with a strong proclivity for industrial metal. We decided to focus our efforts on finding a trophy kudu bull and be opportunistic with other species along the way.

The kudu is a highly elusive animal, known for its impressive spiral horns and keen senses. As we set off into the rugged, beautiful terrain of the Baviaans River Conservancy, I couldn’t help but feel the pressure of years of anticipation leading up to this moment. I had heard many stories about how wary and skittish old kudu bulls could be, and I knew this would be a challenge.

Dave and I spent the first three days hunting from sunup to sundown, and were rewarded with a springbok, red hartebeest, impala,  and warthog for our efforts. We saw plenty of kudu, but none big enough to get Dave excited. That changed on the morning of the fourth day, when a bull and three cows burst out of a thicket while we were walking a valley bottom, taking off into a heavily treed mountain face. Dave instructed, "Shoot that bull! Shoot that bull!" with increasing urgency, but frustratingly, a shot never presented itself as the old bull never paused while running through the trees at 300 yards. 

Dave thought it was highly likely that the old bull would spend the rest of the day on the mountain face he had disappeared into, so that afternoon we headed to a good vantage point on top of the mountain to scan the vast face. The dense canopy of trees appeared unbroken, making the search feel almost impossible to me. But after an hour or so, Dave’s voice cut through the silence: “There’s the bull!”

He calmly directed me to the exact tree behind which he’d spotted the bull. I adjusted my bag and dialed my scope to 490 yards. Over the next three hours, we watched the bull and his five cows weave in and out of heavy tree cover, but again, a clean shot never materialized. The frustration of watching without the chance to act was starting to wear on me.

The next morning, we ventured to a new area, spotting 12-15 kudu but none were judged to be worthy of a shot. At one point, I spotted a massive waterbuck about 1 kilometer away. We decided to make a move on it, but the wind betrayed us while closing the distance, and at about 700 yards, the waterbuck bolted—a reminder of just how alert and cautious these animals are.

After a quick break for lunch, Dave suggested revisiting the area where we had seen the old bull the day before. This time, our plan was to enter from the bottom of the valley again, slowly working our way to the same wooded face where we’d last seen him. We found a scraggly thorn tree on the valley floor to hide behind, and adjusted our positions to stay in its shadow as the African sun beat down on us, hoping for the best.

It was relatively quiet for the first couple of hours. We watched a group of five kudu cows move across the side of the mountain, but the elusive bull wasn’t with them. Then, as the sun began to sink, the valley came alive. While Dave kept an eye on a group of cows and young bulls cresting the hill I turned to check behind us and spotted four kudu heads—three cows and a small bull—heading slowly but directly towards us.

“Dave! Three cows and one small bull behind us, 200 yards, headed right at us!” I whispered urgently.

“OK, you watch them, I’ll stay on the Cows. The rut is on, and if the big bull is around, he should chase them off,” Dave replied, except using a more colorful term to describe the younger bulls.

Eight impala then joined the four kudu coming towards us on the valley floor, and the tension began to rise. If we spooked this group, the whole valley would likely clear out, including the old bull if he was indeed still laying low on the mountainside. Amazingly, at about 90 yards, the group of 12 antelope suddenly decided to turn 90 degrees and head off in a new direction, thankfully unaware of our presence. Once they were out of sight, I stood up to stretch my cramped legs. But as soon as I did, Dave hissed, “Taylor, I see the big Kudu, he’s staring right at you—don’t move.”

With my back to the bull, I froze. For the next 20-30 minutes, I stood as still as possible, channeling every ounce of patience I could muster. Then as last rays of sunlight disappeared, and the valley plunged into shadow, I heard Dave quietly and calmly instruct, “Taylor, the Bull has started moving, he’s at 510 yards—come now”

My heart was beating in my throat as I carefully turned, moving toward the tree we’d used for cover. Dave guided me into a V-shaped branch, but the height wasn’t ideal, so I dropped into a sitting position to steady the rifle. I scanned the mountain face through my scope, found the kudu, and settled the crosshairs on his shoulder. Just as I was about to squeeze the trigger, I realized I was looking at a kudu cow, not the bull. The excitement had gotten the better of me, and I had been very close to making a serious mistake.

“Dave, I’m on a damn cow! Where’s the bull?” I whispered, fighting embarrassment and frustration.

“Are you serious? The bull is about forty yards left, in the small opening,” Dave replied, sounding more than a bit exasperated.

I scanned left into the opening, and there he was—the bull I’d been chasing for days, standing broadside at 470 yards. I dialed my scope and took two huge breaths to steady myself. The reticle settled perfectly on his lower front shoulder, and I squeezed the TriggerTech Special Pro Curved.  It broke like a glass rod at 1lb 8 ounces, exactly the same as it does every single time, sending a 160-grain bullet out of my 7PRC towards the kudu.

“He’s hit!” Dave reported.

“Is he down?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like a good hit—he ran off with a stiff front leg,” Dave replied.

Despite the overwhelming excitement, we decided to leave the bull for the night and return in the morning. If he wasn’t down, the terrain would make tracking him in the dark difficult at best. Back at camp, I tried to drown my nerves in a bit of brandy and Coke—a South African favorite—and waited, hoping for good news in the morning.

At first light, we set out with our two trackers to retrace our steps. The morning felt long as I huffed considerably behind Dave and the trackers. When they reached the spot where we’d shot the bull, I heard Dave’s voice: “No blood.” My heart sank. Dave and the trackers headed in the direction the bull had run, and before they’d gone 40 yards, Dave hollered, “He’s up! Taylor, shoot him!”

I sprinted in their direction, using all my remaining strength. They were laughing when I caught up—it had been a joke. Sure enough, there he was—a beautiful, old bull kudu, stone dead, just 40 yards from where he’d been hit. Dave and the trackers were ecstatic, and Dave estimated the bull to be around 10 years old. As I knelt beside the bull, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer majesty of this incredible animal. This old warrior had, amazingly, survived being shot clean through the neck in a previous season.

Dave explained that tradition dictates the shooter must carry the head down the mountain. I didn’t know whether he was having another laugh with me, but I happily threw the head over my shoulders and began the arduous task of descending the mountain.

On our way back to camp after loading the kudu into Dave's Land Cruiser, the weight of the moment sank in. My father, who had passed away in late 2024 after a long battle with cancer, had been an avid hunter and woodsman. His teachings had been with me, guiding me through the hunt, and I could feel his presence as if he were right there. I knew without a doubt that he was proud of what I had accomplished.

As we drove back to camp, Dave broke my introspection with a simple question: “You OK? You’re not going to start crying, are you?”

“I’m good, Dave. Thank you for everything,” I replied. 

Every moment on this hunt—from the tense waits beneath the African sun to the clarity of that final shot—reminded me how critical precision and reliability are in the field. The zero creep and incredibly consistent break of the TriggerTech Special gave me the confidence I needed to make every shot count when it mattered most.

If you’re ready to elevate your shooting experience and have that same confidence in your own rifle, check out our line of Special triggers.

Stay tuned for more stories from “On the Trigger.” Thanks for reading!