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The coming storm had turned the horizon black and framed the swirling wind that pressed wild, rolling shapes into the savannah grasslands around us. It was growing darker and cooler as the clouds mushroomed across the watery sun, teasing with the promise of violence and new life...
Talk had drowsed into silence, red wine and the late hour making shadowy statues of the three men slumped in their safari chairs. A heavy, slow burning log rolled over pushing a wave of heat into their small circle of light. Tiny embers flowered and spiralled upwards and out into the night, one pair of eyes following...
These stories are for the hunters of the future
Gloves stiff and breath hanging in the cold air, we shuffled closer to the fire pit, dry mouthed and waiting for coffee. Alan was on his knees, digging in last night’s snowy grey ash, looking for surviving hot coals and tending a small smoky stick fire...
...for when you can’t be there
 Bruce Parker | Safari photographer and Writer
Sit quietly and read while you wait in a hide, in a tree, or, at the end of the day when the celebrating and story telling are finally done, alone in the gathering dark. This is the time you strain to make sense of the near and far off sounds of Africa, thrill to its immensity and yearn for tomorrows challenge. For this moment though, treat yourself to another adventure.
Lions in the Molopos Sable in the Molopos Cape Buffalo to be written The Caracal to be written
Drifting over the desert I stared in disbelief . Below us was a red land, a land stretched with shadow and glowing in the late afternoon sun. Valleys of pale tussock grass, stands of green camel thorn and in a lonely place, between some dunes, burnt black dead trees pointed skywards...
© African Hunting Stories | Bruce Parker | Safari photographer and writer 2015
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