Interrupting Darwinism:
Changing the Spots of Conservation
Originally published in The Greeley Tribune, October 14, 2023.
We had never before entertained the idea of shooting a giraffe.
We certainly hadn’t discussed the possibility of having a 16-foot mount shipped from Africa to our Colorado farmhouse with 9-foot ceilings.
Professional hunter, Falakhe, watches giraffes through a hunting blind. Photo/Stacy McCloud.
Along the African highways, we’ve observed a variety of plains game. We’ve trained our eyes to look in the trees as there we’d discovered the world’s tallest mammals grazing—giraffes! Sometimes spotting a giraffe is as frequent as seeing an antelope in Wyoming. Herds of giraffes are called towers—so blatantly appropriate.
We are hunters, and hunting is crucial to balancing ecosystems. Benefits of hunting include eating organic meat, culling herds, and preventing overpopulation and disease. Hunting is a commitment to the flourishing of future healthy generations.
Hunters are likely the group most responsible for financially supporting state wildlife agencies and wildlife management activities. According to the U.S Department of Interior, sportsman (and women) generated nearly one billion dollars nationwide in conservation funding in 2019 from excise taxes alone.
According to Colorado Parks and Wildlife, hunting and fishing license sales totaled $96,269,926 in 2018 – 2019. Rest assured legal hunting is highly regulated, and it funds parks and recreation areas enjoyed by all.
In Africa, hunting licenses must be purchased. The FDA strictly monitors entries of all animals to the U.S.
A giraffe on the plains of Africa. Photo/Stacy McCloud
Perplexed, Collin was speechless, his face a mask of confusion.
Shannon told Collin, “Your wife has arranged it. You just must shoot it.”
Like the human world, animals battle for their mates. Giraffes are no different. Rather than fists flying, bulls fling their necks at each other to battle for dominance. “Necking” is a hierarchical system of fighting. In a duel, these giants swing their 6-feet long necks—that can weigh up to 600 pounds—into each other.
The most dangerous weapon the giraffe has in its arsenal is the second most powerful kick in the animal kingdom. One kick can leave a hoofprint delivered with 2,000 PSI. This well-placed booting has been known to decapitate lions.
To put this power into perspective, a pressure washer delivering 1,500 PSI from its nozzle creates damage comparable to being shot by a gun. As majestic and peaceful as giraffes look, they are dangerous and formidable.
At the dinner table, one of our professional hunters (PHs) told us about an old bull responsible for killing several juvenile male giraffes to establish dominance. The PHs had rarely seen such a problematic male—demented, cantankerous, and mean. They needed to ensure the safety of the remaining young males.
Over 50% of giraffes die before their second birthdays. They perish in the jaws of predators like lions, hyenas, or crocodiles. With their first few years fraught with predation, the reserve didn’t need this old bull’s help to eliminate the survivors.
The next morning, I asked our PH about the giraffe. Their plan was to track it down and cull it before it killed anymore of the juveniles, ensuring future calves.
In 2019, South Africa experienced a severe drought. Animals dropped dead from lack of food and water. God was weeding out the weak; the drought was so drastic that even the young, healthy animals were dying.
Funds from hunting were being used to ship grain and food from parts of the continent not experiencing such severe conditions. Grains were used to supplement food in attempts to keep animals from extinction. They hauled water and attempted to drill wells to spring water to the earth.
We have a decade-long competition in our family—who could shoot the biggest warthog. Out of the 8 family members participating, 4 had previously shot warthogs. On this trip, Collin would get his hog—hopefully the biggest yet! Upon completing the task, his would be the fifth mount in competition.
At our archery reserve, we waited for hogs in fiercely hot, breezeless blinds in 100-degree temperatures. The one that finally showed was a beast of a hog. He didn’t look as if he had suffered from the malnutrition affecting other animals. Clearly, he didn’t discriminate against food.
After Collin released his arrow, the hog ran 20 yards before collapsing lifelessly. Our PH and Land Cruiser arrived within minutes. They congratulated Collin and loaded the hog for a trip to the butchery.
Our PH, Shannon Van Zyl, asked Collin if he was ready to go cull the giraffe. Perplexed, Collin was speechless, his face a mask of confusion.
Shannon told Collin, “Your wife has arranged it. You just must shoot it.”
In the name of conservation, I had called an audible earlier that morning. This way, the reserve would be paid to cull the animal rather than putting it down with no profit. They would use those funds to buy additional grain to help feed the desperate animals struggling to survive.
We had never before entertained the idea of shooting a giraffe. We certainly hadn’t discussed the possibility of having a 16-foot mount shipped from Africa to our Colorado farmhouse with 9-foot ceilings.
Collin asked our PH which rifle he would use to bring down the giraffe. Shannon handed Collin his dad’s .375 H+H Remington.
The rifle resting in Collin’s hands was owned by one of the most prolific hunters in South Africa, Nick Van Zyl. He was the first PH hired by the South African government as a game warden. The rifle had culled thousands of sick, dangerous, and destructive animals. It was a gift from sex symbol Raquel Welch’s ex-husband to Nick after a successful hunt. To hold that rifle was to feel history pulsing through it.
On our way to the giraffe, the Land Cruiser drove straight over thorned brush. The thorny foliage scraped the Cruiser’s undercarriage like a lion clawing through the metal. The sharp noise drowned out the overworking engine and made me want to cover my ears, giving me chills worse than nails scratching a chalkboard.
We climbed the brush as if we were rock climbing in Moab. Occasionally, the truck grumbled and lurched and got high centered on the brush, often shutting down in an act of defiance. Our driver rocked the protesting Toyota back and forth, attempting to free the vehicle. I’d wedged myself in the Land Cruiser as best as I could to keep from being ejected out of the passenger side.
With outstretched arms, those thorny bushes assaulted my legs through the doorless caravan. They clawed at my skin through my Sitka pants, tearing holes in the camouflage fabric.
The old bull was near where the PHs had spotted him earlier. From the safety of 75 yards, Shannon gave Collin a quick anatomy lesson on giraffes. We all wanted a quick kill shot without causing the giant any suffering.
The two-story bull staggered and wobbled almost as if the first perfect shot only grazed the giant. It seemed unaffected by the shot from the rifle.
I watched the slow-motion collapse in awe as the 4,000-pound, 18-foot tower crumbled to the earth. The shot to its heart killed the creature before it hit the earth.
That day we interrupted the theory of Charles Darwin and ensured the survival of the juveniles and future generations.
Contact me for African adventure direction and photo and hunting safari information.
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Collin McCloud playing the morning “wake up” drums. Video/Stacy McCloud
