Two Old Dagga Boys
Posted: Monday, January 21, 2008
by Dave Potchak
PO's Peek at the Past
While surfing the cable channels a few days ago, I stumbled onto the Outdoor Channel. I watched with intrigue as the hunters on a safari in Lower Zambezi stalked a huge Dagga Boy. Yes, a Dagga Boy - A South African name given to large, old male Cape buffalos living in the region.
The name, coined by hunting outfitter and professional hunter Gerhard Vos, was used by the native guides and hunters in this episode.
I watched and listened with interest as to how the hunters and guides chose the right animal to be taken or plucked from the herd - in other words, how they selected the right Dagga Boy to shoot.
With diligence they attempted to take only an old male that was basically worthless to the herd. I discovered that these old grumpy bulls often left the main stream population and retired to a solitary life. On occasion they roamed with one or two other Dagga Boys.
The younger males not only bred with the cows, but easily defended the herd against predators, so their presence was vital to the group. The Dagga Boys were basically useless and the old bulls seemed to know it. And the hunters were bent on taking only an old bull.
With ease the hunters and guides were able to distinguish between dominant males, and over-the-hill Dagga Boys.
The Dagga Boys possessed wide bodies with large girths. Their huge horns were worn out in spots, as was the fur on the head between the armaments. Their once muscular bodies were now nothing more than huge, wide carcasses with rounded shoulders, covered with layers of skin and fat. They resembled a barge. Even without binoculars, the hunters could see that the midriffs of old males were out of proportion compared to the rest of their bodies. The legs appeared to be thin and spindly and caused speculation as to whether or not they might still be able to support the massive body above.
When these bulls were hit with a bullet, they sometimes lunged forward. What was once thought of as a "charge" toward the hunter is now theorized to be something much different. They now felt that the Dagga Boy's legs could not withstand the force of the impact, and the animal most likely collapsed forward, rather than charged forward.
After identifying the correct male, the party stalked their quarry for hours. When the bull's tracks crisscrossed with those of other buffalos, it was easy to stay on the Dagga Boy's prints. They were large and they spread out laterally, compared to the hoof prints of younger members of the species.
When the hunting party finally got close enough (at 60 yards) for a shot, they passed it up. Why? The specimen was too old and feeble. They realized it would not make an adequate mount or trophy. They joked that the animal had to be a hundred years old.
The old bull just stared at them, turned and ambled away. He was in no hurry and seemed to care less if the hunters would have taken their shot. His face and eyes indicated that he almost understood that he was totally valueless, even to human hunters.
I couldn't help it, but I pitied that old Dagga Boy. I felt sorry for him because I can identify with that old fellow.
In the last few years, I noticed that my head is wearing on top too. My shoulders are more rounded now, and are a far cry from the almost block-like display they once exhibited. Skin all over my body seems to be sagging a little, and to be blunt, I'm carrying too much fat. When I put on a T-shirt that fits too snuggly around my midriff, I resemble a large barge. My girth continues to expand, just like the old Cape buffalo's.
And my legs appear to be thin compared to my upper torso. Although they are the same size they once were; because of the size of my upper-body, they give the illusion to be too spindly to support my weight. Since I'm having more difficulty negotiating stairs lately, they are no doubt starting to lose their effectiveness.
My footprint, when I get out of a pool, reveals a fallen arch and a wider pattern with each passing summer.
You see, I too am a Dagga Boy. I don't live in Africa and I don't think I could saunter casually away from someone if they pointed a rifle at me. But otherwise, I do understand the old bull's disposition.
I don't feel totally worthless just yet, and hope I don't feel that way for quite some time. I pray my family doesn't decide to let me go off alone to retire and die. But I do realize that my day too, will come, and my demeanor will gradually resemble the Dagga Boy's with each passing year.
In the meantime, I thank God that I was not born a cape buffalo. And if I was born into the herd, I would hope that safari hunters would pass me up too – allow me to nonchalantly walk away and to live another day.
www.pos-peek.com
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More commentsDave, What a perfect analogy to the issue of grieving the loss of our physical prowess. Thanks for your story.
Dear Dagga Dave,
Good writing, but you need to watch less depressing tv! Or call your local channel and suggest that they run the chapter where the old dagga cows think that the old dagga bulls are still pretty hot!
Mary
Good Article Dave. I too am fighting the Dagga Boy SYNDROME. Hopefully I can keep it at bay for a few more years before I'm thrown out of the herd. Roger Kitchen, Mechanicsburg, PA
I feel for the the Dagga Boys, but the comparison was way too close to home brother.
I enjoyed the story. But, I don't think we are there yet. We're not 20 any more but I think we have a way to go to be like the Dagga Boy. At least, I hope so.
It's funny how one's perspective on life changes as we get older. Looking back at a life well lived is very satisfying, but it's what lies ahead that keeps us living life to the fullest. Enjoy the moment, have no regrets and keep your in basket full. The dagga boy who got away lives on to enjoy another day. Michael J. Poldiak General Manager New River Valley Mall 540-381-0004
My father passed away one year ago, yesterday and at 76 the old dugga-boy if you'll pardon the analogy was the best father he'd ever been in any of his previous 75 years. Time was now on his side, he'd spent a great life and had a great career as a teacher (still one of the best I've ever had), fly fisherman, hunter, trapper, pool player and father. He retired in 1992..... In those last 14 years I had my first opportunity to get to know the old dugga-boy as some one other than my dad and we became good friends as well. Worthless like the old bull; well hardly, he was a constant source of encouragement and inspiration for a son and his family. His support was often there even when I was too proud to ask and his wisdom at times seemed prophetic. I still wish the old dugga-boy were here just for a quick e-mail joke or a bright spot in an all too often tiring day. Please don't ever feel like the analogy of the old bull. You're just now having the time to live life! Michael Barton
Great story, Dave. If we feel this way in our 50's, just think how our Pap and those of his generation feel.
I am still reading your articles Dave, even if they are 2 years old or what...my goodness you are a very very good writer and your stuff always makes me smile, or laugh out loud...
This article goes to both the true nature of dangerous game hunting and the nature of Dagga Boys. Dispite advanced age they can still "look at you like you owe them money", and dismiss you as unworthy all at the same time. The author does not tell you, but even old Dagga Boys are very dangerous and quite capable of killing the persuing hunters.We should all be so lucky as to age with a life time of struggles won in a hostile world, good for the Dagga Boy and good for the hunters who passed him up.
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