I had a Lyman Alaskan 2.5X scope, but no scope mounts were available in Nairobi, so I took the rifle and scope to Robert Triebel, one of the famous Triebel brothers, who was employed as a gunsmith in Nairobi, and an absolute artist working with metal. He crafted a mount high enough to allow the operation of the unaltered Mauser bolt handle, but also built in an aperture, through which open sights could be used. The arrangement worked well and proved to ring out the best of the rifle’s inherent accuracy. The job took some time, but fortunately it was ready by the time Bob’s safari was due to start.

When Bob arrived for the safari we drove for three days via Lake Victoria to our campsite on the Ugalla River, some distance south of Tabora. Livingstone and Stanley had lived together here for a while after their famous meeting at Ugigi on Lake Tanganyika, and the compound they shared still stands today as a national monument. Called “Kazeh” in those days, Tabora was one of the main inland centers used by the Arab slavers. There are still hundreds of huge mango trees growing in the vicinity, serving as a living legacy to the slave trade. The mango fruit was carried up from the coast by the slave caravans as food, and when eaten the seeds were discarded, finally germinating and flourishing in the soft soil during the rains.

We found conditions favorable, the long grass having been burned off and a new growth of green shoots had shot up to attract a variety of game animals to the burned-off areas. But having had previous experience with the .275 (7x57 mm Mauser) cartridge, I was well-aware that the 173-grain Kynoch bullet was no speedster, exhibiting a fairly curved trajectory, and hence, it would be necessary to get fairly close to the quarry.

On the second day we spotted a small herd of sable antelope accompanied by a very respectable bull emerging from some long grass, which had escaped the fire. They were not aware of our presence, and there happened to be a large termite mound with trees growing on it between the sable and us. The wind was in our favor, so we hurriedly crept up to the mound, and remaining concealed, enjoyed a good view of the approaching herd feeding slowly along until they were no more than about 120 yards from us.

Bob had a good, solid rest for the rifle, so I said, “Take him as soon as he presents a broadside shot.” Finally the bull stood clear of the herd. With his shiny black body contrasting with his white belly and facial markings, and his long, sweeping scimitar-shaped horns arched majestically over his back, he looked magnificent. Bob fired and the sable reared high on his hind legs, then ran some 40 yards and stood. I knew the bull had been mortally wounded, and it collapsed before another shot was taken. That was the little .275’s first kill in Africa after so many years!

By the end of that safari the little Rigby rifle had accounted for a sable, a roan antelope, two zebras and a fair number of plains-game species required for camp meat. Seldom was a second shot required—the .275 did all that was expected of it, and more.

Bob also used the little Rigby on a later safari to Karamoja—Bell’s old hunting grounds in Uganda. Bob and I felt like we were taking Bell’s Rigby .275 home, although we found the area very different from the Karamoja that Bell knew. Gone were the elephants, buffalo and rhino, and with the exception of lions and Jackson’s hartebeest, game was so scarce that the only animals we got to use it on were the hartebeest. We shot a number of them for lion bait and again the .275 proved more than adequate.

Move to Botswana
By the early 1960s East Africa was in a process of rapid political change, and the safari industry felt the pressure with many game areas becoming overcrowded. Hunting blocks were being booked months in advance for anticipated, but unconfirmed safaris. This meant planning and booking hunting areas for a genuine safari long before its arrival without any idea of what the situation would be in those areas when the safari arrived. New laws governing firearm security while on safari, during transit, and when in Nairobi also added to the overall pressure being felt.

At about this time stories began to circulate among the East African hunting fraternity about vast herds of game in a little known British Protectorate by the name of Bechuanaland, which bordered South Africa. Ker, Downey & Selby (KDS) Safaris, the company I then worked for, became interested in the possibility of establishing a hunting safari operation there dependent on obtaining permission and the viability of such a venture. As I had expressed an interest in moving from East Africa, I was authorized to explore the possibility of setting up the operation. After discussing the move with my wife Miki, we decided to “give it a go,” fully realizing the risks involved in moving the family south to an uncertain future. After my initial investigations indicated that there was in fact a considerable amount of wildlife in the very large and sparsely populated country, which encompassed the Kalahari Desert in the south and the Okavango Delta (the largest inland delta in the world) in the north, KDS decided to go ahead with a plan to set up an operation in Bechuanaland.

Having obtained permission from the Bechuanaland government for a one-year trial period, we set up operations in the centrally located village of Maun, situated on the Thamalakane River along the southern reaches of the delta. KDS was allocated two locations for our hunting operations—one in the north, which encompassed a large area bordering the northeastern edge of the Okavango Delta, and one in the south, encompassing a large area of the Kalahari Desert for desert game.

What we found exceeded our wildest expectations—a land that time had passed by. It was quiet “back water,” where nature had remained unchanged by the intrusion of the hustle and bustle of the 20th century. The vast savannas bordering the delta were teeming with huge herds of elephant, buffalo, numerous greater kudu, zebra, wildebeest and sable in excess of 100 animals, usually accompanied by truly magnificent males. There were many more species of plains game and lions everywhere, showing little fear of man, which in fact was the case with most of the animals.

Within the delta, gin-clear streams meandered between large palm fringed islands, home to large herds of red lechwe and buffalo. Elephants moved freely among the islands and pods of hippo inhabited the larger lagoons. In the vast reed beds the elusive, splayed-hoofed sitatunga were present in good numbers. The extensive Kalahari Desert scrub lands, which stretched for hundreds of miles, also provided a very encouraging picture. Large herds of gemsbok, eland, red hartebeest, wildebeest and springbok were constantly on the move, lions following the herds were also plentiful, and magnificent black-maned specimens were not uncommon. Leopards, too, were fairly abundant in the Kalahari.

In 1963, I moved the family to Maun, “lock, stock and barrel,” including all the firearms I’d acquired through the years, which also included the Bell .275. KDS Safaris commenced operations that year and, after a couple years of operation, we came to know our areas well. We established beautiful camps at attractive sites, cut tracks and made bush airfields, and by the mid-1960s, KDS was able to offer safaris equal in sophistication to those being conducted in East Africa.

During this period the little Bell .275 saw very little use. But, when our son Mark entered his early teens it became the ideal rifle for him to use and he bagged a number of animals with it, including kudu, wildebeest, tsessebe, lechwe, zebra and impala.

At one time, when I had a fairly large workforce in the bush cutting hunting tracks and airfields, meat was required for rations. There were good numbers of buffalo in the vicinity and out of curiosity I decided to take one with the Bell .275. Crawling up close to a large herd, I carefully selected a large, fat cow. At a distance of about 30 yards, I decided to do a “Karamoja Bell” and placed the long 173-grain Kynoch solid behind her ear, ranging forward into the brain. She dropped in her tracks.