"A Stab in the Dark" Giclée canvas print: 18" x 36", edition size - 100 s/n $2000 unframed

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The hunter is perched precariously in a tree ,and as he peers into the night, his eyes are adjusting to the eerie light cast by the moon. The year is 1903, the place Sabi Sands, South Africa. He’s shaking from a combination of cold and fear. What’s left of his clothes are soaked with blood, not all of it his own. His shoulder is bleeding badly but he’s not feeling pain. He’s worried that he might faint and fall from his roost. He looks down at the ground and in horror at the head of a male lion looking back up at him. Its upward turned eyes are now catching the moonlight. He knows the lion would probably climb up to his perch; after all he’d managed to climb it in his injured state. He was now cramping up and could hardly move; resolved that his time on this earth would soon be at an end, he returns the lion’s stare, shivers and reflects on the horror which had brought him to this place.

In search of water, he had been riding, accompanied by one of his dogs, along a trail he knew well. The light was fading, and the night was coming fast. He could hear rustling in the grass ahead of him but was unable to make anything out. Perhaps it was the sudden moonlight on the scene, but he could then distinguish the all too familiar shapes of male lions, and they were heading straight for him in a purposeful manner. They were then only three or four yards distant, and although the hunter had a rifle there was no time to raise it to his shoulder. He turned his horse and gave spur, but he knew the lions would be on them. His horse was bucking and prancing with fear as one of the lions tried to dig its claws into its haunches. The other lion was overtaking the horse which then threw its rider out of the saddle and on top of the lion. The lion grabbed the fallen rider by the right shoulder and started to drag him away. The other lion was in hot pursuit of the runaway horse which in turn was being chased by his dog. The hunter was on his back and the lion was dragging him in true fashion, straddling the man’s body with all four legs. Unfortunately the hunter’s spurs were occasionally acting as brakes and the lion would give a swift jerk to the man’s shoulder to free its prey. The man’s pain was almost unbearable but he did not pass out. He felt as though he was being dragged for many miles. After a while he remembered his sheath knife attached to his belt on the right side. Hoping it had not been dislodged in the fall, he reached down with his left arm which he managed to put round his back to get to the knife. The man could hardly move, his face was pressed tightly against the lion’s mane. Unable to see, he had to do everything by feel. He got the knife and gradually and with great difficulty, located the beast’s heart. All the time the cat was purring very loudly, obviously very happy with his prize. Fearful that he might miss the right spot, or worse, drop the knife, he grabbed it as tightly as possible and with a backward movement stabbed twice. The lion dropped the man and let out a mighty roar. Still lying under the lion the hunter plunged his knife into the lion’s throat which severed its jugular, showering the man with blood. Having released its hold, the lion then slinked off into the night.

The man staggered to his feet and remembering the second lion and that it would probably return and follow his blood spore, he sought refuge in a tree to await the inevitable or a miraculous rescue.

Now he was perched facing what he had feared. The second lion had arrived. Thankfully it was not attempting to climb the tree, instead it would wander off, lie down in the bush, then return to the tree. And so the hours passed by. Then before daybreak and the bush coming back to life, he hears in the stillness the welcome sound of his boys coming towards the tree. They light a fire to keep off the lion and attend to the hunter’s horrible wounds.

For Harry Wolhuter, the hunter in our story, who was also one of the first rangers in Kruger National Park, his ordeal wasn’t over. He was in desperate need of water and his boys had arrived without any, and he feared he would die without it. Amazingly, with the help of his native boys, he walked some six miles to a water hole where they patched him up.

He sent some of his boys back to skin the dead lion and find his horse. Although skeptical that Wolhuter had in fact killed a lion with a knife, they achieved their mission, bringing back the skull, the skin and its heart to show him where his knife had pierced. The horse had minor injuries to its haunches but was permanently spooked by the ordeal and therefore of little use to the ranger and was gracefully retired.

By then his injuries were turning septic, and he had to be carried in relays. It took an amazing four days of arduous travel before he could get professional help in Komatipoort. His story remains one of the most incredible and remarkable to be told.