"I thought it might amuse you, as you lie flat on your back, recovering from your accident in Cameroon, to hear about my recent buffalo hunt in that country. Seems the dwarf forest buffalo I shot there gave me a run for my money. The confrontation occurred on our 16th day of buffalo hunting. We had basically given up for the day after some three hours on the tracks because we discovered some dung with a crust on it that looked about two hours old. We were walking three abreast - my gun bearer, Mombato, to my left and slightly behind me; and the PH, Geoffroy, to Mombato's left and slightly behind him - when we came to a small football-shaped opening in the forest. I say an opening, not a clearing, because there was undergrowth in the opening, just not as dense as usual.
"Suddenly, the all-embracing foliage 12 paces to my front burst open and this reddish-tan beast made a beeline for us. I learnt then that Mark Sullivan has nothing to fear from me. I didn't ask the buffalo how he would like to die. In fact, it was the buffalo that was asking all the questions.
"I would like to say that I coolly shouldered my .416, placed the crosshairs between its eyes, waited for it to lower its head and squeezed the trigger. Unfortunately, I did none of those things. I cannot be sure, however, as I can remember very little of what happened next. I do not remember picking up my rifle. I do not remember aiming. I also do not remember pulling the trigger, though I do remember seeing the head of the buffalo in the scope. The worst part is, I missed the head of the buffalo completely. The bullet scraped past the animals left cheek, pierced its left ear and entered its neck........(continued)