Deep in the wilds of South Africa, on the largest private game reserves in the country — 285,000 pristine acres bordering the red dunes of the Kalahari and the rugged mountain ranges that divide them — I put Argali clothing through its paces alongside my Professional Hunter, head tracker, brother, and sister. This isn't what you think of South Africa, some canned or small pen raised ranch where the animals that roam the landscape are named and accounted for by number. It much more resembles my trips to Selous, Masaiiland or Moyowosi in Tanzania on true game reserves.

The morning started like the others — quick breakfast and a cup of coffee at 5:00 a.m., then off into the bush to see what Africa would offer. Forty miles away, Mom and Dad were chasing a giant greater kudu they had glassed the evening before. That left me hunting with just my younger brother and sister — an opportunity we hadn’t had in nearly twenty years, with spouses and a house full of young kids back home.

That evening at camp, we learned Dad had taken a tremendous 55-inch kudu bull and Mom a beautiful gemsbok. As for me, I had only one animal on my list: a true trophy sable. I was perfectly content to leave the African bush without him if that’s how the hunt played out. I've been fortunate to hunt in Africa multiple times but a trophy sable had eluded me.  What began as a family dream hunt for one of Africa’s most iconic trophies — “The Prince of Africa” — quickly turned into an unforgettable test of endurance, patience, and gear that simply refused to quit.

It started with five hard miles on a fresh sable track through steep, rocky mountain terrain. As we climbed, a magnificent waterbuck burst from his bed. My younger brother took him — a beautiful bull over 30 inches. Though we were after Sable, we’ve all learned from past trips that Africa gives what she wants, when she wants. We celebrated with hugs and photos, packed the bull out, restocked our packs, and continued upward. Little did we know the day had only just begun.

Another five miles according to OnX tracks, two mountain ranges, and a wide plateau later, we paused on a windswept peak to glass and scarf down our energy bars. My feet were grateful for the break — I was only six weeks removed from surgery to remove a nerve in my right foot I'd injured packing out an elk last Fall, and I wasn’t even sure I’d make this trip until the last minute. Through the spotting scope, more than two miles away in the valley below, we found him — a massive sable bull whose sweeping horns caught the light like polished scimitars. Even at that distance, we knew he was special. Four hours later, we would learn just how special.

The stalk that followed was pure bushcraft: descending a steep cliff of loose boulders, then pushing through two and a half miles of thick, unforgiving brush, dry riverbeds, and carefully threading between herds of kudu, springbok, and zebra — sometimes within 10 yards. My Argali layers moved silently with me, never binding, never tearing, despite the constant punishment from thorns, rocks, and brush. Quiet, tough, and breathable — exactly what you need when the wind can shift at any moment and hundreds of eyes and noses on alert.

The final approach was heart-pounding: a low belly crawl across 600 yards of open grass under the blazing African sun. I had intended to take this bull with my bow, but the open plain offered no chance, the exposure was just too much. So I traded bow for rifle — the .300 Win Mag my sister had carried nearly nine miles on her back that day up and down the mountains. I thanked her with a grin and told her she was a great sherpa and was greeted back by an eager and smirkish smile only a sister can deliver. At 327 yards, the shot was true. He ran just 75 yards before falling as both lungs failed him. As we walked up, the excitement pouring out of the PH and tracker told me everything as they spoke rapidly in a language I couldn't understand. I’ve been fortunate to be on several safaris for dangerous game with multiple close calls from charging buffalo, hippos, and elephants — yet I had rarely seen that level of adrenaline and pure elation from my PH or tracker unless something was hunting us. That also would come later on the safari, but for now it was perfect. These fine men are some of the bravest I've met, always keeping calm and your single protection against the best Africa can throw at you and in that moment, I realized we had just topped one of the highlight experiences of their professional careers.

Official score:49 6/8 inches— just shy of the magical 50-inch mark, with incredible mass and a deep, sweeping curve. The bases are massive (both hands cant fit around) and he carries that thickness all the way to the tips. While the numbers will impress others, the real trophy for me is the memory of that long, demanding stalk — full of physical punishment, near-busts, and high stakes — capped by hugs, tears, and laughter with my siblings and our friends in the African bush.

The remainder of the safari was a tremendous success. My sister took a magnificent 42-inch Cape buffalo that chose to ambush us mid-stalk, giving us a few heart-pounding moments we’ll never forget, along with several other beautiful trophies.

The memories we made — the laughter, the tears of humility, and the shared smiles — are what I’ll cherish most. There’s something deeply special about experiencing the outdoors and the pursuit of its abundant wildlife as a family. I hope every family gets to feel that at least once.

My boys are nine and six now, and my greatest joy is watching and guiding them as they discover this passion for themselves — through both their successes and their setbacks. I am behind the pins or crosshairs less most of the year, serving as guide and pack mule more. That said, I’ll admit it felt pretty good for this ol’ dad to bring one home himself. From rocky ridges to thorn-choked thickets, Argali performed brilliantly. TheVesper (34) in Bitterbrushpants, paired with theGuide Air Fleece (L) in Shadow, handled everything Africa threw at them and never let me down. They took some nicks and bruises, impossible in that country to not. A new clean pair of hunting pants is a pair not used, the scars and tears are the mark of a job well done.

I’m already looking forward to chasing elk and mule deer in the mountains this Fall then back to Texas whitetails, all in the same reliable Argali regala.

Thank you for pouring so much thought, craftsmanship, and dedication into your clothing. (I think I now own half your camping lineup as well!) If you ever need a field tester for hunts in Texas, mountains or abroad, I’m your guy!

I’ve attached a few photos below from the adventure for you to enjoy.

Here’s to the next hunt,  CT