A young boy in a little rural town in Pennsylvania
fashioned a bow and arrow from a hickory branch and some binders twine, and
embarked on a lifelong love of the longbow. After going to the movies with his
sister and watching the legendary Howard Hill in a short film, a dream was
fostered that eventually pulled him to the dark continent of Africa and an epic
quest. He would go on to accomplish something the great Howard Hill himself
could not, the first archer to take all of Africa's dangerous Big-Five (Elephant,
Buffalo, Rhino, Lion, and Leopard) with the elegant longbow. Before
departing for his first safari Howard wrote Bob a warning, “Be careful, every
animal in Africa can kill you. Good
luck. - Howard Hill”
Robert N. Swinehart is probably one of the most
overlooked and least known bowhunting legends to most younger hunters.
There is an anemic amount of information on the web, his books are long since
out of print, and existing examples are sought out by collectors and above of
the price range for most average folks. This scarcity of information, combined
with a stigma surrounding his untimely and early demise, has placed a veil of
fog around the man whose extraordinary bow hunting tenacity and success had him
featured in "Ripley's Believe it or not". He was the first man to
down a 3-ton black Rhino with his 90-pound Hill style longbow. His
reputation for taking risks in fulfilling his goals was not unfounded, and the
resulting hunting stories are legendary, edge of the seat, entertainment that
deserves to be retold.
That Rhino was in fact the second black Rhino Bob
had arrowed on a previous safari. The first such encounter ended in a hail of
rifle fire. Despite a lethal hit, the beast charged and slid to a thundering stop
in a cloud of dust a scant few yards from Bob’s feet. He would have to travel back on another
safari to collect the rhino without the interference of a rifle. That
second rhino was not without another helping of white knuckle terror. His
first stalk attempt on this hunt resulted in yet another charge. The wary nearsighted animal detected the click
of the cameras behind Bob as he moved into final shooting position. The
irritable battle wagon immediately swapped ends and charged. Bob scrambled to reach
the sanctuary of a large tree 10 feed to his rear. Only the twin blasts
from the white hunter's large caliber rifle blowing dirt into the rhino’s face,
distracted the brute enough to avoid disaster and convince the Rhino to give up
any follow-on aggression.
The second attempt on this safari continued to fray
nerves. Particularly tall foliage that year made spotting difficult, but
the trackers were able to locate a large rhino in the cover of very tall grass
interspersed with dense thorn bushes. The cover was so impenetrable that
the Rhino heard the team approach and charged! Expecting the brush to
part and immediately come eye to eye with instant death, the team was relieved
when the thrashing and crashing sounds were moving away instead. Now on alert, the trackers again caught up
with the beast, only to have the exact same scenario play out again.
After, several more similar follow-on attempts, Bob was getting frustrated and
I imagine quite fatigued from the stress.
Bob began to wonder if collecting a rhino
without the aid of a gun was even possible. He had not so much as a glimpse of the rhino
before it would detect the group and break into deeper cover. Bob was the
fourth person in line and he decided if he was ever going to get a chance to
shoot, he needed to be up front. The white hunter protested vehemently, knowing
that there would be no chance to protect him if the rhino decided to charge.
Eventually he relented and allowed him to go in first. The nervous bowhunter picked
his way through the tall grass and thorn bushes until he finally spotted the
exceptionally large horned rhino. It was
about to walk out of a narrow shooting lane and move into even thicker cover
once more. Instinctively and immediately, he swung up and loosed his
shaft in one smooth motion. At that exact instant the rhino turned to
charge and the standard Howard Hill broadhead glanced off the its chin and
harmlessly into his heavily boned front shoulder. The weighty 1200 grain
custom steel nocked microflight shaft repeatedly slapped the animal in the face
as he ran toward Bob. This distracted the enraged male enough that it
slightly slowed and spun to horn at the shaft. Bob immediately took this
opportunity and had another arrow on the string. His quick follow up shot in
those brief moments allowed a lethal hit to both lungs. I personally have
no idea how he stood his ground in that situation. The rhino ran away and
was found a short distance later as history was complete. "Believe it or
not"!
In later interviews, Bob would always say the
African elephant was the most dangerous to hunt. This 7-ton leviathan
towering 12 feet high, with feet the size of Bob's two boots heel-to-toe, 5-foot
long tusks, and a trunk that could reach 10 feet and crush a man with one blow,
was the pinnacle of achievement with the bow and arrow. His gear was
specially modified for the task including 36-inch long solid fiberglass arrows
with steel nock and long shanked custom points launched from a 100-pound
longbow. This combination would require him to be very close before
gravity overtook the weighty missile.
Hunting in
Mozambique, after an exhausting track, Bob was able to race from cover, close
to within 15 yards of a bull, and launch an arrow into the chest of the elephant.
As it was departing, another shaft quickly impacted close to the initial.
Bob approached as it appeared the bull was about to keel over at any second,
but instead the elephant turned and charged. Sidestepping the angry
locomotive, Bob hastily poured in another shaft grouped tightly in the kill
zone just as the behemoth began to collapse (amazing accuracy under the
circumstances). Bob was able to scratch the elephant from his big-five
list. He was not completely satisfied however, as he wished to prove that one well-placed
arrow could do the job even on a creature with the enormity of the African
elephant. He planned a return to Angola to try again with the mighty pachyderm.
One early
morning at a water hole his trackers were able to find the fresh sign of a
large bull and begin a long and arduous track. Eventually joining up with
several smaller elephants, the party caught up to the herd only to have the
wind shift and scatter them. Tracking again, he became puzzled why his
trackers were following a smaller set of prints. In broken English, the
lead tracker indicated that "this is the shortest way", and the bull
would soon join up with this smaller animal with the wind in their
favor. The strategy worked, and soon the big black colored form of
the hulking bull emerged at the tail end of the herd in perfect position for a
stalk. Closing the distance from 75 yards, Bob ran between cover until
ultimately sprinting out into the open from the quartering away side of the
bull. At 22 yards the elephant saw him as he was drawing, but it was too
late. The lone shaft buried to the fletching. Instead of charging, the gigantic beast
lumbered off and away from him breaking brush and kicking up dust. He had
done it with a single arrow.
His encounter with the first Cape Buffalo,
nicknamed the "black death" for its propensity to trample and seek
revenge on those who wish to invade its personal space, was likewise a
hair-raising situation. While traversing
some broken territory in the land rover, the group managed to drive among a
huge swirling black herd. Scattering groups
in all directions, Bob jumped out of the vehicle and attempted to sprint up to
the edge of a large gathering as they passed.
His backup hunter could not keep up as Bob skidded to a stop and immediately
drew and released a shaft just as the last stragglers in this particular pack
passed inside of bow range. Picking out
an individual and compensating for a lead, the arrow streaked across the 35-yard
distance and striking the buff in the jugular vein. He watched the beast crumple and disappear
into a roll, swallowed by the dust of the panicked herd. Success, but now he and his hunter were about
to be cut off from the refuge of their vehicle by a second group approaching
fast from behind them. Quick feet and
thinking allowed the two to reach a tree as the black beasts flooded around,
passing within feet on either side of the tree.
Luckily, no harm was inflicted as the last stragglers roared passed and
Bob was another step closer toward his goal. He ended up killing several more buffalo on subsequent safaris.
Although not listed as one of Africa’s Big-Five,
the hippopotamus is responsible for killing more people than any other mammal
in Africa. It is 3rd in size behind the elephant and rhino. Though not one of the official Big-Five, Bob
was also planning to collect one of these beasts with the longbow. It would do much to further promote the
notion of the longbow’s lethality. Hippo
hunting is seriously dangerous business. They tend to charge without provocation. Bob was walking atop a mat of floating
papyrus reeds at the edge of 8 feet of water, when he spotted a line of bubbles
streaking toward him. Knowing it was a
hippo that would soon emerge, he readied for a quick opportunity. As soon as the head broke water the arrow was
on the way and it struck home as the gigantic mouth turned for him. Behind Bob another explosion of rifle fire
rang out. The white hunter fired a
bullet into the brain of the animal stopping him cold at only 3 feet, certainly
saving his life. Bob was never able to collect a hippo without aid of the
rifle.
Only the Leopard and the lion remained unfilled on
Bob’s list.
Coming into the bait in the
last few seconds of visible light one evening, after of series of uneventful
ambushes, the wary leopard emerged and climbed into the bait tree.
Bob was perched in an adjacent tree just 10 yards
distant and slightly lower.
The only way
he could even still see the cat in the fading light, was that it was backlit by
the last vestiges of dusk.
His shot from
the Ben Pearson recurve he was testing and promoting was good, and after a few
tense moments of the cat wildly snarling for the source of the threat, it finally
retreated.
Melting back into the forest
leaving an eerie silence.
The wiry sleek
cat weighed an estimated 175 pounds and was found nearby the following morning.
The lion proved even more dangerous.
After many safaris under his belt, Bob had yet
to have a crack at the lion king.
Finally,
while the team was attempting to free their vehicle from the mud, a group of
vultures was spotted circling several miles away.
The crew took a chance it could be a lion on
a recent kill.
As they drew closer, tall
grass obscured any vision of the area. Surrounded by high trees, perched
carrion birds were up high waiting for something.
At about 35 yards, the grasses parted and Bob
was confronted with a male lion facing him dead on.
Despite the poor choice of shooting position,
and thinking this may be his only chance, Bob unleashed a quickly aimed arrow that
struck the lion in the chest.
Reacting
to the hit, the lion reared back, snarled, and broke for heavier cover about 50
yards distant.
Now pursuing the injured
beast, Bob cautiously began to infiltrate the thicket where the feline entered
moments earlier.
The cat again emerged at
a distance it could easily cross in seconds.
Without hesitation, Bob rocketed a second arrow that struck at the base
of the lion’s neck.
The whirling feline
snarled as it bit at the shaft and melted back further into the tall
grass.
Guided by sound alone, he loosed
three more shafts blindly cutting into the tall grass.
Then all went silent.
After a while, he judiciously eased into the
clump and found the king of the savanna…. dead.
The final three arrows resulting in a superficial head glance, a flank
hit, and a miss.
The cat weighed 510
pounds and was 9 feet long.
Bob had
severed the heart with the first arrow.
The big five was complete, and he managed to survive.
Upon returning home, one of Bob's North American
harvests proved to be even more dangerous. One hunt in particular almost
completed what the African game could not.
Bob had a propensity for climbing and shooting from trees. In a practice not yet considered common place
in that era, and before modern tree stands and safety equipment, Bob would
often hunt from the trees and simply lay across the top of branches. He would shoot with his string hand under the
"balance beam" he was perched atop. This habit was likely the
spawn of the Howard Hill nickname of "Bobcat" Swinehart.
During a particular mule deer hunt, Bob was alerted
by a local control officer about a rouge black bear that was killing cattle in
the area. The officer offered Bob the chance to hunt the bear with his
bow, and he quickly took him up on the offer since he possessed the tag.
The dogs managed to track and tree the bear from a recent calf kill to a tall
fir tree. The bear was high up in the dense evergreen, and no matter where
Bob positioned himself the only view of the bear was that of the head and neck
through a very tiny opening. He took careful aim at the neck and his arrow
found its mark. The shaft somehow snaked around all vital arteries and spine
and resulting in a non-lethal hit. The bear climbed higher up into the
tree out of view. Without much hesitation, he decided to start climbing
the 70-foot-tall tree to get another shot into the bear who was now perched
near the very top. Bob wove his way up to within 10 feet of the bear, and
wedging his feet while leaning back against a branch, was able to draw and
loose a good hit into the bears lungs. A second insurance arrow was just
as accurate, and the bear began to lose his grip on the branches.
Thinking the bear was all but dead, Bob began to descend. Miraculously,
the 600 pound blackie regained its strength, pulled himself up and began to
pursue Bob down the trunk in a deadly race. Gaining on the human pest
somewhere around 50 feet up, Bobcat had just enough speed to slide over to a
thin limb as the bear's back legs nearly dropped down onto his shoulders.
An even thinner branch gave him some stability at waste height, but the branch
under his feat began to sag close to the breaking point. Bob's bow and
quiver hung uselessly by the bear's feet. One swipe from the bear would
mean certain death, and yet there he was an arm’s length from the bear as it
stopped and looked him in the eye. Bob's only option was to try to bluff
the wounded beast and stand his ground.
If that didn’t work he would jump and hope his injuries would be
non-lethal. Bob began a steely eyed stare-down into those big black
piercing eyes and both hunter and prey froze for what may have only been 5
seconds, but felt like 5 minutes. Suddenly, the bear wavered and crashed
down through the branches to his death. Upon reaching the safety of the
ground, Bob realized the entire seat of his pants were torn away.
He never did know if it was from the sharp
branches, or if the bear was closer then he realized. That bruin was
large enough to be entered into the Pope and Young record book.
The great Howard Hill regarded Swinehart as,” the
best big game hunter I have had the pleasure of being with, on the trail and in
the bush.”
Howard also said, “My only
criticism of him was that he took too many risks. Somehow he survived Africa
after a score of near burials." I would say Howard had a point, but what a
story!
