Black Death and a BFR: Chasing African Cape Buffalo with a Handgun

Last updated: June 23, 2026 · Originally published: September 30, 2022

When your eyes lock with those of a Cape buffalo—one of the most dangerous animals on the planet—pulses race and the lines between hunter and hunted blur. The only thing separating us was a few yards of South African sand and a Magnum Research BFR.

Many months of planning, permits, dreams, nightmares, travel, and logistics would tick down to a few final moments of adrenaline. We’d practiced on the range, working that buttery BFR single action—practicing rapid shots from the sticks, moving and shooting, and even sending a few into the target off-hand. Though stout of recoil, the BFR proved both accurate and controllable, leaving zero doubt the gun would hold up its end of the bargain if the huntress did the same. Permits secured and days of flights behind us, I went armed with my freshly built Magnum Research BFR. For those unfamiliar, those initials are short for Biggest, Finest Revolver (or in some circles, a more—ahem—creative moniker). My chambering of choice from the many offered by Magnum Research?  It was a no-brainer to grab a favored old-school round—the .45-70 Government. Having previously taken a Cape Buffalo with one shot of the same caliber from a Henry Repeating Arms lever action, I was confident in the round’s potential … yet at once anxious about making the same well-placed shot under the increased rush of adrenaline with a handgun. I could also be described with a number of other words as the moment of truth approached—nervous, exhilarated, blessed, focused. With that fine piece of masterfully American-made stainless steel, my personal challenge of going head-to-head against “Black Death” with a handgun became an amazing reality. Edginess aside, I knew PH Stephen Bann of SB Hunting Safaris had my back no matter the outcome. He mentioned many times prior on our pursuits how dangerous game hunters get into a zone during the hunt. Perhaps it can only be experienced and not explained, but make no mistake—it is certain. Senses are heightened, every hair on end. The rest of the world ceases to exist. There is only you, the quarry equally ready to kill you, and a small hunting party. Stephen, Jerry, Fish, and I—PH, hunters, and tracker—were ready. We’d spent many evenings around the “African television”—the campfire, that is—planning for this very instant. For several days, we had been tracking a particular bachelor group of bulls. Having glassed at length, we knew there were a couple old warriors, defined by their hard-bossed headgear, where the solid horns have grown tightly together, gnarled from years of sparring for dominance. Working into range of one of these grandest trophies without alerting the rest of the boys’ club proved to be a challenge indeed. We trailed, spotted, stalked, and eventually, got ahead of the herd. Hiding ourselves in a makeshift blind would be the final answer. A number of other bulls moved around unsuspecting, their grunts and heavy breaths surrounding us. After days and hours of wishing, everything happened in split seconds.  A scarred dagga-boy stepped clear of the brush, moving to my right and quartering slightly away, well inside of 20 yards. My heartbeat rattled my body … certainly he could hear the pounding? I was ready on the sticks and slowly inched the hammer back. The detail of his coarse ashen hair was visible in the Leupold scope. Instinct took over.  The round broke perfectly, driving hard into his wheelhouse. All hell broke loose as he kicked, threw up dust, and charged unsteadily into a thorny thicket not 50 yards away. Stephen was moving first and motioning me to follow him. We moved quickly into the direction where pure aggression waited, having left a ragged trail of bloody dirt. We struggled to make out the Buff’s outline, but once we did, we could see his eyes were locked. He was poised to come for us. Stephen was ready now with the rifle. If the charge came, he would fire. That “you owe him money” stare was dead on, just as Robert Ruark described. Stephen whispered for me to step into an opening in the brush and fire once more. The shot would be offhand, head-on. The buff was in the thickest brush, head raised. I hesitated a second and inhaled deeply, enough to draw a fevered glance from Stephen. Before he could motion, I knew this was it.  Slipping into the opening, I raised the five-shooter, now holding four unfired rounds of heavy lead. With Black Death immediately in the crosshair, I fired. The entire hunt was over in a matter of minutes that seemed a lifetime. To say emotions ran high would be an understatement.  The hard-bossed old warrior Syncerus caffer caffer and I were forever linked, and by handgun, no less. There, in the sun-setting southern African sand, that Magnum Research BFR became a part of my life’s story. As is common in a survival-based land like Africa, every piece of that animal would be utilized and treasured; each second of the adventure locked into the deepest recesses of memory. Whether you’re planning to go tête-à-tête with dangerous game like the venerable Cape buffalo or chasing whitetails in the local woodlot, every hunt is important … and Magnum Research builds a BFR that’s more than up to the task. These wheelguns are built to be passed from one generation to another, just as mine will be. Imagine the stories these lovely handguns will be able to tell to any, like you, who will listen. Kristin Alberts is an outdoor writer and videographer. Her work appears in many print and online publications, including Guns.com, Gun Digest Annual, Game & Fish. She also works as an outdoor adventure booking agent, so if an African Safari is on your bucket list–especially with a BFR–she’ll help you live it. Follow her online at kristinalberts.com or via social media as The Wilderness Woman. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

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