Latest news with #SAWC
The Guardian
3 days ago
- General
- The Guardian
Fire in the hole: the Indigenous crews blasting the Alaskan rainforest to save it
The morning begins with a sense of anticipation – the calm before 1,200lbs of explosives detonate a stream culvert buried 10ft in Alaska's Tongass national forest. Jamie Daniels, 53, and his crew of Tlingit forestry workers take cover in a glade of alders. A few minutes earlier, together with the US Forest Service and a Southeast Alaska Watershed Coalition (SAWC) watershed scientist, they fed high-grade explosives into the galvanized aluminum culvert on a 40ft sled made of spruce trees. The goal now is to vaporize it, along with the rocks on top. Crouched 1,000ft away from the blast site, Jack Greenhalgh, the US Forest Service master blaster veteran, shouts: 'Fire in the hole!' He presses a remote detonator. Seconds later, four 50lb bags of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil (Anfo) go off. A boom echoes across the valley, and the air goes liquid as a shockwave sweeps over the group, causing workers to grip hard hats. Football-sized splinters of granite shoot into the sky. Leaves flutter to the ground. A cloud of acrid smoke blows over. 'Stand by until we clear the area,' Greenhalgh mumbles, climbing out from behind his berm to inspect the damage – or success, depending on how one looks at it. The area where the group works is called Cube Cove, a 22,000-acre (8,900-hectare) addition to the 1m-acre Kootznoowoo wilderness on Admiralty Island, where the Tlingit people have lived, hunted and fished for at least 10,000 years. The wilderness makes up a chunk of the 17m-acre Tongass – by far the largest national forest in the United States. The Tlingit have long considered Admiralty Island, or Kootznoowoo, as sacred ground – a place of spiritual significance, ancestral knowledge and connection to a traditional subsistence lifestyle. Chartreuse-colored leaves of the spiny devil's club, mustard-colored seaweed on the rocks and citrus-scented spruce tips create a distinct rainforest aroma. Kootznoowoo means 'fortress of the bear', a fitting name for a landscape home to the highest density of brown bears in North America. The landscape carries the marks of centuries of stewardship – from strips of yellow cedar used for ceremonial baskets to totem poles reflecting intricate clan histories. Eagles soar high above, chalky heads on pivot as they watch for herring or juvenile salmon. This morning, Daniels wears a bright orange safety helmet, his hands calloused from carving a 12in (30cm) block of Sitka spruce into a brown bear's head. He lives in Angoon, 15 miles (24km) south of Cube Cove along the coast of the island, population 341. His clan house is shd'een hit, the Steel house, and he comes from Deisheetaan Naahaachuneidii, the original Raven Beaver clan of the Edge of the Nation people. Daniels emerges onto the old logging road, and gestures across the valley. 'All of this, it's not just land to us. It's our ancestors' land. We're here doing more than just fixing roads or removing culverts – we're reconnecting with our history, our identity and our future. Every culvert we remove, that's a promise to our children that the land will heal.' In the 1970s, Daniels's relatives along with others from Angoon fought to protect the island from clearcutting, holding bake sales, bingo games and raffles to fund trips to Washington DC. In 1978, elders met with Jimmy Carter. In 1980, the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (Anilca) formalized protections for the Kootznoowoo wilderness, now part of the Admiralty Island national monument. However, that designation came with an asterisk: the sale of 22,890 acres of ancestral Tlingit hunting and fishing grounds to the Shee Atiká Corporation, one of the 13 Native corporations created during the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in 1971. Over the next three decades, more than 80% of that land was clearcut. Culverts, like the one the team is blowing up today, were inserted, blocking the passage of baby salmon upriver. In 2020, the forest service purchased the Cube Cove land from Shee Atiká for $18m. The agency, alongside Kootznoowoo Inc, the Indigenous corporation based in Angoon, and SAWC, embarked on a five-year project to restore ecological functions, reconnect streams and support the traditional practices of the Tlingit people. The addition of Cube Cove signified the largest transfer of land into formal wilderness designation in the forest service's history. 'The purchase of this land opened a door,' Daniels reflects. 'It gave us the chance to reconnect with these lands in a way that honors our ancestors and what they knew – how to live in harmony with nature, not dominate it.' When he was growing up in Angoon, Daniels recalls, his uncles and cousins talked about hunting and fishing in the area before the clearcutting. 'My grandmother spoke of a 'small sockeye run' from here. I always thought she was talking about just a few fish. But actually, it's thousands of fish – just kokanee salmon, which look like small sockeye.' Since 2022, Daniels and his crew – including his 24-year-old son Justin; 33-year-old Roger Williams; and 41-year-old Walt Washington – have been working to undo decades of damage. 'We're trying to get this forest back on its feet,' Daniels explains. 'But it's not just the trees. We're restoring the entire ecosystem: the fish, the wildlife and the cultural traditions connected to this land.' Following the all-clear from Greenhalgh, SAWC watershed scientist Kelsey Dean slings a forest service Pulaski – part ax and part adze – over her shoulder and follows the old logging road to the blast site. She describes dense thickets of spruce as 'dog hair trees' where deer can't forage, and bears can't hunt deer. This six-day hitch we're participating in is just the second blasting session in a much larger effort. At the end of five years, the team will have removed 80 of the 89 culverts left by loggers, and three bridges, Dean says. 'We're restoring habitat, improving hydrologic function and strengthening the land's resilience. After that, it's hands off,' she says, releasing the Pulaski to underline the point. Up ahead, a reddish-brown haze settles over the blast site. The crew gathers along the banks and stares into a triangular trench where the culvert once ran. Sean Rielly, a former wilderness ranger and forest service recreation specialist, slaloms down the mud and begins removing shards of the shattered culvert. Daniels and his crew follow, pushing boulders out of the new streambed. Suddenly, the goop of mud and alder leaves releases, flooding downhill. After an hour of work, a small mountain stream flows freely. 'Now,' Dean says, 'we watch for fish.' The fish are anadromous, she explains – a fancy word that means they spawn and then die. Their decaying bodies provide food for the carnivorous spruce, hemlock and cedar trees in a healthy stand of old growth. The salmon also sustain the brown bears prowling the island, their coats glossy with salmon oil, their humps shifting as they patrol the rivers, waiting for the salmon to arrive. The Cube Cove project reaches its midpoint at a moment when the Trump administration renews logging efforts in the Tongass. In June, the US Department of Agriculture announced plans to remove the Roadless Rule protections, exposing 7m acres of the Tongass to extensive clearcuts. Ecologists warn that cutting much of the old growth could release massive amounts of carbon stored in the trees. In fact, Dean says, when federal funding dried up, Cube Cove progress stalled. Luckily, SAWC was able to use wetlands mitigation money from the state of Alaska to account for the shortfall. 'It's unfortunate, what's happening. The region is just now starting to recover from the violence of clearcutting,' says Rob Cadmus, director of SAWC. 'At Cube Cove, what we're doing essentially is cleaning up the mess left from logging. Going back to those timber bonanza days would be unconscionable, from an economic, environmental and psychic standpoint.' Federal subsidies have long made old-growth logging in the Tongass artificially profitable. By selling timber below market value and covering high costs like road building and transportation, the government incentivizes larger logging companies from the lower 48 to cut down trees, despite the fact that south-east Alaska's economy is shifting toward eco-tourism and fishing – industries that depend on preserving the Tongass intact, rather than transforming the mountains into a moonscape, with no habitat left for salmon to spawn. As the crew works with hand tools, Dean inspects the flow of water, while Greenhalgh examines the composition of dirt. The two assess whether a second 'cleanup shot' of explosives might be necessary before abandoning the site. Hand tools can take care of the rest, they decide. As the sun sets over the mouth of the valley, the group begins a 3.5-mile hike along the logging road back to the ATVs and forest service truck. Along the way, Daniels nods toward an alternating series of oven-mitt-shaped prints in the ground – evidence of the island's apex predators. 'Bear have survived here for thousands of years,' he says. 'And so have we. All of that makes what's happening today feel really personal.' Rielly catches up and talks about all the time he spent behind a desk justifying the need for mechanized equipment and explosives and the minimum tool necessary to help the region's recovery. In 2024, a youth group from Angoon removed a culvert barely beneath the ground using only standard forest service hand tools: Pulaskis, shovels, mattocks and rakes. The effort took seven days. 'If we don't do this work, the land will continue to degrade. Culverts clog, landslides are triggered, watersheds are blocked,' Rielly says. 'This is the only way to get the job done quickly, especially in such remote terrain.' Through the scrim of spruce saplings, stumps of ancient old-growth loom: cedar, hemlock and spruce recorded at more than 1,000 years old. The group crosses the Ward Creek bridge, held in place by steel girders 8ft wide covered by creosote timbers. These will be removed at the end of the project, when the crew erases their footprints. On the other side of the bridge, Daniels, Washington and Williams hop on the ATVs, while the rest of the group pile into the truck for the 12-mile trip back to camp. After showers in the ocean, the group congregates around a driftwood bonfire on the beach, where thousands of logs were once dumped and rafted together, on the way to the mill. Dean sips from a can of lime sparkling water – a treat in the remote area. Dressed now in flannel pajamas, Washington perches on a rock. He describes his work in the forest as engaging in a cycle of 'destruction and renewal'. 'The land will heal itself if left alone,' he says. 'But sometimes you have to set a bone before it can heal properly. I know that this hard work we're doing out here is for my children, and for their children down the line.' 'What you're seeing here is a version of the next generation of conservation – partnerships that connect people, place and purpose,' Cadmus of SAWC says. 'When we're out here working side by side, we build a bond that's stronger than words. At the end of the day, that's what heals us. We're all in service to the land.'
The Guardian
4 days ago
- General
- The Guardian
Fire in the hole: the Indigenous crews blasting the Alaskan rainforest to save it
The morning begins with a sense of anticipation – the calm before 1,200lbs of explosives detonate a stream culvert buried 10ft in Alaska's Tongass national forest. Jamie Daniels, 53, and his crew of Tlingit forestry workers take cover in a glade of alders. A few minutes earlier, together with the US Forest Service and a Southeast Alaska Watershed Coalition (SAWC) watershed scientist, they fed high-grade explosives into the galvanized aluminum culvert on a 40ft sled made of spruce trees. The goal now is to vaporize it, along with the rocks on top. Crouched 1,000ft away from the blast site, Jack Greenhalgh, the US Forest Service master blaster veteran, shouts: 'Fire in the hole!' He presses a remote detonator. Seconds later, four 50lb bags of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil (Anfo) go off. A boom echoes across the valley, and the air goes liquid as a shockwave sweeps over the group, causing workers to grip hard hats. Football-sized splinters of granite shoot into the sky. Leaves flutter to the ground. A cloud of acrid smoke blows over. 'Stand by until we clear the area,' Greenhalgh mumbles, climbing out from behind his berm to inspect the damage – or success, depending on how one looks at it. The area where the group works is called Cube Cove, a 22,000-acre (8,900-hectare) addition to the 1m-acre Kootznoowoo wilderness on Admiralty Island, where the Tlingit people have lived, hunted and fished for at least 10,000 years. The wilderness makes up a chunk of the 17m-acre Tongass – by far the largest national forest in the United States. The Tlingit have long considered Admiralty Island, or Kootznoowoo, as sacred ground – a place of spiritual significance, ancestral knowledge and connection to a traditional subsistence lifestyle. Chartreuse-colored leaves of the spiny devil's club, mustard-colored seaweed on the rocks and citrus-scented spruce tips create a distinct rainforest aroma. Kootznoowoo means 'fortress of the bear', a fitting name for a landscape home to the highest density of brown bears in North America. The landscape carries the marks of centuries of stewardship – from strips of yellow cedar used for ceremonial baskets to totem poles reflecting intricate clan histories. Eagles soar high above, chalky heads on pivot as they watch for herring or juvenile salmon. This morning, Daniels wears a bright orange safety helmet, his hands calloused from carving a 12in (30cm) block of Sitka spruce into a brown bear's head. He lives in Angoon, 15 miles (24km) south of Cube Cove along the coast of the island, population 341. His clan house is shd'een hit, the Steel house, and he comes from Deisheetaan Naahaachuneidii, the original Raven Beaver clan of the Edge of the Nation people. Daniels emerges onto the old logging road, and gestures across the valley. 'All of this, it's not just land to us. It's our ancestors' land. We're here doing more than just fixing roads or removing culverts – we're reconnecting with our history, our identity and our future. Every culvert we remove, that's a promise to our children that the land will heal.' In the 1970s, Daniels's relatives along with others from Angoon fought to protect the island from clearcutting, holding bake sales, bingo games and raffles to fund trips to Washington DC. In 1978, elders met with Jimmy Carter. In 1980, the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (Anilca) formalized protections for the Kootznoowoo wilderness, now part of the Admiralty Island national monument. However, that designation came with an asterisk: the sale of 22,890 acres of ancestral Tlingit hunting and fishing grounds to the Shee Atiká Corporation, one of the 13 Native corporations created during the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in 1971. Over the next three decades, more than 80% of that land was clearcut. Culverts, like the one the team is blowing up today, were inserted, blocking the passage of baby salmon upriver. In 2020, the forest service purchased the Cube Cove land from Shee Atiká for $18m. The agency, alongside Kootznoowoo Inc, the Indigenous corporation based in Angoon, and SAWC, embarked on a five-year project to restore ecological functions, reconnect streams and support the traditional practices of the Tlingit people. The addition of Cube Cove signified the largest transfer of land into formal wilderness designation in the forest service's history. 'The purchase of this land opened a door,' Daniels reflects. 'It gave us the chance to reconnect with these lands in a way that honors our ancestors and what they knew – how to live in harmony with nature, not dominate it.' When he was growing up in Angoon, Daniels recalls, his uncles and cousins talked about hunting and fishing in the area before the clearcutting. 'My grandmother spoke of a 'small sockeye run' from here. I always thought she was talking about just a few fish. But actually, it's thousands of fish – just kokanee salmon, which look like small sockeye.' Since 2022, Daniels and his crew – including his 24-year-old son Justin; 33-year-old Roger Williams; and 41-year-old Walt Washington – have been working to undo decades of damage. 'We're trying to get this forest back on its feet,' Daniels explains. 'But it's not just the trees. We're restoring the entire ecosystem: the fish, the wildlife and the cultural traditions connected to this land.' Following the all-clear from Greenhalgh, SAWC watershed scientist Kelsey Dean slings a forest service Pulaski – part ax and part adze – over her shoulder and follows the old logging road to the blast site. She describes dense thickets of spruce as 'dog hair trees' where deer can't forage, and bears can't hunt deer. This six-day hitch we're participating in is just the second blasting session in a much larger effort. At the end of five years, the team will have removed 80 of the 89 culverts left by loggers, and three bridges, Dean says. 'We're restoring habitat, improving hydrologic function and strengthening the land's resilience. After that, it's hands off,' she says, releasing the Pulaski to underline the point. Up ahead, a reddish-brown haze settles over the blast site. The crew gathers along the banks and stares into a triangular trench where the culvert once ran. Sean Rielly, a former wilderness ranger and forest service recreation specialist, slaloms down the mud and begins removing shards of the shattered culvert. Daniels and his crew follow, pushing boulders out of the new streambed. Suddenly, the goop of mud and alder leaves releases, flooding downhill. After an hour of work, a small mountain stream flows freely. 'Now,' Dean says, 'we watch for fish.' The fish are anadromous, she explains – a fancy word that means they spawn and then die. Their decaying bodies provide food for the carnivorous spruce, hemlock and cedar trees in a healthy stand of old growth. The salmon also sustain the brown bears prowling the island, their coats glossy with salmon oil, their humps shifting as they patrol the rivers, waiting for the salmon to arrive. The Cube Cove project reaches its midpoint at a moment when the Trump administration renews logging efforts in the Tongass. In June, the US Department of Agriculture announced plans to remove the Roadless Rule protections, exposing 7m acres of the Tongass to extensive clearcuts. Ecologists warn that cutting much of the old growth could release massive amounts of carbon stored in the trees. In fact, Dean says, when federal funding dried up, Cube Cove progress stalled. Luckily, SAWC was able to use wetlands mitigation money from the state of Alaska to account for the shortfall. 'It's unfortunate, what's happening. The region is just now starting to recover from the violence of clearcutting,' says Rob Cadmus, director of SAWC. 'At Cube Cove, what we're doing essentially is cleaning up the mess left from logging. Going back to those timber bonanza days would be unconscionable, from an economic, environmental and psychic standpoint.' Federal subsidies have long made old-growth logging in the Tongass artificially profitable. By selling timber below market value and covering high costs like road building and transportation, the government incentivizes larger logging companies from the lower 48 to cut down trees, despite the fact that south-east Alaska's economy is shifting toward eco-tourism and fishing – industries that depend on preserving the Tongass intact, rather than transforming the mountains into a moonscape, with no habitat left for salmon to spawn. As the crew works with hand tools, Dean inspects the flow of water, while Greenhalgh examines the composition of dirt. The two assess whether a second 'cleanup shot' of explosives might be necessary before abandoning the site. Hand tools can take care of the rest, they decide. As the sun sets over the mouth of the valley, the group begins a 3.5-mile hike along the logging road back to the ATVs and forest service truck. Along the way, Daniels nods toward an alternating series of oven-mitt-shaped prints in the ground – evidence of the island's apex predators. 'Bear have survived here for thousands of years,' he says. 'And so have we. All of that makes what's happening today feel really personal.' Rielly catches up and talks about all the time he spent behind a desk justifying the need for mechanized equipment and explosives and the minimum tool necessary to help the region's recovery. In 2024, a youth group from Angoon removed a culvert barely beneath the ground using only standard forest service hand tools: Pulaskis, shovels, mattocks and rakes. The effort took seven days. 'If we don't do this work, the land will continue to degrade. Culverts clog, landslides are triggered, watersheds are blocked,' Rielly says. 'This is the only way to get the job done quickly, especially in such remote terrain.' Through the scrim of spruce saplings, stumps of ancient old-growth loom: cedar, hemlock and spruce recorded at more than 1,000 years old. The group crosses the Ward Creek bridge, held in place by steel girders 8ft wide covered by creosote timbers. These will be removed at the end of the project, when the crew erases their footprints. On the other side of the bridge, Daniels, Washington and Williams hop on the ATVs, while the rest of the group pile into the truck for the 12-mile trip back to camp. After showers in the ocean, the group congregates around a driftwood bonfire on the beach, where thousands of logs were once dumped and rafted together, on the way to the mill. Dean sips from a can of lime sparkling water – a treat in the remote area. Dressed now in flannel pajamas, Washington perches on a rock. He describes his work in the forest as engaging in a cycle of 'destruction and renewal'. 'The land will heal itself if left alone,' he says. 'But sometimes you have to set a bone before it can heal properly. I know that this hard work we're doing out here is for my children, and for their children down the line.' 'What you're seeing here is a version of the next generation of conservation – partnerships that connect people, place and purpose,' Cadmus of SAWC says. 'When we're out here working side by side, we build a bond that's stronger than words. At the end of the day, that's what heals us. We're all in service to the land.'
TimesLIVE
27-05-2025
- General
- TimesLIVE
Southern African Wildlife College gets accreditation for national diploma
The Southern African Wildlife College (SAWC) says its flagship diploma in applied natural resource management has now received all formal accreditations with an official registration number from the relevant national regulatory bodies. 'We will enrol our first group of first-year students in January 2026 and encourage interested parties to keep an eye on our website and communications platforms for further updates and application details,' the college said on Tuesday. It said the milestone followed a rigorous multiyear process to ensure the programme met the highest academic and professional standards. 'With accreditation secured from the Council on Higher Education at the end of 2024, and with the recent and subsequent registration of the qualification by the South African Qualifications Authority, the college is pleased to confirm that the diploma is now fully recognised as a nationally registered qualification at NQF Level 6.' The college said the three-year diploma had been developed to respond to the real-world needs of protected area managers and conservation practitioners working across Southern Africa. 'It blends academic learning (two years online with annual practical blocks at the SAWC campus) with intensive field-based application (third year fully applied), ensuring graduates are equipped with the knowledge and practical skills required to manage natural resources effectively and holistically.'
Sunday Post
25-05-2025
- Politics
- Sunday Post
Anglers fear anti-cruelty laws will be extended to include fishing
Get a weekly round-up of stories from The Sunday Post: Thank you for signing up to our Sunday Post newsletter. Something went wrong - please try again later. Sign Up Anglers in Scotland fear their sport may be criminalised after Scottish Government animal welfare experts recommended anti-cruelty laws be extended to include fishing. The Scottish Animal Welfare Commission (SAWC), an independent body that advises ministers, has published a report arguing fish are sentient beings and deserve the same legal protection as other creatures such as sheep, cattle, cats and dogs. Among its recommendations is amending regulations to cover 'actions that occur in the normal course of fishing'. Such a move could outlaw many aspects of angling such as hooking a fish and removing it from the water. In the report, the SAWC singles out the practice of 'catch-and-release' as particularly harmful to fish – even though it is a key part of coarse fishing and is actively encouraged on many Scottish rivers as the best way to preserve salmon stocks. Fishermen have reacted with fury at the prospect of such measures. Kirk Norbury, of Country Sport Scotland, said: 'Anglers could be exposed to legal action for carrying out normal and accepted fishing practices such as casting, landing, briefly handling fish, using a net, and releasing them safely. These actions are done with care and in line with high welfare standards, especially in catch-and-release angling.' He added: 'Further restrictions on fishing would risk damaging rural communities and local businesses that rely on visiting anglers. This potential change in the law would cause significant damage to the very efforts of the people who do the most to protect our rivers and fish stocks.' In February, the SAWC was at the centre of an international outcry after it suggested banning cat ownership in some parts of the country in a bid to protect small mammals and birds. First Minister John Swinney was later forced to deny the SNP government was planning to ban pet cats. In its latest report the SAWC states: 'Given that fish are sentient, their welfare needs should receive the same consideration in the formulation and implementation of policy as those of terrestrial vertebrate species.' The main law protecting animals north of the border is the Animal Health and Welfare (Scotland) Act 2006. However, activities that occur in 'the normal course of fishing' are exempt. According to the SAWC, this means fish can be subjected to treatment which would be considered cruel if it involved other animals such as pets or livestock. The report states: 'Some of those acts would be illegal if committed against other protected animals in comparable circumstances.' In particular it highlights the practice of 'catch-and-release' which, it states, 'leads to the injuring of sentient animals, a significant proportion of whom may die following the experience'. To address this, the report calls for changes in guidance for fishermen, saying: 'Catch-and-release practices in game, coarse and sea angling should be given further consideration by the sports' governing bodies and associations, in consultation with fish welfare experts.' Significantly, it also recommends ministers change the law, stating that 'the exclusion under Section 47(b) of the Animal Health and Welfare (Scotland) Act 2006 relating to acts carried out in the 'normal course of fishing' should be reviewed in the light of the current scientific evidence of fish sentience'. Last night the Scottish Government said it had no immediate plans to change the law regarding angling, but would consider the SAWC's report 'in due course', adding: 'Fish farming, sea fisheries and angling are all cornerstones of Scottish national and local economies.' Tory rural affairs and fishing spokesperson Tim Eagle said: 'A heavy-handed approach from this SNP-backed quango is not the way to go about things. 'Instead of announcing proposals like this out the blue, these bureaucrats should be engaging with anglers and recognising its importance to Scotland's economy.'
The Citizen
17-05-2025
- Health
- The Citizen
SABHSSA hosts hunting clinic at SA Wildlife College
LIMPOPO – Driven by a clear and transformative vision, the South African Black Hunters Sport Shooters Association (SABHSSA) took a historic step forward by hosting its first hunting clinic from Thursday, May 1, to Sunday, May 4, at the Southern African Wildlife College (SAWC) in Hoedspruit. The clinic embodied SABHSSA's commitment to developing a new generation of ethical, skilled, and inclusive hunting professionals. With the theme 'Reimagining South Africa's professional hunting industry: Unlocking opportunities through transformation and inclusion,' the clinic paved the way for a hunting sector that reflects South Africa's diversity and advocates responsible resource use. The event was jointly facilitated by Dr Thabang Teffo, responsible resource management head at SAWC, and Frans Malebane, CEO of SABHSSA. Together, they guided discussions and activities that emphasised transformation, ethics, and hands-on skills development. 'This inaugural clinic reflects SABHSSA's commitment to nurturing a new generation of competent, ethical, and dedicated hunting professionals,' said Malebane. 'It is essential that both the client and the professional hunter are kept safe at all times while in the bush. Building these skills is not only about professionalism but about safety, ethical conduct, and creating a transformative industry future that is inclusive and responsible,' he added. The clinic brought together aspiring hunters, leaders from community property associations (CPA) such as KwaMalawuza CPA, and key supporters like the Custodians of Professional Hunting and Conservation South Africa (CPHC-SA). The four-day clinic delivered a robust programme that covered critical areas such as basic tracking, hunting ethics, firearm ownership, and practical shooting. A field trip to the Timbavati Private Game Reserve provided participants with firsthand exposure to game harvesting techniques, abattoir protocols, skinning and salting processes, and tannery practices. These real-world lessons were complemented by a visit to the Graeme Naylor Museum, deepening attendees' understanding of South Africa's conservation and hunting heritage. Pieter Nel, a SAWC senior trainer in regenerative land practices, provided expert guidance on firearm handling and responsible hunting, while also explaining ballistic performance and proper shot placement for both African plains game and dangerous game. 'Hunters should understand that the aim is not to hurt the animal but to kill it,' he explained. He also led the afternoon shooting sessions, guiding participants through hands-on exercises with both a 22 rifle and the powerful 4.75 heavy rifle, which delivered an adrenaline-charged experience that challenged even the most seasoned hunters. The clinic wrapped up on an exciting note with a paintball shoot-out, where participants put their teamwork, tactical thinking, and shooting skills to the test in a spirited and engaging finale. One of the attendees, Komape Everson Manoko, reflected on the experience. 'When I recently joined SABHSSA, I did not know what to expect. I simply wanted to be part of an organisation that values and champions transformation. This first clinic exceeded all my expectations, from formal boardroom discussions on conservation and law to fireside storytelling and personal experiences. The session on approaching dangerous game on foot was particularly fascinating and fun. I look forward to more exciting events like this and encourage everyone who cares about nature and conservation to get involved.' The success of the hunting clinic is set to become an annual event. The next hunting clinic will be announced soon. For more information or to become a member, contact: info@ At Caxton, we employ humans to generate daily fresh news, not AI intervention. Happy reading!
