Rolf was an old-time hunter. He'd been at it since the '60s. He'd pretty much seen it all. He watched as his beloved Africa went through the painful changes towards independence. These changes were painful for Rolf as well but he adapted. He and his lifelong hunting companion Ian Manning would tell stories around the campfire after a hard day of hunting and they never failed to entertain.

I was fortunate enough to hunt with Rolf in Tanzania. We hunted both the Selous and the Masailand.

Rolf could be cantankerous as all get out on occasion. One thing that drove him crazy was me taking too long to make a shot.

One afternoon we were walking back to our camp in the Selous. We were camped on the mighty Ruaha. We had been keeping an eye out for decent sized crocodiles but hadn't had any luck. They were awfully smart and had been hunted before.

Now, for those of you who maybe haven't hunted crocs, you need to know one thing. You must anchor the beast with your first shot. If not and he can still move you will lose him. If he gets in the water he's just gone. He may be dead but he also maybe a quarter of a mile down the river, too.

Well, as we walked back to camp we were sneaking along the river bank when we came across a very decent croc about ten feet off the bank of the river. He was sleeping on a small sand bar. The sand bar was so small that he looked like he was just floating there.

We decided to give him a go. Rolf handed me a shooting stick and I made ready with my trusty Davenport .375 H&H. I was trying to hold my cross hairs on the very small spot between the reptile's eyes. All the while, Rolf is berating me to hurry up and shoot before he gets away.

Well, I finally pulled the trigger and the beast didn't move an inch. Rolf had a policy with dangerous game that he followed religiously. He never used one bullet when he could use two. He insisted on a second shot and I put it close enough to touch the first shot.

Well, we were just tickled to death. Two of the trackers and the skinner jumped in to grab the croc. They got him to shore when suddenly misfiring synapses in his reptilian brain caused him to start swinging his tail. My gosh, you should have seen everybody jump. Now mind you, if that croc whacked you with his tail you were going to be hurting. Didn't matter if the croc was alive or dead.

We measured him out to twelve feet and one inch. An almost perfect match for my twelve foot two inch Texas alligator