Caravan traveling up a dry river bed 



THE WILD ASS OF SOMALILAND 



A STORY OF HUNTING IN DESERT AFRICA 

 By Carl E. Akeley 



Witli photographs by the Author 



SCARCITY of camels was likely to 

 delay our start from Berbera to 

 the interior of Somaliland for 

 some time, therefore it was decided to 

 put in the time of waiting in hunting the 

 wild ass down in Gubon country. Thus 

 we traveled across the arid plain from 

 Berbera through a pass in the Golis 

 Range on over the volcanic rock and bar- 

 ren sands to a wet spot in a dry river bed 

 that would produce water for camp when 

 properly coaxed. We made our wild ass 

 camp thirty miles from Berbera in a 

 cheerless country, rocks and sand hav- 

 ing all the appearance of being freshly 

 dumped in this God-forsaken place, stor- 

 ing up heat from a fierce vertical sun all 

 day and throwing it off at night. 



After several heart-breaking days' 

 work we had secured but one specimen 

 and several were needed for a group. 

 One morning under guidance of natives 

 who promised to take us to a country 

 where they abounded, D. and I started 

 out at three o'clock in the morning, with 

 a couple of camels to bring back the 

 skins if we got them. At about eight 

 as we were crossing a sandy plain where 

 here and there a dwarfed shrub or tuft 

 of grass had managed to find sustenance, 



one of the gun-bearers pointed out in the 

 distance an object which he declared to 

 be an ass. We advanced slowly. As 

 there was no cover, there was no possi- 

 bility of a stalk, and the chance of a shot 

 at reasonable range seemed remote, for 

 we had found in our previous experience 

 that the wild ass is extremely shy and 

 that when once alarmed travels rapidly 

 and long distances. We approached to 

 within two hundred yards and had begun 

 to think that it was a native's tame 

 donkey and expected to see its owner 

 appear in the neighborhood, when it 

 became uneasy and started to bolt; but 

 its curiosity brought it about for a last 

 look and we took advantage of the 

 opportunity and fired. It was hard hit 

 apparently, but recovered and stood 

 facing us. We approached closer and 

 thinking it best to take no chances fired 

 again — and then he merely walked 

 about a little making no apparent effort 

 to go away. We approached carefully. 

 He showed no signs of fear and although 

 "hard hit" stood stolidly until at last 

 I put one hand on his withers and 

 tripping him, pushed him over. I 

 began to feel that if this was sport I 

 should never be a sportsman. 



113 



