I killed an elephant, and it changed my life

Leading conservationist Geoffrey Kent, 73, founder and CEO of luxury travel firm Abercrombie & Kent, was disgusted by the American hunter who paid a recreational game-hunting company $55,000 for the privilege of killing Zimbabwe’s beloved lion Cecil. The charismatic author of the new book “Safari: A Memoir of a Worldwide Travel Pioneer,” to be published next Tuesday, tells Jane Ridley why the lion’s death hit him so hard.

When I read about internationally reviled dentist Walter Palmer’s slaughter of Cecil the lion, my heart sank.
I, too, have felt the regret of killing a big-game animal. Like many young men who were born and grew up in Kenya, I went through the rite of passage at 15 when a young man must demonstrate his ability to protect and ensure the safety of his loved ones.
It was 1958, and my parents sent me on an elephant-hunting safari with Major Lynn Temple-Boreham, game warden of the Masai Mara, the greatest game-hunting district in Kenya.

After hours of stalking in the scorching July sun, we spotted an elephant. Lynn crouched down and moved in, and I edged in front of him to do the same. “Remember what I’ve told you, Geoff,” he said.
A breeze rose up and swayed against us. I took the lead and watched the trunk rise like a snorkel. Our scent had carried across the wind. “Closer,” Lynn said.

We inched forward. “That’s my shot,” I whispered, subtly pointing toward the elephant’s left shoulder. I bit down and steadied the gun against the crook of my armpit, aiming not for the center of the forehead but for the gutsier shot: a heart shot, from the side. I fired.
“Yes!” Lynn hissed. No, I thought. No … no. I pulled the trigger too fast. I’d hit him before I wanted to.
I watched, my fingers still choked around the trigger. The elephant absorbed the bullet above his shoulder and stumbled. He gained a second of footing and took off toward us, so close that he nearly knocked me down. He lost all of his tracks — and then, suddenly, crashed down like a boulder.
I was in horror — not because a few yards more and I’d have been trampled, but because I’d just killed the most beauteous and magnificent beast I’d ever seen.
I lowered the gun, heartsick. Right then, I made a vow to myself and to Africa: If I ever shot an elephant again, it would be with a camera — not a gun.

That day marked a defining moment in my life. Being next to a charging elephant was so exciting and testosterone-fueled that I knew I had to bring this life experience to other people — but I couldn’t have dead animals involved.
In 1966, I developed a whole new way of safari, using traditional hunting camps as a base after figuring out a way to bring refrigeration to them, which was a first in Africa. Before that, slaughtered game would be eaten. Now, the focus could be on photography.
I call it my off-the-beaten-track safari. You have the same thrill of being out with the animals but, at the last moment, there’s a click of a shutter — not the ricochet of a bullet causing heartache and destruction.
Today, a graceful cheetah adorns the wall of my home in London, England — a memento from my birthplace.
But, unlike the vacation souvenirs of Palmer, it’s not a severed head of a majestic animal that was hunted down and shot in cold blood.
It’s a framed photograph — the only trophy that should be brought back from a safari.
Why can’t cowards like Palmer accept that you can experience the thrill of a hunt without a rifle or crossbow? There doesn’t have to be a lifeless carcass at the end of the experience — capturing the up-close sighting on film is a reward that is much more satisfying.