The 747 came in high and hot and dropped onto the runway at Johannesburg like a stone. One of my traveling companions, a military journalist-turned-outdoor-writer, chuckled at the expression on my face.

"That was a modified combat landing," he said. "We didn't land that way when I was here last year."

We'd arrived in South Africa a short five days after Chris Hanni's assassination, and everyone in Jo'burg was a little nervous. A little nervous? I felt like I'd stepped into a war zone.

But during five weeks in the bush I learned an important truth about South Africa: American news reports to the contrary, the country is not in flames. True, it's undergoing change. But the situation there felt very much like the United States in the 1960s to me. The bottom line: it's still a good--no, a great--place to go hunting. And the price of an African hunt is less than that of many western U.S. hunts, especially with an exchange rate that heavily favors the American dollar.

My African adventure began as a line of blue letters on my computer screen.

"Would you like to go to Africa next year and go hunting?" My response was short, to the point and predictable. "When do we leave?"

During the next few months, I did some of the most meticulous planning of my life. Not only did I upgrade all my equipment, I had to get a passport and a visa, start an international shot record, and overcome the objections of friends and family members who though I had totally lost my mind. And in the end, even all that planning didn't account for everything. Bowhunting in Africa, as here in the US, is subject to variables that can throw you a curve.

JANUARY: I've been shooting a Black Bear compound since I began bowhunting two years ago. I like the bow, but I've had problems with the fletching hitting the riser as the arrow leaves the rest. It's also a tad light for African game.

I talk with Rick Sapp, the PR director at Bear and Jennings. He invites me down to tour the manufacturing plant and decide what kind of a bow I want. While I'm there, he and Plant Manager Neil Byce take me on a complete tour. I see every stage of bow production, and watch engineers determine peak draw weight and chronograph arrow flight. I finally settle on a Jennings Sonic XL, with a Flight Master Target/Hunter rest and a Bruin Single Bar sight.

After a look at the Easton charts, Customer Service Manager Dan Massimillo assures me my current arrows, 28-inch 2013s, will work with the new bow. But when I get home and start practicing, my 20-yard groups are 18 inches across. Well, I haven't shot in almost two months, and it is a new bow; I'll see what happens in the next few days.

FEBRUARY: After weeks of practice, my groups are no better. The folks at Easton Aluminum say that a heavier shaft may improve the arrows' performance. I've looked around the archery shops in Tallahassee and can't find anything the weight I need, so I order three dozen shafts straight from Easton. I would have been happier if I could have test-shot this new shaft a few times, but I'm running out of time.

I order an arrow cresting kit from Bohning so I can crest and fletch the arrows in red, white, and blue.

EARLY MARCH: The new shafts arrive, and I fletch several so I can practice. Though I like feathers, I've been advised to fletch with vanes for this trip--I'll need the advantage of slightly quieter arrows in Africa.

So what about a little advantage in accuracy? No one seems to consider that point. Nevertheless I'll go with the vanes; after all, I've never hunted in Africa before, and I guess I should take the advice of those who have.

I also get my yellow fever and cholera shots this week. Aside from a little soreness, I have no reaction to them.

MID-MARCH: Panic time. I'm five weeks away from leaving, and my arrow problem isn't solved. My groups haven't improved at all with the new arrows.

A call to Bear Archery reveals part of the problem. Though I've been practicing with the new bow for a while, I didn't pick up on one change between the Black Bear and the Sonic XL. On the Black Bear, because of the interaction between my draw length and the construction and draw weight of the bow, I was able to draw past the bottom of the "valley."

But on the Sonic XL, my draw should stop solidly at exactly the bottom of the valley, and I should be able to feel it. Out in the yard I shoot some test shots, drawing for that point.

Now that I'm aware of it, I can draw to the bottom of the valley every time. My groups improve immediately. They're still not as consistent as I would like, but at least I'm hitting the target every time.

I still must go to the Customs office in Tallahassee and get all my equipment--cameras, laptop computer, guns--listed on Customs Form 4457. If I don't, I run the risk of having to pay an import duty on anything I could have purchased overseas. Also, if I don't have my guns listed on the forms, BATF may seize them when I come back into the country.

My visa application arrives; I send it to the South African Embassy in Washington, D. C.

LATE MARCH: I make some progress with the bow. The gun shop where I trade has closed its archery department, so I take all my equipment to Kevin's Guns in Tallahassee. The archery specialist there finds that the fletching on the practice arrows is catching on both the sight guard and the riser. He lowers my nocking point a tad and turns the nocks on all my arrows.

I also find that the position of my left hand on the grip makes a difference in how the bow shoots. I concentrate on holding the bow exactly the same way every time. My groups are better, but they're still not to my satisfaction.

In desperation, I go to see John Underwood at John's Guns. Even though he's closed the archery shop, he still has the outdoor range in back. He watches me shoot the first tight group I've shot in weeks. He tells me I don't have a hardware problem, I have a jellyware problem. I'm putting so much pressure on myself to shoot perfectly that I can't shoot at all. Relax!

I still don't have my new arrows crested or fletched.

APRIL 1: Twelve days and counting. I get my gamma globulin shot today.

I'm now shooting 40-yard groups that are about what my 20-yard groups were two weeks ago. My talk with John seems to have worked. Even my groups shot with broadheads aren't bad at all.

I've gotten the shafts prepped and dipped with a base coat. My passport and visa still are not back.

APRIL 5: Eight days to go. I start my malaria preventive today; beyond a slight headache, no side effects. The doctor tells me I must take this medication for several weeks after I return to the States.

I take all my equipment to the Customs office and have it inventoried, so that's behind me.

APRIL 7: Six days, and I have the jitters. My visa and passport still have not arrived. A call to the South African Embassy confirms that the application has been in the office for weeks. No one else in the group has had any problem, but they all wrote "tourism" where the application asks for the purpose of the trip. Mine says "hunting."

This leads to speculation that someone in the Embassy is anti-hunting, but we can't prove that. Note for next time: write "tourism," not "hunting"!

APRIL 10: Three days. My passport and visa arrive.

APRIL 12: The arrows are finished. Everything fits in the suitcases. My adventure begins tomorrow.

CASKETT'S RANCH IS on the Klaserie River, only one fence away from Kruger National Park. It's home to four of the big five, at least part of the time. Rhino and Cape buffalo always are present, and lion and leopard pass through. The only animal missing is elephant.

My first afternoon as Caskett's, owner Rocco Gioia delivered me to a hide overlooking a waterhole. At home I would have called it a stand, but this wasn't like any stand I'd ever seen before. It was a little elevated house with a bamboo-thatched roof, covered with black mesh on the inside.

But the remarkable thing about it was the poured-concrete floor. The floor was eight feet off the ground, and the way the concrete fitted around the corner posts of the hide showed clearly that it was poured after the hide was constructed. I never did get a good explanation of how Rocco got enough concrete to pour a 10-by-10-foot slab, six inches or so thick, eight feet into the air.

The next day, other commitments kept Rocco from taking me back to the hide in the morning. By early afternoon I was getting restless; I'd come to Africa to hunt. I collected a canteen of water, my archery equipment, and my pistol for company, and headed out into the bush.

The first thing I did was get lost. Oh, not too lost; I knew I could get back to the guest chalets all right. But I couldn't find the waterhole.

Finally I found an intersection of roads we had marked the day before with a Coca-cola can on a bush. From there, I found the waterhole easily.

Trouble was, I was too late. When I walked down the road to the hide I blew at least eight impala rams up the dam. Later I saw a waterbuck cow and a big warthog; the warthog never came within range.

As the day ended, I listened to the quiet. There were no cars, no human voices, only the impalas rutting in the gathering darkness and the insects singing in the bush.

ON ANOTHER AFTERNOON, Rocco took most of our group to visit a kudu farm several kilometers away. Professional Hunter Andrew Hogg was off in the bush with another hunter, looking for a lion. I was on my own.

I walked down to the stream that runs in front of the main lodge of Caskett's. There, the dark green smell of the long grass rolled up the slope around me and mingled with the dusty dryness of the veldt. As I slipped between the trees, I stirred up big brown moths that fluttered ahead of me, just like they do at home. For a while I could almost think I was back in our creek bottom, stalking one of the whitetail bucks that hang out in the big woods back of the pasture.

Then the distant thud of hooves on the road caused me to turn and look, and I was reminded, fully and firmly, of where I was. Four giraffes lumbered up the road in front of the lodge, rocking from side to side like ships in a mild sea. They cut across the veldt on the other side of the road from me and slowed down, finally turning in their tall golden silence to watch someone walking up the road.

After the traveler had passed they soon forgot about him, and strolled back to the road and across it, until they were only short yards from me. I could hear their footsteps crackle in the dry grass as they passed by, tall stately shadows in the fast-fading light. I stood very still, not wanting to disturb their passage, though the wait meant I would walk back to the chalets in darkness.

Light lingered in the western sky, so that the giraffes were outlined against a pink-and-orange glow that seemed to go on forever. As I tiptoed quietly past them, the stars came out all at once as the African night swiftly fell.

A FEW EVENINGS LATER, at another waterhole, I sat and watched a jackal work his way across the veldt. For half an hour he trotted back and forth, disappearing behind a rock here, behind a bush there. Finally he turned toward the waterhole; he would pass within 30 yards of the hide.

I got ready; jackals smell bad, and I certainly didn't want to eat one, but they have beautiful pelts. I wanted one to go with the coyote skin in my office.

As he came closer, I drew the bow and waited. Just as he passed by, I released the arrow. It clattered harmlessly behind him on the pebbly ground.

The jackal whirled and leaped away, stopping only once to look back. He vacated the neighborhood with all good speed.

This was a big waterhole. The other side was at least 80 yards away, far out of bow range. But the game trails cut into the grass showed that most of the animals using this waterhole were traveling close to the hide, so I would likely have a shot at anything coming to drink.

Movement on the other side of the waterhole caught my attention. Out of the trees strolled a kudu bull, alone, magnificent. His horns went two full turns and had started a third. He was far beyond the range of a bow; I could only sit and watch the animal that Hemingway spent months chasing across the African grasslands. Some hunters pursue kudu for years without seeing one in full view, or even seeing one at all.

The bull walked calmly down to the water and drank. For 15 minutes he stood at the edge of the water, bathed in sunset colors as the day ended. Finally he climbed back up the slope to the dam and faded into the trees.

And so it went. I saw game, lots of it. And I missed some splendid animals, such as the gemsbok that just trotted by one morning while I was stalking a warthog.

Like bowhunting in this country, African bowhunting has its challenges and its rewards. Probably the greatest challenge, at least for me, is judging distance. For each of my misses, when I measured from where I had been to where the animal had been, I found I had underestimated the distance; with the gemsbok, I misjudged by 20 yards. The size of African animals is deceptive, and when you add to that the vastness of the open veldt, you have the perfect recipe for some spectacular misses.

But the rewards can't necessarily be counted in animals killed. They are more in the little gifts that Africa gives to those who will look, and listen. They come in the quiet of the African night, in the evening light that lingers until darkness falls with a swiftness that takes the breath away, in the dignity of the kudu that comes silently to the waterhole at dusk. In all these things are the soul, the spirit, of the African bush.

Sidebar: Getting There

Round trip coach fares range from $1,400 to $1,800. But expect first-class treatment even in the coach section. In- flight movies, gourmet meals, and excellent South African wines help the 15-hour flight pass easily.

Bowhunters traveling to Africa have an advantage over gun hunters: with group rates, African bowhunts can be very inexpensive. In many cases, the cost of an African bowhunt is less than the cost of a western elk hunt.

For more information about booking hunts at Rocco Gioia's Caskett's Ranch, or for details on fees and travel arrangements, contact African Safaris, P. O. Box 808, Canon City, CO 81215.