Family and Family values lie very close to our hearts, and George the proud father op triplets understands the concerns about your family’s safety and security when going into the unknown.

Schoongezicht is a family orientated business that believes in the importance of spending enough time with family, and therefore created facilities where the whole family can enjoy a hunting trip together.

Over the years Schoongezicht has proven to the hunting industry that we are here to stay, and with so many hunters hunting their first animals with Schoongezicht, we believe that we are the perfect destination for the whole family to enjoy the outdoors.

Please take the time to read two testimonials about how Schoongezicht has changed the lives of two young people and ensuring a bright future for the whole hunting industry.


Laura's story

We arrived at Kudu Lodge in the late afternoon, following a ten-hour drive from Maputo, Mozambique which included a circuitous detour through Rooibok Kraal due to faulty memory (mine) and a confused GPS device.  It was almost a year to the day since my last hunt with my good friend George Potgieter, Professional Hunter (PH), guide, pilot, and owner and operator of Schoongezicht Rare Game Breeding and Hunting Safaris.  This time, however, I was not the hunter but an observer, an enabler, a mentor, and facilitator of a young girl’s dream.   A family friend once mentioned that her young daughter Laura, not yet twelve years of age, wanted to hunt in Africa.  Having the opportunity to introduce a young person to hunting was music to my ears.  Besides, I knew the best possible place and PH to make a young hunter’s dream come true.  George, having started hunting as a young boy, and later mentoring and guiding youngsters on their first hunts, would be the perfect PH for Laura’s first safari experience.


By now I had lost count of how many times I visited Schoongezicht to hunt with George and his team.  George and his delightful wife Genie, also a licensed PH, own and operate Schoongezicht (www.schhunting.co.za), a privately-owned family operation in a safe and Malaria-free area in the Thabazimbi Bushveld, along the Botswana border.  The hunting grounds cover over 8000 hectares and provide an experience akin to a return to Old Africa.

Erik Sorour, George’s right-hand man and head PH greeted us with his usual warmth and hospitality.  Eric himself introduced his own children to hunting from an early age, so I knew he would also be a perfect role model for the new aspiring young hunter.

After getting my friend Liliana and her two daughters, Andrea (the youngest by a year) and Laura (the hunter) situated, Eric showed us to the shooting range to test Laura’s shooting ability.


Many experienced hunters and shooters, of any age, would be hard-pressed to duplicate young Laura’s consistent accuracy.  We were impressed, almost speechless, as she hit tight bullseye groups with more than a half-dozen shots. She was focused, methodical, and almost made it look easy.  Satisfied with her shooting, and as the sun was about to give another spectacular performance as it dipped low on the horizon, Eric took us on a short game drive to get used to the terrain and the animals we would encounter the following day.

Majestic kudu bulls, wildebeest, zebra, giraffe, and the odd warthog rushing to an overnight burrow before sunset, presaged an exciting day in store.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, we set off as night was paling and we were treated to one more glorious African sunrise.  Within hours the day warmed significantly as we drove in search of impala and warthog which are usually plentiful but never around when you want them!  As we searched for the right trophy, Eric and Laura made several stalks after impala herds and warthogs through the dense “wait-a-bit thorn” bush in scorching heat but found neither the right trophy nor an opportunity for a clean shot.  While the experience was exciting, we came back to the lodge emptyhanded and a bit disappointed.  Nevertheless, the experience showed that fair-chase hunting is as difficult as it should be.

George guided Laura the next day as Eric was taking time off to properly celebrate his big birthday which he had spent with us the day before.  The morning was a repeat of the previous day until about midday when we found a nice impala ram in a small herd in a thorn-bush thicket.  George and Laura jumped of the rolling safari car and disappeared into the bush as we drove away.  An eternity later (just a few minutes actually…) we were rewarded with the sounds of a shot and the distinctive “thump” of a solid hit.  The crackling of the radio and George’s excited voice told us that Laura had her impala trophy!  A perfect, yet difficult shot from a kneeling position, brought down a beautiful, mature impala ram.


In the middle of the African bushveld, a magnificent animal lies on the ground.  The hunter, her mother and sister, the proud PH, sharing such a defining moment in that girl’s young life, in everyone’s and anyone’s life.  A shared confluence of mixed emotions.  Excitement, reflection, respect, compassion and, as Wilbur Smith called it “the deep melancholy in the heart of the hunter,” which eventually helps us to understand and appreciate life.

Laura impressed us once again later that day with yet another impressive shot at a beautiful warthog; a perfect shot from a blind at a waterhole in the middle of the afternoon heat, and after several previously unsuccessful stalks.  On the way back to the lodge, when we were no longer looking for impala or warthog,  they were now everywhere!  That’s hunting!


Watching this impressive young girl become a hunter reminded me of my studies of Greek and Roman mythology, and it struck me that they probably got it right.  Maybe they were on to something when they chose goddesses of the hunt, Artemis (Greek) and Diana (Roman) rather than gods…  True to the ancestral deities, Laura was serious and determined in pursuit of her quarry yet compassionate and respectful of the animals, showing humble pride in her significant accomplishments.

Her experience came full circle back home when, a few days later, impala tenderloins and warthog leg roast, the fruits of Laura’s hunt, were enjoyed by family and friends.

I am truly privileged to have witnessed a young girl follow an ancestral tradition.  A tradition that’s in our blood and in everyone’s DNA but that only some of us understand, choose to honor, and live up to it.

As always, thanks to George and his team, the experience encompassed more than a hunt.  It was the preservation of a way of life by the introduction of young people to the art of hunting, by providing a lesson in ethics, sportsmanship, conservation, game management, sustainability, and love and respect for nature.

As usually happens at the end of a safari, on the way back home, the next safari was already being planned!

Text and photos by Guillermo de Las Heras


Wilson Babb

Wilson Babb – Age 15 -10th Grade – 10 Prairie View, Columbia, IL – 618-281-8557

With early morning dew lying heavily on the scrubby ground, I crawled along, making sure to avoid the prickliest bushes. As Dad, George, and I stealthily crept, electricity surged through my veins. Not only was I actually hunting for the first time in my life, but also I was in South Africa, on a remote piece of land, seeking out that ever-elusive impala.

George, a professional hunter, picked his way across the dense ground. George slowed, and heard a low grunt carrying across the crisp morning air, sending ripples of excitement through my body. As my dad and I waited patiently, George crawled up in excruciating silence to where he could see the herd. Except the herd, having been there seconds before disappeared into the brush.

For me, the impala signified more than just an animal. The impala graduated me from boy to man in my father’s eyes, and after this hunt, I would be able to hold my own when they talked late at night about those stalks that define the true men. Unfortunately, up to that point, my safety remained on, no CRACKS hissing through the air, no cries of joy.

With twigs breaking under our noisy feet after each heavy step, we deserted the brushwood areas. Then, a herd of wildebeest galloped past. With steam billowing out their nostrils, the wildebeest bellowed and began a frenzied trampling of the soil. On the ground, fresh tracks littered the trodden earth. So, with renewed vigor, we continued.

Running rapidly, a warthog darted across my field of vision. Glorious images of me pulling the trigger and finding the target fell away as the warthog vanished. After a full morning of hunting, we began our way back to the cabin, sweating profusely from the afternoon sun. When George recalled a piece of land where impalas often gather, glee engulfed his big round face and we set off once again on our odyssey for the trophy. Traveling hurriedly throughout the field, we carefully avoided open areas, spots where impala graze. Dad decided to rest his weary legs, allowing George and myself to pick up the pace.

George and I took off, listening for a sign, until, at last, we heard the deep grunt of a ram. Resting my 30.06 gun on a nearby tree, limbs jutted out in every direction making an ideal gun rest. After a few moments, a gigantic ram ambled into the clear. George, spotting the ram around the same time I did, whispered urgently into my ear.

“Alright, as soon as he turns enough for you to get a shot, take him,” he said.  “Man, Wilson, this is a big one. I haven’t seen one this big in a long while. This is one heck of a trophy.”

Followed closely by three gorgeous females, the bull paced back and forth between the two tree lines bordering the open grassland. After an extremely anxious wait, the bull disappeared into the scrub. George and I slowly walked back to where Dad lay in wait, shoulders slumped, my eyes just a bit moist.  Staring at the awe-inspiring sunset (and let me be the first to tell you-if you never have experienced a South African sunset, with the beautiful sun setting over the trees displaying a brilliant hue of colors, ranging from orange to a deep mahogany, then you haven’t lived), my excitement resurfaced, a palpable feeling hanging in the air.  Not but a few seconds later, four young males, amusing themselves, bucked their way into the open. Quickly, I set my gun up and waited. Quavering, my hand gently released the safety, and I prepared my mind for that shot that would propel me to greatness. Surprisingly, George told me to gently take my hand of the trigger. Then, miraculously, a ram, my ram walked out into the open.

Steadying myself, I listened, as George waited no more then 5 seconds and then said, “Alright, Wilson, he is the one. Whenever your ready, pop em’.” As I squinted into the scope, a sudden feeling of calmness encased my body, causing my hands to stop shaking, and my heart to slow. After taking a deep, deliberate breath, I once again and for the last time released the safety, and lined the shot up between the cross hairs.

BOOOM! The shot shattered the quietness, piercing my eardrums, causing me to drop the gun and inhale sharply. Nervously, I tottered out to where the impala had been. After a few seconds, although they felt like eternity to me, George roared, calling me over to where the ram had stood moments before. Sprinting over the uneven terrain, I skidded in to where George stooped over a puddle of coagulated blood. Studying the blood, I looked at a bright red, heavy splotch. Lung blood. Leaping up, we followed the trail, until finally the body of the immense ram came to sight, a monument in nature. George scurried over, along with my dad, who, as we exchanged glances, showed the pride he felt with the sparkle in his eyes.

Pictures flashing, my smile lit up the South African night. Later that night we feasted, stuffing ourselves on thick, delectable wildebeest burgers sitting around the fire. I, for the first time in my life, knew what happened when you graduated into manhood. Sitting there, with my dad and George, I finally understood what my dad meant when he talked about his own first hunt. Later, as I rested sleeping away the weariness that had seeped into my bones, I dreamt good dreams, of impalas, and my next trip to the majestic country of South Africa.