When I was in South Africa I was asked by the owner of the property to accompany his son JJ, to thin out a group of baboons which were ruining the roofs of his lodges. They were sliding down the pitched roofs on their arses and pull out thatches as they went, causing the roof to leak.
Anyway, we took up a position about a hundred metres away from a known watering point and waited. We were well hidden behind some bushes a bit higher up the valley so the first shot would echo an give us a few more chances. Using a Winchester .308, I shot a couple and JJ got one with a Remington .375 H&H (which isn't too bad while you're shooting it, but bloody loud when someone else is!).
After they'd scampered and came back a couple of times, the dominant male came into view. He was about 50% larger than any of the other baboons and truely was a sight to see. I lined him up in the crosshairs and fired, hitting him square in the sternum. His only reaction however was to look straight up at me, bare his teeth in disgust and lead the group slowly away from the water hole!
JJ and I stared at each other in amazement for a little while, and after about twenty minutes we slowly removed ourselves from cover to track the baboon. I can safely say the next twenty minutes were the most tense of my life! After tracking the group's footprints in the sand for probably fifteen minutes, JJ, who understandably was on point with the Remmy spotted the first drop of blood. It wasn't much, but it soon grew to a few more drops, then small puddles, then one large puddle.
We found the expired baboon curled up under a tree. His chest was ruined, and I am still amazed that he made it so far. It was probably the most humbling moment I've ever had while hunting; he was truely a most worthy trophy