Frequently Wrong, Rarely in Doubt

Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Unhinged Environmental Rant

I picked up Death in the Long Grass because, let’s be real, the title is a whole mood. It’s giving “my life is a movie and I’m the protagonist wrestling a leopard in a humid jungle.” I was expecting to be transported to the thrilling, dangerous world of big game hunting, to hear stories so intense they’d make me nervously check my closet for a rhino. And the book absolutely delivers on that front.

Capstick is an incredible storyteller. He weaves these terrifying, visceral tales of facing down charging elephants and outsmarting big cats with a prose so sharp it could probably gut a fish. You’re reading (or listening, in my case) along, and you feel like you’re right there with him, sweating through your clothes and questioning every life choice that led you to this moment of pure, unadulterated danger. It’s thrilling, it’s intense, and it’s everything you want in a book about a dude getting chased by things that want to eat him.

And then, just as you’re catching your breath from a particularly hairy encounter with a water buffalo, he pivots. The narrative music stops. He drops the thrilling story like a hot potato and launches into a full-blown, fire-and-brimstone sermon about “armchair conservationists.” It’s an abrupt, hilarious, and completely unexpected turn. One minute he’s describing the fatal charge of a cape buffalo with the intensity of a horror novelist, and the next he’s basically yelling at you about how you don’t know the first thing about real conservation. It’s a bait-and-switch of epic proportions.

The best part? He brings the same raw, unfiltered energy to his rants as he does to his hunting stories. There’s no gentleness here. He’s not mincing words or trying to be diplomatic. He’s just a guy with a lot of opinions, and if you happen to be in his book at the wrong time, you’re gonna hear them. It’s honestly a little bit impressive. You have to respect a man who is as passionate about his opinions on environmental policy as he is about not getting mauled to death. Once you realize this is just part of the experience, it becomes less of an interruption and more of a feature, a little chaotic interlude that you can count on. It’s like a cranky jazz solo in the middle of a symphony. You didn’t ask for it, but you kinda have to applaud the commitment.

If you’re looking for a book that will make you feel alive, terrified, and then suddenly, deeply lectured, this is the one for you. It’s a masterclass in storytelling with a side of righteous indignation. You’ll get your fill of nail-biting adventure, and you’ll also get a free education on why the guy who lives in the suburbs and donates to the WWF is, in fact, the actual problem. And honestly? I’d read it again.