Biggest Hog Ever (for me)

Hunting hogs is relaxing after the intensity of a deer hunting season.  Playing the whitetail games considering all the variables of the rut, weather, moon phase, cold fronts, etc. and staying focused on determining the antlers of bucks in the near darkness when they appear, in order to determine if they are new or ones I had seen before, walking around with eyes in the back of my head, starting late and staying until absolute last light, trying to determine if the buck in front of me at the time is the biggest I'll see this season begins to 'wear' on me (if you can call this stress - haha).

But this day after the season had closed,  I was hog hunting - totally relaxed, leaning into it but feeling no pressure, in the spirit of win/win - if I did not shoot one, I would have time to do my 'chores' the things that are always demanding attention on a ranch, and if I did shoot one - I'd get a pig!

...As the sun began to act like it was about to start to come up, I could make out a single pig among the deer.  It was a small pig and I was uninterested so early in the hunt.  I chose to bide my time and observe.  The pig began to move off as the sun lightened the field ever so slightly and I reconsidered again - should I take it?  "No" I thought - it was too early in the hunt and anything could happen.  This was not a big pig and I would wait.


After an hour had passed, I still had animals in front of me but none were pigs.  Then, from the left, the pig that had walked off, reentered.  "This is my sign" I thought.  I knew the end of the morning hunt was near as the light grew brighter, so I trained my scope on the pig, waiting for a clear shot between the deer.  He turned to face an area deer had trotted away from, was clear, and perfectly broadside.  I know that he could decide to leave in a hurry for a reason that only pigs understand and decided to take him.  I willed the rifle to shoot and as I was absorbing the recoil and subconsciously working the bolt, the biggest pig I had ever seen was running across the meadow in front of me - at least 100 miles an hour.  As I the rifle came back down and the bolt closed on a second cartridge, I placed the crosshairs on his chest as I swung the rifle and waited for him to clear a group of trees.  As he came out from the trees, I squeezed the trigger maintaining my swing, worked the bolt and began looking for a second opportunity at him.  He passed into the brush but seemed to be moving slower than he should have been.  The shot felt good. 
I knew I had taken a risky shot.  "Where did he come from?" I thought, as he did not come into view until I shot the first pig.  Familiarity with my rifle and confidence in the .35 caliber enabled me to take the shot.  I hoped I would not regret it.  I knew this could become a dangerous situation if he was poorly hit.  I was hunting alone and had to track him through some thick brush.  The big tusks had gotten my attention and the sheer size of him was a little intimidating.  I purposely stalled, deciding instead to replay the shot many times in my head, and determine where exactly he entered the brush while I finished my thermos of coffee, giving the bullet plenty of time to do its work. 
Too soon, the coffee was gone and there was nothing to do but go after him.  I validated the smaller pig had expired and began looking along the brush line where I thought he ran...nope nothing here.  "Hmmm, I really feel like I hit him" ran through my mind.  I slowed my pace, and started over, looking down several trails in the vicinity.  Finally, 30 minutes later I found a drop of blood atop a rock diluted with dew that looked like cherry koolaid - proof positive the bullet had hit him.    Carefully, with a renew focus, I searched the vicinity - another 3 or 4 feet down the trail, some grass blades has been brushed with blood 5 inches up from the ground.  I tracked his trail, painstakingly another 45 minutes for about as many yards and the trail led to an oak motte, in the middle of which was a crimson drop of blood on the oak leaves in a spot central to 3 exit trails out of the brush.  I brushed aside the cedar and crept into the oak motte, a little concerned about my posture and proximity to the hog.  I knew I would be unable to react swiftly crouched down and I knew I would be very close - too close in event he was wounded and mad and decided he wanted revenge.
I took the first trail to the left, looking for sign - nothing.  I quickly decided it would be better to get out of the brush and look around the edges for signs he exited the dense underbrush.  I check the center exit trail and the right-most exit trail - nothing.  It was as if he crawled up a tree. 

I crouched down and studied the dense brush for sign.  I entered partway, pushing back branches to open new views beneath the understory.  Nothing.  I entered the brush in an area I could stand almost straight up - nothing.  Perplexed, I turned around and at my feet he lay.  Was I ever glad he was dead.  He was huge.

My Biggest Hog at the Time

Pig hunting is fun - the field is wide open...no limits, no rules, no worries, no pressure.   A game animal that tastes good, keeps hunting skills in top form, requires some planning and thought, and demands marksmanship. 

I had laboriously spread 25 pounds of apple-scented shelled corn across a meadow the night I pulled in to the ranch.  The next morning I got up at 4:45, wolfed down my standard oatmeal breakfast and filled my coffee thermos.  I grabbed my backpack filled with another 25 pounds of corn and headed to my spot in the predawn darkness.  As I spread the corn as quietly as I could, I noticed the corn from the night before was gone and a mist was moving in, both good signs for pig hunting.  I kept the corn within 100 yards of the blind in event the mist turned into a thick fog. 

As I sat in the blind sipping my coffee, I contemplated the possibility of a thick fog, having seen this before, sometimes lasting until 10 or 11 in the morning.  Animals were moving around - dark shadows at this point.  I closed my eyes and savored the coffee.   Few things compare with having a full day ahead to hunt, a thermos full of strong, black coffee and strong prospects for success. 

I was startled from the peacefulness by hooves pounding the earth in the quietness of the early morning.  The sun was trying to shine through the fog with little success, as the day was growing almost imperceptibly lighter.  I lifted my binoculars and saw a calico hog with tusks curling out the side of this mouth...he was very much in the open, but shrouded - almost invisible, in the thick fog at this distance.  I eased my rifle up, knowing that any sound would end the hunt - hogs this large are unusually wary, and never second-guess any suspicion but simply vacate immediately - sometimes they leave 'pronto' for no reason - so I knew enough to know the time was now.  I trained the crosshairs on its shoulder, waiting for him to turn slightly as he seemed almost a mirage in the fog.  It came together quickly and the gun jumped as it barked.  As I recovered from the recoil, the fog enveloped his absence and it was as if I was shooting a ghost.  I tried hard to mentally mark where the hog was, but the fog played havoc with my depth perception. 

Another 20 minutes passed and animals began coming in again as it grew lighter as the fog had not lifted and I decided to stay put, enjoying the hunt, a little uneasy at not knowing exactly where my hog was.  Some deer milled around when suddenly, their heads all came up at the same time, focused on something approaching.  Glancing over, I noticed three hogs coming in - all about the same size and coloration - small calico pigs.  Having already shot a pig, (or at least at a much bigger pig) I relished in the prospect of having a bonus shot this morning.  I set my rifle up for a shot and watched the pigs push the deer around as they continually trotted back and forth.  Finally they settled a bit and I waited for two of them to align their shoulders broadside.  As two pigs walked towards each other, I timed their steps so the bullet would be on its way when they passed, putting the point of aim slightly behind the ribs on the nearside pig so the bullet would penetrate it, and pass into the far pig.  At the shot, there was immediately squealing and the each pig ran the way it faced - 180 degrees away from each other, one off to the right and one off to the left.  As I worked the bolt, I stayed on the pig that was on the far side and running towards the left - just as I was to shoot again, the pig fell over.  As I glanced towards the other pig, it had run into the brush and I could not see it.  "Hmmmm", I thought, "could be quite a day in store from a cleanup perspective".

I walked over to pig in plain sight and confirmed it had expired. 

Eager to find the larger pig shot in the fog, I walked to where I thought he was, looking for sign...I immediately saw lots of blood and a trail in the direction he ran - the same direction as the other pig I had taken with the 'double' shot. Following this trail was easy, as it resembled someone had spilled a bucket of red paint along the way.  It led directly to the other small pig, still as stone.

 Ok, the two easiest down, I had the big one to go. Tracking back to point of origin, walking down various paths, looking for hoofprints, blood spots, any sign, I found exactly nothing.  Again and again.  Forty-five minutes later, the sun was starting to warm the air and I felt an urgency to get the meat off the pigs before it warmed more.  Reluctantly, I took a break in locating the larger pig and began the chore of harvesting the pork from the two pigs.

As I finished up the last pig, I began replaying the shot I made in the fog - I was sort of in a trance trying to remember the details, walking without being aware of where I was stepping - when I walked directly into the large hog, as he blended perfectly with the patch of rocks and grass of where he had fallen - not more than 50 yards from where I shot him.  "Wow" I thought "what great luck". 

I tried to backtrack him, and found no mark on the ground indicating he had passed - the bullet did not penetrate and, even though it was a .35 caliber, I could find no sign that blood exited the entry hole.  Hogs can carry away some lead.  What a lucky day.

A New Year's Hunt

Sometimes surprises are good.  As I was catching up on some ranch chores and trying to track down a hog to shoot, I decided to relax my hunting style.  No more trying to be super-quiet, I allowed my self to run the chainsaw, clank the dishes at camp, move the truck around, etc.  Early in the morning I had taken a small hog with my .44 pistol, butchered it where it laid, taken the meat up to the cabin tand put it in the ice chest.  I had a relaxing cup of coffee, enjoying the view and reliving the hunt.  It had been a good hunt.  I had taken the hog at 16 steps using an iron-sighted M29 with a clean shot, as the sun grew in its intensity, signaling the near end of the morning hunt. 

 

Now it was time to retrieve the carcass and move it to another location before it attracted scavengers and  smelled up my hunting site.  As I drove the truck towards the pig, I was thinking about my planned activities for the day: chainsawing some cedar bushes to clear an area, moving a feeder and setting up a new blind.  I always carry a loaded rifle with me in the truck and I was listening to some bluegrass medley as I was pulling into the hunting area.  Always expecting animals to be around, I spotted a herd of sheep under the feeder and another herd near a salt block.  Now, these aren't the type of docile sheep that you walk up to and pet - but sheep that are on full alert after a hunting season of hunters shooting into them.  Quietly, I took my rifle and slipped towards the sheep, scanning the bodies for a large set of horns...many animals were behind tree limbs where I could only see parts of the animals. Others had their heads down, while every now and then one would raise their head...lots of ewes a couple of small rams, probably 20 or so total.  I really didn't expect to see anything worth shooting, but was fully focused on the possibility.  Just then, a large set of horns came up and looked directly at me and put panic in the herd as it raced away.  I had friends who had taken silver- and bronze-class trophies and this one was bigger then both of those.  My scope followed the large ram and struggled to get a clear shot, as it was surrounded by sheep - all running.  As it began to outdistance the herd and was only a few yards from the treeline, my trigger finger engaged, threading the bullet between its back rear leg and it rearmost rib, channeling a path towards its front left shoulder, as it was quartering to the right.  It slowed and the herd caught up to it, keeping me from putting the a second bullet into it.  As I watched and ran towards it, it quickly grew sick fell on its side.  By the time I approached it, it had expired.  I could not take my eyes off it, caressing the horns, admiring the regal presence it has, unable to break my stare.

A Fine Texas Dall ram.