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.
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