The First .44 Pistol Success

I was easing out of the ground blind under the small live oak grove in the darkness after scanning the entire perimeter for any movement or new additions of game. Through my Zeiss binoculars, it appeared that all was quiet and a trip through the small meadow, back to the cabin would not disturb any game. As I hinged the door close, I glanced towards the feeder 90 yards away and immediately noted a black blob on the yellowish ground directly underneath the feeder, that had been noticeably absent thirty seconds ago. It seems that hogs appear at the exact moment darkness blacks out your crosshairs. Hurriedly, I cocked the hammer and held it back with my thumb as I covered fifty yards in seconds. Being new to pistol hunting, I wasn’t sure what to do next. I tried to lie prone and quickly discovered the grass was too high to shoot through. Out of determination more than anything else, I tiptoed towards the small herd of pigs (I had counted 7 now) until I was 15 yards away from them. They greedily fought over the remaining kernels that the deer left behind and snapped their jaws at each other, all the time grunting and growling, having no idea I was there. I held my pistol firmly with both hands and noticed I could see crosshairs only when panning the scope across the open field. Whenever I held the scope still, the crosshairs vanished. I panned the scope from the field and stopped the scope over the closest pig’s chest estimating where the crosshairs should be. As I squeezed the trigger, the muzzle’s flame eliminated my night vision, pigs squealed and hooves thundered on the cold, bare earth and I wondered what I would do if one of the pigs was to run up my leg. I stood silently, listening to the labored breathing of a pig, as he seemingly was walking directly away from me with each breath growing quieter. I took inventory…I had a small flashlight able to light only a few yards ahead of me. I had a wounded pig crawling down in a dry creek bed in the company of a surprised, disoriented band of buddies, looking to average between 100 and 150 pounds apiece. It had now grown pitch black and I could not see anything in front of me without a light. I tried to remember what type of health coverage I had and wondered how I’d gotten into this predicament. Then I recall wanting to hunt pigs with a handgun…

As I read about the subject, I observed that the .44 Remington Magnum began the recommended list of handgun firepower to hunt deer or hogs with (this was before the .41 magnum had the bullets available that it now has). I studied the various models, and consulting my father, being a Smith and Wesson fan, he suggested the S&W 629. He liked the trigger’s smoothness and the precision of the cylinder. He recommended a long barrel, for recoil and noise reduction. I came upon a 629 with an 8 ¾” barrel and a 1.25X4 Tasco scope and decided to give it a try. The 629 model is a double-action revolver, basically the same as a model 29, except with satin stainless steel and hogue grips. My particular pistol had a full lug out to the end of the barrel and an unfluted cylinder, which adds weight, always important when dealing with recoil. When placing the pistol on a solid rest and turning the scope to 4X, it was good to go. Imagining taking game with this rig was not hard to do. Just put the crosshairs on the animal, squeeze the trigger and “wha-la” – the hunt is over. I began contemplating that perhaps this was the same as rifle hunting and may not prove as challenging as I first thought. I laugh at the naivety of that thought now.

Elmer Keith is probably responsible for the development of the .44 Remington Magnum caliber more than any other individual. With his many articles, books and letters on the .44 Special, he gained a special following and urged the ammunition companies to load the .44 to his specifications. Eventually, Remington and Smith & Wesson combined forces in 1955 to produce the first .44 Magnum loading and the Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum -- now known as The Model 29. The cartridge loads a 240-grain bullet moving at 1,400 fps. I’m appreciative of Elmer’s efforts and the time he put in to help create it. It is a joy to hunt with and using it is like learning to hunt all over again. I find myself leaving the rifle behind on hunts now with friends looking at me like I’m a little crazy. When telling stories involving yardages beyond 80 yards, my listeners marvel that a pistol has that kind of accuracy! Initially, I put off buying one, mainly due to cost and the learning curve of using one. I wasn’t sure how well I’d like it and thought it may cost me opportunities that, had I had a rifle, I could have taken advantage of. But after taking a fair amount of game with a rifle, I was eager to expand my adventures. So the idea of shooting a hog with a pistol grew inside me until finally it was time to take action. I rationalized that if I hunted with a pistol outside of deer season for hogs with my pistol, it couldn’t cost me a shot at a deer. If it cost me a shot at a hog, (if it was too far or whatever), I was ok with that.

I had decided to hunt during deer season for the prospect of shooting a pig. Everything I’d done before with a rifle I had to relearn with this pistol. Here I was, in complete darkness now, holding the cold steel of the frame in my hands, my ears ringing from the shot, still standing in the spot where I’d pulled the trigger with my eyes closed trying to hurry their night vision back, replaying the image of what had just transpired, trying to determine where the bullet had gone. Calmness overtook me as I inhaled deeply and felt more alive than I had for some time. I smiled at the uncertainty of it all – the slight hint of danger, the being out here in the middle of nowhere, the fact that this hunt wasn’t over, the idea of taking on pigs on their ground in the dark. I formulated a plan: I’d rendezvous with dad at the cabin, obtain a large, bright flashlight and come back to this spot to begin the tracking process. By then, the pig should have plenty of time to succumb to the bullet’s damage, if it was properly placed. Ten steps later I almost tripped over the stone dead pig. Then, as a missing piece of the puzzle transforms the final picture, I imagined the sow laying on her side heaving her last breaths, laboring to bring in enough air as the blood filled her lungs, each breath growing quieter, seemingly farther away. Again, I smiled as I saw the bullet had been placed squarely in her shoulder and had penetrated her body. I holstered my pistol and made my way back the cabin, now illuminated by the propane lantern hanging underneath the overhanging shed. As I descended into the dry creek bed, the temperature dropped noticeably. I gingerly stepped on the rock bed, trying not to click the rocks too noisily. I headed towards the hilltop cabin, knowing my father would be waiting for me. Each step brought me further up the incline and 300 yards later as I approached the cabin, the temperature was at least 20 degrees warmer from the creek bottom. Dad smiled, “Did you get a big buck?” with his eyes magically full of life and hope.
“No, I shot a big sow pig, underneath the feeder” I bragged.
“Wow, that was a late shot – I’m surprised you could see to shoot”.
“I couldn’t – that’s what made it exciting. Whenever I stopped moving my crosshairs across the field, they disappeared, so I imagined where they’d be on the pig and pulled the trigger. I had to get within 20 yards to make the shot.”
“You shot him offhand?”
“Yeah”
“Where’d you hit ‘im?”
“Let’s go get her and I’ll show you”.
“OK – let’s go”, he said as he grabbed his flashlight and cleaning knife and headed towards the truck.
As we drove down the hill and made our way towards the pig, he gave me a blow-by-blow account of his evening and what he’d seen. We pulled up to the feeder and couldn’t make the pig out.
“Where is he?” dad queried, sounding almost as if he thought the pig had gotten up and trotted off.
“Over here” I muttered as I opened the door and walked towards the pig. The pig was still warm against the cold night air. As I took a knife to it with dad holding the light, I thought how tender and clean the last pork I tasted was from an animal taken here. Underneath its tough hide and 2” layer of fat, lay the “other white meat”, a most succulent, appetizing, satisfying strip of meat.
“Looks like she’s in good shape”, dad mentioned at the sight of the fat.
“Yep, she should eat good”, I mentioned as I finished taking the back straps.
After boning out the hams, and putting the trash bag full of meat into the ice chest, we made our way back to the cabin.
“You’ve really come a long way with that pistol fast” dad mentioned, capping my accomplishment of taking a pig with a pistol, one of my long-standing dreams. We enjoyed the backstraps throughout the weekend for lunch and supper meals.