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.

Opening Day

A number of years ago, I received a call prior to the season opener inviting me up for a hunt in San Saba county.  It was a place I knew and admired - around 700 acres, numerous deer, hogs, wild goats, turkeys and varmints with a tank full of catfish.  I'm not sure I've ever hunted a better place.  As there was another section of land available much more open with less brush, everyone else on the lease elected to hunt there opening morning which gave me this whole place for myself.  Wow.  With no one else on the property, I decided to still hunt through the cedars and live oaks.  I made my way through the gate before daylight and parked the truck up on the ridge just inside  I grabbed my binoculars and rifle, chambered a cartridge, and began hunting towards the tank. 

Opening morning brings a freshness of energy, a newness to life, anticipation of opportunities and a freedom from the trappings of modern-day living.  It's you and the earth...and the prey.  This day I wanted to simply enjoy the experience of watching the sun rise as I became one with the environment, watching the animals move about as if I were one of them.  Through an opening in the brush, I watched the ducks dapple on the pond in the distance.  Within a few yards a cottontail busily chewed some grass, watching me with curiosity, unafraid.  I donned my bandanna to hide the whiteness of my face, pulled on my chocolate-brown cotton gloves to cover my hands and began slipping through the brush, standing still and looking around for 5 minutes for every 45 seconds I spent moving towards the tank. As the sun rose, it peaked over my shoulder and I stayed close to cedar limbs to break my outline.  Twenty yards ahead a doe stepped into an opening quartering to the right away from me, completely unaware.  She looked hard right and I froze, then she looked left and began heading directly away from me.  I quickly dropped to a knee, bringing my rifle up as antlers began coming behind the top of the cedar bush the doe had stepped out from.  The buck's stopped with his head and neck extending beyond and his body covered by the cedar bush as my heart began drumming in my ears.  The buck looked to my right and then straight at me...I didn't move.  He looked away, took one step and looked back at me.  That one step put his vitals in the open and I took the shot.  At the recoil, he ran where he was looking - towards me.  I stood as I worked the bolt and shot him from the hip less than 3 yards away, which slammed him to the ground, dead on his feet.  Then I got the shakes...

I don't believe he was charging me, but simply running in the direction he was facing as his body instinctively responded to the impact.  He was an 8-pointer with long times and a 15 1/2 inch spread.  It all happened in less than two minutes from when I saw the doe step out.  And  all I was really looking for was an early morning walk.  I field-dressed the buck, all the time fully appreciating taking an animal of this caliber without doing any scouting or field work ahead of time - this buck was better than average for the area.  As I made my way to the truck feeling blessed and relaxed,  I stumbled onto another buck of the same caliber.  Not wanting to tag out both my bucks on opening morning, I decided to save this one for another day...I never saw him or a buck as big as this one again during that season, but it gave me something to look forward to throughout the season.

Starting off the New Year Right

A previous year,  New Year's day fell on a Wednesday.  Hmmm, what to do with only one day off in the middle of the week?

The wheels began turning in my head.  I had been hunting a better-than-average buck in the hill country 2 1/2 hours away.  Let's see - I could get there around 8 pm Tuesday night, get up at the break of dawn, hunt until dark, and be home around 9 PM...it was a no-brainer, I went after him.   The buck I pursued was special...he was big-bodied, with dark antlers, 'the boss' of his world and more elusive than the others...I had seen him only once before - in the rain across a raging creek that was impassable, as he raked a bush with his antlers.  It was all I could do to not shoot him - as he was in range and unaware I was around; and I knew from experience I may never see him in the scope again.  At that point, I decided it was him or nothing.  A hunt for a specific animal is a very different kind of hunt than for any representative animal.  It's personal.

New Year's Eve I arrived at the cabin in the dark on a cold night, quickly laid out my gear for the next day, checked my rifle and equipment and was soon on the bed in my sleeping bag.  It was so cold, I laid the bag over my head, creating a small breathing hole through the covers.  Sometime, deep in the night, I heard scratching on the wood floor, then felt a weight on the bed until it moved up on top of my head.  A Rat! I ripped off the covers, slamming the rat against a wall, heard the thud against the floor and it scurrying away into the darkness.  The things you gotta do to kill a deer!


I was up before dawn fixing my coffee and oatmeal, turning over the options in my head for the day's hunt, trying to decide the best place to be, considering the wind and angle of the rising sun on the landscape. This would be my last opportunity to hunt him for the season.  My plan that morning allowed several opportunities for nice hill country bucks, but my buck was a no-show.

That evening, I decided to hunt from a new spot from within a thin brushline near a dry creek bed, with different views of the property.  I setup in some agarita brush with my folding camo chair and created an opening I could move my rifle freely within.  I settled down after a few position-checks, where I shouldered the rifle in various directions and created rests in event a shot presented itself.  I reaffirmed to myself that I would holdout for this one buck, as I had a long drive before having to go to work the following day, and no other deer would be worth the effort, at this point.

The evening was beautiful, partly cloudy, cool with a slight wind and the deer came out to enjoy the weather.  Several smaller bucks and lots of does moved back and forth through openings in the brush and the exposed pasture, not uncommon in Mason county, where sightings of  40-50 deer during one hunt are common.  I felt great and began to accept that the big one got away again for another year, yet reveled in my last deer hunt of the season, taking in the orangish sunset, the smell of the country air, the feeling of the coolness beginning to cover the ground and hoping I could contain these memories until next fall's deer season.  I came out of my trance when some deer appeared at the top of the ridge running.  There was almost no daylight left.  I scoped the deer and found my buck chasing a doe and began swinging the rifle to the right trying to gauge the speed and distance.  Suddenly, the scope had brush encroaching on the right side of the view and I squeezed the trigger.  The shot seemed horribly loud and foreign in the peaceful world of the sunset.  Muzzle glare stole my night vision momentarily.  I made a mental note of exactly where the buck was when I squeezed off the shot to keep from becoming disoriented in the darkness, as I would have to walk 300 yards to where he was.  I could see no movement on the hillside - it was too dark to see deer through the pockets of brush - then a flash of white caught my eye 40 yards to the right of where I was focusing.  I wondered what that could be.  I stood.  I closed my eyes and replayed the shot - memorizing the last image of the sight picture - it looked good.  Again, I took notice of the exact spot the buck was last seen on the ridge.  I hung a tissue on a bush about head high where I was for a marker, and began walking toward the ridge.  Quickly, I was where the buck was last seen when ...no blood, nothing out of place.  Hmmm...I knew I had to to slow down, take my time and refocus on looking for sign.  I was becoming distracted by my work schedule and the pressing need to get back home.

It was cold and dark here.  I was alone.  Maybe I missed?  But no, the sight picture in my head said 'no, it was a good shot.'  I tagged the bush he had disappeared in with tissue and began walking in small circles around the bush, looking for anything out of place and especially looking for blood...and found nothing.  I walked in larger circles, becoming more desperate, and it was beginning to appear that I had missed. It was a long shot, the buck was running, the light was bad.  "Well, maybe the rifle is off", I thought to myself, making a note to check it at the range when I could.  Then I remembered the flash of white I had seen - it was a quick flash about 40 yards distant in the center of the brush.  I went back to the spot I had shot from,  and using my binoculars, I found the tissue on the bush where the buck was last seen.  Based on memory, I marked where I had seen the white flash and mentally noted an odd-shaped bush where the flash was.  Every 20 yards or so in the darkness, I would look through my binoculars to ensure I was heading in the right direction, finding the tissue marking where the buck was last and finding the odd-shaped bush near where the white flash appeared.  Finally I was at the odd-shaped bush and noted nothing unusual.  My flashlight was the only source of light now with its meager range, as the sun had fully set.

I marked the odd-shaped bush with a tissue and began walking circles around it.  Within 10 yards I found my buck - dead - gut shot. I field-dressed it on the spot and admired the heavy-bodied 8-pointer with a 16-inch spread. What a beauty!  I marked a bush by the buck, and headed to camp to get the truck.  I got the truck stuck in a small creek bed going to pick him up in the pasture but finally broke free, found my way to the deer, loaded it and hauled it to a processor.  What a great way to end the season!

I got lucky on this one in several ways, but persistence carried me to the place where luck took over.

My Ideal Hog Rifle

This is something I have been working on for some time...hogs are always available for sport in Texas...at night, with lights, using bait, anyway you want to kill a hog, you can, in Texas.  This is a golden opportunity - a world where you can hunt anytime, in anyway you would like, with no limits, no tags, no restrictions and knowing that when you take a shot, you will be improving the habitat as hogs are overpopulated and destructive.  Other benefits include them being the 'other white meat' as well as being challenging to hunt, with a hint of danger.  An unending supply of fun awaits.  My hunting experience usually finds me within 100 yards of hogs with them moving endlessly, in sub-optimum  light, before disappearing.  If you could pick your ideal hog gun, what would it be?

I've gone through several iterations and am in a happy place with my recent choice after a lot of field-testing.  I've learned you want a bullet with enough lethality (is that  a real word?) to drop a pig in its tracks when properly placed.  I knew that all along, but at one time I was carrying a .44 revolver with a scope - nothing wrong with the caliber, but a little difficult to place the bullet accurately time after time using a pistol. This lesson was reinforced on a summer night in South Texas, recently.  One night, shortly after dark, using a light, I shot a large hog.  It squealed and ran through the black brush.  This particular summer had brought alot of rain and the grass and black brush was incredibly thick and waist-high.  I decided to head back to the truck and drive to the last spot the hog was seen.  From there I retrieved a spotlight and a pistol without a scope to navigate through the brush.  I took my time and considered all the things that could happen while pursuing a wounded hog in the black Texas summer night.  I had been reading African hunting stories and imagined myself as a PH retrieving an injured animal and wondered how they did it.   It sounds adventurous, almost fun when reading about it, but to step in those boots puts it into a different light.  Dropping a hog in its tracks became much more important than before.  Cautiously, looking for snakes with each step, I followed the blood trail as it entered a tunnel within the black brush.  There was nothing to do but enter the tunnel on hands and knees, trying to keep the thorns from ripping my shirt while keeping alert for the hog.  Splashes of bright red clearly marked the hog's trail - right up to the monster rattler crossing the trail.  The snake's head had already passed and the body was crossing the trail much as a train crosses a road.  And it kept on going.  And it kept moving.  Finally, I decided to shoot the snake.  I held on the snake and squeezed the trigger...and several rattlers in this bush began rattling all around me.  I backed out of the tunnel after checking my backtrail closely and decided I could wait to retrieve this particular hog until a later time.

Next, I moved to a 30/06 with a Zeiss 3X9X50 as a way to improve accuracy and pick up the most light possible.  I began setting feeders to go off 30 minutes after dark and hunted only on moonlit nights.  When doing this, it's critical to know when the moon rises as if it does not come up until 2 AM, there is a lot of dark time until you have enough light to shoot with.  This was pretty successful, but I had some challenges with cloud cover dimming my light and seeing the precise 'cross' in the crosshairs.  I was shooting really large boars that could prove dangerous if you pursue them in the bush and I wanted toknow exactly where the bullet was going.

I progressed to a night light on my feeders so I could see crosshairs clearly on the hogs. This worked great when the hogs would come under the light but sometimes I had educated hogs who would not enter into the light under the feeder - they would skirt around it and never come into the light - all I could see were silhouettes, which absorbed the crosshairs and made it impossible to be precise.

Now I have a scope with an illuminated reticle - a Weaver Classic Extreme 3X9X50 with a 30mm tube.  A .35 Whelen makes a bigger hole than a 30/06, so I got a M700 CDL and had the barrel shortened for ease of use and quick handling.  This has proven to be the best hog rig I've had so far.  I call it 'Thumper' and it optimizes everything about hog hunting for me.  After alot of trial and error hunting hogs in many different circumstances, I think I will be using this rig for a long, long time.

I took this hog recently in the evening on a dark moon.  I climbed into my tree blind after scattering some corn on a hog trail and watched the sun drop beneath the tree tops.  As the sun was brightly in my eye when looking west, I was impressed by how fast it went from bright in my eye, to partially obscured to wholly gone, within seconds.  Then I heard the grunting of pigs.  I looked where I placed the the corn in the trail 50 yards distant but could see nothing with my naked eye.  I looked through my binoculars and a herd of hogs jumped out at me.  Amazing - they were right there, but in the darkness, were invisible to my naked eyes.  Since this hog was the largest, I put my scope on it, and the crosshairs disappeared.  I illuminated the reticle, which lights a small dot in the vortex of the crosshairs, and placed it on the point of the shoulder. The gun boomed as I squeezed the trigger and the hog lie motionless. 

When taking the shot, I did not know whether it was a sow or boar, whether it was big or small - only that it was the largest in the herd and was well within range. I could see only its darkness of form, and when it was broadside.  And that's all that 'Thumper' needs to add to its collection of successes.

Birthday Buck

Sometimes, things just work out.  My birthday is in December, during the week when you take finals if you're in college.  This year's birthday was different - it made up for the years of taking finals as my birthday present.  This year on my birthday, I  arose in the predawn to a fog - a fog so thick that wetness permeated everything and visibility was nil.  Based on the previous morning, the rising sun would thicken the fog even more.  I decided to hunt a place I had not hunted in  two years...a cedar thicket in a corner of the property that I rarely frequent. 

I set out that morning with low expectations but a heart of gratitude for being able to spend time outdoors on my birthday.  I took a small cup of corn and dribbled it in strategic places in hopes of slowing down any game animals that may come by.  As I settled into my position, I noticed tiny droplets accumulating on my binoculars and rifle and wondered how long it would be before I could see the area around me.  The wind fluctuated gently, sometimes bringing more moisture and other times, clearing the air around me for 50-75 yards distant.  Minutes dragged by slowly.  Eight o'clock and nothing.  Everything on me is dripping in moisture. I decide to wait until 8:30 before heading back to enjoy a hot cup of coffee.  Daylight is beginning to filter through the fog, with shadows of the treetops and limbs taking on odd shapes as dense fog is pushed by pockets of clear air.  All is deathly silent.  It seems magical. 

I look up and there are antlers heading my way. White antlers.  Not a trophy to most, but where I am, a trophy indeed.  He stops to taste the corn.  I move the rifle to my shoulder,  awkwardly raising my leg to lay the rifle on my knee and I scrape my boot against some brush.  He looks directly at me and decides something is not right and moves off through the brush.  I spot an opening he should cross and setup on that spot.  He never breaks a stride and I squeeze off as he moves through the opening.  At the shot, he lurches back and runs one step and is out of view.  I reflect on the shot - it felt good.  I wait a few moments and replay the shot again in my mind - same thoughts - he should be dead.  Quietly, I make my way toward where I last saw him.  As I begin moving towards where he ran, I see antlers on the ground and am rewarded with my buck.

Fox in a Tree

When you spend enough time in the field, occasionally you are treated with sightings of especially shy animals - such as a gray fox.  Recently, as I focused on the deer in front of me, my peripheral vision picked up movement 25 yards away and I could make out a fluffy tail moving through the grass.  I reached for my rifle and, as the blind creaked, the fox looked up and began trotting away from me.  Instinctively, I hand-squeaked, mimicking a rodent in distress, and although the fox obviously saw me, it began trotting toward me in an attempt to get downwind.  It stopped for a split second and I squeezed the trigger as the crosshairs found its body.  The fox is a pretty small animal - especially when it's moving.  My shot grazed its underbody and severed a back leg. The fox was going in circles, crying out and biting itself and then headed off to a cedar tree, where it climbed up as high as it could get up a limb.

  Hmmm, what to do?  I didn't want to send a bullet through the air to parts unknown, so I decided I would shoot the fox on the ground.  The trick was to get him on the ground - something he really did not want.  I began by throwing sticks and rocks and bumping him around but that was not getting anywhere, so I decided to sit down 20 yards out under a big oak shielded by branches from him, hoping he would come down...a few minutes later, it looked like he was sleeping.  I did not want him to rest so I moved back under him and he became alert, growling and barking as if he would eat me if I came up his limb.  As the sun was rising, I came out of my thermals, jackets and gloves, stood my rifle up against a tree and gathered a pile of baseball-sized rocks, all the while keeping one eye on the fox in the tree.  After tossing several rocks (most near-hits and a few dead-on hits), I finally knocked him from the limb.  As he hit the ground, I dashed for my rifle and cut an angle to see around the tree he had put between us.  I snapped a shot at a blurry furball 40 yards out and knew I had missed.  As I ran towards him, I worked the bolt and instantly fired another round into the ground.  "OK", I thought, "better keep my finger off the trigger while I'm running with my rifle".  I worked the bolt again, wondering how many more shots I had, as I was trying to find this fox.  I came through an opening of the cedars and noticed a bush moving to my left and began looking up in the tree - then I spotted his reddish hide on the ground underneath the limbs, 25 yards distant.  Quickly, I kneeled down and found him in the scope, through a myriad of limbs.  I squeezed the trigger and instantly, he dropped.  As I worked the bolt, I chambered my last bullet and noticed a limb severed cleanly in two, yet the bullet still found its mark.  This little animal took me over an hour to collect and required 4 shots.  I skinned him as his pelt was extremely luxurious.

Exotics

Axis, Blackbuck, Sitka, Fallow and other types of deer as well as Corsican, Barbado and other types of sheep  have become rampant and random in much of Central Texas and seem to be expanding their numbers.  This makes for interesting adventures with new opportunities for hunting.  You never know what may come out around you from the bush.  Over time, as exotics escaped game ranches and began to reproduce in the wild, some have grown unchecked and most, if not all, of these species can outcompete the native whitetail for food in times of distress.  Texas Parks and Wildlife held experiments in multiple enclosed pens with whitetails and one other exotic species in each pen and over time, the exotics replaced the whitetail because they are more versatile in their diet than the whitetail.  Thus, Texas Parks and Wildlife personnel are against exotics running loose in the whitetail population. 

On the other hand, some exotics are highly desirable from a landowner's standpoint.  Exotics are considered property of the landowner and whitetail are considered property of the state.   Since exotics are the landowner's property, there are no game laws for harvest - they can be hunted year-round, at night with lights, over bait, with no limits.  This opens up many  opportunities.  Also, some of the exotics are colorful and tasty.  Axis bucks can be in hard antler any time of the year, have a beautiful spotted coat and taste better than any venison than I have ever tried.

Fallow deer are known to be bossy around the feeder...this one bullied through a herd of hogs to claim the best spot to eat the corn - his attitude was evident that if you challenged him, he would not back down.  His neck was cut up from fighting other Fallow bucks and he had  several broken times on his rack.  Fallow are what I would consider the exotic with the most spirit and are highly desirable from my perspective.  They come in various colors - chocolate, tan, and white.  The venison is good, but does not compete with the Axis.

Corsican sheep were originally bred for hunting and have prospered in the Texas climate.  Their meat is a dark red and they are tasty.  Their eye sight is extraordinary. They can he heard as they bleat to each other and can be detected by their odor where they have recently congregated.  Cow ranchers dislike them because they consume the cattle's food - but hunter enjoy their presence as they offer game to pursue in the off season.

Owning Your Own Place

There's something about it...privacy, freedom, a desire for what's best for the land and the animals that share it with you, a place to unwind - uninterrupted by phone or tv or visitors, a place where you can watch weather happen and discover stars that have always been there, a place to build a fire, plant food plots, setup a feeder, thin brush, work on a fence, setup a blind, etc.  A place where you stop aging as long as you're there and where you can watch nature as it happens, as you become part of the landscape.

In Texas, leases are very expensive and even when available, are often filled on the basis of who you know.  Land leases generally from $10-30/acre but I have a friend that pays $50/acre.  It all depends on location, animals available, if it is year-round, etc.  There are usually lots of rules and you never know when the price will go up or the lease will be withdrawn.

 Owning recreational land can be a great investment, beyond the financial perspective.  There is something very gratifying about hunting your property.  You become so familiar with it that little details are noticed, like which trees produce the most acorns, patterns of the local animals, and the instantaneous recognition of an animal from a bush in the dark....because you know where every bush is. I am not fortunate enough to own a big property, and so like many others here, I have to bring the animals to me as I cannot pursue them too long before I am off my property.  The most effective deer/hog/turkey/exotic attractor is a corn feeder.  I totally understand those that dismiss this as a crutch, unfair, etc and I say "when in Rome..."

To be fair, I do stretch my legs on National Forests outside of Texas, usually every year, pursuing game animals and I enjoy the chase, but I am relegated to bringing animals to me in Texas.  Most corn feeders take a little loving care and maintenance and, of course, expensive corn and batteries, to keep running.  But having an idea of the animals available in a setting that produces highly accurate shots ensures quick kills of select animals.  I spend a whole lot more time watching than shooting, sometime watching an animal or group of animals throughout an entire year as they live their lives undisturbed, for the most part. 

I've seen a fox's coat shimmering in the sun as it chases a grasshopper across a pasture, as the grasshopper's wings make the distinctive clicking noise zigzagging from spot to spot, until the fox finally catches it and chews it like a small child might chew beef jerky.  I've been entertained with two whitetail bucks pushing each other around while the does feed complacently nearby, almost ignoring the buck's battle.  I've laughed, watching does stand on their hind legs and box with each other for dominance.  I've learned that an axis doe can run off several whitetails, all by herself - thank you very much, for a few kernels of corn.  Around a feeder, I've seen a fallow buck deer run off pigs and pigs run off all other animals in their dominance.  I've watched a horned owl, almost too big for belief, drop out of a tree nearby and fly away with in complete silence - leaving me wondering if I was hallucinating when it disappeared.  I've watched Norther's blow in, in a lightning parade, from a hilltop that made me glad I was alive and feeling awful insignificant in the overall scheme of life.  I've been in winds so strong I wondered if I may leave my feet.  I've watched a fawn touch noses with a rabbit as it explored its world. 

Hunting Texas brings opportunity to be outside year-round - to see what the trees and grass look like for all seasons - not just the fall hunting season.  If selective, you can buy a small piece of property that produces opportunities at lots of animals at a price that will likely increase over time.  It will take making this a priority, as it it not inexpensive, but can be a great financial investment as well as a great place to build memories.  My advice if you choose to buy your own place is to look at many, many places and be patient - there will always be another place available on the market soon - don't compromise what you want.

Texas Spring Turkey

This was like any Texas Saturday morning except it was a Tuesday. Getting up before dawn knowing I would work until late evening to make up time for this hunt added weight to my body as I dragged myself from the bed. For me to carry out my plans, I had to think that very few folks today would get up and do what they wanted and this is what I wanted. I had a new shotgun with a new place to use it and I had made a 'nono' only two days before as i was runnin' and gunnin' to get on a drove a turkeys and somersaulted a hen out of the air in the Spring only a few days into the season. I had committed the cardinal sin already so all that was out of the way. As I was exploring this property I had confidence that a gobbler was around, as I had seen one and heard what I believe were 4 different gobblers. It was a beautiful, balmy, humid morning after a couple days of rain.

After arriving and stepping out of the truck, I was bombarded by large mosquitoes - the kind that have landing lights. I sprayed repellent all over my hat, neckerchief, shirt and pants and made the unbearable mistake of leaving the can in the truck...which I regretted that later.

I found my gear, decoy, and shells and was off for a walk in the twilight where a band of mosquitoes escorted me the entire way and my glasses were continually fogged up from my body heat. I noticed a large boar hog walking within 70 yards from me and I noted he was lucky I was not carrying my rifle.

Finally, after becoming drenched in sweat, I came to the place I had last seen turkeys at the intersection of 2 roads and set my decoy in the ground. The air almost dripped of water and every bush I passed, brought its attached mosquitoes to a swarm around my head. By the time I sat down under the designated bush, the air was alive with a swarm of buzzing noises and my glasses were so fogged, I had to remove them. I knew the pests would find holes in my armor as I sat in the dark contemplating why men do what they do.

Dawn came slow with the cloud cover...and as doves, quail and other birds began their morning talk, I listened for the talk of my quest to no avail. I gave a slow, quiet yelp and strained to hear over the mosquitoes: nothing. Light began to shine on my sparse blind and I carefully moved the few limbs lying on the ground around me while slowly squashing the bloodsuckers and trying to detect any incoming turkeys...I yelped quietly again in the windless morning.

After what seemed an eternity, at the far end of the sendero, appeared to be small piglets running around the corner - exactly what I did not need around at this time. I raised my binocs and noticed they were 3 small poults. Slowly I raised the side-by, armed with its 2 3/4" number 4's. The left barrel on the Winchester pigeon model 23 was cocked to fire and I held this position as the gobbler came around the corner. He dwarfed his small harem of three hens and their poults, markedly red and blue about the head, his feathers much blacker than the hens and when he strutted, he was 3 times their size. No bird made a peep - not a yelp, gobble, cluck or putt...all was silent except for the mosquito mass which had grown quite considerably as it enjoyed the liquid from my arms, legs, and head. But I dared not move, as the 3 hens passed within 10 yards looking at me rather suspiciously - lucky for me they were young. The gobbler slowly came from behind as he was in full strut approaching my decoy oblivious to the rest of the world. At 15 yards, I squeezed the trigger and he fell backwards as they do when well-hit, legs kicking but dead in his tracks.

I looked at my watch - 8:15...time to go home and get to work for the day. It seemed too easy but I gratefully accept this gift as I know few trips end with a mature, 9/5" bearded gobbler.

My First Turkey With a Pistol

Shortly after I purchased a .44, I received a phone call from a friend of mine in West Texas with too many turkeys to shake a stick at and he invited me over to give them a try.
I thought the turkey would be a great first animal to take with it, because it is none too hardy and I was unsure of the .44’s power on a tougher big game animal. I headed to the range with some .44 Specials to try since they would be more than sufficient for turkey. I was pleased with their lack of recoil – I could watch the bullets poke holes through the paper in the scope. But I also learned that point of impact at 50 yards was 10-12” low. This was unacceptable so I opted to shoot the .44 magnums at turkey.

I arrived at his camp around 2 pm and he quickly put me in the blind as dusk was soon to come.

This particular blind was about 12 feet off the ground, fully enclosed with windows 18” wide and 8” high to shoot through. These windows would be great for a rifle but were quite a challenge for a pistol. Balancing the bottom of the pistol’s frame on the windowsill would bump the scope against the top of the window from recoil. Resting the end of the barrel on the window sill caused the gun to be very unstable with nothing but my hand supporting the handle’s bottom. I created a solution by unfolding a second chair and using the back of that chair to support the handle on the pistol. Because room was limited, I guessed which window I might get a shot through and setup on the front window facing the feeder.
As soon as I had sort of figured out how I was going to take a shot, I looked up and the sky was black with what looked like silent B-52 bombers. They flew in from the West, dark blobs, featureless two-dimensional shapes contrasting against the orange/pinkish colored clouds. I had never seen the air filled with birds so large, so close. I’d been in the blind less than 30 minutes!
As they landed, they came down on the road in front and to the right of the blind. The turkeys in front of the blind hit the ground running towards the feeder, around 90 yards away. The ones to the right found the few kernels I had sprinkled earlier on the road. “Hmm, what now?” I thought. I eased the pistol up to the windowsill ever so slowly. The sunlight shone iridescently on the turkeys’ feathers as they moved about. There were so many of them. Eyes were everywhere, with all the birds either pecking kernels of corn or, with their heads upright, looking intently for any sign of a predator. Their big black bodies contrasted with the tannish-colored terrain so characteristic of the West Texas soil. Gobblers were easily distinguished from the hens at this distance owing to their increased height, reddish heads standing out from the blue-head hens and their small beards poking out of their breasts. I didn’t see any large toms, but to be honest, I wasn’t looking around a whole lot, as I was very focused on the 15-20 birds to the right of my blind. Of course, the “chair back rest” was set up on a different window entirely and moving the chair when the birds were this close was out of the question.

Finally, I got the pistol up on the windowsill and it seemed at this range, I couldn’t miss. I steadied the barrel’s end on the windowsill, and leaning my leg at a funny angle, managed to compose a somewhat steady aim to take the shot from. A large jake finally separated from the drove far enough to allow a shot. As I pulled the trigger, all the birds flopped up in the air and they traded places. Another jake landed where this jake had been, as I obviously missed. Before I could reflect on what had happened, the trigger was cocked and I was holding the pistol one-handed, steadying the pistol’s butt with my other hand. Now, I had never shot this pistol one-handed and was half expecting it to jump from my hand at the shot. However, I was going to take advantage of this second opportunity and if I had to literally shoot the pistol out of my hand in order to kill a turkey, that’s what I was going to do. Doubly focused, I squeezed the trigger in a relaxed grip until the boom surprised me, the pistol reared my wrist to a 90 degree motion, but remained in my hand. The jake flopped clumsily out of the road behind a cedar bush and the drove had obviously had enough and left as quick as they had come.
Quickly I scurried down the ladder, hit the ground and barreled for the cedar that had swallowed my turkey. On the back side, I found him, lifeless. I literally jumped up and down on the ground, doing a solo celebration for my first big game animal taken with a .44 pistol. More importantly, I discovered that I could re-experience the “firsts” of hunting – my first turkey, my first doe, my first hog, my first buck, etc. I was also thankful for a second shot and doubly thankful that it had connected, knowing how important confidence was in hunting. Imagining how I would have felt if I had missed that second shot, made me all the more grateful for taking this animal. We had fried turkey breast that night for supper, my bullet having severed his neck above the breast, missing the meat completely. And it was delicious.

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.

An October Night Hunting Adventure

A thunderstorm loomed on the horizon as lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the sky and the surroundings unpredictably.  The air hung in heavy moisture as mosquitoes buzzed and  sweat rolled down my forehead, burning my eyes.  Clouds drifted in front of the the full moon darkening the landscape until the moon shone through the break in the clouds.  I longed to stop what I was doing to appreciate the unique weather this night but was too engrossed in stalking the lone hog, as it fed and trotted around, never remaining still.  As I placed my feet gingerly on the path toward the pig, I could not detect any wind, concerned it would smell me as I was within 70 yards and soaked wet from perspiration.  The clouds blocked the moon again and I stole a few quick steps in the darkness, until I approached a bush in my path.  My goal was to move to the far side of the bush, to put me in the range of 40 yards - the closer, the better.  Lightening flickered again and allowed me to steal a peek at where to put my next few steps, avoiding the cactus and small rocks that click loudly in the still night. Suddenly, the clouds parted as if someone turned up the lights...I knew the clouds may block the moonlight and stay with the storm rolling in.  I decided this was the moment, even though I was farther than what I wanted to be.  I shouldered the rifle waiting for the broadside shot.  Finally, it came.  The hog stopped to look up and I squeezed the trigger.  Hearing the pig grunt as it dashed across the open field.  I purposely held still, replaying the scene in my mind trying to guess where the wounded pig would run,  double-checking I had subconsciously worked the bolt to reload the chamber and drying the sweat from my eyes.  I took a moment to stand awe of the lightning storm heading my way.  Realizing rain may soon move in and wipe out any blood trail, I walked over and found a trickle of blood and followed it for 10 yards when it disappeared and with a guess, started towards the creek.  I scanned the area with my flashlight finding nothing so I backtracked to the last spot I had seen a drop of blood and stood, shining the flashlight from various angles trying to find the next clue. Hooves thrashed nearby and I dismissed them as deer running off.  The wind started and I became aware that any moment the blood trail may be washed away.  Urgently, I looked for the next drop of blood to no avail and heard the hooves thrashing again.   Then it dawned on me - the pig I shot was on his side nearby kicking his legs.  I moved in the general direction and stopped waiting for the next noise.   The hooves thrashed again and I moved closer, shining the light and the rifle in the general direction through the darkness.  Finally, I found it down and raised the rifle to shoot it again from 15 yards.  After the second shot, amazingly, it stood up and took two steps before falling over a final time.

Finally, I relaxed and felt proud of pursuing this to the end, in the dark night, by myself at the seemingly dead end blood trail.  I bought this .35 Whelen because of its knockdown power and mild recoil, knowing that pigs are rarely still and are usually seen in questionable shooting light and any extra measure of power is appreciated.  As I stripped the meat from the pig, I explored my bullet path and discovered the first shot had been a good one, penetrating both shoulders and lodging in the far side of the hide.  I wonder how this not-too-big of a pig traveled 80 yards after the initial shot.

Hunting Weapons

Texas has a favorable disposition toward gun owners.  I'm not sure anywhere else in the world, with the exception of a few western U.S. states, affords the freedom and protection to own firearms, built on a sense of independence and the ability to protect oneself.  The old cliche 'if they outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns' is proven all over the world.  Criminals don't think the same way law-abiding citizens do - we cannot presume that everyone thinks alike, which is the premise of those wishful to register guns, confiscate guns, decide that the guns are the problem, etc...plus, I would rather not depend on the government for my sole protection.
OK, let's talk about hunting...A neat thing about Texas is you have lots of options: including lever-actions and revolvers, bow and arrows, and high tech equipment.  I like the 'do-it-all .3006' with the necessary killing power for the biggest boar you may run into, as well as ample power for larger exotics and whitetails.  Lately, I've come to especially admire the .35 Whelen, a powerful medium range weapon, comfortable with heavy bullets.  It makes a big hole with deep penetration and is my current 'pet' rifle. My longest shot with it so far is 250 yards as it dropped a Corsican ram in its tracks.

Awhile back, I carried a M629 (.44 magnum) scoped revolver  exclusively and enjoyed the
handiness of hunting with a pistol. I've taken
turkey, whitetail, hogs, corsican and a bobcat
with it using 240 grain hollowpoints and
keeping my shots inside 100 yards. 

I have a friend that has several modern firearms and lately has been using a 30-30 lever action exclusively, with great success on hogs, turkey, deer and javelina.  Its ability to carry easy, come to arms quickly, and shoot inexpensive ammo with light recoil offers a package hard to beat - all this from a caliber that originated in 1895.

I carry a M29 revolver (.44 magnum) around with me most the time and have had some opportunities with it.  This pistol has iron sights which ensures I'm shooting within the .44 magnum's range. 

In Texas, a diversity of weapons can be useful, with plenty of opportunities. A new wrinkle this year is allowance of a crossbow during bow season for whitetails.

Pick your weapon - it's all good.

Night hunting

Hunting hogs and exotics (Axis, Blackbuck, Coriscan Sheep, Fallow Deer, Eland, Nilgai, Sika etc.) in Texas at night is legal, as they are considered property of the landowner (vs. property of the state as are indigenous animals).  Hogs are generally seen as a negative, as they tear up fences, uproot plants, and displace more desirable game, such as quail or turkey.  However, I see them as top of the list for an excuse to spend time outdoors at night and appreciate their limited sight and predictability of showing up around a feeder if not overly disturbed.  It's fun to hunt them in the full moon, but use of a spotlight is permitted as well, although sometimes they shy away from a spotlight.  Night hunting lets me imagine I am hunting in Europe as I understand Europeans hunt at night routinely. I have shot a couple of the largest boars under a full moon with a high quality scope. 

When shooting them from the ground, the muzzle blast blinds you temporarily and you hope one does not run up your leg as you're reloading - this is great adventure!  Nights are cooler and in Texas, where we have more warm days than cool days, hunting at night affords more opportunity - sometimes to hunt during the week in the summer when the days are longer, without missing a workday.

Equipment must be in order for a night hunt and familiarity with your weapon and your surroundings brings great advantage.  Also, at night, you may see animals that may be nocturnal, such as a big whitetail buck, raccoons, bobcat or coyote.  Night hunting adds another dimension to the great Texas outdoors.

Doldrums of Summer

The hunting hours are few and warm in this Texas drought.  With excessive temperatures topping triple digits and lack of rain, hogs are concentrated around the few water holdings available.  The grass is parched and is beyond yellow to brown.  The movement of large game is limited to the early hours in the morning - 9 am begins the intense heat-up and the day grows increasingly hostile until sunset.  The ground begins to radiate heat upwards before noon.  Rattle snakes are more active after dark and are moving excessively trying to find water.

There is very little opportunity now to enjoy the outdoors - time is much more productive in preparing for the coming fall season and anticipating the loosening of the sun's grip.