Another river bottom hunt, this time with Little Joe along. Again, we were able to get very close to several hogs in the incredibly thick brush (under 10 yards), and again, we were stymied by the wall of vegetation. There was just no shot to be had. There were times when I could see flitters of movement, a patch of hide here, an ear twitch there, and I wondered if a heavy brush-busting spear would not be a better option than the scoped .30-30 carbine I carried. I'm serious.
One particularly intense moment came when we jumped a group of pigs on a small bluff overlooking the river. The crashing noise they made through the undergrowth sounded like we were chasing bull bison through the brush, not 100 pound pigs. We followed with haste, bending low to avoid branches and plowing through matted briars, and eventually we came to the lip of the bluff, with Old Man River flowing placidly ten feet beneath us. We'd passed up the hogs. Working back to our starting point, we determined that they must have stopped their retreat in an especially hellish thicket and let us pass by, within 10 yards of their overgrown fortress. Approaching cautiously to test that theory, we picked up their musky, sweet smell. They were in there. Adrenalin flowed and a myriad of thoughts raced through my mind ("This will make a kickass blog entry!"), and then....we lost them. As we approached to within five yards, still unable to see pig but able to hear them, smell them, hell, we could almost taste them, but.....no shot. I'm not the kind of hunter that blazes away into the brush at unseen animals. That's irresponsible, especially if you have a hunting partner along, and wounding a wild pig of any size in close quarters is asking for trouble. Well. They rushed out the backside of the Hell Thicket, a merry chase ensued, but, alas, no shot presented itself. So, heads hung in defeat, Little Joe and I left the river bottom and went fishing on a shallow lake about a half mile from the river.
As we stared at the motionless bobber in the tepid, tea-colored water, I thought I'd wander down the path a little ways for some target practice. Since I hadn't been able to shoot at a pig, I felt the need to pop a few lily pads. Not wanting to scare off Little Joe's fishing prospects, I moseyed off a couple hundred yards. Turning a bend in the road, I saw a shape flitting around on the path ahead. I went to a knee and brought up the scope. Pig. It didn't see me, but it was rooting around on the shoulder of the path and was moving around quite a bit. As I was carrying a Marlin .30-30 carbine with a 16.5" barrel with a fixed 2 power Weaver scope, it was no slam-dunk of a shot. I waited for a neck shot, held my breath and squeezed off. Bang/flop. The pig dropped as if hit by lightning and didn't twitch a muscle. Yelling for Little Joe, who dropped his fishing rod and arrived promptly, we approached the downed pig slowly. It's the "dead" ones that jump up and bite your face off. We counted 90 paces from where I shot to the downed pig. Not bad shooting, if I may say so myself!
If you squint, you can see two dead hogs.
This porker had been hit three inches behind the ear with a 170 grain Remington Core-Lokt bullet and was down for good. The real treat of the deal, though, was the smaller hog lying dead not three feet from him! The slug had passed through the first pig's spinal column and exited, striking another, unseen porker just above the left eye. Two dead pigs, one bullet spent!
Little Joe.
Neither pig was very big- one was about 50 pounds, the other about 30. Perfect eating size. Unfortunately, we had no cooler with us and no ice, and we were several miles from the nearest highway. As it was around 97 degrees in the shade, the prospects of salvaging the meat was slim at best. Our loss would be the boon of the alligators, the catfish, and perhaps even other hungry hogs. I hate wasting resources at any time, especially in the outdoors, and here was a couple dozen pounds of prime pork that would go to waste. It bothers me still, and next time I will be better prepared to properly harvest the meat. Lesson learned.
Another lesson to take from today's experience: pass throughs. Be always, always, always aware of what is behind your target.
All in all, a great hunt and a wonderful day with Little Joe.
Just keep huntin.
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