Well, even a “sure thing” can pan out and leave you with live rounds and an empty freezer.  So it was this past weekend, although it wasn’t as bad as all that.

Jerry and Jack are two of the guys who hunted with us last fall at Coon Camp Springs.  During the week, as we chatted, they found out about my love of hog hunting, and mentioned that they pretty much live in the heart of hog country… the Central Coast region in San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara counties.  They talked about slaughtering hogs, both in sport hunts and depredation (keeping the hogs out of the vineyards), and how they were both kind of tired of shooting pigs.

Well, I never tire of it.  Great sport and great meat… how could you ever burn out?

So anyway, one thing led to another and the invitation was extended.  Well, this past weekend we made good on it.  Kat and I drove down, to join the Coon Camp Springs president, Dave Allen, and one of our other board members, Bob Olds for some pig hunting, camping, and good old-fashioned camaraderie.

Bob, once a Marine always a Marine, was there early and camped out to wait for our hosts.  Kat and I made it just before sunset, and just in time to transfer rifles from my truck to theirs for a last light scouting/hunting run. 

We didn’t have to scout hard, as we entered the property and found a huge clump of hogs standing in the open, less than 50 yards from the road.  Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it… and apparently the hogs were kinda shocked too.  We drove by once, took a look, and kept going.  As soon as we were well out of sight, we flipped a U-turn and came back. 

I had no hopes that the pigs would still be there, but these guys were either stupid or brave… and they still milling around in huddled confusion.  In my imagination, I could hear them whispering to each other, “OK, they’re back.  Which way are you gonna run?” 

Bob, Kat, and I rolled out of the truck and took up positions to shoot.  I had the .325, and since I know its deafening effect, I’d promised not to shoot until everyone else had time to cover their ears.  I really wanted Kat to take her shot, and was hoping she and Bob would double up and kill some hogs.  I didn’t need to kill one, as I’d just put one in the freezer last weekend.  Even so, my finger was brushing the trigger as I put a big boar in the crosshairs while waiting for the shooting to start.

But it never did.  Kat said the hogs kept crossing up and turning their butts to her, so she didn’t have a safe shot.  Bob had the same complaint.  Finally, the hogs turned and trotted off another 50 yards before stopping to mill around again.  At this point, I wanted to shoot, but told Kat to hurry up and pick a target. Then Bob finally touched one off, and I saw dust fly from the back of a big sow.

The herd broke for good, then, and Bob’s sow kinda lingered and fell.  Kat never squeezed the trigger, since a Texas Heart Shot is simply not the right thing to do in that situation.  Good choice on her part.  A lot of folks would have simply started spraying and praying.

We made the drag back to the truck, and headed back to camp to wait for Dave.  Jack grilled up some delicious buffalo burgers, and the first night quickly became a memory of flickering oak flames, good food, and lots of hunting stories.  Oh, and the total destruction of a bottle of really good Scotch. 

Saturday morning saw us posted over the vineyards.  Good sign, including a trail that couldn’t have been more than an hour or two old kept our hopes high… but the fog rolled in over the fields, and for most of the morning visibility was less than 100 yards.  There could have been hogs everywhere, but we never saw them.  Jack and Jerry had driven up onto a high ridge, and stumbled over a bedded sow.  While neither of them was really planning to hunt, Jack decided to go ahead and take her.  The tally for the weekend rose to two hogs.

Saturday afternoon, we relocated, heading down into Santa Barbara county to another property that our hosts had been given sole access to.  We rolled in kind of late, so we set up quickly to glass a patch of chapparal that couldn’t have been more than a half-acre.  We sat and watched this spot, constantly assured that there were almost always hogs in there.  I couldn’t help my doubts as I looked at the tiny patch of cover, compared against all the open ground around it.  Then we spotted the first hog.

It was tough to make it out, as it looked like a log laying there.  But then another hog stood up and stretched, giving us just a glimpse before it lay down again.  I ranged the animals at about 185 yards… not a bad shot, but a tough call on an uncertain target.  I had Kat beside me with her Browning .270, but she was having a hard time finding the hog in the scope.

We sat tight for quite a while, as the wind whipped up and the temperature dropped steadily.  Soon we were facing a gale, and our watering eyes had trouble making out any detail on the far hill.  Still, the sleeping hog had not risen, and we could only catch glimpses of the other one.  Then a literal squall came roaring over the hills.  We could see the grey curtain coming, and as it drew nearer the wind driven rain flew horizontally across the ground…stinging our faces and flooding our scopes and binoculars. 

Just as the squall hit, the hillside came alive… almost literally!  Every bush became a moving hog, and I think we were all stunned by the number of pigs in such a small area.  There were black, red, grey, and calico hogs all over the place!  One large calico sow came downhill and stood, back exposed, for several seconds.  I held the crosshairs just below the pig’s head, but kept encouraging Kat to take the shot.  Dave was trying to find a pig as well, but both of them seemed to be hesitating.

I was shooting my grandfather’s old Browning BAR in .308, and I’ve never had a lot of confidence in this rifle outside of 100 yards.  I was also shooting the new Extreme Shock ammo, which I couldn’t really get to group well at the range in this gun.   Confidence is key in a hunting rifle, and I should know better than to hunt with something I don’t trust… but there I was.

Finally, after waiting a seeming eternity for either Kat or Dave to shoot, I found the big calico in the crosshairs again.  I settled in, took a deep breath, and squeezed off the shot.  It looked good, felt good, and the sow squealed and bolted.  Unfortunately, she was still running with the herd as they crossed the distant hillside over a half-mile away. 

Dave and I crossed the canyon and scoured the chemise for sign of a hit, but there was nothing to be seen.  Somehow I’d missed her.  I replayed the shot over and over, but couldn’t figure out how.  I immediately wished I had my .325 or the 30-06 with me…but the .325 was at camp, and the 30-06 was at the KDF shop in Seguin, TX, getting a brake installed.  You have to dance with the one you brung, so there I was…

A bit later, as sleet, hail, and snow whipped across the green, central CA landscape, we scoured the property looking for more hogs.  They appear to have dug in for the day, though, and we slowly made our way back the way we came in, the main group riding in Jerry’s H1, and Dave and I following in the Kubota ATV.  Then, as light was fading, I spotted a huge boar standing alone on a hillside.  Dave and I slammed on the brakes and I hit the boar with the rangefinder.  383 yards… much too far for the .308, and out of Dave’s comfort zone with his 30-06 AI.  We watched as the boar stood there for a while, then turned and ambled into the brush. 

I radioed Jerry, and we caught up to them and discussed options.  Next thing I knew, we were 4-wheeling cross-country, heading for the last known sighting.  We hit the ridgetop and everyone spread out.  Suddenly there was a shout and a gunshot from Bob.  The boar had broken cover less than 50 yards away!  Bob’s shot apparently went wild.  The boar reappeared across the canyon and Dave took a shot at the fleeing animal.

What came next was a scene directly from Rat Patrol (you youngsters can look it up on IMDB.com).  Bob and I leaped into the back of the Hummer, and Jerry took off across the property to head the hog off.  There was nothing but open hillsides for probably 1000 yards, and we could see the pig running as the Hummer bounded and flew up and down the rises in this race. 

Unfortunately, the hog won.  I don’t know how, or where he disappeared, but at some point he found cover and we could not manage to put him up again before darkness fell.  We made our way back to camp, arriving late in the evening and too tired for much frivolity.  We ate chili and retired…

Sunday was sort of a strange day.  No one stirred before daylight, and when we did rise we decided to get camp broken down before heading out to do one more hunt.  The sun was shining, and while the wind was chilly it was a really beautiful day.  We had a big breakfast of tortillas, pulled pork, and scrambled eggs… then finally pulled out and headed back to the scene of the evening hunt.

We had no sooner arrived than the wind sprang up again, driving down the temperatures and spattering us with cold rain.  We covered the property from one end to the other, but could not turn up a hog for love or money.  Chilled and discouraged, we finally rolled back to the trucks, packed up, and called it a weekend.

All in all, it was still a great weekend.  Jerry and Jack are awesome hosts, and they have a beautiful piece of property, in addition to the places we were able to hunt.  I shared some excellent times, great food, and lots of stories.  It’s hard to complain about that.  We also had good opportunities to kill a lot more hogs than we did. 

I’m looking forward to getting back down there again! 

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