It’s what we do when no one is looking that really matters.
Well, I finally got out to do a little hog hunting after a long, dry spell. I was already jonesing to get out there anyway, but with all the stuff that’s been going on the last couple of weeks, I really needed to get away from the city, and out into the hills. Michael Riddle, from Native Hunts had extended a generous invitation for the coming weekend, but I couldn’t take him up on it. Fortunately, I was able to make a last minute call to the Golden Ram offices and line up a weekday hunt at the Hedgepeth Ranch in Sonoma County.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve pretty much figured out an area of this ranch that seems to always hold hogs. The last few trips out there put me right on them, but I couldn’t capitalize with the bow. This time I wanted meat, so I left the bow behind and grabbed my old stand-by rifle, my Savage 30-06. I figured if I could see them, I could kill them. I needed success, not more frustration.
As the hunt dates got closer, the weather came in… finally. Forecasts were calling for rain and hail, with near-freezing temperatures and a snow level descending to about 1000 feet. I was stoked! The newly wet ground should get the pigs rooting, and the cloud cover should obscure the nearly full moon, and keep the hogs out during the day. I was also excited just for the possibility that I’d get to hunt in the snow. There’s something special about that, at least for this translocated southern boy.
I hit the road up to the ranch at about 0300 yesterday (Monday). It wasn’t snowing, and the two and a half hour drive was punctuated by periods of rain and crystal clear skies. Temps hovered in the 40s until I started climbing into the hills around Lake Sonoma. By the time I reached the ranch and drove in to my hunting spot, temps were in the mid-30s, but the rain was breaking up. I geared up and headed down the trail as the sun came out into a clear, blue sky.
Because of the cool, wet day, I’d geared up in my Rivers West Stalker jacket and pants. This stuff is really excellent for rough weather because it sheds water like a traditional rainsuit, but it’s quiet. The thing is, though, I can’t use it very often here in CA, because most of my hunts take place in the warmer parts of the state and I do a LOT of walking. The Rivers West gear is made for colder weather. I figured the day would be perfect for it.
About halfway up the second ridge, I realized I was over-dressed. I stopped and peeled off the jacket. As I cooled off and got comfortable, a chilly breeze suddenly came up. In a matter of seconds, the blue sky went slate grey and it started raining. Off went my pack and on went the coat. Like magic, a few moments late the rain stopped and the sun came out. This would be the pattern all day.
But you’re not here to read about the weather. What about the hunting?
The hillsides were ripped to shreds by rooting. I picked up the trail of a large group of hogs. Fresh tracks, scat, and rooting marked their path across the hillside. From the freshness of the sign, I was pretty sure the hogs were close, but I also know how much ground these animals can cover. From the top of the ridge where I picked them up, the sign led across the steep hillside, dropping in elevation steadily until I’d reached the bottom of the canyon, some 500 feet down from where I’d started. And then, of course, the trail started to climb the other side.
To folks accustomed to the high country, 500 feet of elevation change may not sound like a lot. And on an easy, rolling slope, it’s really not much of a climb at all. But in these hills, the climb is not far from vertical, and it takes some effort… especially when the most exercise I’d had over the last several weeks was dragging and dropping files on the computer.
Point being… I looked up this next hill with a mild dread. I knew where these hogs were going, and unless I got really lucky, this was going to be one heck of a tough hunt. I adjusted my pack, slung the rifle, and started climbing.
I finally topped out the climb and knew I was close. I could see where the herd had stopped to root under some oaks in the saddle, just over the ridgeline. From the looks of the ground all around, they were staying pretty busy up here. There was sign, literally, everywhere! I picked the freshest tracks I could identify, and started back on the trail which led, predictably, down the other side of the ridge. I knew that the property line was in the bottom of this next canyon, but that the thick oaks and manzanita provided shelter. If things worked out, the hogs would hold up in the bedding areas instead of crossing the property line where I wouldn’t be able to get to them.
I eased down the track, moving slowly and listening for the telltale patter of hog feet. The rain dripping off of the trees made it pretty tough to hear anything, so I had to rely mostly on my eyes. But then my nose told me what my eyes and ears missed… I could smell hogs. I dropped my pace to a near crawl as the trail led down a steep finger ridge into the bottom of the canyon. The wet clay ground was slick as grease, making the descent a little tricky, but I knew this is where I’d find my pig.
The finger ridge ended suddenly in a bluff, about 20 feet above the creekbed in the bottom of the canyon. I could see the red and white fenceposts that marked the property line. Across the canyon, up on the hillside, I caught movement. My herd of pigs fed out from under the oaks, milling around comfortably in the open. I ranged them at 221 yards… a long poke, but very do-able with the Savage.
Temptation welled up in my mind.
I was the only person on the ranch, back in one of the deepest, darkest canyons. I could make this shot, and the pig would more than likely roll all the way down the steep hill and into the creek bed… right at the property line. Even if it didn’t roll all the way down, it would be an easy task to get to him and drag him back across the fence. No one would ever know. I sat back on a flat spot and leveled the rifle across a stump. With this position, I was steady as a benchrest shooter, and I put the crosshairs on a medium-sized, calico hog. The unfortunate animal was marked with a black circle just at the point of the left, front elbow… a bullseye over his heart.
Of course I didn’t shoot. I honestly considered it, but in the end I snapped the scope caps back down, thinking back on some of the recent ethics discussions, both here and on other blogs. It’s what we do when no one is looking… that’s what really matters.
As I sat there, thinking about how I’d write this up for the blog, I heard a grunt. It took a second to register, and then I realized more hogs were coming toward me. I scanned the oaks, and caught the rapid movement of a small hog running down the hillside. I crept closer to the edge of the finger ridge, making it just in time to see three smallish hogs cross under the fence onto the neighbor’s property, joining a larger group that had already crossed. Dangit! Then, as if to add insult to injury, the little group milled around about 20 yards across the line, offering several clear shot opportunities before finally wandering off into the thickets.
I suppose my restraint paid off in good karma…
I sat down to think about a plan for the remainder of the day. I’d obviously found a hot travel corridor, and with patience I knew I could probably catch these hogs or a different group travelling back through here later in the day. I looked around for a good, level spot where I could settle in for the wait, but as I was looking around, I heard another grunt coming down the same trail. This time, I’d be ready.
I had already made up my mind that I didn’t want to shoot a giant hog in this “hell hole”. The pack-out would be brutal, and there was no need to do that to myself. Smaller pigs usually eat better anyway… or so I rationalized it anyway. Through the brush, I could see this group had a couple of big pigs in it, but when I saw the 75-80 pounders leading the herd, I decided to take one of them.
The first little boar squirted out into the open too quickly, and before I could get the crosshairs on him he was under the fence. I turned my attention to the matched pair of black and white boars coming behind him at a quick jog. I watched the black and white hair pass under the scope until the crosshairs hovered behind his ear. I barely thought about pulling the trigger and the rifle barked (I LOVE this Timney trigger!). The 180gr Winchester ETip took him right where I was aiming, and hammered him straight into the dirt… dead before he’d hit the ground.
- Nice little meat pig to break my hog hunting jones.
Of course, as soon as the echoes died and the rest of the herd scattered (I could have shot another boar at about two feet… but one is enough) the universal truth and cliche settled in… Now the work starts! I was in a classic hell hole. Those who’ve hunted with me know my propensity for shooting pigs in nasty places, but this one was a real doozy. I was two miles from the truck, with a 500 foot climb out of this hole, then a 500 foot drop down the other side, followed by another climb back up to the road.
There was a road at the top of the first ridge, but there was no way I’d get the 3/4 ton Dodge down the steep, sloppy road. I was really missing Petunia (my Samuai) at the moment, but there was nothing to be done for it. I cut the little boar up, packed him in the game bag and lashed him to the backpack frame.
The walk out was everything I thought it would be.
Epilogue: I finally got back to camp a few hours later and decided to take a nap. The temps were dropping and snow was starting to mix with the rain and hail. I was looking forward to a peaceful night in the camper… a few drinks, crank up the heat, eat a good dinner, and enjoy the quiet night… and maybe wake up to a little snow in the morning. Unfortunately, I woke from my nap freezing cold. I turned up the heater, but all it did was blow cold air. A quick check verified my problem… no propane! Not only did that mean no heater, it meant I couldn’t cook dinner. I broke down camp, tossed the meat in the cooler, and hit the road for home.
Well, despite not having propane, the trip sounded like a good one. After your last few days I think you definitely needed it Phillip.