Finally, the call came. (This is where we came in…)
“The pigs are back!”
“When do you want me there?” was the logical question.
I was sitting on Go, and just needed to know when I could coordinate with T and L to head down. I suggested that I come in at first light on a Saturday morning, and plan to hunt all day, but that didn’t work for everyone else’s schedules. By the time the emails had stopped, I was to arrive around 6:00pm, and would be able to hunt until dark (a little after 9:00 at this time of year). It was hardly ideal, but we had to start somewhere.
The bright side of such a late start was that I would be able to make a fairly leisurely drive down. I double-checked my gear and hit the road, finally pulling into the gate at about 5:45. L buzzed me in, and I scanned the wooded lots and draws as I slowly made my way to their driveway. I didn’t see much fresh sign, but the remnants of winter rooting under the oaks were still quite obvious. A couple of deer lazily lifted their heads as I drove through, and a big, tom turkey stood at alert on the far side of a meadow. Pigs, however, were absent.
Then I turned into the long driveway, and as I came within sight of the front door, I caught movement in the bushes beside the road. A big sow stood by the edge of the road, and about eight or ten pigs pushed and rooted a few yards away. The sow was watching as I drove by, but the rest of the pigs seemed completely unfazed by my presence. I considered jumping out right then and there, but figured it wouldn’t be good manners to start blazing away before I even said, “hi” to my hosts.
I drove the last 20 yards into the driveway, and pulled up in front of the house. T was coming out to greet me, and I pointed into the bush and stage-whispered, “the hogs are right here!”
“Well, let’s get ‘em!” T replied.
He ducked back into the house, and I figured he was going to fetch the slug gun. I stuffed five 180gr ETips into the Savage, and waited for him to come back out. Meanwhile, the hogs were slowly but surely making their way toward the fence line. I’m sure it was only seconds, but it felt like minutes before T reappeared, slug gun in hand. I waved him over, and then slipped across the yard toward the pigs and found a good rest against an oak tree (not that I needed a rest, as the pigs were only about 30 yards away). I looked back, and T was still standing at the driveway’s edge. I don’t think the pigs were alarmed, but they were definitely aware that I was there. I made the decision not to wait any longer, and found the big sow in the scope. She was feeding on the edge of the draw, head down, and I put the crosshairs behind her ear and touched the trigger.
The sow went down hard, and I tried to get another pig in the scope. Unfortunately, between the small size of the pigs and the tall grass, it was impossible to get a solid shot on any of them. The initial startle response wore off, and the whole sounder lined off across the back of the property. I hoped they hadn’t gone under the fence to sanctuary.
T waited for me to lower the rifle, and then came over to where I was standing. “Come on,” I whispered. “We might be able to get another shot at them.
He slipped a few slugs into the magazine, and we trotted off down a horse trail. Unfortunately, I picked up the tracks making a beeline to the fence.
“Oh well,” I mumbled. “Let’s go dress that sow, and then we’ll go see if we can find another group.”
I field dressed the sow and T helped me drag her up to the driveway and put her in a shady spot. Then we spent the next couple of hours walking the property, checking some of the areas where T said he regularly saw pigs on his daily run. There was plenty of sign, some deer and some turkeys, but no more pigs. We made a big loop to the edge of the accessible property, and he called L to come pick us up.
Back at the house, we grilled some hot dogs and ate. As the sun dropped behind the treeline, I got antsy to get back out there. These hogs hadn’t been hunted for a while, and my thinking was that they might just come on back out at sunset. Having shot the matriarch out of this group, I hoped they’d be a little disoriented and make their way back onto the property. I was sure we could get at least one more opportunity, and I really wanted to see if I could get T a shot.
We roamed the property until dark. Just as the last light faded, I thought I heard the shuffle of swine in a thicket. We edged up to the area, and the noise stopped. Everything seemed to go suddenly quiet, and I figured the pigs would break out any second. We waited. We waited some more. I heard the rustle of leaves. I heard a branch crack. And then the squirrel jumped into the trees and took off across the branches. Not a pig.
Back at the house, we enjoyed some coffee and pie while we talked and planned the demise of the invading swine. At this point, I was still hunting on my regular pig tags. L was going to update the depredation permit so that I could expand my efforts, and also so we could start trapping. We discussed the possibility of some night hunting as well, but considering the other neighbors, that wasn’t an approach I was eager to take just yet.
Finally, I realized that it was nearing midnight and I still had a two and a half hour drive back home. We called it a night, tossed the sow in the back of the Dodge, and I headed for home.
Postscript to this one… I usually dress and skin my animals in the field, but this time I hadn’t skinned the pig. I got back to my suburban home, and realized I didn’t know where the heck I was going to skin this sow. I didn’t want to hang her in the garage, as it’s pretty warm in there and I didn’t think Kat would care much to have pig blood all over the concrete. Finally, I got the bright idea to take the pig around back and set the gambrel up on our gazebo.
I hung the pig on the groaning structure, and got her skinned as quickly as I could. Butchering would have to wait until morning. I stumbled into the house, threw my bloody clothes out in the garage, and poured myself a scotch nightcap. Somewhere around 04:00, I crawled into bed without a second thought to the fact that a bloody pig carcass was swinging in the breeze in my backyard.
Thank goodness for privacy fences.