At any rate, the site is still getting up and running (if any guides are interested in being listed, please contact me and I’ll get you squared away), so the listings are a bit limited, particularly in TX.  Which brings us to this particular request.

A prospective hunter signed up the other day… a serviceman from Afghanistan.  He’s looking for a hog guide near Corpus Christi, probably in the October timeframe.  Here’s what he listed in the comments section:

I’m in Afghanistan. I should be stateside in approximately oct 2011. My wife will come down to texas to meet me. I want to hunt like crazy. No daily limits, no bag limits. I want to use my night scope too. I should be in the Corpus Christi area so she can show me off to her relatives.

It’s a pretty simple request, and I’m sure there’s someone down there along the Gulf Coast who’d be able to take care of this guy.  If you have a hog hunting operation down there, and you’d be interested, shoot me a comment or an email and I can put you in touch with the folks at Huntandfishguides.com.

“If you really want to hunt pigs in California,” he told me, “you’ll need to hire a guide.” 

Instead, I stubbornly devoted several years to hunting public land.  I learned some areas and hunted them hard and diligently.  As a reward, I found lots of sign and even had brief sightings of a couple of pigs.  I never fired a shot. 

So began the process of locating and securing my first guided hunt.  I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, and it was really a crazy process.  As it turned out, I got lucky and didn’t get ripped off.  As it also turned out, despite the guide’s ads and the fact that I’d inquired about a deer/hog combination hunt, the guided hunt I ended up going on had nothing to do with hogs. 

I expect that my experience wasn’t that different from a lot of hunters who are looking to book their first hunts.  I read a lot of ads in the back of local hunting magazines (the Web was still coming into its own as a resource), and made a whole lot of phone calls… many of which resulted in leaving lots of voice messages.  The process took a lot of time, and any guide who didn’t return my calls got scratched from my list. 

The problem is, there are an awful lot of guides who don’t advertise.  Maybe they can’t afford to advertise, or maybe they don’t know how to take out an ad.  Some get enough traffic through word-of-mouth and repeat customers that they don’t really need to put out ads.  The Internet has done a lot for both hunters and guides by providing an easy-to-use platform for guides to offer their wares, and a relatively easy way for hunters to search for them.  However, there are still a lot of guides and outfitters out there who haven’t yet learned to utilize the Internet or simply don’t want anything to do with worrying about setting up websites, much less getting into social media. 

So how does a hunter find a guide?  What if you could just go to a central website, enter the criteria of your hunt, and have qualified guide services come to you? 

That’s exactly what Huntandfishguides.com is all about.  The idea behind the site is to connect hunters with guides in a fairly unique way.  The hunter simply enters some basic criteria: 

1. Where do you want to hunt?
2. What species do you want to hunt?
3. When do you want to hunt?
4. How many hunters will be in your party?

Once you’ve entered the data, you’ll get a listing of guides that match your criteria.  On top of that, you’ll get quotes emailed to you directly from guides who can offer what you’re looking for.  Once the guides have made contact, you can follow up with them to discuss details, get references, and answer questions about their services. 

For guides, it’s free to register with the site.  You pay a small fee for each lead that’s sent to you.  It’s up to you to close the deal with the prospective clients by following up quickly. 

Hunt and Fish Guides dot com is a brand new site, and still in the very early stages of rolling out.  If you go over to check them out right now, you won’t find a ton of listings.  That’s yet to come.  For now, we’re sort of wondering what you folks out there, the potential customers and guides/outfitters think about the idea. 

So do tell.  As a hunter looking for guided hunts, would you use a service like this?  How about any of you who are guides or outfitters… would you be interested in a site that sends you leads on hunters? 

The floor is open.

Anyway, the flyer is below.  Summarized details are straight from Al’s site:

Hunter Education Instructor Association of Southern California is selling raffle tickets for a Guided Wild Pig Hunt on Tejon Ranch, CA. Tickets are $20.00 each, 6 for $100.00 & 13 for $200.00. Only 500 tickets will be available and the winning ticket will be drawn at their annual conference on March 12, 2011. 

 

To purchase tickets contact Derek Fong by emailing him at or you can call him at 661.733.1740.

 

Yes, we killed pigs this weekend at Native Hunt… and no, we did not go 100% (we did go 100% shot opportunity).  Just further proof, I guess, that no matter how much of a “sure thing” you think it might be, hunting is still hunting.  Things can conspire against you.  Nevertheless, the clients had a blast, and the guides did too.  I don’t think you could ask for a better weekend than that, right? 

Sorry for such a short, crappy post… but I’ve still got to get settled into this hotel room.

Meanwhile, I get to look forward to the weekend with some friends and regular clients chasing hogs.  If all goes well, it’ll end up like last weekend!

First of all, my friend David was back up at the Golden Ram’s Hedgepeth Ranch last week, and managed to make the past tense out of a sow.

In his own words…

I went back up to the Hedgepeth on Thurs after missing a MONSTER on Tues.  Was walkin through the same area and heard them russlin around in the leaves below me.  I circled down below them and started walking up the hill.  I could see some small ones under an Oak tree and then a good size sow walked out and presented a good shot.  As Im raising the rifle I felt a slight breeze on the back of my neck.  She started to sniff the air, and right when I had her in my scope she looked at me.  I let the 30-06 rip and she never took another step.

Meanwhile, away down south in Dixie (Mississippi), my friend Rex and the Christmas Place Gang were having a regular hogathon.  While they should have been shooting deer, they fell into my bad habits and everyone shot hogs instead… and some pretty danged nice ones too!  Check out the story at Rex’s Deer Camp blog.

For my own part, our hunters at Native Hunt did pretty well.  By the end of the weekend, we had eight hogs down for seven guys (if I counted this right).  The rain made things a little tricky, and despite some minor adventures in the clay, mud, and fog, we were able to get in there and get it done! 

I’m heading back up to Native Hunt this coming weekend, as soon as I get back from a work trip to Spokane.  Wonder if there are any hogs up in Washington yet?

The weekend should hold some big pigs, if things keep going like they’ve been down there.  Back in a couple days with pictures and maybe even a hunting story or two.

I can’t thank Hank Shaw (Hunter Angler Gardener Cook) enough for facilitating the invitation… even if he did bail out on us at the last minute.  I’m also short on words to thank my hosts, Charlie and Vycki (did I spell that right?), over on Catalina.  The hospitality they showed me, a total stranger, extended all the way to giving up their bed and moving into a tent for the four days I was on the island.  Charlie’s eagerness to show me the island and some primo deer hunting also went well beyond my expectations.  There’s no way I could have asked for more in that department!

So what about the hunt?

It was a big transition, coming down from the frozen elevations of Coon Camp Springs and boarding the ferry in Long Beach in 75 degree heat, but I couldn’t ask for better weather for the hour-long ride across the channel.  I’d been to Catalina once before, as a stopover on a cruise.  That time, I’d only been there long enough to do a kayak tour around some of the island and stop into a local bar for a couple of drinks.  Even then, I couldn’t help but dream of getting a chance to hunt the interior of the island.  This would be my chance.

Charlie de la Rosa is one of the guides, and would be my host for the three day hunt.  Charlie’s regular role on the island is working on the invasive plant program for the Catalina Conservancy.  I never did think to ask how he went from that to guiding hunters.  However, I did learn that the Conservancy had taken on the hunting program after several years in the hands of a private outfitting company.  The plan, as I understand it, was to try to increase the take of does as opposed to the prior focus on trophy bucks.  This would help keep the population at a manageable level.  On this hunt, I’d have two tags, one antlerless and one either-sex. 

The new program includes significantly reduced prices for the guided hunts, but apparently there wasn’t much advertising this season.  Like many people, I was under the impression that the hunting program at Catalina was ending, so I was surprised to find out that hunting was going strong, with no end in sight.   I didn’t get as much info about the hunting program as I should have (where was my head?), but I intend to rectify that soon.  Stay tuned.

At any rate, Charlie met me at the ferry landing, moving through the crowd of sight-seers with the loping stride of someone who spends a lot of time walking in steep country.  Within moments of meeting him, I felt right at ease.  As Hank had mentioned before, Charlie is “good people,” and a pleasure to be around.   We tossed my gear in the truck and headed to the Middle Ranch, where we’d be based for the duration.  (Regular clients, by the way, stay in well-appointed wall tents on a high bluff, with a killer ocean view.) 

First things first, we headed over to the shooting range to check zero on my 30-06.  The Savage has been bouncing around in the back of the truck for a couple of months, and sure enough, my first two shots were about two inches left and an inch or two low.  I made the adjustments to get it back to dead-on (I zero at 100 yards), and we were ready to hunt.  I was feeling pretty confident with the rifle shooting so well. 

Charlie decided to start out along the area that had burned back in 2007.  The new growth was attracting a lot of deer activity, and sure enough, we started spotting deer almost immediately.  I wasn’t in a huge hurry to tag out, so we did a lot of looking at first.  There were deer on every single ridge we stopped to glass, including some pretty respectable bucks.  The catch was that this place was STEEP.  I am not exaggerating when I say that there wasn’t a level place to be seen… everything on that island is either up or down.  It’s important to consider carefully before you take a shot here, because the recovery is guaranteed to be challenging.  (Charlie later explained that he was taking me to some places where he doesn’t often take clients, because the terrain is too challenging for many people.  Great.)

As the end of the day got closer, we decided to go ahead and fill my antlerless tag if we could.  We’d then be able to spend the rest of the time looking for a good shot on a nice buck, or fall back on a second doe if the hunting got tough as time ran out.    On the very next ridge, we stopped to glass and saw a group of does and yearlings feeding near the top of a finger.  If they stayed where they were, we could possibly kill one on a relatively level spot. 

We snuck down the road, and crept out onto a knoll where we’d have a pretty good angle on the deer.  I set up on a ledge of dirt, and steadied the rifle.  We were still about 255 yards from the deer, but with the total element of surprise and such a solid rest, I felt pretty good about making the shot.  I waited for the doe to feed out into an open spot, asked Charlie if he was ready, and touched the trigger on the old Savage. 

I saw the bullet splash in the dust above the doe, and at first I thought I’d shot over her!  However, Charlie had the glass on her, and was already congratulating me on a perfect shot.  The bullet had passed through and hit the hill behind her, giving the appearance of a miss (this happens often with lead-free bullets, by the way).  The doe bolted at the shot and quickly disappeared into a clump of brush.  She didn’t come out, and after a few minutes we decided to drop down and collect her. 

In retrospect, this was not the best way to approach the recovery.  One of us should have stayed on the ridge, while the other went down to find the trail.  As it was, we missed the trail the first time and spent a lot of time casting around blindly for sign.  Fortunately, we finally got our heads together and Charlie went back up to try to re-acquire the landmark where the deer had been standing.  After that, it was a pretty simple matter to find the blood spatter and follow the trail for about 40 yards to the very dead doe.  The 180gr Winchester ETip bullet had blown right through the doe’s heart.  (If anyone has doubts about the damage this non-lead bullet can do, click here.  Warning, this is a really graphic photo.) 

I dressed the deer out, while Charlie went to retrieve his backpack.  Once he returned, he proceeded to load the whole doe onto the meat shelf.  I asked if he wanted to cut her up and split the load, but he told me he’d handle it.  Honestly, by the time we climbed back to the road, I was really glad he did.  I only had my tactical pack strapped to a frame, the rifle, and my shooting stick… and my lungs and thighs were burning when we finally reached the top.  Of course, Charlie has the benefit of working in this terrain almost every day, but I was still pretty impressed with his fortitude.

We rolled back to Middle Ranch, got the deer skinned and hung in the walk-in cooler, and went home to hot showers.  Once we were cleaned up, we were invited to Charlie’s dad’s house for a family dinner (his grandmother was visiting from Venezuela).  Again, I was the recipient of some of the greatest hospitality I’ve experienced in ages… along with some damned fine food. 

Monday morning rolled in, and we were up and out as the first blue light tinged the eastern sky.  Charlie had seen a really big buck in one particular canyon, and he wanted us to go after it.  I’d told him earlier that I didn’t really need to shoot a big buck, but I wouldn’t balk at the opportunity either.  

He hadn’t had a chance yet to really scout the area, so he made a best guess at an approach.  The plan almost worked, except for the fact that several deer were already feeding on the hillside we chose to descend.  They blew out, offering a couple of really easy shots on a big forkie and a nice 3×3, but these weren’t the deer we were after.  We continued moving down the steep hill, my old LL Bean boots slipping and skidding on the rocky ground, when I spotted movement on the summit of the next ridge.  A huge buck was cutting across the hill and about to disappear.  “Holy crap!” I exclaimed.  “That’s got to be the one you were talking about!”

Charlie didn’t get a good look, but when I described the wide rack that extended well past the buck’s ears, he agreed it was the one.  “Damn,” he muttered. 

We sat tight on the ridge hoping the big boy would come back out.  A group of does and yearlings slipped by about 100 yards away, another easy opportunity, but we were now officially buck hunting.  After an hour with no further activity, we moved on to do some more glassing and see if we could find another buck.  We saw plenty more deer, including one really nice 3×2 (at 1100 yards), but nothing we were willing to climb the near-vertical hills for. 

After lunch at the Catalina Airport (a pretty scary looking airstrip along the top of a ridge) and a break at the house, we were back at it.  Once again, we were almost immediately into deer.  Charlie wanted to check some places up past the burn.  The difference was amazing.  After seeing deer on every burned ridge, when we left the burn the deer sightings dried up.  Charlie spun the truck around and headed back to the burn.

The previous day, we’d seen a really nice 3×4 on one distant ridge.  Charlie said he thought we might get another look at him, so we walked out on a knoll to glass.  Sure enough, he was out there with a smaller buck.  The range was about 360 yards, which is outside of my comfort zone.  We decided to try to get closer.  

Getting closer would require a nearly vertical descent onto the ridge above the buck.  It was difficult to get down the slope quietly, and about halfway down, a doe on the opposite ridge heard us and blew out.  Her panic convinced the two bucks to start moving away from our position.  I didn’t think we’d close any more distance, but we decided just to go straight at them and see if they’d stop.  Finally, we ran out of ledge… still 300 yards from the buck.  I settled down and put my Stetson on a pile of rocks.  With this rest, I was pretty danged steady, and felt about as confident as I could be at that range.  (Anyone who’s read much of my stuff knows I’m not a big fan of long-range hunting, and I won’t try to justify here except to say it just felt right, and I was very confident after making such a nice shot on that doe.)  I waited for the buck to turn.

After a seeming eternity, the buck turned quartering toward me.  I found a mark at the top of his shoulder, and readied myself to shoot.  I asked Charlie if he was ready, but I didn’t hear his response.  If I had, I’d have known he didn’t have the deer in his binoculars and maybe I’d have waited another second.  I was too eager, though, after waiting all that time for the shot.  I didn’t take my time, and I felt like I had him dead to rights. 

As I pulled the trigger, the deer took a step uphill and the bullet passed harmlessly over his back.  Both deer hopped over a little rise and disappeared before I could get another round off.  We watched the spot, waiting to see if they would come out.  Finally, I saw the smaller buck peek out over the hill, but the bigger deer didn’t show.  Charlie was pretty sure I’d missed, even though I felt like it was a good shot.  I was picturing the buck laying dead over the rise.

From our perch, there was a really steep drop to the ridgeline about 100 yards below us.  I didn’t relish dropping down there, but it was starting to get dark.  We needed to make a move.  Remembering our over-eagerness the night before, Charlie suggested that he take his pistol down and see if the deer was there, or to look for sign if he wasn’t.  I was to glass during the approach, in case the deer took off.  About 50 yards down, he realized he didn’t have his pistol.  I handed him my rifle with minor misgivings.  Maybe I should be the one going to look. 

I watched as Charlie approached the last place we’d seen the deer.  The smaller buck ducked back out of sight, but nothing came out of the draw.  Just as I thought he’d pass the spot, Charlie stopped.  I saw him shoulder the rifle and saw the muzzle blast.  In my mind’s eye, I saw the buck laying there bleeding out with its head up, and imagined that Charlie had just put the finisher in him.  I waited for a wave or shout of jubilation, but instead I saw another shot.  A moment later, the big buck popped out on the hillside looking quite healthy and unharmed.  Through the binos, I couldn’t see any indication of injury.  The deer stood and looked at Charlie one more time, and then bounded down, off of the ridge and out of sight.

It turns out that the deer had been standing in some bushes when Charlie came up, and had offered only a slight bit of neck to shoot at.  Offhand, with a strange rifle, Charlie was at a disadvantage.  After almost an hour of looking for sign, we found nothing except tracks and scat.  Somehow, we’d missed that deer with all three shots.  The climb back to the truck was brutal… made worse by the disappointment and second-guessing that always follows a missed opportunity.  I should have known better than to try such a long shot.  I should have been the one down there on the trail with the rifle, since I’m much more comfortable with offhand shooting.  Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve… it didn’t matter now.  The deer was gone.

A little whiskey back at the house helped with the disappointment.  That was a tough shot, and the miss wasn’t anything of which to be overly ashamed.  We’d be back out in the morning for another go at that first buck… and if that failed, I told Charlie we’d take the first decent doe.  I was determined to let us all sleep in on Wednesday. 

Tuesday morning found us attempting a different approach into the big boy’s territory.  The wind wasn’t great, but it was light.  We’d been able to move fairly quietly into position, but just before we reached the spot we wanted, Charlie froze.  “I think I heard deer running off,” he whispered.

A moment later, he held up his hand and jerked his binos to his face.  “Dammit,” he hissed.  “There he goes, over the ridge!”

Busted again.

We regrouped and moved around the canyon to another position, hoping to be able to glass the buck up in his hiding spot.  After a couple of hours, though, we conceded defeat.  I told Charlie it was just as well.  His roomate, Tony, hadn’t killed a buck yet.  This would be an excellent first deer!  Neither of us was particularly fooled by my false altruism, but it was good enough to get us back out to the truck.  We drove around and glassed a bit more, and then headed to the house for lunch.

We headed out for an evening hunt as fog blew in from the ocean.  At this point, I’d take any decent deer I could get a good shot on.  We glassed a small forkie, but we didn’t want to kill a youngster.  Then, as we drove out to the far end of a high ridge, a big doe stood skylighted on a hilltop at about 250 yards.  We tried to get a little closer, but she walked over the ridge.  We abandoned the truck and took off in pursuit.  Unfortunately, she eluded us by following a ravine over to a steep hill. 

We moved on and glassed several more deer, but simply couldn’t get into position or range.  Darkness was imminent, and we were almost ready to pack it in, when Charlie spotted a group of deer on a hillside, including one really nice doe.  I bailed out and snuck along the road until I was within 200 yards.  I rested the rifle on the berm, and while I wasn’t completely solid, I felt like this would be a chip shot. 

It wasn’t. 

I missed. 

A whole bunch of deer exploded out from behind the bush, and I lost sight of the doe.  I thought I heard Charlie say, “there she is, right by the road!” 

I spotted a deer above the road and settled on it.  The deer was standing with it’s butt toward me, so I needed it to turn.  Unfortunately, I was looking at the wrong deer.  Had I seen the doe, I’d have seen that she was less than 100 yards away, in the open.  By the time I realized I was about to shoot a spike, the doe was gone.  To this day, I’m still not sure how I missed.

“Your rifle has got to be off,” Charlie assured me.  “It’s not you.”

I wasn’t so sure, but as we drove back to the house, he told me we could head out for a last minute hunt using his rifle the next morning.  I have a bad record of last-minute hunts.  In Texas, I almost missed my plane because I shot a blackbuck less than three hours before my flight departed.  I must have set a record skinning and quartering that animal.  In NC, I left my brother blood-trailing a little whitetail buck I’d arrowed under similar conditions.  And on a duck hunt, I stuck my truck in the mud with only a couple of hours to make a flight home for the Christmas holidays.  With all of this in mind, it was against my better judgement to try once more… but I did.

We set out to try a spot where Charlie assured me that we’d probably find some does, and maybe a big buck.  The recovery here wouldn’t be as bad as some of the other spots we’d hunted, which would help to make sure we got in and out with plenty of time to make my boat (1145) and to pick up his next clients (1100).  I was still pretty shaken up by the previous night’s miss, but I tried to shake it off as we drove along. 

As first light came on, we didn’t see anything at all from our glassing point.  After all the deer we’d been seeing, this seemed kind of strange and mildly disappointing.   We jumped in the truck to head for another area, but I was already consigning myself to coming in empty-handed.  At least I had one deer in the cooler. 

Then we rounded a bend and I spotted a deer standing in the open hillside.  A quick glance with the binos told me it was a buck with good, thick antlers that spread at least to his ears.  I couldn’t count points, but didn’t really care at this point.  Charlie couldn’t see him as well from his seat, but told me to shoot him.

I dropped out of the truck and crept over to a pile of rocks.  After ranging the deer at 182 yards, I rested the rifle, a sporterized Springfield ’03, and got a good bead on the crease behind the buck’s shoulder.  I took a deep breath, readied myself, and pulled the trigger.  The buck jumped straight up and it looked like he kicked his feet out behind him.  It was a textbook reaction to a heart shot, and I mentally cheered as he hopped over the hill and disappeared behind the rise.  Charlie hadn’t been out of the truck yet when I shot, so he didn’t see the hit or the reaction. 

At the shot, several other deer, two does and a spike scattered out of the area.  We waited to see if the buck joined them, and when he didn’t, we were both certain he was dead in the brush. 

He wasn’t. 

Not only was he not laying there, stretched out with a 150 gr Barnes hole in his shoulder, we couldn’t find a speck of blood on the hillside.  Not again!  The frustration almost overwhelmed me, but we started systematically following tracks when I spotted a dot of blood.  A few steps later, there was a good clump that looked like it may have come from the chest cavity.  My heavy heart lightened. 

We tracked the blood sign, not yet discouraged that it was very spotty for the most part, until it started to get very sparse.  The trail soon became a single droplet here and there.  The morning moved along as we followed the challenging track.  “Hey, Charlie,” I queried.  “Are you running out of time?” 

He glanced at his watch and the look on his face told me what I needed to know.  Time was up.  Now what?

We decided that I could stay on the trail and try to catch a later boat.  In the worst case, I could spend another night and leave the following day.  However, he had to leave right away to go collect his clients. 

The blood trail dried up shortly after Charlie left, but the direction and fresh tracks were pretty easy to distinguish.  After a while, I saw where the rest of the deer had regrouped, and before long I was following four sets of tracks.  The trail led to a hillside covered with the tangled limbs of burnt trees.  Under the trees and brush I found bed after bed, but nothing fresh enough to get excited about.  I continued on, as the day heated up.  It had been an hour or more since I last saw blood, but the tracks were still leading me along. 

I stopped for a rest, and glassed the distant hills.  The frustration of the last couple of days beat down on me with the blazing sun.  All I wanted at that point was to be back home.  Kat would be upset as it was, because I’d be a day late (especially since I’d been gone essentially for three weeks running).  The damned deer wasn’t showing any sign of letting up.  His tracks never stumbled or dragged.  He couldn’t be hurt that badly.  I should have left with Charlie, and I’d have been on the boat already… heading home. 

I took a breath and shut off the negativity.  I had to find this deer, dead or alive.  I stood up to take on the trail again when the bushes 40 yards above me exploded.  Two does and a spike bailed out and took off down the ridgeline.  The big doe stopped broadside at about 150 yards, and I was sorely tempted to take the shot.  However, I didn’t want to shoot her while I was still on the trail of a wounded deer.  Besides, the way I’d been shooting, I’m not sure my psyche could have handled another miss. 

I watched as she ran off, and then stopped on a distant ridgeline until the other two joined her.  Was this the same group that had been with the buck?  It made sense, and if so, then he was probably close by.  The hillside below me was too thick to see through, so I tossed a couple of rocks out of desperation.  Sure enough, I heard a deer get up and start moving.  I tossed another rock, and “herded” the deer around the hill until I was rewarded with the sight of heavy antlers coming out of the trees. 

I ranged it at 104 yards, and waited to see if this was the right deer.  The antlers were the right width and conformation, just about out to the ears and nicely squared, but I couldn’t see any damage around the left side of the animal’s chest.  He’d been standing broadside with his left side exposed to me.  His legs were also absent of visible blood.  The deer stood there, as if waiting for me to shoot, but I wanted to be sure this was the right animal.  I glassed more intently, and saw that the fur along his haunch was ruffed up, and there appeared to be something dark there.  Was that a bullet wound?  How the heck could I have hit him there?  If he’d just let me see his right side…

The deer walked slowly along the sidehill trail, and I noticed a slight limp when he turned downhill.  He was definitely hurting from something, but it seemed pretty mild.  The limp also appeared to be in the front shoulders, not his hind end.  Still, he wouldn’t show me that right side.  I kept watching, whistling a time or two to get him to stop and stand.  I was pretty sure I saw a dark, brownish stain on his chest under the right, front leg.  Was it blood?  That made more sense, because the blood I’d seen on the trail appeared to drip straight down, and didn’t rub off as the deer had brushed through limbs and branches.  That was also much closer to where I’d been aiming. 

I just wasn’t sure it was him.  I was pretty confident it was, but it was also obvious that he wasn’t badly hurt and would survive just fine.  I decided not to take the shot… a decision I regretted more and more after I’d climbed back up out of the canyon. 

I continued to watch as the deer slowly went back down, and eventually circled back almost to where he’d been when I jumped him with the rocks.  Sneaky bastard.  With the scar he’d carry, he’d also carry this lesson for a while.  He’ll be smarter next time.

Afterward, when Charlie showed up to collect me that afternoon, I told him what had happened.  “Why didn’t you shoot?” he asked. 

I couldn’t give a good reason.  I was just done. 

The hunt was awesome, and Catalina is a tough but beautiful place to chase deer.  I hope to get another chance someday.  There are a ton of deer, and the  hunts aren’t particularly expensive… especially compared to the costs of other fully guided and outfitted CA deer hunts. 

Finally…

I’m still not sure what brought on this streak of misses.  It’s not like I’ve never missed before, but three times in a row?  It’s shaken me pretty good.  Before I left, I took my rifle back to the range.  With not only Charlie, but head guide Kevin, as well as the two clients there to witness, I quickly proved that the rifle was still dead on.  There’s nothing wrong with my scope.

Phillip I thought I’d share my good fortune with the rest of the Hog Bloggers.  My wife and I recently had our first child so planning parental and other family visits has taken a fair amount of coordination.  However, my Dad’s visit took a little extra.  He lives in northern Idaho and while I really wanted to coordinate an elk camp this year with him and my brother it just wasn’t in the cards, so I thought planning a pig hunt while he was here would be the next best thing.  So I began looking at dates, the moon cycles and the ever important possibility of plentiful acorns on the ground.  A little over a year ago I booked a hunt with a guide who owns property near Pacheco Pass and had a great time so I had him set us up for this past Thursday night and Friday.
 
I haven’t hunted with my Dad in close to ten years since we both moved out of Washington so I was pretty damn excited to head out and chase some hogs.  We grab a license and tag for him, some snacks, water and hit the road.  We met our guide John at Casa de Fruta at 5pm and were quickly off to the property.  He filled out his paperwork and we were off.  I rode on a hay bale in the back of his truck while my Dad rode in the cab.  Right off the bat we were surrounded by blacktails who were pretty thick in the rut, I was wondering where they were three weeks ago.  After watching the blacktails chasing does we were on our way for real and not three minutes later into the drive we spotted a nice boar about 400 yards off feeding on acorns.  We drove up to the next bend in the rode and bailed out of the truck to stalk in on him.
 
As we got closer on foot and the bend opened up to the hillside he was on we found him obscured by the trees.  He was across a small ravine and a hillside sloping toward us.  As we watched his movement behind the oak trees we saw he was inching toward a small shooting window, my Dad took a knee and raised his rifle.  As the boar was on his quest for acorns he came closer and closer to the narrow window and finally presented himself.  Now I’ve only hunted pigs once before but the first thing I notice about them is that they rarely stand still.  With their nose leading them they are always moving.  My Dad wasted no time and squeezed the trigger as soon as there was a shot.  The 7 mag roared, the boar took a couple of hops and he was down, we’d only been out about 15 minutes.  It wasn’t much of a “hunt”, but it was a great shot, and a great looking boar. 

We got him cleaned up and back in the truck and we were off to see if we could fill my tag.  We kept following the road working out way up the canyon rim to an area that has a large spring that had been hosting several pigs before dark recently.   On our way up we spotted five hogs working their way down a spine of a ridge and we were sure they’d drop right down to us as there was watering hole in between us.  We jumped out of truck and worked our way towards them but another couple of deer had us busted.  They were focused on us and we were pinned to try and make a move.  The hogs never made it our way; we figured they dropped off the other side.  So we headed back to the truck to make it to the spring before dark as last light was approaching.  Nearing the spring we rounded a bend and had four hogs at 150 yards.  I jumped out of the truck, cranked up my scope and got myself a good rest.  I needed to wait for the hog I had chosen to clear the other and I squeezed off a round.  We heard her squeal, and watched the others bolt.  As we were near the spring (we were about 400 yards below it) the hills came alive with hogs scrambling as the sound of my 30-06.  Both my guide and I got distracted for a moment by the hogs running and came back to notice the pig I shot (or so I thought) running away.   “Is that my hog, is that her”, I said.

“Yeah,” said John, hit her again.”

I fired again but clearly missed and we watched her duck off into the trees.  We got on her trail through the tall grass which was clearly marked by the trampled stems but could not find any blood.   I couldn’t believe I missed, but there wasn’t a lick of blood.   As darkness arrived we planned to call it a night and see if we could find any indication that the hog was hit.
 
We headed down the hill, skinned my Dad’s boar under the headlights of the truck and got him ready for the butcher.  After we dropped him off at the butcher we headed home to San Jose, and awaited the 4:30am alarm clock.   In many ways I had hoped I missed on the first shot to avoid having a wounded animal.   I was a bit frustrated, as I had spent a lot of time at the range over the summer sighting in handloads that my Dad had been making for me.  Unfortunately most of that time was on the bench and I didn’t shoot much free hand, but I was pretty well anchored for the first shot.
 
The alarm clock came and the coffee flowed soon after and we were on our way once again.  This time the landowner and guide Wyatt was going to take us out.  He got a download from John the night before so we jumped in the truck and headed back to where I missed.   We confirmed that I had missed the pig as I must have pulled right over her back, or maybe grazing her neck fat causing her to squeal.  Either way, I missed her and that was a bummer.
 
Wyatt took us out to a point where we could see the entire valley and we glassed for several minutes.  The pigs were not out in force like the night before, but I spotted one about a 1,000 yards off and we made our way to him.  On our way we spotted a group of seven feeding in a small bowl on an open hillside and we were closing fast.  The road turned and we were out of sight as we closed the gap.  One final bend and a hillside in front of us Wyatt turned the truck off and we were on foot.   We crept around a little knoll on the open hillside just out of site of the group.  As we began to crest the top and coming into view we came down on our hands and knees and soon I was on my belly.  The group was about 60 yards away in a small depression allowing me to only see the top of their backs.  I inched my way forward on my belly fearing that I would be busted or they would stay in the depression.  Slowly they started to work their way toward me and two were in sight.  There was a calico in the mix but a nice small sow was standing broadside at 50 yards.  This time I had the 7 mag in my hands for fear of the 30-06 being out of zero.  I raised the rifle, let out a breath of air and squeezed the trigger; this time there was no doubt.  She made a bolt for it with the rest of the group but you could see she was hit hard and didn’t make it 100 yards.
 
We cleaned her up, skinned her and decided to pass on the butcher as she was small enough dressed out that I could manage.  I brought her home, carved out the backstraps and tender loins and boned out every thing else but the hind quarters.  I tossed those in a brine for 24 hours and smoked them today for 9 hours.   It was a great dinner tonight and a great time getting out hunting with my Dad again.   Elk season opens in Idaho today so I hope this was a sufficient trade off this year.   Next year we’ll have our elk camp, but for now I got to take my Dad to shoot his first pig, a welcome role reversal.  I even made a little video of my Dad getting his pig, even though I had a pretty crappy angle of his shot.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0FfKLckb2k
 
Regards,
J.R. 

Nice work, fellas!  That’s a nice boar and a great way to spend some time with your dad!

I’m also planning to do a little more experimentation with some hog calls while I’m there.  It’s a great environment to try out the calls, since I can see how they work on both Eurasian wild boar and feral hogs.  So far, my limited trials haven’t really been too promising, but I don’t want to give up too soon.  More on this later!

Have a great weekend, everybody!  And remember… if you’re hunting, make sure and send me some pix of your success, along with a short write-up about the hunt.  I’ll make ya famous.