I’ve written a time or two about the massive expansion of wild/feral hogs in the States.  Folks in Texas, Florida, and California can certainly say something on that topic.  But from what I just read in the Speigel online news, the US has nothing on Europe when it comes to a wild boar invasion. 

According to the article, German hunters killed somewhere in the neighborhood of 450,000 wild boar over the last season.  In France, another 500,000 were killed, while Poland is lagging with a harvest of around 200,000 hogs.  That’s a lot of pork chops!  But more seriously, that’s a lot of crop damage.

The Spiegel article points out that the spread of the wild boar is possibly due to manmade factors, not the least of which is new agricultural practices.  Approximately 27% of Germany is under cultivation for maize, rape seed, and wheat.  Additionally, due to the recent warm winters, Europe has seen a bumper crop of acorns and chestnuts. 

It’s interesting stuff, no doubt.  I’d definitely recommend giving it a read if you have time.  What happens in Europe can’t be far from happening here too.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, at least to anyone who’s ever hunted Tejon Ranch, but every hunt there is spectacular and fulfilling…even when nothing comes home in the cooler.  It’s just a magical place, as I’ve probably repeated too many times, where just being there is a gift to the hunter/outdoorsman. 

Still, wow!  This trip really shone!

There were 29 guys on this hunt, mostly from Jesse’s Hunting and Outdoors forum, and we were all geared and eager to roll.  It was like the date would never arrive, but when it did, 29 hunters were chomping at the bit and waiting at the gate.  Most had been to the ranch at least once, and several of us had been here many times.  My brother, Scott, had flown all the way in from North Carolina to enjoy his second visit to Tejon… and hopeful to score his second hog.

The weather, usually hot and dry at this time of year, turned ugly on us.  As we were checking in for the hunt, the clouds and wind increased steadily until they unleashed a full-on rain squall on us.  On the higher ridges, the rain mingled with sleet and at the highest elevations it turned to snow.  Hail fell on some of the hunters in one area of the ranch.  Everyone was damp as camps were setup and hunters dug through their gear in hopes that they’d remembered to pack rain gear.  Fortunately, almost everyone came prepared for the fickle, California weather.  You never know what you’ll get at Tejon Ranch.

By the time I’d finished getting folks checked in, checking their ammo (no lead allowed on Tejon Ranch), and directing those who asked for suggestions on where to hunt, it was finally my turn.  I ran through the paperwork with Barbara, the Tejon representative who manages these hunts, then jumped in the truck and headed to the campground.  When I arrived, almost everyone in the group had already set camp and headed for the hills!  It was barely noon, but with the rain and overcast conditions, we all figured the hogs would be out and about. 

And we were right!

Scott and I hit my honey hole around 2:00.  As we worked our way out to the end of the ridge, we spotted two hogs trotting across the opposite hillside, right towards us.  I had Scott set up next to a downed tree to wait for them, while I moved out to the point in case they tried to go around.  The wind was howling, but at least the worst of the rain had dissipated. 

The two hogs disappeared into the chapparal, but as I topped the last rise I spotted dark shapes moving in an oak flat below me.  I got on the radio to Scott.  “I’ve got hogs!  I’m gonna try to get a shot.”

I dropped down the hill a ways until I could get a clear shot at the feeding animals.  The hill was steep and covered in soft dirt, so it was more like skiing downhill than stalking.  I finally reached a little ledge, and sat down to range the pigs.  One boar, maybe 150lbs, was chomping the heads off the wild oats.  I ranged him at 217 yards.  I made the rash decision that this was a makeable shot, and set up the monopod and leveled the Browning.  The crosshairs landed on the top of his shoulder, and I put my finger on the trigger.  Just as the squeeze neared the critical point, the monopod slipped off a ledge of dirt and the shot went into the ground about six feet below the hog!

The entire herd, at least eight or ten hogs, took off across the bottom of the hill.  I did my best to sidehill in hopes of getting another shot as they dropped into the ravine, but it never happened.  As I sweated and panted my way back up the hill, Scott radioed to tell me he’d spotted hogs on his side of the hill.  I told him to take the shot if he had it, and continued my climb.  Just as I neared the summit, I heard the boom of my 30-06 (I’d loaned him my rifle so he wouldn’t have to deal with flying his across country).  Turns out he’d shot twice, at two different hogs, but missed both times.

This was not the way I wanted to start our hunt.

Scott crossed over my “hell hole” to go look for blood sign, in case he’d hit his pig.  I spotted for him while he tried to find any sign.  A group of small hogs, including one really cool-looking blonde pig, entered the hillside and fed above him, at one point coming within 50 yards or so, but they were really too small to consider shooting… at least on a paid hunt. 

When it was clear that there was no sign of a hit, we decided he should hunt on that side instead of trying to cross back over the hell hole.  I went back across the ridge to glass a deep gully.  A little later, the radio buzzed again.  “I’ve got bacon,” my brother told me, excitedly. 

He’d been about to call home and check in with his wife (he does this a lot when we’re hunting), and when he turned on the phone, the chimes apparently spooked a group of hogs from their beds less than 50 yards away.  He made his shot on the largest of them, a 140lb sow at 100 yards on a dead run.  I guess he considers himself redeemed for his earlier misses…  personally, I think it was just luck. 

After verifying that it was small enough for him to handle on his own, and giving him directions to get out of the hell hole and back to Petunia, I dropped over the ridge on the other side to try and get closer to some hogs I’d spotted.  That effort failed, as the thick brush completely obscured them any time I got less than 300 yards away.  I opted not to try a 300 yard shot, and finally gave up and went back up top to glass for something closer.

As I rounded a bend, I caught movement to my right.  A lone hog was feeding its way up the hillside 175 yards away!  I slid down behind a tree and found a solid rest for my rifle.  My confidence wasn’t very high after the earlier miss, but with the tree for a rest, I felt as comfortable as I could.  I centered the crosshairs behind the shoulder, took a breath, and squeezed.  The shot felt great, and I was sure it was a dead hit, but somehow the pig took off at a dead run… uphill!  I followed the run in the scope, pulled ahead of the hog and fired another round.  The hog turned at the shot, and headed back downhill.  After a few steps the sprint became a tumble, and the pig fell and rolled down the steep incline, crashing through brush and small trees like a boulder in an avalanche!  The .325wsm had done it again!

I located the hog, about halfway down a steep draw.  It turns out that the first shot had gone right through both lungs, pretty as you please.  How that pig managed to run so far and so fast with that hit remains a mystery to me.  The second shot, unfortunately, hit far back in the left ham, shattering the femur and destroying a couple of pounds of prime meat.  Since that second shot turned out to be unnecessary, I was a little disgusted with that but at least I had my pig down… a nice, healthy boar with tusks about 2 inches long.  Not too bad.

That’s when the work began.  At first, I thought I’d lucked out.  From where the boar fell, the draw was relatively clear and dropped steeply down to a feeder creek.  The feeder ran into a main creek where I knew there was an old road that ran out to the pavement.  I figured an easy recovery which started by simply rolling my pig down the hill to the bottom.

But it never works out that way, does it? 

About three quarters of the way to the bottom, the trail turned ugly.  And instead of coming out just above the old road, the feeder creek turned away and then wound around and about for quite some distance.  After dragging the dead weight for an hour and a half, I decided to go ahead and bone him out and pack the meat instead of dragging.  This made things much easier, but I opted to leave the head for later.  I could come back and get the “trophy” if I had the energy later in the weekend… but for now my main concern was the meat and my physical health.

Finally, I spotted the headlights of my friend John’s pickup.  They’d come up the trail to look for me, since Scott had driven back to camp in Petunia without me.  I put the meat-laden backpack in the truck and gratefully collapsed onto the seat. 

Ten hogs were taken that evening, including another hog for my chiropractor, Steve (that’s three for three now at Tejon, since his first big game hunt with me there last spring!).  The weather broke some on Saturday, and 9 more hogs were taken.  The fog and rain rolled back in on Sunday, limiting visibility and driving several of the folks out of camp.  The handful of die-hards took three more hogs in the foul weather for a camp total of 22 hogs killed.  All 29 hunters took at least one shot over the weekend, with various factors accounting for several misses… wind, rain, distance, and poor judgement. 

Video will be forthcoming as soon as I have time to finish cleaning gear and getting the video edited.

I’ll be at Tejon ranch until Monday, so please keep the conversation going, and I’ll be back soon… hopefully with a cooler full of pork and a camera full of video!

Enough foolishness… on with the show!

First of all, we’ll visit our neighbors to the north, in the Canadian province of Alberta.  According to this article in the Edmonton Journal, it appears that the bristly beggars have settled right into the Great White North and are making a nuisance of themselves… so much so that the folks at the Alberta Agriculture and Rural Development agency have officially classified wild boar as pests, opening the door for unregulated killing to protect crops and property.  Of course, if you’ll read the whole article, you’ll find that the pest status may be a bit over-stated.  I won’t be packing my hog rifle for a drive to Alberta just yet. 

Speaking of travel…

This is the time of year when my heart and eyes start to wander in search of new places and experience.  OK, actually, my thoughts are usually of warm, tropical beaches, clear water, and big, pelagic fish… but I’m open to other things.   Now it’s been a long time since my honeymoon, but I’d be willing to pretend to be a newlywed if it meant I could sign up for this honeymoon package I just read about on PressReleases.com! 

The 14-day package highlights the adventurous side of Fiji, and takes guests to five different islands throughout the 300+ island archipelago. “I’d categorize some of the activities as ‘extreme’,” explains Marketing Director Susan de Geus, who lives on Fiji’s main island full time to facilitate the tours. “Skydiving and hunting for wild boars in the Fiji bush are definitely not what most honeymooners come to Fiji to experience,” she says. “But while the entire itinerary is adventure oriented, we give couples a break with soft activities like kayaking and snorkeling over the world’s fourth largest reef,” she explains.

Yeah, I could do that!

And moving right along, I’ll close with this great little piece from columnist Bob Terrell at the Asheville, NC Citizen-Times.  This one reminds me of the tales I’d get from my dad and uncles.  It also brings to mind the great stories I read over at the Animal Stories blog.

Department of Fish and Games

News Release for Immediate Release 08:30 April 1, 2008

DFG Warns: Hog Outbreak Puts Hunters at Risk

Due to an outbreak of a virulent strain of porcine asymptomatic hypochondriasis in the Central Coast Region of the state, State Biologists and the California Fish and Games Department will institute an immediate halt on all hunting of wild hogs or feral pigs in the state until further research can determine the extent of the outbreak.

“We’ve never seen any thing like this in California, or any other state,” said biologist, Dr. E.R. Satz.  “It’s totally unprecedented.  In fact, all scientific and medical sources tell us such an outbreak is impossible.  The biological sciences community is astounded, but at the same time, we’re quite excited at this opportunity to study a disease they told us didn’t exist!”

At the Fish and Game Department, tensions are running high as officials and officers try to figure out the best way to quickly get the word out, and protect the public.  Department Spokesperson, Sgt. Veral Fulavit says that the outbreak presents a very definite threat to hunters. 

“At this point,” says Fulavit, “we’re unsure of the long-term effects of the disease.  We do know that actual, physical contact is not required for transmission.  Simply being in close proximity to the infected animals is enough to cause symptoms including significant oral dissembly in most hunters.  More extreme cases have resulted in hyperbolic ejecta, and even prevarication.  We cannot stress how serious this may be.”

There is, at this time, no cure for the infection.  Hunters who feel they may already be infected should contact Dr. Satz immediately at the E.R.Satz Disease Laboratory. 

At this time, there is no known threat to domestic livestock or pets.  Dr. Satz urges ranchers and pet owners not to be overly complacent, though.  “We don’t know what we don’t know,” says Satz.  “While all the indications suggest that the infection only transmits from hogs to humans, it’s very difficult to identify the symptoms in non-human animals.”

Until further notice, all hog hunters are urged to cancel all planned hunts.  Department of Fish and Games officers will be in the field to enforce the closure, and anyone caught hunting hogs may be cited with a congratulatory letter for seeing through this silly message for the April Fool’s Joke it really is.

Happy April 1, everybody! 

I spent the past weekend down at the Native Hunt headquarters, along with Native Hunt owner/operator Michael Riddle. 

Part of the visit was spent getting a short tour of the property and Mike’s operation.  He’s got a great setup, with over 1000 acres fenced for exotics, including a herd of pure-strain European boar, some Fallow Deer, Corsican Sheep, and some buffalo.  Outside the fence are native blacktail deer, and hoards of feral pigs.

Ever since I came to CA, I’ve heard various hunt operators claim to have “pure” European or “Russian” boar on their properties.  However, unless those hogs are inside a fence, they’re not likely to be pure Euros.  The hogs most of us are familiar with in this country are feral hogs, or at best, a cross between the descendants of released Europeans and feral swine.

After spending a couple of days at the Native Hunt property, it was pretty clear that none of the hogs I’ve seen on private or public land in this state were pure Europeans.  The real thing is very distinctive. 

Mike did a pretty good article about the pure-strain boar in a recent issue of Boar Hunter Magazine.  It does a much better job describing the difference between the Euros and feral pigs than I could ever do here.  If you’ve got the time, go take a read. 

There was another purpose for our meeting this weekend as well. 

The timing and details are still in the final works, but I can now tell you that we spent a good bit of the weekend discussing a new organization dedicated to the promotion of wild boar hunting across the country.  We’re also interested in bringing various interests together, and working collaboratively with the diverse members of the hunting and wildlife management community. 

Membership questions?  Hang tight, and I’ll have a lot more information about this as we go. 

I’ll put it here in his own words.

I opened up our garage door here in our master planned Orlando community to get a phone number out of my truck. The first thing I notice as the door was rising, was two wild pigs rooting up my front flower bed, approx 25 feet away. Our six-month old dog was tailing me out to go to the bathroom. The pigs look up, and come toward us in the garage! I quickly kick the dog back in to the house.

For whatever reason, the pigs went back to rooting. My Mathews was on the top shelf in the hardcase, so that wasnt an option. BUT, thanks to Arrowhead (beloved JHO Member), there was a brand new Fred Bear bow that he had given to Lil Buck-eye within arm’s length. I grabbed it, and slid an arrow in to it. The boar is at about 6 yards. I let loose with the arrow and it sticks right in to the shoulder. The pigs take off in to the neighborhood. They seemed inseparable. The one is running with an arrow poking through its side, while the other one is still feeding in people’s yards. It was the oddest thing. They stayed together the entire time. I called our Game Agency to make sure I was within the law. They confirmed that I was okay, but I could not finish off the pig unless I had permission from the owner of the yard they were in, or unless they were in mine.

By this time, the pigs had crossed the street, and gone behind other houses. They were about 150 yards from our home and out of sight. By this time, neighbors had called the police, and they were all standing outside wondering what was up.
Here is where it gets crazy….

I figure the only way to finish this hunt is to attempt to get them back in to our yard. I found them behind a house down the street, and I began to chase them, all the while clapping my hands. It was unreal. They did what I wanted. The sow (uninjured) went wherever the boar went. I stayed right on his tail. I even got close enough to pull the arrow out of his side. He didnt like that too much at all.

Unbelievably, I get them to cross the street and they get in to my yard. The boar flops down in to my bed that he rooted up. I run in to the garage to get the Mathews. No time to get the release. I grab one arrow, and head out the garage. The boar is looking at me and bedded low. I release another arrow and all hell breaks loose. The boar jumps up squealing bloody murder. The arrow didnt completely pass through as it hit the ground behind it. But, upon jumping up, it snapped the arrow in half. Both pigs bolt across the street and at that point I see the sheriffs pulling in.

I put the bow away, stood outside and let them know that I am who they need to talk to. They head over to the pigs (who are still together). The one is dead (or appears to be), and the sow is still feeding in the yard. Both sheriffs go over to the boar with guns drawn and one of them pops 3 shots in its head. Hit the jaw 3 times. Goofball.

The second sheriff grabs a rope, and hog ties the sow. They load that one in the truck alive. I asked if they needed anything from me, they said “Nope! You want the pig?”

I said – “HECK YA!”

So, in my little gated community, good old neighbor Joe…drags the dead pig across the road to my yard.  My peaceful community is now tainted with a blood trail in the street and pooling blood on the sidewalk. This was all so bizarre. I had multiple neighbors I had never met coming up to take pictures.

This is by far the craziest bow kill I have ever been a part of. Here are some pictures of the event. There is no fabrication in this tale. It was so whacky, I have trouble even typing it without pausing to say ” I cannot believe this all went down”

Gotta love it!

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!