It went down something like this: "Take a walk, then go back to the house and shoot a pig."
I drove up to Porterville Friday night to hunt pigs with Neil Ray of GSGS. One of the ranches he guides on called him for pest control, and we were happy to oblige.
When we arrived at first light Saturday, there was nothing doing in the pastures near the main buildings. So Neil and I walked up the dirt road and he posted me on some high ground while he went around to see if he could flush any pigs from the creek bed below. Neil has one of MJB's recent litter of Jagd pups, named Bolt, that he's breaking in for blood tracking; it was the pup's first day of training.
I set up behind a rock pile to wait for them to work their way around. After awhile a couple of small razorback sows with piglets trotted by about 30 yards from me. They came so close I could hear their odd grunting breaths before I could see them over the rocks. They would have been a good test with my bow, because they were moving. But today, they were too easy, too small and too full of milk for me to take the shot with my .30-06. They never picked up my scent, even directly downwind. I wondered if that was due to my fancy scent blocker shirt, or if it was the cow poop I'd stepped in when I crossed the pasture. Who knows.
Anyway, a little while later Neil rose out of the creek bed with Bolt, and asked if I'd seen a spotted grey wild pig sow. She had charged the rancher a few days earlier so we had a specific request to transform her into pork if we found her. We headed deeper into the ranch looking for sign.
We walked through the brush along the foothills, saw lots of fresh tracks and some bedding areas, but no pigs. Then the rancher texted Neil that the grey sow in question was in the pasture by the ranch house. We headed down and when we arrived, there she was with a couple of others, about 175 yards from the fence line where we we standing. Neil called out the range. I gave her a couple of minutes to give me a better broadside; I don't like to gut-shoot any animal, and I was hoping to take a good liver back to San Diego for Bolt's Momma, who loves it when she is pregnant. But the pig was too happy working the track she was on. I aimed for the inside of her right (far) shoulder and squeezed. We watched her double up with the impact, but then she and the others took off at a full gallop across the field toward the thick stuff along the creek. I got off a follow up shot but fired too high... I'm getting faster with my follow ups but I have to work on my target acquisition and accuracy with a moving target like that.
We walked out to where I'd hit her. Neil found where she'd started her run, but we found no blood anywhere. We followed across the field and down into the creek bed. We went across, then up a ways; still no blood. Then we headed down the other direction. Bolt started to get interested in a scent on the ground, and Neil was still searching for sign. That's when I saw her body lying motionless across the path just over the crest of the bank, about 20 feet away. Pigs have a famously tough and resilient hide, and hers was no exception: there was hardly any blood to be found under her. Even more impressive was the fact that, watching those pigs run across that field, you would never have picked out the one whose insides had just been torn apart.
The bullet had entered her left flank and exited in front of her right shoulder, with no apparent expansion at the exit. There was a small pool of blood under her body, coming out of the entry wound. But there was just a hole at the exit: no blood at all. It appears that all-copper bullets remain a work in progress. But still, her liver and diaphragm were in shreds and her right lung was gone, and she made an impressive run.
We raised her on the skinning hoist NBK gave Neil recently, which worked great.
Neil did a little extra work with Bolt and an extra piece of pigskin, and we called it a hunt. Bolt worked hard today, I'm sure he is sleeping soundly.
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I drove up to Porterville Friday night to hunt pigs with Neil Ray of GSGS. One of the ranches he guides on called him for pest control, and we were happy to oblige.
When we arrived at first light Saturday, there was nothing doing in the pastures near the main buildings. So Neil and I walked up the dirt road and he posted me on some high ground while he went around to see if he could flush any pigs from the creek bed below. Neil has one of MJB's recent litter of Jagd pups, named Bolt, that he's breaking in for blood tracking; it was the pup's first day of training.
I set up behind a rock pile to wait for them to work their way around. After awhile a couple of small razorback sows with piglets trotted by about 30 yards from me. They came so close I could hear their odd grunting breaths before I could see them over the rocks. They would have been a good test with my bow, because they were moving. But today, they were too easy, too small and too full of milk for me to take the shot with my .30-06. They never picked up my scent, even directly downwind. I wondered if that was due to my fancy scent blocker shirt, or if it was the cow poop I'd stepped in when I crossed the pasture. Who knows.
Anyway, a little while later Neil rose out of the creek bed with Bolt, and asked if I'd seen a spotted grey wild pig sow. She had charged the rancher a few days earlier so we had a specific request to transform her into pork if we found her. We headed deeper into the ranch looking for sign.
We walked through the brush along the foothills, saw lots of fresh tracks and some bedding areas, but no pigs. Then the rancher texted Neil that the grey sow in question was in the pasture by the ranch house. We headed down and when we arrived, there she was with a couple of others, about 175 yards from the fence line where we we standing. Neil called out the range. I gave her a couple of minutes to give me a better broadside; I don't like to gut-shoot any animal, and I was hoping to take a good liver back to San Diego for Bolt's Momma, who loves it when she is pregnant. But the pig was too happy working the track she was on. I aimed for the inside of her right (far) shoulder and squeezed. We watched her double up with the impact, but then she and the others took off at a full gallop across the field toward the thick stuff along the creek. I got off a follow up shot but fired too high... I'm getting faster with my follow ups but I have to work on my target acquisition and accuracy with a moving target like that.
We walked out to where I'd hit her. Neil found where she'd started her run, but we found no blood anywhere. We followed across the field and down into the creek bed. We went across, then up a ways; still no blood. Then we headed down the other direction. Bolt started to get interested in a scent on the ground, and Neil was still searching for sign. That's when I saw her body lying motionless across the path just over the crest of the bank, about 20 feet away. Pigs have a famously tough and resilient hide, and hers was no exception: there was hardly any blood to be found under her. Even more impressive was the fact that, watching those pigs run across that field, you would never have picked out the one whose insides had just been torn apart.
The bullet had entered her left flank and exited in front of her right shoulder, with no apparent expansion at the exit. There was a small pool of blood under her body, coming out of the entry wound. But there was just a hole at the exit: no blood at all. It appears that all-copper bullets remain a work in progress. But still, her liver and diaphragm were in shreds and her right lung was gone, and she made an impressive run.
We raised her on the skinning hoist NBK gave Neil recently, which worked great.
Neil did a little extra work with Bolt and an extra piece of pigskin, and we called it a hunt. Bolt worked hard today, I'm sure he is sleeping soundly.
Sent via Tapatalk
