Sunday, October 14, 2012

Baxter Black: Hunting wiley hog proves frustrating

So there I was in the early morning haze, stealthily walking across a mowed field in search of the wily feral hog. Actually, the first half-mile was not as stealthy, it was more like trudging, since my packer whom we’ll call Newt, had partied the night before and failed to gas up the four-wheeler.

Carrying pistols, rifles, ammo and video filming equipment, we looked more like refugees fleeing the Libyan conflict. My guide, who asked us to call him Bwana, froze in his tracks. It was dark but we could hear his “Shush! There, on the edge of the field, see’em?” he said.

If there was a pig I sure couldn’t tell.

I wondered at the time how we must have looked in a pig’s eye view? A round bale, back-lit by the rising sun, festooned with arms, legs, heads, cameras and weapons sticking out in silhouette.

After five minutes of intense scrutiny Bwana said, “They’ve gone. Must have smelled us.”

Then suddenly Newt said, “There’s a big one!”

Casting our attention eastward we spotted a large black creature. “I think it’s a cow…” said Newt, “or a pig.”

How far a shot is that?”

“Six-hundred yards,” said Bwana.

I raised my rifle and the crosshairs actually blocked out the target. Calculating windage, fall, distance, instability, the hiccups, the mosquitoes and the bowl of chili Newt had eaten the night before, I figured my odds of hitting the beast was about 100 to one.

“Did we leave the bazooka at home?” I asked.

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