A weekend at Choppers

[BobcatJess]

Dang you Spec, you got my blood pumping. Can't wait to hear the rest. You always keep us with anticipation.

Great job so far.
Jess.

 

[Franklin3]

Am I the only one or is everyone waiting for Speck to post up?
New nickname huh?
Ass Stabber and Butt Shooter are already taken.
HMMMMMMMMMM I got nothin!
C'mon Speck Wazzzzuuuuuppppp!

 

[BobcatJess]

You're killing me Smalls!

 

[Speckmisser]

Sorry... had some responsibilities to tend to.

So, here it is. Day 3. Third time pays for all... that's what Bullroarer Took always said, anyway.

Saturday night, the wind came up strong. By the time we turned in, the trees were roaring and there was probably as much smoke coming back down the chimney as there was going up. It didn't look promising for Sunday's hunt. In my experience, prey animals tend to hunker down when the wind is kicking. On the other hand, a large frontal system was coming in, and I figured there'd be some earnest feeding going on as the critters fed up ahead of it.

So I was conflicted. We stayed up a little late, and sleeping in on Sunday sure sounded like a good plan. At the same time, visions of that Oreo pig gnawed at me. I could see that shoulder, where the black and white ran together. I could envision my arrow slipping right into the pocket, the yellow fletchings disappearing as it sank in. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna shoot him laying there on a comfy bed.

When 0430 came around, I knocked the alarm off the bedside table and closed my eyes. Fortunately, it went off again nine minutes later. Bastard. Who set that thing?

Well, now I was awake. I rolled out, took care of the morning routine, and got the coffee and oatmeal going. Orso woke up as I rattled around, and we shot the bull and planned the day. He was going to go down with Bubba and look for that hog. I told him I'd put on the radio at 0800, and if they needed help to give a hail. Then we talked about the wind, and other various crap, and all of a sudden I realized it was getting light outside! Already blue light, and I'm sitting on the couch!

I bailed out, grabbed my coat, and hit the road. I knew exactly where I wanted to be, but the way the wind was blowing, I didn't have high hopes.

The wind was kicking steady when I parked the truck, and my hat blew off twice while I worked my way down the trail. I knew the pigs would not be out in the open on a day like this, and decided to work some of the hollows between the finger ridges. There was one in particular, right in the corner of the property. But with the wind blowing this direction, I wanted to go all the way around the property, then come back at it from the opposite direction.

As I passed by, I did stop and glass the pasture. No pigs... just like I'd expected. However, I was surprised to put up a bunch of deer in the oak meadow where I'd missed that pig on Friday. If the pigs were moving, and I was sure they were, they'd be back in one of those hollows. The trick, of course, was finding the right one.

I started off on a well-used trail that runs out through the middle of the Round Springs tract. It dips down into the bottom of the canyon, and beelines down to a creek bottom, then to a gate at the opposite end of the property. In this deep hole, the wind was barely a factor. Dozens of band-tailed pigeons had decided this was a good place to roost, though, and every ten yards I had a minor heart attack as flock after flock busted out of the oaks at my approach.

I found fresh scat, and some good tracks, but they were going my way, and with the wind at my back I decided to just walk it out until I hit the gate, then follow the fenceline up and work back upwind along the top of the property. This would take me through some prime looking areas that I'd discovered on Saturday, and hopefully would put me on a hog. If not, it would end up placing me at the far corner where the pasture ended, and where all those hogs had disappeared on Saturday morning.

I took my time, but with the wind screaming at every opening, I moved pretty fast. I didn't have to worry much about noise. I kept my eyes open, and stopped to glass at every ravine and hollow. This day was turning out to be a world apart from the previous two. Where Friday and Saturday had been beautiful, sunny days, today had dawned grey and mean... and was getting worse by the moment.

I crossed the water hole and wallow that I'd been watching yesterday, and saw some fresh tracks going up the hill in the same direction I was headed. I started following the trail, and was rewarded with several piles of glistening dung, some very fresh rooting, and too many different sized tracks to count. This was a good herd, and I was pretty sure they weren't that far ahead.

I slowed my pace, and started glassing ahead every few steps. Every dark shape was carefully scrutinized. I couldn't begin to count the stumps that made my heart jump. Or maybe it was the two cups of coffee and a Red Bull I'd knocked back to get my eyes open this morning. All I know is, I was wired. I had no doubt pigs were close, and I was determined to end my streak and get some blood on an arrow.

Two hours later, that determination was starting to wane. I'd glassed ravines, humped up finger ridges and down into hollows...only to have to hump back up and out without so much as a hair. The fresh sign never ran out, but I began to suspect that it wasn't as fresh as I'd thought. With this wind, those pigs probably moved through during the night, and were long gone by now. I began to get less cautious, and moved faster while glassing less.

Finally, I was at the last finger ridge before the property ended. I hadn't seen anything moving except pigeons and jaybirds, and I pretty much decided that the wind had ruined the day. On the other side of this ridge, there was the hollow I'd been intending to hunt, and then the fence. I decided to hit the fence, then follow it back to the road and go home. I'd had a great hunt, a wonderful time in one of the most beautiful pieces of country you'll find in California... and that was enough. I'll kill a pig some other time.

As I topped the finger ridge, I realized that the drop from this point was pretty steep. I could go down the ridge, then drop onto the road. Or I could go up, where another fenceline marked the uppermost property boundary. I could follow that fence to the corner, then drop down along the neighbor's pasture. I'd walked that yesterday and it was an easy hike, so I decided to take that route even though it was a little longer. Besides, there was an area up there that had a lot of good sign, and was also sheltered from the wind. Never say, "Die," right?

I climbed until the ground started to level off. Oak trees covered the area, so the ground was like walking on potato chips. It had been so heavily rooted that it was tricky to walk without twisting an ankle. I slowed my pace again and started moving sidehill.

Suddenly, something moved from behind a rock only 30 yards ahead. I crouched down and froze. A black pig emerged from behind the rock. Beside it was another. As I scanned the area, I realized that there were at least a dozen hogs in here, including a very nice boar rooting right up beside the fenceline. Again I had the wind blowing directly into my face. I had the added advantage in that it was so loud that the pigs couldn't hear me coming. I couldn't even hear them, even though they were rooting like crazy, and a bunch of footballs were chasing each other around.

I eased up, closing the distance. Stopping behind a tree, I ranged the boar. 36 yards, but he was coming my way. The pig I'd originally seen looked to be about 150lbs or so...a good meat pig. There were several more that size, in addition to the footballs. Then I spotted the momma sow, a huge black thing that would have gone over 300 pounds easy. The babies were feeding right toward me, and momma was coming behind them. The smaller black hogs were also angling to me. The boar was coming, but the others would be right on top of me before he ever got there. I made up my mind to take one of the 150-pounders if a good shot came up... and if the boar didn't get within 20 yards.

I crouched down between a boulder and an oak tree, and got ready to shoot. The pigs were still oblivious. I caught motion off my left shoulder, in a pile of boulders. Several small, red pigs appeared, picking through the leaves and debris and coming right at me. A fat sow came up, followed by several little black and white pigs. Was the Oreo pig going to show up too? These were obviously his offspring.

I was literally about to be overrun by pigs. I would have to do something soon, as the little red pigs were now almost five yards away. I waited until they seemed to be occupied with something on the ground, picked my spot behind that 150 pounder's shoulder, and drew it back and let fly.

When I practice, I try to imagine what it will be like when I sink an arrow into an animal. With the exception of a very unlucky ground squirrel, though, I have never shot anything with my bow. I wasn't sure what to expect. I've seen plenty of video, but it's almost always compound bows slinging arrows at 300fps. Would my arrow penetrate? Would it pass through, or just go in a little bit? And, with past experience still haunting me, would it just fly harmlessly into the ground as the hog runs off?

So, imagine my surprise when the arrow flew right into that pig. Imagine also my dismay when I saw the fletchings disappear... not right behind the shoulder, but way back at the back of the rib cage. I'd anticipated a "thunk", but what I got instead was a ripping, "zip" as the arrow passed almost completely through! The whole herd took off, startled, and I watched my pig run off a few feet before the arrow caught on a branch and popped out, flipping through the air.

The pigs only ran a few yards at first, unsure of what had just happened. I watched my hog sort of drop away from the group and seem to stagger for a moment. Then the herd trotted up the trail, crossed under the fence, and continued up the mountain. My hog followed suit, without any noticeable ill effects. My stomach dropped.

As I watched them disappear, another group of hogs came up the hill and appeared from behind the rocks! A boar, probably about the same size as the hog I'd just shot, stopped at less than 20 yards and stood broadside. I drew and nocked an arrow, but chose not to shoot. That first shot was going to be a hell of a tracking job. It would be totally wrong to stick another one before recovering the first.

I eased off on the bowstring and watched as they rooted around for a few minutes. Another hog came from behind the rocks and walked to a few yards from me, before spotting me. He blew and ran toward the fence. The others followed for a short way, then slowed to a walk. At the fence, they all stopped and rolled in a mudhole before shaking themselves and walking away down the trail.

After they were gone, and I made sure no more hogs were coming, I went to retrieve my arrow. My worst fears were confirmed by the stomach matter mingled into the fletchings. The arrow was covered in blood, but there was no blood visible on the ground. I shook my head and wanted to just sit down and cry. After all the frustration up to this point, I couldn't believe I'd finally hit a hog... and gutshot it.

I stuck the bloody arrow in the ground to mark the impact spot, then walked up the hill to where they'd crossed under the fence. If there was blood, there would be some here. Sure enough, a few spots darkened the leaves under the barbed wire. A few more spots dotted the mud in the road where they'd crossed. The blood was fairly regular, but the drops were very small... most were no bigger than the head of a nail. I followed the trail another 10 yards or so, to where the pigs had gone into an oak thicket, hoping the trail would pick up. It didn't. At that point, I stuck an arrow in the last blood spots, and walked back to the truck.

I checked my watch. 0900. I decided I'd go back and see how Bubba and Mike were doing with the recovery of Bubba's hog. Then I'd hang out a few hours, and come back to follow the blood trail. The wind was driving heavy clouds, and with rain coming I didn't want to wait too long to hit the trail. At the same time, it was a textbook gutshot, and I didn't want to follow too soon. I decided the storm wouldn't hit before noon, so I'd go back and start trailing then.

As you already know, Bubba found his pig, and when I got back, he and Mike were down at the skinning shed taking care of it. I drove down and let them know what happened. Chopper had to go to Salinas for a meeting, so he wouldn't be available to help out with the dogs. That meant we'd have to do it the hard way.

It was an excruciating three hours, but noon finally arrived. Bubba had obligations, so Mike and I (thanks again, Mike!) set out. Just as we left the trucks, the first sprinkle of rain hit us. If my heart wasn't already sunk, it sank then. But the sprinkles were still very light and wind-driven. I figured we had a couple of hours before it got too bad. We grabbed rain gear, flashlights, and we each carried a pistol. There's been some rumors of hungry kitties in the hills there. Also, since we didn't have a dog, I wanted to be prepared if we jumped my hog and had to get it down. I don't throw a knife very well.

We located my arrow and started trailing. The trail led into a deep hollow, sheltered from the wind and most of the rain. This was a good thing. The bad thing was, the blood drops never got any bigger. In many spots we'd go ten feet before finding a drop the size of a pinhead. The hog was obviously staying with the herd, and the ground was literally trampled, making the trail even harder to follow. There were fresh tracks everywhere, going in every direction. Without the blood, we'd have no way of knowing which hog was wounded.

At about 1400, we started to lose the trail. In two hours we'd barely covered a quarter-mile. The blood turned to micro-dots, and then there was nothing. The ground had been heavily rooted up, and the loose dirt would have absorbed blood without a trace. I also figured the fat must be closing over the wound, so all of the blood would be internal. Mike and I prayed that we'd find a spot where the herd stopped, where maybe my hog would lay down or do something to open the wound.

We started casting for the sign, circling wider and wider. At the point that we lost the blood, the trail divided up into three directions. One track led up over the ridge, right onto the windward side of the mountain. I climbed up, and the wind practically blew me back down. I was pretty sure they wouldn't have run here. We started scouting the other tracks, and every possible route. Nothing.

I went back to the top of the mountain, and followed it around for a few hundred yards, hoping to find a crossing trail... but found nothing. Mike cast around where we'd lost the blood. At this point, the rain started in earnest. It was over. I had to admit it. Finding that animal bedded without having a trail to follow was less than a one-in-a-million shot. With the rain coming down at the rate it was now, the tiny bit of blood we were finding would be washed out in minutes.

As a last ditch, I told Mike I wanted to go over to the next draw and work my way down. This is the draw that led to the water hole I'd been sitting over. Maybe, being gutshot, my hog would make her way down there to bed. Mike would work his way down another draw, and we'd regroup a the fenceline.

I sidehilled over to the draw, checking out every patch of manzanita or oak in hopes that I'd see my hog laying dead under the branches. As I worked my way down, my eyes went to every dark shape, even though I knew that odds were strong the pig would not be laying out in the open. It went into a bedding area, one of those nearly impenetrable mazes of chemise and oak, and unless I hit the lottery, I'd never find it.

Finally, I hit the fenceline above the water hole. This is where I'd seen all the hogs the day before, and I scoured the ground for fresh tracks or blood. There were definitely fresh tracks, but I didn't find any sign of blood. The rain had already started pounding down the tracks, and had certainly washed away the blood.

I crawled under the fence and started down to where the water hole should be. There were definitely fresh tracks here! My hopes rose, and rose again when I spotted several hogs moving through the scrub ahead of me. It was a huge group, and I'm fairly certain this is the same bunch that had been together when I shot earlier. At about 20 yards, a swirling gust of wind carried my scent or something, and the group bolted. Just as they disappeared, a sole hog popped out of the brush. It seemed to stagger for a moment, and my heart rose up... was this my pig?

But it was wishful thinking. At 20 yards, it was easy to see that there were no wounds on this animal. I wished I had carried my bow. I thought about the .44 on my hip. It would be an easy shot. But Chopper brought us out to bowhunt... not to pistol hunt.

So... guys, sorry for the long tale to end so sad. I did not find my pig. I did, finally, blood an arrow. I'm hoping that was enough to break my archery jinx. After three years, and lord knows how many opportunities, I still have not harvested a big game animal with archery tackle. Hopefully, I'll get another opportunity to get out to Chopper's and try, once again, for redemption.

So, I guess my new nickname is Gut-Shooter? I believe Crippler is already taken.

 

[Rancho Loco]

Duuuude......Bad luck.

Sounds like a fun trip all the same. Good job to Bubba also.



Lots of pigs there - I might need to get on this archery thing, with wheels of course.

 

[BobcatJess]

Sorry to hear about the luck Spec. Sounds like a great time and it is always great to read your writings.

Jess.

 

[BDB]

Well, that is a hell of a 3 day hunt Phil. Sorry about the hog, and I know exactly how you feel !!! It sucks. That shot and all the "what if's" will probably be running through your head for quite some time. I know that area pretty well, so I could almost see the hunt lpay out in my head, great job writing up the story, as usual. Next time !!!

 

[Franklin3]

I feel your pain Speck.
Sounds like once again you guys all had a great time on the hill.
Thanks again for sharing the tales.

 

[ironworker]

Nice Hog!, I might take up archery just for a chance to hunt at Choppers.

 

[Gyopo]

imagine my surprise when the arrow flew right into that pig.<div class='quotetop'>QUOTE </div>

[/b]

I was hooting and hollerin' when I read that, sir!!!
What a rush!!!

That was some great reading.

I am sorry to hear about the non recovery.
There is some gnarly and steep terrain up there.

You definitely have a knack for knowing the "piggy" areas of that property.

 

[PIGIG]

So, I guess my new nickname is Gut-Shooter? I believe Crippler is already taken.

[/quote]

Well speck or should i say WHEEL speck, that name given to me was not out of kindness it = lost pigs

if you want the name you can have it, every time execpt for the last trip i hear it, and it reminds me of each pig lost. so while i am hunting all of them play over and over in my head. just like you are doing right now!

great effort man trust me you will loose more

 

[crodog]

Spec.,

That was a great read, I felt as if I was right there with you......

That sucks you couldn't find it...Better luck next time.

Cro.

 

[Lurediver]

Well it sounds like the original members of Team Judo did some hunting

and came through with at least 1 recovered pig! Nice huntin boys, Spec can you burn me a copy of this hunt?

 

[SacFireJT]

Great job, Bubba!

 

[FredtheGad]

Awsome trip Speck, you had me with you the whole way. everything you talked about just keeps drawing a person back to the passion of a hunt

Fred

 

[MikenSoCo]

Sorry Phil, we've all been there. Since "Coyote Feeder" is already taken, how 'bout " Spleen Splitter"?

 

[larrysogla]

Wow!!!!! You need to be a book author or something, Mr. SpeckM. You'll make gazillions and then you'll buy your very own hunting property with brooks, hogs, deer, 'yotes and oaks. Great story telling in living color with your supreme choice of words. Always a fan of Mr. Specks' hunting adventures. Thanks for the thrill a minute live adventure in print. God Bless.

 

[BDB]

Hey Mike, who is "Coyote feeder"? I just noticed, i still have "Bust a gut" in my member status right below my avatar. That was from the hernia but still fitting after the last hunt at your place

 

[Speckmisser]

Thanks for the kind words, guys. I expect I'll lose a couple more before my hunting career is over, but it sure is hard every time. What's worse was knowing right after the shot that the odds were going to be against me ever recovering that pig.

And yes, Pigig... I caught the "Wheel" reference. It's come up before, and will come up again.

I got a couple pix uploaded from the hunt. Didn't take nearly as any as I'd planned to. Spent too much time looking at hogs, and not enough time taking their pictures.

This was the Oreo Pig at about 246 yards.

 

[Speckmisser]

These deer were part of a small herd of four or five that I saw every day in Round Springs. Also saw a big-bodied deer that I'm fairly certain was a good buck. They've dropped horns by now. I found one shed, a fat-based forked horn.

Also, notice the foreground. The deer didn't do that Roto-Tilling. The entire bottom of the canyon looked like this!