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My ole truck groans as it is twisted and contorted by Arizona’s so-called “mountain roads” which sometimes resemble boulder piles. My white-knuckled fists have a death-grip on the wheel as I roll past narrow sections with steep drop-offs that go down for thousands of feet. Any peace of mind I thought my Inreach Explorer (Sat Phone/PLB) would provide here in the furthest recesses of unit 18a evaporates when I realize I would probably be unable to get to it if I rolled my truck here. The image of a crushed sardine can flashes through my mind. It would be years before my truck and I were found, if ever. Zona’s backcountry has swallowed up many lives.
Today is especially tough hunting. A cold, mean wind is making it impossible to call and the prickly pigs are likely denned up. I have hit every honey hole I know on the ranches here more than once…no love. Not one sighting. In desperation I decide to go into the places I avoided before, mostly because the roads look more like vados and gulleys….impassable in places without 20 minutes of shoveling, which I did. Even with an 11” lift and 35” tires, my truck is struggling to clear some of these sketchy stretches. In the distance I see a huge buck bounding away…a definite wall hanger for somebody. It is the last day of my hunt and I become insane. Thankfully I’m an odd kinda crazy and manage to embrace humor despite a growing aggravation regarding my poor showing as a javelina bowhunter. Three years-three eaten tags. Three time loser.
In the final hours of my hunt I roll up on some locals seeking help. I figure that my ADC efforts on these private ranches might pay off. Who knows how many calves survived thanks to me air mailing lead poison to the coyotes here. What goes around-comes around right? I just need a little intel…someone has surely seen some javies. I park the truck in front of some ranch regulars. “Uh…scuze me ya’ll but…”
Broken and despondent I drive back to California. I don’t understand…I even wore Kuiu Attack pants! Javelina mock me, they talk about me behind my back, they are my nemesis.
“Just don’t move when ya see the red truck…that guy is as blind as we are.”
The prime rib dinner was pretty good though. Maybe next year…
Today is especially tough hunting. A cold, mean wind is making it impossible to call and the prickly pigs are likely denned up. I have hit every honey hole I know on the ranches here more than once…no love. Not one sighting. In desperation I decide to go into the places I avoided before, mostly because the roads look more like vados and gulleys….impassable in places without 20 minutes of shoveling, which I did. Even with an 11” lift and 35” tires, my truck is struggling to clear some of these sketchy stretches. In the distance I see a huge buck bounding away…a definite wall hanger for somebody. It is the last day of my hunt and I become insane. Thankfully I’m an odd kinda crazy and manage to embrace humor despite a growing aggravation regarding my poor showing as a javelina bowhunter. Three years-three eaten tags. Three time loser.
In the final hours of my hunt I roll up on some locals seeking help. I figure that my ADC efforts on these private ranches might pay off. Who knows how many calves survived thanks to me air mailing lead poison to the coyotes here. What goes around-comes around right? I just need a little intel…someone has surely seen some javies. I park the truck in front of some ranch regulars. “Uh…scuze me ya’ll but…”
Broken and despondent I drive back to California. I don’t understand…I even wore Kuiu Attack pants! Javelina mock me, they talk about me behind my back, they are my nemesis.
“Just don’t move when ya see the red truck…that guy is as blind as we are.”
The prime rib dinner was pretty good though. Maybe next year…
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