Got to the Morita Camp Trailhead at 8:00 AM in foggy, drizzly conditions. Loaded up my pack, grabbed my rifle, and started along the 2 1/2 mile "trail." It had been raining heavily for about 3 months so everything was soggy and underwater. Lots of blowdowns and overgrown brush. I was completely soaked from head to foot. Right before the river I saw a small hog feeding on ferns but didn't shoot for fear of scaring away any wild cattle. 3 1/2 hours after leaving the trailhead I dragged my whupped butt down onto the banks of the Wailuku River. I set up camp beneath the trees and took a 2-hour nap.
I loaded up the basics into my pack and hiked up the river. Pig sign everywhere. I immediately bumped into a large boar that was rooting beneath a clump of gorse [horrible, invasive plant from England]. He turned to look at me, scampered 50 feet, and began feeding again. I approached him and he took off. 1/2 an hour later I left the river and went up into the forest. Cattle sign everywhere. Saw two more pigs within easy rifle range but passed. At 4:00, my GPS would no longer work because of the tree canopy [ordered a new one that will work]. Navigated back to the river via compass and hiked down to camp. Pooped out. Ate a couple of granola-type bars for dinner and sat on the river bank until it was too dark to see. More pigs downstream but I was holding out for a nice bull. Full moon that night. Went to bed with drizzly rain and heard animals crossing the river all night. Too lazy and warm and dry in my sleeping bag to get up and check what they were.
Up early the next AM. My pants, shirt, socks, and boots were soaking wet and really cold. Put them on, grimacing the whole while, packed up some essentials, shouldered the .300 Win Mag, and headed back upriver. My body warmed the clothing and soon everything was fine. Saw another medium-sized hog down on the river but passed on it. Hiked up into the trees for another hour and bumped into a huge sow and two 50-pounder little ones. They were on the cattle trail that I was following and I claimed the right of way. I got within 30 feet of the sow and clapped my hands. She looked up and went back to feeding. I picked up a soggy piece of wood and threw it at her. She moved a couple feet and kept feeding. Picked up a baseball bat sized piece of wood and tossed it at her. It actually hit her but all she did was look up and go back to feeding. This pig had never seen a human. I clapped my hands louder this time and when I did, a big white face appeared 50 yards beyond the sow. No doubt what that was. I brought the rifle up and when I did the bull turned sideways. I centered the crosshair low behind the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. As I was squeezing, the bull turned toward me, giving me a headfirst quartering shot. At the explosion, the sow bolted a dozen yards and stopped. The bull made a funny hop movement, wheeled away and disappeared. I could hear the sound of hooves, many of them, disappearing into the forest. I waited a couple of minutes and the sow and her little ones just kept feeding on the ferns.
I gave the sow a wide berth and followed up the bull. No blood at all. I walked 50 yards beyond where the bull was when I shot and I heard a low grunting sound off to my left. I looked up and the bull was 40 yards away. All I could see was its head. It huffed a couple more times, put its head way up and then way down and headed my way. Shi*! This was not the place or the time to get clobbered by a bull. It only took a few steps by the time I threw up my rifle, centered the crosshairs between its eyes, and pulled [pulled, not squeezed] the trigger. It collapsed on the spot and never whiggled. I waited a couple minutes and went up to it. Medium-sized, maybe 700 pounds. There was a quarter-sized spot of blood right behind its left shoulder, my first shot. That should have put it down, I would think. The second shot was luck. Between the eyes but a bit to the left and a couple inches low.
I skinned the hide from the backbone down to the lower ribs and took the backstraps, sirloin, and cuts from the ham. Maybe 35 or 40 pounds in all. I found my first bullet right beneath the hide on the right ham. The first shot had entered an inch behind the left shoulder and traveled all the way to the back of the right ham, a distance of 48 inches. The bullet was a Failsafe and it held together well but didn't mushroom. I'm surprised the bull was still standing after that shot, but he was and it apparently pissed him off.
Back to camp, pack up the gear, load 65 pounds onto my back, come to the conclusion that I'll never make it home through the mud and jungle with all this weight, but 3 1/2 hours later [and two more pigs off to the side of the trail], there is the truck.
Quite a deal. I'll wait for the dry season before going back.
This first photo is of my camp beneath the trees next to the river.
I loaded up the basics into my pack and hiked up the river. Pig sign everywhere. I immediately bumped into a large boar that was rooting beneath a clump of gorse [horrible, invasive plant from England]. He turned to look at me, scampered 50 feet, and began feeding again. I approached him and he took off. 1/2 an hour later I left the river and went up into the forest. Cattle sign everywhere. Saw two more pigs within easy rifle range but passed. At 4:00, my GPS would no longer work because of the tree canopy [ordered a new one that will work]. Navigated back to the river via compass and hiked down to camp. Pooped out. Ate a couple of granola-type bars for dinner and sat on the river bank until it was too dark to see. More pigs downstream but I was holding out for a nice bull. Full moon that night. Went to bed with drizzly rain and heard animals crossing the river all night. Too lazy and warm and dry in my sleeping bag to get up and check what they were.
Up early the next AM. My pants, shirt, socks, and boots were soaking wet and really cold. Put them on, grimacing the whole while, packed up some essentials, shouldered the .300 Win Mag, and headed back upriver. My body warmed the clothing and soon everything was fine. Saw another medium-sized hog down on the river but passed on it. Hiked up into the trees for another hour and bumped into a huge sow and two 50-pounder little ones. They were on the cattle trail that I was following and I claimed the right of way. I got within 30 feet of the sow and clapped my hands. She looked up and went back to feeding. I picked up a soggy piece of wood and threw it at her. She moved a couple feet and kept feeding. Picked up a baseball bat sized piece of wood and tossed it at her. It actually hit her but all she did was look up and go back to feeding. This pig had never seen a human. I clapped my hands louder this time and when I did, a big white face appeared 50 yards beyond the sow. No doubt what that was. I brought the rifle up and when I did the bull turned sideways. I centered the crosshair low behind the shoulder and squeezed the trigger. As I was squeezing, the bull turned toward me, giving me a headfirst quartering shot. At the explosion, the sow bolted a dozen yards and stopped. The bull made a funny hop movement, wheeled away and disappeared. I could hear the sound of hooves, many of them, disappearing into the forest. I waited a couple of minutes and the sow and her little ones just kept feeding on the ferns.
I gave the sow a wide berth and followed up the bull. No blood at all. I walked 50 yards beyond where the bull was when I shot and I heard a low grunting sound off to my left. I looked up and the bull was 40 yards away. All I could see was its head. It huffed a couple more times, put its head way up and then way down and headed my way. Shi*! This was not the place or the time to get clobbered by a bull. It only took a few steps by the time I threw up my rifle, centered the crosshairs between its eyes, and pulled [pulled, not squeezed] the trigger. It collapsed on the spot and never whiggled. I waited a couple minutes and went up to it. Medium-sized, maybe 700 pounds. There was a quarter-sized spot of blood right behind its left shoulder, my first shot. That should have put it down, I would think. The second shot was luck. Between the eyes but a bit to the left and a couple inches low.
I skinned the hide from the backbone down to the lower ribs and took the backstraps, sirloin, and cuts from the ham. Maybe 35 or 40 pounds in all. I found my first bullet right beneath the hide on the right ham. The first shot had entered an inch behind the left shoulder and traveled all the way to the back of the right ham, a distance of 48 inches. The bullet was a Failsafe and it held together well but didn't mushroom. I'm surprised the bull was still standing after that shot, but he was and it apparently pissed him off.
Back to camp, pack up the gear, load 65 pounds onto my back, come to the conclusion that I'll never make it home through the mud and jungle with all this weight, but 3 1/2 hours later [and two more pigs off to the side of the trail], there is the truck.
Quite a deal. I'll wait for the dry season before going back.
This first photo is of my camp beneath the trees next to the river.
I am sure you will find a few people willing to carry meat in exchange for a great adventure 
