Tejon POR Updates

[BigDog]

Guess I goofed and did not look for a new post started. I posted over in the events thread. So, I will copy it here.

Back to civilization. Bummer. What a great time I had. It was great to put faces to names. Even though I can't remember half of your real names now. Man, we hunted those pigs. Several of us hunted right up to the end of shoot time on Sunday. And wouldn't you know it, that is when I finally pulled a trigger. And missed!

I give a bit of a report here with some pics. On Friday, I was giddy with pigs. I got into a little valley along Speckmisser ridge and I had pigs all around me. But, most of them were 80 pounders. I did not want to shoot such a small pig on the first night. So, I chased them around and got some picture. I did see two sows that were nice but they had piglets with them. And I did see one pig that I was going to shoot if I get get a good bead on him but never could. He was about 120 lbs.

Saturday, I found one sow with piglets.

Sunday, I hunted almost all of the day. Phillip, Mike and I made one last try in the evening. Mike got one, I missed one.

There were lots of good folks, good food, good drinks. Lots of laughter and lots of learning. Jesse was kind enough to provide give-aways and a raffle. Thanks Jesse.

There was a mishap with a car out of gear. There was a mishap with some mud. There were several missed shots. Pigs are out there dancing in the fields, glad we are gone and they survived.

We came in just under 50%. That bugger I missed would have put us over I think. Oh well.

Here are some pics.

 

[BigDog]

And a couple more.

 

[spectr17]

These 2 goofballs I first heard on the radio right after dark Sunday night whilke driving out Bear Trap Canyon to camp. George was huffing and puffing, asking for a pickup for him and his new friend, a hog he shot half way down Geghis Ridge on the Bear Trap Canyon side Sunday night.

If you know where the swamp is in the dark turns along BEar Trap that's where these two wild eyed hunters popped out. I could tell they were jazzed about getting a pig.

It was a full moon Saturday night and the next morning sunrise was wild. From Tunis ridge about half way down from the turnoff from Geghis Ridge road. Kinda spooky.

Wolfman movies scared the beejesus out of me as a kid.

Man I love silhouette pics and I blew this one.

My good long range camera is broke so I had to use the cheaper digital. The pic doesn't shop the spectacular lighting behind the deer as we drove up Ghegis Ridge from camp Sunday morning. It was a magical moment.

Tunis Ridge in the background looking at it from Squirrel Ridge. Dave (Bighorn67) shot his pig a few years back as we eased down this finger.

Joe (Mudman) missed a pig here Saturday morning, brown 125 pound, by itself. 2 hogs were taken down in the hole below this Friday night and a pack of 20 hogs busted out of there at the same time. 2 different big black boars we also bumped out of there when the 2 guys went in to get their hogs the next morning after hanging them and coming back. We hiked all over in there looking for those 2 big black hogs but no joy. Watching the wind swirl the long grass here like mini tornados reminded me how hard it is sometimes to do the Mohican Sneak on an animal. You can bring wind check powder bottles and really see it well too.

These 2 guys again. I'll you what, they had more spring in their step Sunday night at 10 pm as we loaded George's pig after dragging it down Geghis and across a nasty ravine than when I started fresh Friday. Killing the pig is the easy part, gettin' it to a road or in winch/rope range is what tries your forbearance.

Lots of gut checks on those hills and a lot of cursing.

The one thing I hear whispered many times in Tejon hog hunting stories is, "I didn't know if I was going to make it out of there".

 

[joe90605]

Sunrise on Squirrel Canyon Ridge

 

[Batch61]

Great pics congrats to all. Sounds like a perfect hunt.

 

[MJB]

When do we go back?

Had a lot of fun, hope that everyone learned something new because I sure did! Congrates to all the first timers!

My 120 lbs boar has some great tasting chops

hope it doesn't go too quick.

 

[ironworker]

Speck, I sent you an email.

What a great group of guys from JHO. We are already planning next years hunt!

Rich

 

[Speckmisser]

Gotcha Rich. And congrats to your brother, Scott, for that HUGE pig.

Results of the pool, for those that didn't guess it... Scott took the big pig pool with no close competition.

No hogs were taken by handgun, so I'll just keep the money from that one. OK?









No, seriously, those of you who put in $20 for the handgun pool will receive a check ASAP.

 

[beastslayer]

Speck - Not exactly "sorrowful" despite the bust up face, 2nd day being lost and "rescued" by Cody (Tejon guide), lost S&W 45ACP, lost presciption eyeglasses and a very angry wife. It was all worth it and I am still giddy!

The picture by Powerman was a good conversation piece both in the office and with the neighbours. As they beg for details, I would ask them back: "Do you want the Hollywood version or the matter-of-fact?"

I still owe this site the full (real truth this time) story of my hunt. This is just a small payback to all the help, tips and leads I unselflessly got from JHOers: Speck, Scott, MJB and all others whose name I can't now recall.

Thanks again to the wonderful party (Fred - give me all the names please) who escorted me back to camp dazed from the accident and then helped me dragged and loaded the 180 pound pig into the truck the following morning. If you all happen to be in my part of town, I owe you prime rib dinner at Lawry's.

Spectr - You have talent in photography. Awesome pictures. Keep it coming.

Jaegermeister - Spectr mentioned Sunday harvest? Or, was it Saturday? I met you up with Cody escorting me back to camp and saw you on the right track towards some possible hogs. The tall grasses besides the stream where you were heading some 3 miles from the camp had some very promising activities. Though I've not actually seen the pigs, the movements behind the grasses somehow indicate their presence and a good heavy and slow bullet should be no issue against those still tender stalks.

 

[oneclearshot]

Beastslayer, send me an email when you get this I need to talk with you! Take care and hope you mend quick! Gettin' along with just one good eye is a real pain in the keester! Trust me....I know! 14 yrs of Hockey! :-( Followed by 2 yrs of Rodeo!

 

[Speckmisser]

Tom, UpperEA took a bunch of photos this weekend and uploaded them to my laptop. Since he won't be back to his own computer for a few days, he asked if I could post up for him. I won't post them all, and apologies to Tom if I didn't pick the ones he liked best... but here are a few.

Oh, and in the group shot... those red cups were full of milk.

No, honest.

 

[Speckmisser]

Some more of Tom's stuff. Here's where the pigs live. If you've never been to Tejon, you really can't appreciate the terrain until you actually get there.

 

[Speckmisser]

There are other critters there besides hogs, too.

This first one is a 5x5 elk with a smaller one that he thinks was a spike. Kinda blurry and far off, but cool nonetheless.

 

[Speckmisser]

And now, here's my story (indulging my own ego). Please remember that in many cases, if you don't hold your tongue just right things might just not seem the way they really are.

I've broken it into pieces, because as you probably know... I can get kinda wordy.

Part I
_____________________________________________________

Well, here’s the “Rest of the Story.”

I had every intention to set out for Tejon Ranch on Thursday night, planning to leave work around 3:00pm, drive as far south as Buttonwillow, arriving around 7 or 8, and have a great night’s sleep in a hotel, then wake for one last hot shower and indoor plumbing before spending a long weekend in the woods. After four consecutive successful years of hunting Tejon, and the reports of an abundance of hogs this year, I was confident and excited.

Best laid plans, right?

The project I’m working on right now is under some very tight deadlines, and one of them closed at end of day on Thursday. As usual, the people you depend on don’t always come through. In some corporate environments, there is a very elastic concept of time… a concept that becomes more and more fluid as you advance higher up the ladder. Thus, since I was waiting for information from upper-level executives, my timeline was at their mercy. Bottom line, instead of rolling out at 3:00 as intended, I left the office at 6:30. I had some unexpected additional delays at home as I prepared to leave, and finally arrived at my motel at around 12:30am, Friday morning.

My hopes of a quiet night’s sleep were further shattered as the young couple just moving into the room next door decided to get particularly amorous. The rhythmic thudding of the bed against the wall, and the occasional blissful shouts made for an uneasy rest. I finally turned up the TV, cranked the air conditioner, and sometime around 0300 I made it to sleepy land.

Ya’ll probably didn’t want to hear about this. “Get on with the hunting,” you’re probably saying.

But it is relevant to set the tone of the weekend. Things just don’t go as expected.

So anyway, it’s Friday morning, 0600, and I have to top off the fuel and head to the Flying J for breakfast. I rub blurry eyes, grab a couple of coffee, and hit the road. Thank goodness this part of the plan came together wonderfully. At least 22 JHOers showed up for the buffet, and the fellowship and excitement had spirits high.

Check-in at the ranch goes equally well, except a certain somebody (whassup, Jefe?) was running late. Bottom line, we’re all in camp by 2:00pm and several guys are already driving the ridges in search of a hunting spot.

About 3:30 or so, I decide it’s time to head out to my regular spot. I’ve got Dave (BigDog) and Thomas (Henriksson) following, and drop them on Speckmisser Ridge with some basic suggestions about where to watch, then drive around the bend to park the truck and hit the ridge.

Just before I get to my turnout, I see Steve (BDB) cruising along with his head out the window, rubbernecking the canyons. I stop and ask if he’d like to join me up on the ridge, since there’s room for two people to work the area. He accepts my extraordinarily generous offer, and I laugh inwardly, knowing that now I’d have him handy to help me drag my big pig out of the hell hole. He doesn’t realize the trap he’s just stepped into. But remember what I said about best laid plans?

We park the trucks and start the walk down the ridge. We hit the high spot and begin to glass as we walk. Less than ten minutes into the walk, I spot something across the canyon. At almost the same instant, Steve hisses, “PIGS!”

I hit the pig with my rangefinder, and put it at about 350 yards out. There’s a pretty easy slope and a clear run across the canyon, and I tell Steve he ought to move on it. I don’t think he was waiting for my suggestion, though, and he bolted down the hillside. I watched through the binos as he closed the range, laughing inwardly again. Little did he know that the hog would move on way before he got there, and he’d never catch up with it. Not only that, but as soon as he spooked it, the hog would run right to me and I’d have an easy shot as it crossed the saddle about 200 yards further up the ridge. This was working out well. I’m glad I asked him to join me.

But the closer he got, I noticed that the hog was not running away. I grew concerned as I watched Steve close to 150 yards, then 100, then about 80. Dang! My heartbeat sped up as I suddenly saw him take a sitting position and raise the rifle. After several seconds, I saw the muzzle rise, then heard the crack of the rifle.

After confirming that he’d killed the hog, and quietly cursing him to an eternity of burning hell, I decided to go help him drag the thing down the hill. That’s right… DOWN THE HILL. In fact, the drag was down a soft slope that channeled right onto the road. 150 to 200 yards, tops, without so much as a deep ditch or ravine to make us break the slightest sweat. Lucky bastard.

We pulled the pig onto the road, and he grinned smugly as he told me he could take it from there… and that I should go ahead and continue my hunt. Dog. See if I invite him to hunt with me again!

Since it was only about 4:30, with almost four hours of shooting time left, I decided I may as well go ahead and get back up on the ridge. Back up I climbed, and moved out slowly toward my planned vantage point, stopping occasionally to glass and curse Steve. Now who would help me drag my hog through the deepest hellhole? Dave and Thomas were way across the canyon. I should have brought one of them over with me.

The evening progressed toward the witching hour, and right on cue I started seeing pigs coming out of the bedding areas. Several smaller hogs were feeding through the oaks at the bottom of a steep decline, but I decided not to put the stalk on them. It was still too early in the hunt to drop down a half-mile of vertical country, then climb back up another half-mile to shoot an 80 lb pig.

I moved over to glass the other canyon, and saw another group of hogs. They were moving back toward the head of the draw, in the direction of my truck. But they were also just above one of the nastiest hellholes on the ranch. Still, I picked up and jogged back up the ridge to get above them for a possible shot.

Some freakish geologic phenomenon had caused the end of the ridge to drop while I was out there, and I found myself working steadily uphill. I’m sure I went uphill to get here. It can’t be uphill both ways, can it? Well, that’s part of the magic of Tejon, I guess.

Anyway, I finally got into position, sweating and huffing. The hogs were still there, feeding under some scrub oak and chaparral. I ranged them at a little over 200 yards, and settled down into a sitting position. Using my pack frame for a rest, I put the crosshairs on the biggest of the three… maybe 150 lbs or so. I was waiting for him to step out from under the tree when I caught another movement at the edge of the brush. A black cow stepped out of the bushes just below the hog I was about to shoot. I quickly re-focused but then the realization slammed me… that wasn’t a cow!

I swung the rifle over and lowered the crosshairs on a huge hog as it ambled up the hill. It was so fat, it seemed to waddle, and it easily eclipsed the big boar I’d killed last year. I had time, so I lowered the rifle and put the rangefinder on it. 225 yards was a long shot, but certainly realistic with the 30-06 and these hot, 180gr handloads. But there was that hellhole to consider. I didn’t want it to go in there.

Then I had an idea. I centered the crosshairs behind the hog and pulled the trigger. I figured I could hit behind it, and it would run uphill. Once it got to the top of my ridge, I’d kill it on the flats were I could just walk a game cart up to it and haul it back to the truck. Nothing to it, right?

Well, at the first shot, it appeared that my plan was working. The pig charged straight uphill, heading right for the saddle I hoped it would cross. But then the other three pigs broke cover and charged down toward the hell hole. My pig turned to follow them, so I sent another round across his bow to try to turn him. No luck! Two more shots emptied my magazine, but the pig wouldn’t turn and in seconds disappeared into the very hellhole I’d hoped to avoid. It was a good plan, though.

OK. Not really. The fact is, I made a bad call on the first shot. Instead of waiting for a high-percentage opportunity, I tried to catch the pig between the shoulders, head on and below me at 225 yards. I thought the shot was good, but the hog took off. I fired a second round, but it was a wild shot and went high, sending a huge cloud of dust which served to turn the pig around and send it down into a ravine. A moment later, it came back out of the ravine, now at 300 yards plus and running hard. However, because I thought the first shot had connected, I tried to anchor the pig and sent two more rounds downrange… one hit low and to the right, and the other appeared to go high. In seconds, the pig was in the hellhole.

I slid and stumbled down to the finger ridge where the hog had been and looked for sign. I couldn’t locate any blood or hair, but I did see a small crater in the dirt that I’m fairly certain came from the second shot. I could also clearly see the pig’s path through the rich green grass. I trailed it across the ravine and back up the next finger ridge, and picked up the trail again where it dropped into the hellhole. At this point, the trail led through tunnels of scrub oak and deep grass. Still, there was no sign of blood, either on the grass below or on the branches above.

Finally, the tracks entered a chaos of interconnected trails and beds. Fresh tracks were everywhere and my quarry’s sign mingled with all of the others. I tried to follow the freshest of the bunch, but I eventually had to admit defeat. I cast around for a while, hoping to find the hog laying dead in one of the beds, but it was a lost cause. If I’d hit it, especially if I’d hit it well, there should have been some blood somewhere.

The climb out of the hellhole was epic. A good part of it consisted of crawling, using my hands, knees, and toes to move up and out toward the top of the ridge. If I’d killed the pig, I would have had to drag it down the ravine, deeper into the hole until the draw joined the main canyon where I knew there was a creek bed that ran out to the paved road far below. It would have been one hell of a drag, but there’s no way I could have brought that huge animal up this hill. With that thought in mind, I was slightly relieved to have missed… but no hunter likes to miss, much less when there’s any question of a possibly wounded animal. No matter that I couldn’t find any blood spoor or other sign of a hit, I was still uneasy leaving the area.

So Friday’s hunt ends with the long ride back to camp, where tequila impatiently awaited my arrival. On our reunion, I made up for lost time and the majority of the evening blurred into a haze of events. I do, however, recall seeing that huge calico hog come in, and watched with awe as the 300 lb scale almost bottomed out.

I also remember my shock as Mon (Beastslayer) stepped out of the shadows and I saw a face that looked like something Mike Tyson probably dreams about. With an eye swollen nearly shut, bloody scrapes and contusions from forehead to chin, and serious road rash on his arms, this guy should’ve been laid up on a gurney somewhere. He saw my stare and grinned through swollen lips… “You ought to see the other guy.”

Anyway, you’ve all read both versions of his story. To be serious for a second, it’s a good reminder to all of us that weird stuff can happen when you’re hunting alone. I’m as solitary as anyone, but I have to confess that it is a good idea to hunt with a partner if you can.

Congrats to Scott Jagerman (Ironworker’s brother) on that big sucker! Congrats went out as well to Andrew (Powerman) and Scott (Scottosan) for their Friday night hogs. Along with that good-for-nothing, Steve’s lucky kill, that made four hogs on the first night. Not bad, but not quite the harvest I’d anticipated.

Walking back from the meat pole, I stumbled into Thomas and Dave about to serve dinner (sometime after 1230), and found myself invited in. I realized I hadn’t actually eaten anything more substantial than a granola bar since the Flying J, and Dave’s venison steaks were more temptation than I could bear. As we sat around the table in Thomas’s camper, my tequila cup kept mysteriously refilling.

Somewhere around 0230, I realized I should sleep… SATURDAY’S HUNT COMING IN PART II.

 

[BDB]

Nice write up as usual Phil. I can't wait until the next part, I may even learn what happened Saturday night after the tequila kicked in (and knocked me out)

 

[beastslayer]

oneclearshot - Hockey and rodeo? Do you still have front tooth left or a bone that not has been broken yet? I'll shoot you an e-mail after this.

Speck - nice story. damn, why do you have to write it by chapter? you're a ------ sadistic.

 

[ozstriker22]

The POR was GREAT!

Speck, thank you for arranging everything, and being patient with everybody. It was really great to be out there. I learned a lot... for instance: Tenderloins are DELICIOUS!

Jesse

 

[Lurediver]

How big were Hogzilla Jr's tusks?

 

[Speckmisser]

Part 2 of three...
_____________________________________________________________________

Day 2 – 3rd Annual JHO POR

I’ve no more settled into my bed than I hear a commotion at the door of my trailer. It seems that Dave (BigDog) is eager to get an early start. I mean, heck, my alarm hasn’t even gone off yet, and I set it for 0400. I start to roll over and tell him to go back to bed, when I glance at my watch and see that it’s already 0430! Shoot time is only a little more than half an hour away, and I haven’t even had any coffee. Hmm… alarm must have failed. Yeah, that’s what must have happened.

I roll out and fall into my camo. For some reason, I can’t get my shirt on. I struggle for a minute or two, until I realize that I’m trying to put my pants on my head. That also explains why I had such a hard time with the pants. I pull the shirt off of my legs and reverse the clothing until I’m pretty sure it all works properly, then step out of the camper to see that lovely Aurora has already begun her morning ritual, painting the sky in that pale, bluish-grey glow.

I must’ve moaned something about needing coffee and forgetting to buy more Red Bull, because Dave forces a steaming cup into my hand as he and Thomas finish their preparations. I scald my tongue and throat, choking down the vile, life-giving liquid and then we proceed into the morning.

Fortunately, the spot I plan to hunt is only two miles from camp, so we jump in the trucks and head out. I send Thomas toward the finger ridge where I’d killed the big boar last year, and suggest that Dave head across the road into another promising area. This way, they can push the hogs right to me, and I take my cup of coffee, rifle, and binos and go sit on another finger ridge where I can observe some bedding areas and wait for my “hounds” to drive the pigs to me.

After about an hour and a half, I notice something moving down below, and quickly put the glasses on it. About 350 yards below, a large, solo hog is moving along the open park. He’s walking parallel to a major road, and anyone who happened to be driving along would have had an easy shot. Unfortunately, I wasn’t down there. I was up here. And that hog showed no sign of slowing down. I watched until he disappeared, and turned my attention back to the nearer environs.

Apparently Thomas and Dave were onto my plan to have them drive pigs to me, and the morning was warming up, so I decided to go drive up the road and scout. Maybe a stupid pig would stand in the road and I could knock it over with the truck, then jump out and whack it with the pistol… or a tire iron. Whatever was at hand.

I circled a couple of ridges without seeing anything except deer, bobcats, eagles, hawks, expansive yellow fields of wildflowers, and other boring junk. Who the heck cares about this stuff? Where are the hogs?

Bored with the scenery, or maybe because I’m so tired, I decide to roll back into camp and see what the morning has produced. Besides, in all the fun last night, I somehow forgot to take care of business and collect pig tags and harvest data for the hunt log.

I arrive back and find that Scott (Scottosan) has already rolled out, forgetting to leave his tag. Oh well, I’d catch him later. Public flaying, and maybe even drawing and quartering seem appropriate for this crime.

There are a couple of hogs at the meat pole, and as I’m jabbering to someone about something, Mon (Beastslayer) rolls in. Remember the guy with one eye swollen shut. The same one who told me last night that he’d be checking out to go home this morning? Yeah, him. Well, he pulls in, then turns his truck and begins to back up to the meat pole. What the heck?

He drops the tailgate and there, in the back of his 4-Runner, is a big, fat sow. I guess he decided not to check out after all. She hits the scales at 180lbs, field dressed.

A couple more pigs come in over the morning, but to be honest, I can’t remember how many we were up to as the day warmed up and the other hunters started filtering back in. At some point in various conversations, I realize that I’m speaking about 50% nonsense and I really need to sleep. A good breeze has been coming up as noontide came on, so my camper bunk was nice and cool.

At about 4:00, I drift back to wakefulness, feeling slightly restored. Another few hours (maybe 10 or 12) would probably make a big difference, but it is time to hunt! For the afternoon, I decide I’ll go back to the ridges I’d hunted in the morning. Chris (Dilprxo) and I have hunted together on almost every POR, and he’ll be riding with me this time. Rich (RichW) is driving a 2wd and has been having trouble getting into some of the better areas, so I offer to take him with me. Suckers… both of them…

I drop Rich off and show him where he should probably hunt. I recommend that he work the high ridge for a little while, then drop off and work his way down the face to the bottom of the canyon. There, he’ll hit the main road where I’ll pick him up after dark. I get Chris to walk out with me to another ridgetop.

The way I see it, Rich will drop down that canyon wall and push all the hogs out of their beds. Chris will provide another set of eyes to help spot pigs when Rich pushes them out. Then I can shoot my hog, and he can help me drag it down this deceptively difficult canyon to the road below. My plan is perfect.

Except, it’s not.

About an hour before sunset, Chris and I hear a volley of shots. At first they sound like desperation shots, but they continue for so long that we decide it must be someone target practicing. We settle back down to glass when Rich comes over the radio. “It took a lot of shots, but I got a boar!”

What? That wasn’t supposed to happen! Now who’s going to push hogs to me?

Things settle down as the day moves to evening. Chris and I are getting impatient, and I try to subtly convince Chris to drop off and climb down the canyon. “You’ll probably get on some hogs down in those beds,” I say, hoping I sound convincing.

Of course, what I want him to do is push the hogs to me. At first it looks like I’m getting to him, but then I hear the fateful sound of a hog grunting. It’s close, and we both stand and start to look around. Just as we’re about to write it off to wishful thinking, a sow pokes her stupid black head out of a bush. She’s only 60 yards away, but before either of us can get a bead on her, she disappears under some brush. Another one appears a bit further down the hill, and we both bring our rifles to bear.

I realize, with a shock, that if Chris kills a hog too, I’m going to have to work twice as hard! That will never do! As he prepares to shoot his hog, I fire a round to scare them away. Unfortunately, he squeezes the trigger a second before I do. The hogs run, but they’re running the wrong way! If they keep on, they’re going to cross right below us. I try to fire another round to scare them, but I can’t get the bolt open. These danged reloads!

I set the rifle aside and draw my .44, then go charging down the hillside as Chris touches off another round. His hog stumbles, then suddenly crashes to the ground and begins cartwheeling down the mountainside! Then, because he thinks I might have wounded the other hog (he told me later he thought I’d hit it on my second shot… I had to explain that I only fired once), he tries to be helpful and put an anchoring shot. Oh no, I don’t want to deal with two hogs! I fire several rounds from the pistol to get this pig to kick in the afterburners and get out of harm’s way.

Four shots later, the hog is finally safely on the other side of a distant ridge. I come back to the top of the ridge to find that Chris has already taken off to chase his pig down the hill. As it turns out, the danged thing rolled almost all the way down the mountain. Chris calls me on the radio, but I pretend that my batteries are dying and I can’t quite understand what he’s saying. I’m afraid he’s going to ask me to come down and help drag that stupid sow. No way I’m gonna do that!

After several frustrating attempts to contact me, he finally says he’s just above the road and that I can bring the truck down to pick him up. My radio miraculously sparkles back to life and I tell him I’ll be right down. Relieved, I begin the trek back up the ridge to the truck. Once again, this aberrational terrain has shifted on me, and I have to walk uphill both ways. As I clamber and climb, I consider fate’s wicked caprice. I took two hunters out, conned them into setting up where I was sure they’d help ME get a hog, and they both tagged out instead. I shake my head, and wonder if my tequila, back at camp, has been missing me. She’s a jealous lover, that one.

I drive down to the road to find Chris, and on the way I pass Rich in the back of someone’s pickup truck with his hog. It’s his first big game animal, and he’s beaming and gloating. I can only scowl at him. “Some bird dog you are,” I think. “I send you down to scare me up a pig, and, thinking only of yourself, you end up killing one instead. Selfish bastard.”

They drive on, and I continue on the road to pick up that other selfish ingrate, Chris. I’m not seeing any sign of him, but as I round a curve a set of headlights nearly blinds me. It’s John (RanchoLoco) pulling away from the roadside. In the back of his truck is a fat boar. Turns out, he killed it from a mud wallow right there by the road. I briefly consider an “accidental” shooting. Would they keep the hog as evidence, or would they let me take home with me? So, instead, I congratulate him with all the false enthusiasm I can muster, and go on to find Chris.

I go all the way up the road until it begins to climb the ridge, then turn around and start back. Where the heck is he? He said he was right on the road. Finally, I spot his sweaty form in the road where I’d just passed. It turns out that he wasn’t right on the road after all. In fact, he had to leave the hog and come for help getting it the rest of the way down. That’ll show him! He’s very eager to climb back up on the hillside with me and drag the hog the rest of the way down. I can barely restrain him, but I convince him that he’s simply too tired to go back up there right now. It’ll wait until tomorrow. Secretly, I’m hoping the coyotes come and make pork chops for dinner tonight.

Anyway, I start to have a feeling my tequila might be cheating on me with someone else back at camp, so I shove Chris into the passenger’s seat and stomp the gas pedal.

Back in the camping area, there is much rejoicing around the meat pole, and even more when Jesse (Spectr17) raffles off a bunch of cool stuff. Of course, they waited to hold the raffle until I was down at the meat pole getting harvest data, so I didn’t win anything. Figures. Bunch of no-goods. But someone did leave a very nice bottle of Anejo for me, so I didn’t feel too bad. Good thing too, because that first tequila… well, she did me wrong and I killed her in the night, with the help of a few good friends.

As the morning went on (Saturday night was well into Sunday morning by this point), I realized that the “good” friends sitting around my camp shooting the breeze and drinking my tequila had all tagged out. They all knew they could sleep in, and didn’t have to rise from their comfortable beds in a couple of hours to go hunt. It was a trick, arranged by the other hunters to eliminate me from the field on Sunday morning! Dogs! I leap up, screaming, and kick these flea-bitten snakes out of my campsite… but first, one more drink.

My bunk feels so lovely, as I lay my head down on the pillow. But who is that out there beating on the door, screaming, “It’s time to go hunting?”

I mumble that I’m coming, but it’s kind of chilly. I decide to lay under the blankets and warm up a little before I get up and get dressed.

When I wake up again, it’s full daylight and the camp is nearly empty.

Sunday’s hunt in Part III… coming soon!

 

[spectr17]

Hogzilla Jr had about 2" cutters. They looked small on that big head. Someone got a pic I think.

It also had about 7 pounds of ticks on it too. No BS!