The weather turned warmer yesterday, a pleasant 53 according to the readout on my rearview mirror. I struck out for the canyon to pull my traps out and prep them up for the task of moving. I had no expectations, sorta figured it would be a quick and uneventful run. 40 down and 40 back, maybe burn 5 mi driving around on the property. Well, that was not to be the case. I had one boar in the corral, trapped him in another trap about 2 weeks ago and transferred him to the “big house” so he would have more room to stretch his legs. Also, I have a feeder and 2 halves of a 55gal drum wired to the ground and fence to hold water for the beast. He was looking a little thin, healthy, but thin. I figure him at about 175 on a 200# frame. A good catch, but not worth the 70mi drive to sell him and only him. He would have brought between 50 & 60 cash American dollars, unless the prices went up as they claim they are supposed to. But at this moment time is money and I have more money than time. He probably would fit on a plate alright but in my mind, a malnourished boar hog does not sound as tasty as what is already in the freezer, and again, time. So I opted to be a nice guy, I drew my pistol and opened the trap door, expecting that he had been saving up his energy for the last two weeks. I was prepared for a terrible mauling. However, he opted to be a gentleman about the whole thing. However, this did not stop me from keeping the ole front sight glued to the back of his head till he was well on down the canyon. I doubt he will be back any time soon.
I guess he realized I had done him a good turn, so he returned the favor. Moments after he was out of site, two tasty little bacon wraps came fast trotting out from the point of ole Spots last sighting. In my minds eye, I could see him bowling them over on the narrow trail down the canyon. I suspect the two were discussing this event as they passed within 30yds of me. “Damn, some pigs think they own the trail!” and “Road hog!” was as close as I could translate from their grunts and low squeals as they jogged up. “What the crap”, I heard myself mutter, looked around to see if that was me, yes, that was me. I looked down and my pistol was still in my hand, I hadn’t had a chance or thought to holster it yet. Seems like providence. These two were loping along towards me muttering about the A-hole who had cut them off in traffic. Probably there were more than two, as I have photos from the game cam of a pack of ten about this size, and at this size they generally bunch up. I imagine Spots had rammed through the lot of them like a house of cards, knocking the leaders off the trail and over the precipice, turning the lot of them back in a fierce retreat, and these two were either pressed against the crag or completely run over. Just lucky to survive the encounter I guess…well, perhaps lucky is not the exact turn of phrase to describe this chance encounter.
So there I was, pistol in hand, two pert and chirpy animated 45 pounders closing the 30 yd distance. So I did what any of us would, I tightened my grip with my strong hand, found my front sight and fired on the lead hog just as my left hand found its comfy place around the frame of “that shot out old Frankenstein Gold Cup” (term applied to my beloved pistol by a local gunsmith before he saw it shoot). The old war horse barked twice and thunder rolled across the canyon, reverberating and echoing off the rocks and bluffs. This is one of my new favorite sounds. Firing at animate targets in the field, the initial percussion does not sound the same as it does when target shooting without hearing protection. But do it in a canyon, and the sound rolls. Rolls like thunder, you can feel the sound follow the lay of the land, you can almost see the sound bend around the breaks in the canyon walls, when these echoes collide at the foot of the coulees, they create an additional clap. This feel persists until it is but a dull roar like the sound of a locomotive engaging a string of cars in a distant train yard. Then, nothing. Nothing but a but shy of a hundred pounds of hog fresh laying in a pile 22yds away. The first one took his just above the “between the eyes” shot. In my opinion, this is the preferred shot placement based on the anatomy of the hog skull. Behind the eyes, the angle of slope rises, and the way they carry their head in a trot makes for an impact more closely orthogonal to the target, lower and you run the risk of bouncing a bullet off the slope of the skull. However, on pigs of this size, it is a non-issue as they are fairly light boned.
The second pig startled and hesitated, turned his head with the body to follow, then the shot. Number two got his at the base of the brain, just behind and below the ear. He went down across the back of his brethren. No kicks, no squeals, clean and humane.
Once I got them taken apart, an easy task at this size, I headed out. Driving past the cut milo field, I noticed some movement in the near darkness hazily illuminated by my passing headlights. Some 50ish yds out in the field was a lone rooter. I killed the truck, lights and all and pulled up my .222 to have a look through some good glass. The boar stopped his rooting and began making his way to a well used crossing in the fence some 120 yds from where I sat. I watched for a moment, studying his habits. No great sense of alarm, just a leisurely trot towards the crossing. I set the rifle down and grabbed the .45 and another magazine for the trek. I climbed out of the truck and paralleled the fence to the low spot. I could see the shadow growing and following the path I had envisioned. I backed off the fence and took cover alongside a juniper some 7 or 8 yards off the trail and 5yds from the fence, the wind was cooperating with me, for once. I made up my mind the best shot would be the pause at the fence. I closed my eyes hard and counted to 10. Black sights and a black target are hard to see in the dark. I opened my eyes and could see everything like twilight, for a moment, then it began to fade. The boar did not pause at the fence as I had hoped; he just dipped his snout and pushed on, no hesitation. That was my shot, what happened, I wondered. Why didn’t the pistol speak? No time like the present, front sight, front sight, crap, night vision is gone. I chose what I could see clearly, a patch of dirt at the crossing, this lighter colored background allowed me to find my front sight, I maintained my alignment and shifted my target to the hog, now trotting along broadside at 8yds completely oblivious to my presence. I chose my target and waited for a moment, waiting for him to cover a few more feet so he would be beyond perpendicular. A quick mental check, is this “doable”, is this a “good” shoot, is my safety off? Yes, yes, yes. I allowed the hog to walk about 3 yards beyond perpendicular, and took the behind and below the ear shot. Down and out, success. The shot broke the spine at the base of the brain and the bullet lodged in the skull. No kicking, no squealing, it was like Thor’s mighty hammer had fallen on this 130 lb beast.
