something to think about

Matagorda this weekend?

Kasey and I are going to hit matagorda this weekend. I'm not sure what is going to happen with the front that is supposed to push through in the next couple of days. I suppose it could be good or bad. If I can get caught up at work I would like to leave thursday night and take Friday off. If the weather sucks then I will delay the departure time.

Anybody else?

7mm-08 mounts boar hog

Well, it seems as though ole Steve has this hog stalking and killing down to a science. Lets start at the beginning…Steve got his hall pass for thursnight, so I shagged out of work and pointed the truck north. After about a 10-15 min deluge of golf ball and larger sporting spheres hail, a bout with Houston traffic, and a horrific urge to just pee in my truck (one nice thing about the Blazer), I met up with Steve.

We hit the pig hole, parked the truck and took to foot. We walked along the creek to the area where the .270 last barked, I asked Steve if he wanted to lead the way through the cane, his response: “Hell, I just shot a pig the other day”. Seemed like my cue to step up. I pushed through, and our “team hunt” just automatically clicked in to drive. I guess when you hunt together enough, you begin to understand each others strategies and capabilities, and come to expect a specific reaction in response to a certain action. This is the mind set that flitted into place as I pushed through the cane curtain. Steve loitered at a crossing for any critters that may spook out from my approach. I got about 60 yds in the thick stuff, creeping along, sometimes walking sometimes on the hands and knees, all the while keeping to the well used trail.

Uurp, uurp, wheee, wheee!!

Brain: That was about 70yds directly in front of me, Steve had to hear that. How can I get there fast? Are they moving? How many? Slow down, think…think, all that other stuff doesn’t matter; it will answer itself in time if the following questions are addressed: what is the WIND doing and how can I get there quietly?

Wind was easy to address, no wind. The quietly was tricky as they were on the other side of the creek which looked DEEP and steep, not a good cross for wading. On down a bit I came across a downed tree, crossed it, crossed back. I was within about 15-20 ft of them by the sound, but it was super thick, had I found a shot to take through the underbrush, there would be no second opportunity. I pushed on down, and finally caught the sound I had been waiting to hear: Steve. I kept one ear on Steve and one on the pork. I managed to push around to the opening and paused to check my hearing again as the opening provided more clarity to locating the source of the sound. Still good. Steve was, to some extent, following my trail now. Excellent. I pushed on around in a large sweeping circle, occasionally pushing up to the edge of the brush line. It seemed the sound is coming closer. At this point I reached and reached again for the pistol that was carelessly left in the truck…damn. I could see an opening in the brush but couldn’t see into it. I gained an elevation change in the crook of a skinny tree and peered beyond the tree line. They were moving. They were squealing and fighting, but moving. Steve was moving too. I leapt from my perch and set out on a hard run to a clearing some 90yds away, my proposed ambush point. I reached the clearing just as the pigs did, a paused, it sounded as though Steve had stalled. The grass was high and I realized my shot would have to be off hand and unsupported, my least favorite. The hogs were stirred up and came boiling out of the underbrush on a hard trot, barely a half a gear below a run. Maybe a dozen of them came into view and scattered to the winds as they hit the clearing, one chose to run directly away and stayed in my scope longer than the others. I found my only opportunity to be a “Texas heart shot”. I paused longer than I should have, weighing the options of not shooting and continue the stalk. Then the memory of the hogs crossing the road an hour earlier and getting nothing more than a groan from the pair of us kicked the trigger finger into high gear. I took the shot and scanned the brush for another helping of pork chops. I picked one up just as it plowed through the brush. I contemplated charging headlong in after them just as the report of the .270 froze me in my tracks. Then again. Now as the silence has been broken, we began the calling out game.

In my greed to pick up a twofer I did not watch the hog I’d shot. Tromping through the brush and shouting with Steve I did not notice the wounded hog till he rushed me and brushed my leg, I shot again. We found the hog still wiggling some 25 or so yards inside the cane curtain. Steve gave it the coop-de-grace on the side of the creek.

I will now stand down to allow Steve to tell his side of the events that transpired while we were separate and the tale of his heroics in toting that dude out of the cane.

Gettin antsy

Antsy for some pig blastin. Had a dream last night that I had a laser gun. And a rickety and crude trap about two feet tall and topless, seems a poor design, according to my dream. I was however surprised to find that you can catch a hog in a leg trap by its lower lip. Even more surprised to find that a hog can tear off its lower lip, skin covering its jaw, and a large patch of brisket skin and attack. I must admit, a partially skinless hog charging you is a bit of a disturbing sight. And I was surprised to find that laser guns are not the best choice to take down a hog, they seem to work well on small, less than 40#ers but bigger ones, NO. Apparently laser guns run on some form of a capacitor and a release trigger, this would have been good to know before I went to sleep. So you know, for large hogs, hold the trigger down for about 15 sec. then aim at the hog and release the trigger. Just squeezing the trigger like one would on a standard “old fashioned” non laser based weapon, produces a low intensity burst of compressed light wave energy. This will put down the little ones, as for the big ones, it seems to just burn shallow pock marks into their skin; this aggravates them, a lot.

The Tally

Well, for the most part, those reading this were there to experience it so yall can chime in and correct me if I begin to stretch anything and hopefully someone can clarify the cloudy parts.

So we (Wood, Steve, Brian, and a few new guys Tom, Kasey, and Chuckles) headed to Matty for some fish-drinking. Rain Friday morning, pretty hard, we (Wood, Chuckles, and myself) opted to spend the rainy morning driving up the beach so as to take advantage of the hard pack the rain brought. We stopped to render assistance to a fairly newborn calf who was sunk in the surf with a pitiful look on its face. Woody pointed out the ethics of my “assistance” were questionable, so we opted to carry the critter out of the surf and beyond the berm…darn. The rain cut out and we decided to hit the bay…wrong, the rains returned as soon as we got our fish skivvies on, pounded us for another 20 mins or so. We grabbed another can of coast coffee and pushed on to the end.

The surf was looking questionable. Void of bait. We threw some artificials at the cut for a few hrs. a few bites but nothing up for commitment. I battled a bird’s nest for about 30mins while trying to avoid a few floating turds of a peculiar color. We bounced back over to the surf and finally shagged some mullet, well, a mullet, but he was a hoss of a mullet. I doubt you could throw him at a framed wall without hitting two studs (approx 16 inches or greater). Nipped the tail off and threw him out on one of my HD rigs (18+ft of 600# metal and mono w/ 16/0 hook and a coffee cup weight). Tom showed up a few minutes later, bearing refreshments. Shortly after the introduction/reintroduction scenario, we had a fish on…for about 7hrs. till tragedy struck.

At this point I’ll stand down and defer to Steve to explain how the fight ended, and interject any pertinent details of that and the following day.