Out of the woods. Rollin' down Highway 41 as the Allman Brothers sang. About 500 yards from the entrance to the Rec Dept.
An explosion of profanities (OK, 1 mild one) as I see a deer leaping in front of my Cherokee and feel the impact. Another car is on my butt, probably close enough to see the slow drip of water from the cooler on the back where a wild hog is soaking.
Slow down. Pull off the side. Check for damage. Whew.
This old Cherokee has suffered an exploding tire, been shot three times by the guy who was trying to kill me, sideswiped by a pine tree on the back of a logging truck, blown out transmission hoses and water lines, had the front end replaced, gone into a swamp and had to be pulled out, pulled out vehicles out and now it takes out a deer with only a few pieces of broken plastic to show for it.
My kinda ride.
Turn around. Slowly drive back the way I just came. There's the deer beside the road. Load him up, yes him. A button buck. Head on into town for the Board of Education meeting. Cover the meeting and go home. Buck gets quartered out and iced along with the hog.
Wednesday, I finally find time to head to one of the stands with significant hog activity. Plan IlludiumQ32 calls for setting snares. 7 snares, each baited with just enough corn to draw some interest. Figuring I'm in the woods anyway, I slip inside the ground blind stand, the old pump shotgun with some Italian 3" 00 buck.
I get the best naps sitting in a deer stand.
About dark I look up. Yep. Dark. Time to get a move on. Gotta get back to town and prepare for Wednesday night Bible Study lesson at church.
Cherokee and I slip around the edge of the orchard, hugging the woods.
HEY! HOGS! Two of 'em. If they won't spook...
I ease forward just a bit more, turning into the woods and grabbing shotgun.
The black hog steps toward the woods and I loose it in the night. The half white half blue hog stands there looking at me.
Don't have to swear as I jack around into the chamber.
The shotgun sends a 1300 FPS invitation to be the guest of honor at a future meal. The hog accepts, announced with a squeal. It bolts into the orchard. I shuck the hull and another 00 invitation is loaded. In a cloud of dust, the hog hooks around. Dunno if that one connected.
I check the orchard. No hog. A bit disappointed, I get back in the Cherokee, consoling myself with the thought that there's one less eating machine vacuuming up pecans.
Killing wild hogs with buckshot is difficult. For one thing they are smaller than deer. Less target area. For another, boars have a shield over the ribs that will stop bullets. I put a black powder .45 ball into a wild hog at 10 feet in Florida once. Wound up killing it with a shotgun slug. In the butchering, the ball was found in the shield.
Cherokee and I bounce along the edge of the woods wondering if the hogs will visit the stand tonight and try the corn.
HEY! DEAD HOG!
There in the headlights, the hog. Cheyne-Stokes breathing, but I'm still careful as I approach. Equally careful loading it. One last gasp and it's gone. Strap it down, and off to church. This is not the first time I've headed to God's house with blood on my hands, clothes and a dead animal on the back. Here's to prayers that it won't be the last.
Joseph, the pastor, came and helped me quarter it after services. Then, ran over to Miz Mac's house to hose down as the shower is out of commission until next week.
Up this morning to drive the bananananana. Call the office and leave a message that I won't be in until after lunch. Too much to do. Checked snares (nothing) and processed the deer and the hog.
Making some jerky from the deer, including some violently hot (Call the Moore brothers hot!) jerky. Ground up the hog that'd been soaking since the weekend.
Now back in the office.