My plan was to take it a little easier. Another birthday, more knee issues. The opportunity to hunt hogs and crows though was too much to pass up. I know some day I’m not going to be able to hunt on foot anymore like I used to, so you either give up, or get on with it.

Funny how my hunts tend to match-up with the times when our daughter is dumping the grandkids off, while she and her husband run for a few days to South America. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Did my customary stop at Scholl Bros. BBQ in Paris on the way up. The ribs were not quite as good as I had remembered, but still very nice. The sliced brisket lived up to my standards……maybe not Gato’s.

I rolled through the gate at about 1:00pm after probably counting 300 crows the last twenty miles.

Got camp organized, fired-up the 4-wheeler, and started a scouting run. I knew the feeders were loaded and my favorite spot by the Mud Gate Pond had been salted with corn the day before.

I could tell I would be hunting in Mucks the entire trip. Low spots inundated with water from recent rains; creeks out of their banks. Many stands wouldn’t be worth the effort; just too much deep water to get to them.

That’s what I love about hunting. You have a plan, and then circumstances intervene and you have to come up with another plan.

I never saw a hog, but there were tracks everywhere during my scouting run.

I suited-up for the evening ambush. After earlier conversations with Randy, I elected to go to the Behind The Barn ground blind. He said the corn was disappearing daily.

I plunked myself down on my swivel seat at about 5:30pm. Thirty minutes later there was movement at about 160 yards on my far right that caught my eye. It was a light colored pig. I repositioned on him and waited as he dropped off the berm into heavy brush, but heading more or less towards the feeder. I waited and when he came clear…, he was a coyote; fattest one (winter coat) that I had ever seen on the ranch. (It is amazing how your eyes and mind can play tricks on you.)

I settled down, let him walk, and waited. At close to 6:30pm a large black hog stepped out of the trees, left of the feeder, at 75 yards, and moved casually towards the feeder. He didn’t seem interested as much in finding corn, as in marking his turf. He was gouging the earth up like he was mad at the world. Through the scope I could see foam flinging from his jaws as he plowed the mud in all directions.

I didn’t wait long. He was standing knee-deep in muddy water when I settled the 6X crosshairs on his shoulder and squeezed the shot off. Broadside. Piece of cake.

I was trying to shoot-up some old Federal Barnes MRX bullets in 180gr., and when that blue ballistic-tipped piece of death reached him, it was Game-Over. He dropped with a splash into the mud hole and with nothing in gear danced his last dance. Shoulder shot. Meant to be a little farther forward

I started the short walk back to the 4-wheeler, and it was pitch black by the time I got back to the mud hole and started searching for my hog in the headlights. Found him almost covered in muddy water, and backed in, sinking deeper and deeper into the mud. (It would be just my luck to get a 4-wheeler stuck, that can’t be stuck. I sensed a Titanic ending for this story.) Finally close enough I thought, I gingerly climbed off the vehicle and sunk almost to the tops of my Mucks. Got the chain around his neck, but was about 4” short of the hitch. I could not budge the 4-wheeler or the big boar. (I guessed him at about 180 to 200 pounds, not counting the wet and the mud.) I climbed back on the Ranger, making sure my Mucks came out of the mud with me, and backed in a little further. Finally got Mr. Big in tow and eased out of the mud hole.

It was 36˚, a slight wind from the northeast, and I had a decision to make. I could either hang him, skin the thing, quarter him, and be done with it; or just gut him to let him cool down, hang him high enough so the varmints wouldn’t mess with him, and hope I could con Randy into doing the needful the next day. Naturally I took what I thought was the easy way out…for me.

I went back to camp and switched the 4-wheeler for my Edge, drove back and positioned my headlights on the hog. I always say a little prayer before starting to clean an animal I’ve shot. It has nothing to do with the animal, or me ending his life, or God giving me the opportunity. It’s more like; “Dear Lord please let me get this nasty job finished as quickly as possible, and climb out of his carcass with all ten fingers still intact, Amen”.

I stripped down for action. I’m not sure the Lord was listening because the next hour was like a three-fall professional wrestling match. I had him down, then he had me down. I rolled him one way, then the other. I went in deeper, and called that dead bastard every name in the book. The expression on his face didn’t change. He was as determined as I was. I believe I beat him 2 out of 3 falls and declared myself the winner after counting my fingers.

He was gutted. I awarded myself his tenderloins for all my effort. (Normally we don’t open their body cavities so the coyotes and buzzards get the tenderloins.)

Last step, I wrapped the wire around his neck and I cranked him up high on the pole, more out of spite than necessity.

I was warm up to my elbows but everything else was freezing. I promised myself that if Randy didn’t show up in the morning, I was going to leave that ugly-assed hog in that tree and just drive home.

Thank God they had a shower in camp is all I can say. I had pretty-well ruined one long-sleeved tee, and probably looked like a serial killer after a good nights work.

Next morning at 5:00am, I stepped out into 34˚ weather and no wind. Perfect!

I dropped off the hill, drove slowly towards the Mud Gate and parked. I snuck in, within 150 yards of my ambush point, sat back against a small tree and dropped the camo net over my face. I felt good about my chances.

Two hours later I didn’t feel quite as good. No hogs. I had four deer come to the spread corn early-on, then three more whitetail came later and stayed for a good while loading up on corn. Never saw a hog. Never even heard a hog.

Gave up. Switched my thoughts from hogs to crawfish. They had planned a crawfish boil for eight, and we needed to hit the road for Texarkana to pick-up the mud bugs. The plan for the afternoon was to eat crawfish for a few hours, then hunt crows for an hour or so, then get back to the Behind The Barn stand and see what might walk out at the wrong time.

Nice set-up for crawfish. They had just built a crawfish boil table top (for eight) that fit over a 50 gallon drum. Jen dished-out the crawfish and we dug-in. One of the wives brought out a Mason jar of peach flavored moonshine, and that jar started making the rounds.

We peeled and ate until we were tired of peeling. Not full, not that we couldn’t have eaten more crawfish, but just tired of peeling. A quick check of the time proved the crow hunting just wasn’t going to happen. (I blame it on the peach moonshine.)

I felt like I came out OK. They gave me the remaining hooch; about four inches, with two peach halves in the bottom. I wasn’t that mad at the crows anyway.

Waiting at the feeder that night was a waste of time. Nothing moved. I was a little on the mellow side anyway. Not that I would have let a hog walk, but I really wasn’t in the mood for loud noises and having to climb inside a hog carcass again.

Last chance, Sunday morning. I repeated the Mud Gate run with no results.

I think I agree with Randy. They hunted the hogs with dogs three times since the first of the year, taking 20+ hogs off the ranch. That action has spooked the remaining hogs back into the woods and thickets. Tough hunting. They aren’t coming to feeders like before. They aren’t exposing themselves at all between daylight and dark.

Randy had shown me some “new” stands the day before, and as a last gasp before packing gear and heading home, I rolled towards camp, then turned back south and climbed the hill. I found the “washed-out culvert” and the “board bridge”. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The support was 2 7/8” tubing. The rest of it was just left over pieces of lumbar of all descriptions nailed together…..maybe. I felt fairly good that I could roll across it in a 4-wheeler, but not comfortable that I could drag a dead hog back across it chained behind the Ranger. If the hog moved sideways and dropped off the bridge, I would have 200 pounds of hog hanging by a chain off the back of a 4-wheeler over a 15’ deep ravine……………nah! I parked it and walked across.

I found the Death Trap Stand, named by Gato because it is an elevated stand that began to lean over time, and is now at about a 30˚ angle. It gave me the willies climbing up into it, but what the hell, you only live once.

It had a great view of a feeder at about 110 yards, and a shooting lane left of that, that reached out to about 200 … nice. I hadn’t been there long when at the end of the shooting lane, the prettiest buck you’d ever hope to see stepped out, and headed my way at a slow walk. Best deer I have ever seen on the ranch. He just kept easing towards me. I counted ten points, and about a 20” spread; and I might have missed a point or two. He turned off about 120 yards from me and walked north into the trees.

A perfect ending to the hunt.


Well, as Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over”. Almost made it home without incident, then the low tire pressure light came on. I rolled into Bonham and added eight pounds to the front passenger side tire and got back on the highway. Made it home barely, and immediately changed the flat.

After a nice shower, I settled in to dinner by myself. One of the guys had gifted me a Mason jar of hog meat chunks, but wouldn’t offer any further details. That was a dead giveaway. Couldn’t be anything but hog balls.

Sounded like dinner to me, so I heated some up in the microwave, and they were melt-in-your-mouth tender. Someone had slow-cooked them I think. I jacked the flavor up with a little sliced jalapeño. The next day the hog balls worked good on a hamburger bun as a sandwich. That doesn’t mean I’ll be harvesting hog balls on my next hunt. I like beef cheeks too, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever dig around in a cow’s jaw to get to them.

Next day I gave one of the hams to a friend to smoke for our monthly Texas Hold’em poker tournament, and smoked the other ham for a friend and her family. The shoulders, backstrap, and trim went to Kuby’s for sausage (three types).

After that I can relax and really appreciate the hunt. I’ve got the meat and the memories to enjoy.

Ken, what a wonderful write-up. Thanks for taking the time to share it with us.
I was just thinking about PMing you to see if you knew how Jen is doing. She must be getting along all right.
I think of Gato so often, even though I never got to meet him in the flesh. He sure made an impression, even if via the Internet.
Bill

Jen seems to be well. Her children are doing fine. I am pleased to report that since dying, Gato has mellowed a little. Or at least I like to think he has. Hopefully he is sitting up there chuckling down at us once in a while......or perhaps looking up and chuckling. I don't put anything past him.

For sure, he made a lasting impression on everyone he met. That is probably the best we can all hope for.

Ken:'Enjoyed reading your hunt story.
Thanks for sharing. Wish you'd gotten
a couple more hogs though.

Far as knees. Have you tried the new
one's they implant yet? I just had my
second one Jan 13th. Am doing well with
it so far. Hell of a lot better than
with the last one.
Here's a lesson I learned: "Don't fall
on 'em, they can be ruined! Had the first
put in Oct '18. Fell on it three times.
This time was to replace that broken
joint rather than the other knee that's
still bad.

Good luck, and keep after those hogs.

George

Glad to hear Randy is still hanging out on the property. I only saw one small buck during the last few hours of light.
The following day I was there, I shot my sow at about 7:15 AM at that same feeder.
Then as I just started walking the lane downhill at about 7:45 AM a group of about 10 hogs trotted right alongside that fence line right to left across the road at the base of the hill IIR and along the edge of that left side-wooded patch to the top of the grassy hill to feed. I was thinking that area might be worth a sit at the point of the tree line on the left if you haven't already done so.