Every hog hunt I go on is the last one. Then when it’s over, I take stock of what happened, see how I feel, and decide whether to go on just one more hunt.

I hadn’t hunted in almost a year. Gatogordo was still walking the earth, and I was a year younger. I decided to go on one last hunt anyway. I knew I would be hunting solo and have to clean up my own messes, but I had been doing that since my teenage years. I like hunting alone.

I laid-out my gear and loaded the SUV. The last thing I needed was a new hunting license. As I walked around the front of my SUV, I saw it. The head of a screw was sticking out of my front driver’s side tire. It seemed like an omen, telling me this hunt was not meant to be. I went over to Discount Tire and got that problem fixed. I checked my wallet because I would need my driver’s license to get my hunting license….. NO DRIVER’S LICENSE! ….. (Another omen) …WTF!... Where did I use it last?

A quick call to Frisco Gun Club and I found it. The counter rep. hadn’t given it back to me the previous day when I was there to sight-in newly loaded ammo for my 300 WSM; 130gr. Barnes TTSX BT. (Two inches high at 100yds seemed like the right thing to do.)

An hour later and 75 miles out of my way, I was ready to hit the road. I’ve driven that road a number of times in recent years but it seemed strange knowing Charlie wasn’t going to be there at the other end of the road, chewing on my ass about something.

You can be a world traveler just driving a short while on 121/82; passing Westminster, Trenton, Paris, Reno, Sun Valley, Detroit, and on towards the Red River.

Felt good to stop on the other side of Avery and meet-up with Charlie’s friend, Randy. He handed me the keys to the ranch and his four-wheeler. (Might as well have handed me the keys to Ft. Knox.)


Got settled in on the ranch two hours too late but made my way to “Ashley’s Stand”. I’ve shot hogs there before, but that evening five doe and two buck were all that came in, along with the obligatory resident coon. (It seems like one raccoon is stationed at every stand on the ranch.)

Meanwhile I knew what was coming. A severe weather alert was on; and sure enough along about 4:00am Saturday it hit. It didn’t take the roof off of my shelter, it just sounded like it would.

The game had now changed. I slipped on full rain gear and traded hunting boots for Mucks.

I wasn’t discouraged. The second day is usually when things happen. Sure, I was hunting in rain, but it was now a light rain. The red clay I was moving over was slicker than owl shit, water was standing everywhere, and the “creeks” had all overflowed.

I enjoy hunting most when I walk. (It’s how I hunted mule deer as a teen.) A slow “ease” down any promising looking road, path, or cow trail; through pine thickets and hardwood forests. My options are two-fold; spot them before they see me, and stalk them until I can get in position for a shot; or stumble into them, and stay on their ass until they make a mistake; hesitate just a second too long. This day unfortunately was their day. I saw nothing in the morning, other than a mangy looking coyote.

Checked in with Randy and he said, “maybe go around the end of the lake”. The words stabbed me like a knife. I HATE that walk! It’s through marshy ground and brambles, but it holds hogs, particularly on hot days. Two miles later and after nearly having my Mucks sucked off in every mud-hole I crossed, I hadn’t seen a thing; nothing but scratches and sore feet to show for my effort.

In the evening I jumped a cottontail as I eased into the “Behind-The-Barn Stand”. It usually proved productive, but again I was left empty-handed. The resident stand-raccoon was there, but little else…..except……….except for faint movement on the right. A coyote? ….. Not a coyote! ….. Not big enough, not the “right” stride………. It was a bobcat easing toward me. I had the feeling he and the cottontail I spooked earlier had played cat-n-mouse before, and the bobcat was giving it one more try.

He seemed to go by me on the right, but then turned back right towards me. He sat and stared as much as he crouched and creeped. It was amazing to watch. He finally was sitting fifteen feet out the ground-stand window, begging to be shot. But I had had that conversation before. I asked Charlie once about his ground rules. He made fair game of coyotes and coons, but he had a soft spot for bobcats, and for that reason I never raised my rifle. I just watched him watch me, until he decided cottontail wasn’t going to be on the menu that night, and moved off into the trees.


A day and a half without spotting the first hog?? That wasn’t right! Granted they had started trapping hogs on the ranch. Two traps were placed in prime hunting spots I liked. They had also started hunting them with dogs. That couldn’t have put a dent in the population; maybe just made them more wary.

The next morning I moved down in “the bottoms” again and waited for the sun to come up. It did, but brought nothing with it. I told myself to sit tight and give it two hours before starting another “death march”. Almost a minute to the hour, I glanced over my shoulder to my right and there stood a hog; wide open and 75 yards out. He must have come from behind me, but who cares at that point. I put the scope on him and waited ‘til he showed me his neck; then plastered a 30 caliber tattoo on it and he dropped like a rock. I decided to give it another hour, just in case, but gave up early when I saw a buzzard on the ground beside my hog. (I don’t like sharing.)

The trek back to camp and that four-wheeler should have been uneventful, but that’s not my style. I found myself on the wrong side of a bog and rather than backtrack, I stepped off into it, literally. A good mix of Red River clay, a foot of water, and cow shit separated me from dry land. It couldn’t have been 12’ to the other side. I made it about halfway. The muddy suction was too much. My foot came out of my right Muck. I tried to stay vertical on one leg, and get back in that boot, but gravity and the earth’s rotation conspired against me, and I did a slow 90˚ twist and a partial back flip from a pike position, and buried myself in the mess. To my credit I didn’t bury the muzzle of my rifle in that shitty mess, but I did bury everything else. When I got back to my feet I had neither boot on. It took both hands and all the strength I had to pull the boots free from that North Texas suction that had started the problem in the first place. I now struggled to get my own feet free, hoping to recover the socks I had just bought the previous day. That’s when I first started thinking that I might be too old for this shit.

The walk on back to camp was a tough one. I knew I had a change of dry cloths, but no way to wash off before putting them on, and I still had a hog to recover and skin & quarter.

No use crying about it. I did what I could, got dressed, jumped on the four-wheeler and took off. Before dropping off the hill, and out of coverage, I decided to place a call to Randy telling him where I was going.

I pulled off my backpack to find the cell phone compartment unzipped and the phone missing. That’s the second time I thought, “I’m definitely too old for this shit”. I turned around and slow-crawled the four-wheeler back towards camp looking in each mud puddle for the missing phone that had bounced out. By the time I got back to camp I felt pretty disheartened. I looked throughout the camp and found nothing. I resigned myself to my fate, shoved my hands in my pockets and found my phone in the left one. I would have felt stupid if I hadn’t been so involved in my happy-dance at that moment.

Back on the four-wheeler and off I go again.

I drove up, scared off the buzzard again, chained the big boar to the back and headed for the hanging pole by the hay barn.

Now the real task began. With no one to even hold a leg I had to skin and quarter this spinning 250 pound brute with knives that Charlie once told me were unfit to even open an RC Cola bottle.

With my skills with a knife, skinning and butchering one hog turns into a major surgical event, the equivalent of trying to separate co-joined twins. You might as well get comfortable, turn on your TV, kick your feet up and catch your favorite double-feature, because I’m going to be a while. An hour later when I was halfway done, was the third time I thought, “I’m way too old for this shit!”

After the fact, the best I can say is; yes, I did it. I still had ten fingers when it was over, although my left thumb had been altered somewhat when it got in the way of my slashing hand; otherwise known as my right hand.

An hour later, my gear was packed, the meat was in the cooler and I was headed west by southwest towards home, 2 ½ hours away.

Judging by the reception I received when I got home I had also gone nose-blind somewhere in the process of picking myself out of that cow shit bog I fell into, and that hog carcass I had crawled out of.

The closest I could get to my wife was her standing in the backyard and me in the living room immediately after I walked in the front door of the house; and right before she told me to trade places with her ASAP, or else. A fairly extended negotiation then commenced through the closed door before I was even allowed back in to take a shower.

The next morning, my wife told me she went to bed that night thinking, “He’s damn-sure too old for that shit”!

Thanks, I needed that encouragement.

i do believe you must be my twin

Nothing a good hot shower won't cure.
Too old? Nah. Nothing wrong with a good ol' workout whether intentional or not..
Glad to hear no matter how much experience ya got, nature can mess with you.

After I swamped my right boot, I had gone face first in one of deeper rooty/watery puddles in between the grass clumps hunting whitey's in N. Pennsylvania. Lost the new hat on the other side of the swamp, couldn't find it. Temps were around 33 degrees and it was snowing. Felt like damn fool for a minute or two. I am 64. Makes me laugh now when I look back.

quote:

A fairly extended negotiation then commenced through the closed door before I was even allowed back in to take a shower.

Reminds me of my homecoming after a one week hunt on the Pecos and returning home with ripe collard peccary in my iceless cooler. Javelina,that is; and you know how sweet they smell.

Yup too damn old.

I don’t have any intention of ever field dressing or processing game meat.

I will only hunt where that is taken care off or I can drive it to a processor.

I don’t want to learn to operate a boat to fish- I will just hire a boat and captain.

I don’t want to reload to shoot - I will just buy factory ammo.

I never want to assemble crap in my life again - this one is tough to get around but I will try.

I have reached a point in my life where I dont want to learn any new discretionary hobbies - i don’t want to collect anything, learn golf (or anything ect)

I do want to read, travel and maybe cook more at home (with meat I dont butcher).

I Am 48 years old. I need to start getting rid of stuff starting with my butchering and skinning stuff. I do want to hunt big wild boars in Europe.

Mike

I'm 72 and heading out in about an hour--but I have a 19-yr old to accompany me, so I'm good (I think).

My standard requirement is that I do not kill ANYTHING that I have to bring home.
This means purely varmint hunting. Drive 90 miles to my friends ranch for hogs from stand and corn feeder at night about once a week from Feb to Oct.
I put on the ghille for coyotes during the day and do a "walkabout".
At 73 I still reload and enjoy range trips to test.
I have those "too old" thoughts too, but as long as I can crawl up on the high rack for night calling with a guide, I will keep on till I "can't.

You aren't too old....you just need more practice. You should be able to get that hog into the cooler in quarters in an hour from the time you hang it. I believe in you...just practice. And you didn't even get your vehicle stuck.

That clay is slicker than owl shit, no doubt about it.

Ahh hell, I'm 75, going in for a new
kneecap next Monday. Fell and wrecked
it after a knee replacement in Oct.

Soon as this is healed enough plan to
get the L knee. Then once I'm healed
up. Am hoping to go elk hunting this
fall.

Only time we get too old is when we
give up.

I'm also single so no arguments over shit
stinks!

George

Gato's place is pretty special, I enjoyed your write up and hope it isn't the last one.

I wouldn't know, Im 84 an not about to give up hunting or team roping for that matter..but Im in pretty good health so far and lucky to be on this side of the dirt..When you quit you will die.

I'll be too old when my eyes fail! Ways to get around body fails! Ha Ha

I'm too old now but I ain't, stopping as long as I can still see and breath, and pull a trigger! Slowed down a bit though!

………………………………………………………………..83rd year just began!

well hell - i just bought another new rifle that i probably don't need - cut up 2 cords of firewood today and i'm far from done picking on biebs yet

.

Kensco, What a great read! Thank you for writing it up and posting! A photo of the pig would have been the cherry on the cake! A great story and told with humour and style! Thanks. Made me smile.

Beretta Mike, big Euro boar can easily be done. I often think there could be mileage in an AR European driven boar shoot over 2 or 3 days!!

Cheers all and happy holiday weekend!

Charlie

.

When I'm dead, I hope.

Dave

Jajaja ,when i fall with Patricio Gaudiano from AR to a channel with my truck after hunting ducks i thougth WHY im still guiding im 50 and too old for this shit ....but im again on the race .

To heck with being to old.

I've put my order in with the man upstairs, to let me die in the stand. I've requested of my buds when they come and find my corpse, to roll me out, let me lie on the ground, and let the hogs recycle me. I figure as many of them as I've killed and ate, it would be good Karma!

ya!

GWB

Kensco,

Great read on a great post, I really enjoyed it and laughed alot.

Do it again, please?

quote:

well hell - i just bought another new rifle that i probably don't need - cut up 2 cords of firewood today and i'm far from done picking on biebs yet Big Grin tu2

Did Mossberg come out with a new model???? :-)

Once the enjoyment of the activity is not worth the trouble and/or expense, than you are too old for that activity.

That applies to just about anything you can physically or mentally still do.

JMO

BH63

Enjoyed your tale of woe, and your writing style. Thank you for sharing!

quote:

Originally posted by Beretta682E:
Yup too damn old.

I don’t have any intention of ever field dressing or processing game meat.

I will only hunt where that is taken care off or I can drive it to a processor.

I don’t want to learn to operate a boat to fish- I will just hire a boat and captain.

I don’t want to reload to shoot - I will just buy factory ammo.

I never want to assemble crap in my life again - this one is tough to get around but I will try.

I have reached a point in my life where I dont want to learn any new discretionary hobbies - i don’t want to collect anything, learn golf (or anything ect)

I do want to read, travel and maybe cook more at home (with meat I dont butcher).

I Am 48 years old. I need to start getting rid of stuff starting with my butchering and skinning stuff. I do want to hunt big wild boars in Europe.

Mike

I do believe You've hit it just right. I used to think I could get by hiring a teenager to be a gun bearer and deer dragger, but now I'm past even those hardships. I do believe if I had to gut a hog I'd need a finger bowl afterward, and since I don't carry one when hunting I'll have to let someone else do the honors.

quote:

I never want to assemble crap in my life again - this one is tough to get around but I will try.

In that case better include on your list, "Never have grand-kids". Followed by, "Never get down on the floor again". Those little buggers will wear you out.

Beretta682E, I'll trade you. I've had 20 years' experience at 48. You come on up to 68 and I'll go back to 48. Be Well. Packy

packy, I'll trade you my 72 for your 68.

I'll agree Kensco. But I tell the crooks at work, If I can get the first foot on the floor in the morning I'm alright. Be Well. Packy

I really enjoyed reading it.

66, new kees, plate/screws in fused neck, artificial joint in right wrist, trimmed up arthritic knuckles ( they all move now!) non diabetic neuropathy in both feet and one bum hip ( waiting for the OK to replace it) and if they can "keep me" bolted together, new parts, heck, I'll make 120! ha I realize that I am no way ready to "quit hunting/shooting" so I just have to do it "differently now". I can still ride a horse, but Ray, I was never a good roper, even as a youngster! It was because they ran brahma cows in the Big Thicket (fenced "pastures") of East, Texas. Too thick to rope well, you chased them a few hours and then they chased us back to o the pens to work!The more I deal with "ageism" from the younger folks, the more I want to hang around and "be a pain in their butt", ha. Now "I dream" of late season cow elk, standing serenely in a hay field! ha

I well remember a trip to La. and told I could have the cows if I could catch them, about 50 head, I gathered a family crew and we hauled our horses to LA. from the high desert country of the big bend..The first day I noticed muskies in a ball around my poor head, to days later we injured 3 horses in muck mud, pulled tendons. had 3 cows in a pen..Packed up and went home, took me a week to rebound and I was 20 years old at the time!! Lesson learned all that glitters ain't gold! Im with you cow elk in the sage brush for me each year or perhaps a short race in the pickup to the mountain at the edge of the field..I have a permit to shoot from the truck, Idaho likes oldsters and do their best to keep us hunting, I think you have to be 75 or 80 to qualify..The tag to shoot from a vehicle is $1.50 for life which may be not so long they figure Im betting.

Turned 61 Saturday, still in pretty good shape I think. No prescription meds to take. Blood pressure was good at last physical. My brain on occasion tells my body we can do this but the body says slow down a bit. For example when I was cutting brush clearing a fence row and dragging limbs to the curb to be picked up. Heat index was 107. Thought I could do this chore pretty quick, took me three mornings working from sunup till bout 09:30. I did get it done though. Still love to be outside and sitting in a stand.