Got back from three weeks in France, Spain, and Portugal, all the time getting updates from my brother about new hogs he’s seeing on his place near Giddings, That got me in the mood, even though the selfish bastard never actually volunteered to let me come hunt his private stash of hogs.

After getting caught-up on my sleep, I called Randy and he said, “Come on!” I started making my packing list, laid-in a new ball cap, case of beer, four bags of deer corn to leave with Randy, and I had a fool-proof hog ambush plan in mind.

The weather was perfect; low 50s early, high 60s during the day. Little if any wind; and no rain in the forecast. My kind of hunting weather. I used to enjoy freezing my ass off hunting. Those days are gone.

DAY 1:

I checked the weather forecast again, unpacked all my rain gear except the Mucks, and hit the road for the ranch. The GPS was set for Scholl Bros. BBQ in Paris. First things first I always say. I eat light when hunting, so a “final” big meal of ribs and sliced brisket always seems like the right thing to do.

Randy had told me, “You are on your own Friday”. That always drops my dauber in the dirt because that means if I kill it, I have to skin and quarter it. That always makes me think twice when I start to squeeze the trigger, but it doesn’t stop me from dropping the hammer.

I rolled through the ranch gate at 2:30pm, loaded the 300WSM, began a slow roll just in case, stopped in camp, and unloaded my gear. The camp now has HVAC, but no plumbing (slowly but surely, step by step).

I put a half bucket of corn on the front of the 4-wheeler and moved off the hill into the bottoms toward the Mud Gate to lay the ambush I had been thinking about for a month.

The idea was to spread corn at a saltlick about 85 yards from the pond bank, short of the Mud Gate. Leave the bucket upright with 2” of corn still in it, and then check it the next day.

I spread the corn and time was getting short so I headed back to check two stands. The first, Behind The Barn, had corn on the ground, not a good sign. The second, On The Hill, was bare. Something had been there to clean it up since morning. I drove back to camp, got what I needed and started the walk back up the hill.

I was in the stand an hour early, but I would rather be early than late. About 5:30pm, I got my first action. A good-sized dirt colored, brown boar came from the trees behind the feeder and then nonchalantly flopped into a dry mud hole just beyond a rise, so that I could barely see it. After dusting himself off, he stood and walked up the rise, turned broadside, and I squeezed off a shot behind his shoulder. He went from zero to 60 in about two seconds, right back into the trees. I didn’t miss him. No way I missed him, but I knew I had a problem. On the air in his lungs, and before they drop, a hog can go a long way into heavy thicket. I spent the next half hour tracing and retracing my steps, looking for him, looking for blood, looking for anything. I got nothing for my effort, and had to return to my stand. I was running out of daylight. (Note to myself: Try aiming in front of the shoulder; lower neck area next time.)

While I sat there thinking about an opportunity gone bad, a sounder of hogs came from behind me, and right out from under my elevated stand. They were headed toward the feeder, but getting nervous as the light wind swirled. They were so close I couldn’t get the scope on them. A black one bolted back under the stand, and a red one stepped out and took his place. I fired at him and he went from 0 to 60 in about two seconds right toward the tree line; again. Then he started a turning circle counterclockwise and flopped in the dirt about twenty-five yards in front of me. I was on my own.

I called it a day, as the sun was about down, and I would be skinning / quartering by headlights. Being a smallish boar, I didn’t take all night getting it iced down, and put to bed in my cooler. I toasted myself with a beer and turned-in for the night.

DAY 2:

Up at 5:00am, I felt pretty good about my chances. The morning is usually when I score. That Saturday morning hunt is always 80% of the hunt, in my mind. You’ve got to make it happen then, or you’re screwed. I took the 4-wheeler to the top of the hill, then left it and walked into The Bottoms, heading for the ground stand.

The sun came up and I saw one hog far to the west of me and a few deer to the north and south, including one spike. A gray fox was begging me to shoot him at 50 yards. So much for scoring.

I gave-up on The Bottoms and rode to the saltlick. In years past I almost always saw hogs during the day in that vicinity. I hoped for an ambush at that spot. When I checked my corn “spread” I found that all the corn on the ground was gone. The bucket was still upright and the two inches of corn was still in the bottom. (I guess they don’t like eating out of a bucket.)

After a break for lunch and setting a few deer stands for the rapidly approaching season, we decided to run back to the salt lick to see if anything was moving. As we got within two hundred yards of the pond, we saw a large red hog moving across the road towards the pond. I bailed-out and began a rapid stalk up the east bank of the pond. That movement seemed to have made the hogs reverse course, so I backed-down the bank and moved around the side of the pond. Two hogs burst across the road right-to-left before I could get my gun up. I slowed and began to ease down the road. Another hog crossed to the left and as I brought the gun up, a second hog tried to follow him. This one made it, but not before I hit him amidships with an offhand shot. I thought I had missed, but all his bawling told me otherwise. I caught up to him in the heavy brush and put a 9mm slug in his head to end the commotion. The bad news is that I didn’t lead him enough on my shot with the .300, and ruined both hams with a combo-marinade of lead, shit, and stomach contents. (Note to myself: Try leading them just a tad next time, fool.)

While Randy ran the hog back to the skinning pole and did the needful, I decided to stay put and hopefully let the other hogs in the area trickle back to me.

Good idea; it just didn’t work. Nothing moved until it was too dark to see. When I spotted Randy’s lights, I walked out. Naturally, he told me he had a black hog dart across in front of him and into the brush about ten minutes earlier…..and him with no gun.

DAY 3:

I still felt real good about an ambush between the pond and the salt, so by 5:30am I was sitting on the ground behind a bush, just below the crest of the pond bank in full camo, including full head net. It felt right. The wind was perfect. I was pumped.

An hour into the set, I was nearly run over by two bucks. One was a shooter. They were headed straight from the trees on my right towards the salt and corn. They were in a hurry. Then, at about thirty yards, the big buck smelled or saw something he didn’t like and came to a screeching halt. He squared-up on my position and froze. I held steady, and he decided he must have been mistaken. He eased over into the corn with the smaller buck behind. They both took their time picking up corn in between panic attacks; sure that there was something not quite right, but not sure what it was.

I was ready. I knew that at any moment hogs were going to arrive. The bucks stayed with me for maybe fifteen minutes then started to mosey back towards the trees behind the pond.

The ten-point knew I was not supposed to be there and he wouldn’t give up. He wanted to flush me. He turned directly towards me and began coming in. At fifteen yards he huffed and stamped to get me to identify myself. I didn’t flinch. He walked away from me, like he was headed for the trees, huffed again, then like a magnet turned right back towards me and began a slow walk back to me. (He was slowly easing around to catch the wind.) He stamped his foot and huffed some more. I thought he busted me when he raised his tail and darted towards the trees, but quickly stopped and turned back around to face me. (The young buck just seemed to be bored. He would flinch when his daddy flinched, but otherwise kept his nose on the ground looking for something to eat.)

Finally, after about thirty minutes from the time I first saw them, the bucks wandered into the tree line. It was way cool to watch the action, but the fact that no hogs came in was a bummer. The only thing I got for my effort was a nice spider bite on my right calf. I can’t complain though. It was a good final hog hunt for the year. I had a hog and a half in the cooler. I’ve got a pheasant/sandhill crane hunt coming up in December. Hopefully, I’ll be back hunting hogs in February. Life is good…..for now.

I love a good hog killin' Glad you got two, and on the bad hams hit---backstraps are still fine.

Sounds like fun with the bucks.

Glad you got a couple pigs at least.

George