It's four months till we head back to Zimbabwe and I've got a 15 yr. old son on spring break. His 9.3 Chapuis double is itching for some pre- safari action. We grab some water bottles, a few sticks of biltong(my local Zim. transplant provided me with his secret recipe) and head for the lease property on Cummins Creek.
There's lots of wild boar sign, we call them dagga boys because they are usually loners and covered with mud. We'll work our way into the wind, lots of thick brush on the creek, visibilty about 10 yards with heavy youpon undergrowth. No wait-a-bit thorns but the greenvines are just as bad. Plenty of fresh sign so I know they are probably laying up during the middle of the day waiting for dark to start feeding.
The first half mile and no sightings, a steady wind keep our scent predictable so we press on. Suddenly at 4 yards a huge red "dagga boy" erupts from his bed and after a short burst stops to look back at what surprised him from a afternoon snooze. I grab my son's shirt and line him up on the only baseball size opening in the thick "jess". At 8 yards the 286 grain Norma plows through from the rear, the only shot possible. The big boar jumps, clearly indicating a hit. These big boars in the 300+ pound range take a lot of killing to put them down for good. I see him flash away before a second bullet can end the story.
Two hours later the old boy has won the fight, a steady blood trail has played out and it appears the big bullet was only a raking shot. We're both scratched from head to heel and my son looks like he's been sorting bobcats for a living.
We move to another part of the "concession" and start all over again with the wind in our face. An hour later and I've become complacent, my eyes are on the ground instead of where they should be. My son's low voice stops me in my tracks as a coal black "dagga boy" crosses 12 yards in front of us from left to right. The thick jess envelopes him and all is silent. My son is frantic why I didn't see the big boar! Something tells me the old "dagga boy" is just as confused as me. I hold my son's shoulder to keep him still and we wait.......suddenly I see him, he has moved into a rare open spot, the size of a basketball, and stops to look back. I pulled my son back to see what only I can see, the little double bellows and the old boy is down. Shot through the front point of the right shoulder, the bullet doesn't even exit the opposite side with the 2" thick shield.
My wife gives us a cursory inspection when we get home and wonders what the heck we did to be covered with scratches and blood. My son looks at at me and we shake our heads, she just doesn't understand that we just might make it if we can keep hunting the Texas "dagga boys" till we get back to Africa!!!!!

No pictures?

Good story but we need a picture.
After all a picture tells a 1000 words.

The only camera we had was one of those disposable types. As soon as they are developed I will post. The biggest we have ever killed bottomed the scale out at 600 lbs. The one recovered this weekend was a youngish boar of around 200 lbs.