The adventure started out a little rough. The plan was to head for Texas the following morning after my wife returned from a trail ride in South Dakota. She called me while on the road the night before Chris and I we’re to leave and tells me the truck has a problem. “I can’t drive faster than 50 MPH because the truck starts bouncing violently!” The next morning I unhook the horse trailer and take the truck out for a spin. Crap! There is a problem. To make a long story short, new tires were in order and by 1:00 in the afternoon the problem was fixed and we were no the road.
Twelve hours later at 01:00 Chris and I where in our favorite Texas camp with our favorite host James Foster at
http://www.stretchastring.com/. Not wanting to waste any time, we say hello to James, dropped our bags in our room, changed our clothes and head out to hunt, spending the first fours hours prowling through the dark listening for hog noises. A few hogs were heard and a distant encounter was had, but nothing up close and personal came from our efforts. By 05:00 we called it a morning and by 05:30 we finally laid down for some much needed sleep.
By noon we headed out with James to run the bait sites to see which baits were getting hit. By chance, I figured “maybe I should take my bow, you never know.” The second stop of the day was the Dead Cow Stand. As we ease to a stop, to our right we see movement 30 or 40 yards away. PIGS! A sounder was sleeping on the hill side under the shade of a tree. The sound of the Kawasaki Mule disturbs their slumber and they reveal themselves to us.
I jump from the back of the Mule and trot towards them. They in turn begin to bug out of the area and the chase was on. At their hurried trot they start putting distance between us as I was running through the open woods behind them. Their path had them angling down the hill to a fence line that I am running beside. Seeing this I conclude that they may be going under the fence soon so I’d better get on the other side quickly.
I cross the fence, check the wind with my puffer bottle, nock an arrow and began running again on a farm road in their direction. The wind was in my favor so they didn’t know they were being perused. One hundred yards down the road I stopped. I lost my visual sight of the pigs. I scanned the hillside and then caught movement about 60 yards ahead of me in the understory. Out of shape and huffing and puffing, I again give chase in their direction. There path has put them closer to the fence. They were indeed going to cross under the fence and soon.
With approximately forty yards between us, they went under the rusted fence and across the red soiled farm road that I was running on. With the wind in my favor they had no clue that I was near. I stopped as they crossed the road and my body welcomed the rest. Standing in the middle of the road gasping for air I watch as one by one the black pigs across the road in a single file. My heart was racing from short burst of exertion need to carry my frame down the road and my legs felt weak from this ridiculously short run. I’ve let myself get out of shape and I was paying the price.
After crossing the road the pigs head to the bank of a creek that snaked through the ranch about 35 yards from the road. With this, I started to give chase again leaving the road and angling to the pigs with hopes of intercepting a straggler in the line. When the lead pig came to the creek bank it turned at a right angle and started running back towards me. Game on! Their path would put them 20 yards out. Still breathing hard from the chase I prepare myself for a shot as one pig, two pigs, three pigs passed by before I had my bow up, drawn and ready to shoot. When the forth pig came by I was locked and loaded. I was concentrating on a spot behind the pigs shoulder and began tracking him with my bow. I was swinging with his movement and when he was broadside I relaxed my string hand. The string ripped from my glove and the white fletch arrow spun towards the pig piercing through the Texas air. In a flash the arrow made contact. The elevation was perfect, but the arrow struck a little far back. With the impact of the arrow the pig squealed and was knocked off his hooves and over the creek bank. “WOW what a hit!” I thought to myself. I heard him fall down the six foot creek bank and I listened as he thrashing around in the water. Intently concentrating on the pig I shot and the noise it was making, I failed to notice the two pigs that had broke from their lineal formation and were standing 15 yards from me quartering away. A very short time later the shot pig scurried up the opposite bank and ran to catch up with the rest of its sounder. I watched the pigs until they vanished into the underbrush. “Not good” I thought to myself.
The arrow passed completely through and stuck in the bank on the opposite side of the creek and had very good blood sign on it. I had hope, but if a pig doesn’t go down in sight the chances of recover diminish quickly.
A couple hours later we return to the site. The point of impact had no blood, the surrounding area had no blood and none of the trails or vegetation in the area showed blood. We did a grid search of the area without positive results. Unfortunately this pig wasn’t found.
Here are a few pictures from around the ranch.
Blue Hole 1 (a swimming hole)
A Picture from the Dirt Pile
Topic: Another Successful Trip to Texas (Read 712 times)
