As we moved into the trees, lights swinging here and there hoping for the still black shape of a dead hog, but alert for any sound or movement , I was reminded of an earlier hunt.
I was nineteen and with an old buddy made the trip out of state to hunt wild hogs. We were green far beyond our own estimation of our skills. But youthful enthusiasm prevailed.
On a frosty cold morning in a grassy field I'd stumbled across a boar hog bedded in a nest of grasses.
He'd burst from his resting place putting lots of distance between us. I watched him cross the valley and enter a brush choked gully.
I gave him some time to settle down and moved toward the last place I'd seen him. Moving slowly along the edge of the shallow cut I scanned each log and bush.
Finally I spotted something out of place. An ear was visible through a small opening.
As I squared away for a shot should one present itself, the hog burst from his hiding place mere yards from me.
Time went into slow motion and I was painfully aware of the hogs focus on me. Not knowing what else to do I started to draw the 48 pound recurve intending to make a frontal brain shot. Hadn't Howard Hill done it and wasn't I shooting one of his broadheads?
At ten feet the little boar stumbled over a small root. It was more of a misstep than a stumble, but was enough to make the pig change course. In the instant that he got broadside I released the cedar shaft, catching him squarely through the shoulder.
I was soon standing over my first hog.
Topic: The 'SOLANA GAMES' have begun!!! (Read 69298 times)
