Feral pig hunting proves adventurous

For those who have never had the experience, hunting feral hog in thick brush just might be the sport you need to provide a good rush for those prone to be adrenaline junkies.

As I discovered on my first hog-hunting trip, you don't have to travel to Africa and be chased around by buffs to be scared - you can do it right in your own back yard. If nothing else, it will definitely provide you with good material for telling the story to family and friends.

As with many off-season hunting trips, it began when a friend named Mark Canfield came to visit me at my house in the Texas Hill Country. Mark and I had worked together in Alaska and between the two of us we had taken grizzly, blackies, moose, caribou, sheep and everything in between.

After seeing a large boar head mounted on a wall, we were determined to add a pig to our list of conquests and felt an adventure such as this would be worthy of the hunting prowess we both possessed. Besides, we knew that Texans could use a few hunting tips from real "Alaskan men."

After locating a guide to help us learn the finer points of locating hogs, we garnished our macho hunting outfits, got videotaped by my wife, and with profound joy departed in pursuit of wild pork chops.

The feral hog and Russian boar are two separate species of hog that are available to hunt in Texas. With numbers that are rapidly increasing, millions of these ornery critters inhabit much of Texas, wreaking havoc on fields, crops, and fences.

The feral hog is a domestic pig that has gone wild. Unlike its domestic brother it is hairy, foul-tempered, and evil looking. It has a very rowdy disposition and could stand to benefit from some anger-management counseling.

The Russian boar was introduced from Europe to add a bit of excitement for hunters. Needless to say, they escaped, interbred with the feral hogs, and continued the legacy of foul tempers and ugly looks.

After joining our guide, we left Kerrville in the early evening. Darkness found us perched in a stand overlooking piles of bones in the middle of nowhere. The dazzling display from the fireflies in the darkness was reminiscent of a Doors concert in the '60s. Hours drifted by as we watched and waited. We strained to identify every sound we heard and were eventually rewarded with grunts in the distance until, at last, our first pig arrived.

The pig was a solitary little squirt about the size of a wiener dog. It was noisy as it rooted through the bones below us, and finally it left after finding nothing of interest. No further activity occurred, so our guide suggested we still hunt near a water hole. We spent the evening listening but no pigs came to the water.

Not to be outsmarted by pigs, we got a few hours' sleep then contacted a rancher and got permission to hunt on his land. He informed us that he had lots of hogs. We had a full night's sleep and arrived on his doorstep before first light the next morning.

The rancher and his wife let us in the house to sign some papers releasing them from liability in case the hogs got us. "Do they get many hunters?" I inquired with a smile. "A few," he responded, as the smile faded from my lips. He then proceeded to tell us horror stories about previous attacks on other hunters and him.

I was already slightly nervous, as I had spoken with Alaskan professional hunter Pat McCollum and his wife, Cathy. Pat had told me of shooting a hog in Texas off his partner on their first hog-hunting trip.

His partner had been messed up pretty bad. The scariest part was knowing that Pat was one of the best bear guides in the state. But, still, we were Alaskans. We were also bear hunters. We were brave and we had guns and arrows. Yet, we were very apprehensive when we entered that pasture after those pigs.

The rancher told us the pigs were using some thick cover on the south end of the pasture to bed down. They had plenty of brush and water. We headed that direction in hopes of jumping some for an easy hunt. I was carrying a 30.06 and Mark had decided to use his bow. We decided Mark would get first shot with the bow then I would take one with the rifle. We were ready for the varmints when we entered that brush. Nothing would stop us now.

We had gone only a few yards into the brush when all hell broke loose. Pigs ran in all directions as we looked around in panic. Our hearts pounded and our eyes were wide as saucers!

Their growls and grunts were scary enough without the breaking and snapping of branches and brush and the constant movement in the bushes. I wanted to run screaming for home but there was this little matter of male pride.

We calmed our nerves and created a battle plan. Still hearing the animals ahead of us, Mark was to stay in the trees and I would circle and drive the pigs back to him.

Quietly moving through the thick brush, my hair stood on end as I listened to the sounds of the pigs less than 30 yards in front of me.

As I exited into a clearing, I stood facing an ugly-looking brute. I got behind a tree and the pig disappeared into the brush. In a few minutes I continued my drive.

Again I heard chaos in front of me and knew Mark had encountered the pigs. When I found him he told me he had taken a shot but that it was deflected by a sapling. The pigs had headed in the direction of a small ravine, so again we split up and mounted our attack.

In almost every thicket I entered, out rushed a hog. My nerves were so frayed I could hardly lift my rifle to take a shot. I spent most of my time running to hide behind whatever I could find. In some thickets I encountered lone hogs, in others two or three. In some, 15 or more. An hour or so later I located Mark. He told me he had seen the granddaddy of all hogs but was too scared to fling an arrow at it.

He had stood motionless until it moved away. After this encounter we returned to the truck and secured a .30/30 for Mark. Thus began a day of jumping, running, yelling, shooting, missing, rain, sun, fear, panic and constant adrenaline.

In the early afternoon, Mark shot a pig that must have gone 125 pounds with a hip shot as it rushed toward him after I flushed it from a thicket. After skinning and quartering the pig we again entered the ravine. Mark was in the lower part and I was working the edge.

We encountered many pigs, but had no opportunity for a shot. After a few hours I heard a pig pacing back and forth below me as Mark moved down the ravine. The pig was obviously annoyed with Mark. I couldn't see it even though it was less than 20 yards from me.

After a while the pig moved into the opening as it headed for dense brush. I made a quick offhand shot and the pig lurched, squealed, then raced into the dense brush. I stood listening and watching as Mark emerged from below.

We could hear occasional sounds from the thicket and then there was nothing. We waited awhile and after an acceptable amount of time we cautiously advanced on the thicket.

Movement through the dense brush was done on our hands and knees. This was not a favorable situation, as we were not keen on having an enraged pig on our noses. After a thorough search we discovered the pig was not in the thicket.

We widened our search slowly and after coming to a clearing I noticed a large black shape on the other side. There was my pig! About 250 pounds of ugly! We dressed him, took pictures, loaded our other pig and headed home.

We bragged of our fearlessness and prowess. We had encountered pigs! Hundreds of pigs! Thousands of pigs! Well, enough of them, anyway, and we had won! We were pig hunters!

My wife said we were giddy with excitement when we returned, telling her tale after tale over and over again. We were happy and showed those Texans that Alaskans are real hunters!

Of all the hunting experiences I have had, this one particular hunt may stand in my mind as one of the most memorable. Not due to the aesthetics, but for the mere thrill of encountering this unpredictable and scary animal.

It was a hunt which allowed me to overcome fear and face an adversary I knew nothing of. There were no tactics we knew would work. We had not done our homework and were blindly hunting a cunning and potentially dangerous animal without experience.

Since that hunt I have done my homework on the hunting of feral hogs. I'm now feeling a bit more confident and this summer Mark and I will be joined by another friend from Alaska. This time it is with arrows only with a hope that we can repeat the "rush" we experienced on our first trip hunting hogs.

Frederic Brown is a hunter from Mat-Su.