HOG HUNTING FOREVER
My Mississippi Hog Hunt
 EDITOR'S
NOTE: The Chickasawhay River swamp in Greene County,
Mississippi, may have one of the oldest populations
of feral pigs in the nation. The area has no record
of a time when this river-bottom swamp hasn't homed
hogs. Fences and property lines never have bound the
free spirits of these feral hogs like the wild boars
of old. They roam at will, foraging for food, hiding
out in the big cane thickets and briar patches along
the edges of the river bank and wreaking havoc on croplands
by night. Hunters with packs of hounds and live traps
and sportsmen with rifles and bows never have eliminated
these free-roaming pigs. They have become as much a
part of the land as the earth itself.
Darkness began to envelop the river-bottom swamp.
I had spent a boring afternoon in a tree stand. Even
the squirrels provided no entertainment. As I looked
forward to coming out of the tree, I saw shadowy figures
appear about 50-yards away, moving along the edge of
the dried-up beaver swamp. Earlier in the afternoon
I had taken this stand along a ridge 150 yards from
Mississippi's Chickasawhay River. Lee Taylor of Leakesville,
Mississippi, my hunting buddy for the day, had found
a perfect funnel for deer to move through between two
edges
-- the river and the dried-up pond. The ridge where
my tree stand sat was covered with numerous white oak
and water oak trees heavy laden with nuts.
Taylor told me he'd always seen hogs in this area.
But I'd found no sign of rooting, no well-defined trails
and no droppings. Taylor had said, "when hogs feed
on acorns, they eat the nuts as soon as the nuts hit
the ground. Often, you won't see any sign of where they've
fed. Although deer leave many droppings in their feeding
area, hogs primarily leave their dung around their bedding
regions. That's why you have to know where and how hogs
move to hunt them." Adrenaline raced through my
system. I locked my release onto my bow string and readied
for the shot. As the figures drew closer, I identified
eight shoats and one tremendous-sized boar that appeared
to weigh more than 250 pounds, two to three times as
large as the young hogs. This boar of my dreams stood
less than 50-yards away, steadily walking toward my
stand. The hogs continued on their path before stopping
to root 20 yards from me.
A fallen tree to my left blocked my shot at the hogs.
Some of the smaller hogs fed in front of the tree, but
the boar stopped short of the opening. As I watched
through the leafless branches, I could see the boar
headed for the opening. Nearly unconscious of the bow
in my hand, I slowly and steadily made my draw in a
fluid, unplanned movement, much like riding a bicycle
and making a turn at a corner. You wouldn't  deliberately
think about the turn. You'd look at the bend in the
road, focus your gaze first on the spot where you wanted
to turn and then execute the maneuver. Before I realized
it, I stood at full draw with my bow waiting on the
hog to step into the opening. Finally, the big boar
waddled into the clearing. I only needed to move my
bow toward the hog, look through the peep sight and
lock my body into its natural shooting position. My
thumb rested behind my neck, and I felt the string on
my nose. I looked through the peep sight and saw the
boar move again. But before I could release the arrow,
he walked behind the fallen tree. Although the smaller
hogs remained in the opening, I wanted to take the trophy.
After a while, I realized I'd held the bow too long
to make an accurate shot. I eased off the pressure and
let the string slowly return to its rest position. I
waited. I felt confident I could take any of the three
or four smaller hogs. However, darkness quickly approached.
If the boar didn't step into the opening soon, I wouldn't
have enough light to shoot. As I watched, the big boar
lifted his head and looked at one of the younger hogs
in front of him. With a few, short, quick grunts, the
trophy boar trotted toward the young hog. Once again,
I drew to prepare for my
shot. This time I lined up my bow with the moving hog.
But before I could get to a full-draw position, the
big tusher had trotted behind the fallen tree.
Once again, I waited for my dream hog to come out to
where I could take the shot. At one point, I could see
him through a 6-inch opening. But because of the angle
of the shot, I didn't think my shaft would clear the
limbs before it reached the opening. I let the bow down
a second time. Darkness quickly pursued the last remnants
of daylight. I knew I had to make a decision to aim
accurately. I had reached the last day of my hunt. In
the morning at daybreak, I'd leave to return home. The
big boar gave no indication of whether he'd come back
into the opening and present a shot. Then I became aware
of a black hog that had fed on the acorns facing me
head-on at about 25 yards. The porker would give me
a chance to pierce him if he turned broadside to me.
I judged the hog to weigh about 60 pounds. If I couldn't
take the trophy hog for my wall, I'd still have some
meat for my table by arrowing this hog. I knew a young
hog would taste better and more tender than an old boar
would.
TOMORROW: MY CONNECTION WITH
THE WILD BOAR
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