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Been There Javelina Hunt | April 2012 | |||
Gerhard Schroeder
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It all began so very well. After success in 2011 we picked
unit 20B again as first choice, the earlier HAM hunt. Ron and I got drawn,
and knew where we’d begin. With the area so close to home, off Table Mesa
Rd, we opted to make each a day hunt. Opening Friday found us to the east
of where I had killed the year before. At very first light we split up,
attacking the mountain range from slightly different sides, and to later
meet up on top.
Sure enough, within a half hour I could see fairly fresh sign where the
beasts had been feeding. Then moments later the first pig! However, there
was something seriously unfavorable about that javelina: it was hanging off
a guy’s back, already quite dead.
Then I also detected his buddies, up the next hill, looking my way. Those
three seemed to be in radio communication. What to do? Did they know where
the rest of the herd fled to? How many? I decided to just stay put and
watch, convinced they had not seen me.
Eventually they did move downhill and more towards me. But then someone,
beyond the hill these two guys were coming down from, opened fire. I did
not count the shots, but it sure sounded like emptying a high-capacity
magazine, fifteen minimum! Could not have been Ron with his 357 Mag,
although he had roughly gone that way. I gave it another five minutes.
No piglet came panicking over the hill. Seemed to me that these guys did
not really know where the herd went to, anyway. Time to just have my
own hunt.
Eventually I met up with Ron as planned. He had heard the war but also
seen nothing. We split up again, taking different paths back towards my
Toyota. For me this meant combing the very area where I had gotten lucky
in 2011. Of course that never happens, taking big game in the same spot
as before.
We met up for lunch again. He had seen nothing, I had spooked out a fox.
Again we split. Within ninety minutes I returned to the 4Runner first,
drove towards Ron’s latest position. Soon I saw two gut piles right by
the dirt road, apparently the reward of all that shooting earlier. So we
had been within a quarter mile of the herd that morning, but not quite in
the right place at the right time.
We hunted until dark, and aside from a few jacks, quail and range cows,
had seen nothing.
Saturday we repeated the game, met up at Sportsman’s Warehouse, then
drove a little further into the area, to the big power lines. There we
roamed up and down hills, glassing often, hunting hard. Some places
showed pig sign, all of it telling the same story. They’d been here,
aren’t here now. By 2:30 PM it had warmed noticeably, and our spirits
had suffered. We called it a day. In fact, Ron called it a hunt. He
would not return.
By Saturday morning all that had been sorted out. I was hopeful in visiting
what we labeled as Batman mountain, closer to Phoenix. Sure enough, tracks
were more frequent, and also fresher. All I needed was a track with a pig
still in it. Did not happen.
Sunday, then, was the season’s last day. Back near the power line one last
time. In the morning the same ‘been there’ sign, and little of it.
After lunch I decided on a mountain Ron and I had hunted the week before.
So I huffed up and along familiar draws. Around 1:30PM while resting
briefly on yet another climb I noticed a wet spot in the sand a few steps
ahead. Dirt was too loose so the beast peeing there left no track. Had to
be a pig! I proceeded with anticipated caution. Within two minutes I spied
him, a pretty big one standing broadside some twenty five yards away, playing
desert ghost, not moving a bristle.
How often had he avoided danger this lazy way? This time I did not repeat
the mistake from last year, pulled my Kimber slowly out its nylon holster,
cocked the hammer, took slow and careful aim. Boom, the 185HP was unleashed.
Fatso ran! But maybe not with full enthusiasm.
Also, no other pig exploded out of the thick brush – he was a loner. Within
about a dozen steps, moving sort of in a semicircle, he slowed, and Ms. Kimber
barked again. Fatso ran further, then stopped in some mangle of short trees.
By now I was fairly confident I hit him good. But if he escaped out of sight
which was not too far uphill … well, I’m not the greatest bloodhound.
Therefore a patch of his hide drew my third shot. That brought him down!
And relaxed me greatly. I thanked the Lord. When I stepped up to my porker
he was quite dead.
The typical red work was next, complicated by lack of any even half way level
surface to stabilize my boar on. That did not diminish my happiness.
Then I tied up his legs and carried him in for me typical suitcase fashion.
About an hour later I had the beast across two drainages and to my 4Runner.
Darn – no camera.
So I decided to stop by David’s house, show off, have pictures taken. At
home by about 4PM I hung the javelina in a backyard tree. He was skinned
before dinner, totally in the shade. That night I processed him piece by
piece – cut off a shoulder, deboned it, walked back out for another part,
deboned that, until it was all done by 9PM. This way I never bloodied the
ice chest. Except Mary wasn’t too keen on seeing the carcass dangling in
the yard.
Best I can tell, my first bullet went low (I aimed there, too long of its
own story to explain that here), with the bullet pulverizing his front leg
bone and ripping an impressive hole very low into his chest cavity. It
must have come to rest in there because there was no exit hole. Bullet got
lost with the guts. All that, however, did not bring him down. The second
shot had first penetrated one shoulder, then a rib and the other shoulder
quite high, then stopped under the hide where I found it upon skinning. That
did not stop him, either, although both would have been fatal. The third
hit went way high, cutting the upper part of the spine where neck joins back.
That flipped him finally.
I want more penetration! An exit wound, to be exact. Exit wounds help in
following blood trails. There’s something flawed with the argument that if
the bullet stays in, all its energy is transferred to the animal. To me it
says that too much energy was consumed to deform the bullet itself. There’s
all year to decide on a better hunting projectile. Also, I’m done with at
least that part of unit 20B. Despite successes the last two years I’m
hoping for more game density, want to try, to learn new patches of beautiful
rugged Arizona. Lots to look forward to! Life is great!
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