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| Messages | April 2007 | |
| Gerhard Schroeder
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“No way - cross hairs dancing way too much.” I lowered
the scoped, heavy revolver to catch my breath and calm my pulse. It
was the second Friday of my 2007 javelina hunt.
A week ago Doug Smith and I – "the Oberst" was down and out with the
flu – worked this country hard, but flushed out only a handful of
quail and a spike mule deer. There was javelina sign, nothing fresh,
though. And with rain in the forecast we abandoned the hunt on
Saturday. Little rain did come, and soon this next Friday.
Three o’clock was too early to get up. Yet, here I was, wide awake,
and the first conscious thought was this: ‘Go up the large mountain.’
When I was finally on the road at a little after five, my hunt area
was only ninety minutes north of town, I had time to think things
over.
Yes, I would go up the large mountain. In several past javelina
seasons this hunt area in particular had offered me some ‘help’.
I recalled when other hunters, one dressed in a grey sweat shirt,
had alerted me to the pigs’ location with their rather frequent
gunfire. Another year there were these two hunters on the
opposite side of the canyon who suddenly moved down swiftly with
guns in hand. They had seen the herd first, somewhere down there.
At the very bottom, as it turned out, but I got there first from
my side and killed one before they did. And another time I
overheard a walkie-talkie conversation, telling me the location
of the herd, allowing me to bag my porker before the sun had come
up. Yes! I would go up that mountain.
About two hours later the sun was out now and I was on top. I was
alone this day, by the way, because both Doug and Oberst had to
work. Despite glassing frequently, no form of big game life had
appeared anywhere. The mountain continues easterly, yes, into the
rising sun, and seemed to contain no javelina near its top, where
the north-facing slope was both steep and brushy, and the
south-facing one promised with plenty of prickly pear cacti.
Eventually I reached the area where this mountain also dropped
sharply to the east. This provided plenty of new terrain below
to inspect, but still nothing. Curving northerly and descending
a few feet got me to a bush that provided some shade, a fine place
for some sitting and glassing. I saw them almost immediately,
down below.
But of course they had seen me first, that’s why they were on the
move out. “They” were two mule deer does, in typical fashion
stopping frequently, and looking back. Back at me, but also towards
the north. My first thought was that the spike buck from a week
before must be near. I could not detect him, though.
When the two deer, on their next stop, again looked north, I swung
my binoculars that way further. Ah! Two, no four, no…the herd!
I had found what I came here for.
They were not on the large mountain, but I could see them from here.
The javelina were safe for now, a good half mile away, near the
bottom of the second south-facing slope over, an open area with
hardly any larger plants around.
How to proceed? After surveying their neighborhood closer the best
approach seemed to be to hike straight to them. Aided by a walking
stick, a six-foot section of agave shank, I descended the steep
slope, and moved back up the next hill. Before carefully cresting
I paused to catch my wind, to avoid loud breathing. Then I took a
peek. They were all still there. In fact, I could see even more.
I did not count them. Instead, which one was closest, and was it
‘adult’?
That got answered quickly, but my intended prey still was at least
a hundred paces away, and no real option to sneak in any closer.
Since none of them had a clue yet about my presence, some risk
assessment seemed appropriate. Looping back to head them off on
their slope had two distinct disadvantages. The wind, and not
being able to detect them easily when on the same slope. Overlook
one of them, and the whole gang would bolt to safety. No further
cover was available to sneak any closer, plus the ground was loose
and loud. In the end I decided to take the shot from where I was
standing.
As stated above, my first attempt had to be abandoned because I was
shaking too much. The load, by the way, was a typical 240 grain
SWC lead bullet propelled by Accurate Arms #2 to just shy of 1100
fps, so by no means full power medicine. Accurate and comfortable
to shoot, though. Then my javelina turned, taking the broadside
target away. It walked a few steps before again presenting
‘broadside’. This time all looked comforting. From practicing
just a week prior I knew to hold just over its back. Then a little
more pressure and the Ruger responded. An instant later that
oh-so-sweet sound echoed back – thud - that sound of bullet going
through a bigger critter. The javelina confirmed it with a hunched
back, usually a sign that the shot had come in too far back. It
made two laboring steps, then paused. The others in the herd were
clearly agitated now, but remained on that hill side for now. They
did not know what danger had invaded their bunch, and certainly not
where this danger originated.
Since my doomed pig was still standing, I did not dare close the
distance, thereby possibly convincing the beast to try running for
cover. A few steps off to my right I found a place to sit and shoot
from across my knees. Aiming purposely for the head so no unnecessary
meat would be lost, the next four shots promptly missed their mark.
The doomed porker never even flinched when my bullets whistled past
its head and ripped dust clouds out of the soil a few feet ahead. The
rest of the gang took each shot as further encouragement to reach the
top of the hill, and enter the more comforting thick brush that waited
on the other side. Shot number six ended it all, coming in a little
too low, taking out five ribs and exiting where neck and head meet.
My javelina tumbled for a few feet, and all was quiet again. The Ruger
Bloodhawk (a term of endearment from the Oberst) had come through again.
A smile infested my face. I carried my prey to a nearby juniper tree
to do the red work in the shade. With legs tied together to carry my
javelina ‘suitcase style’ I happily headed back to the 4Runner, fully
aware that I had plenty to be thankful for.
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