I typically hunt at night, alone.
Done it for six years. Logged hundreds of hours, dozens of miles tromping around. And enjoyed most every minute of it.
There are, of course, risks, which I take precautions to mitigate. Snake boots, medic kit, notification of where I'll be. And my primary rule of not setting foot from the truck (regardless of the time of day) without the big three: Blade. Flashlight. Phone.
The aforementioned medic kit hangs from on my webbing belt counterbalancing the weight of the Colt Trooper. (Almost). My medical background proves to be somewhat both of an asset and a hindrance; I can accomplish more with fewer supplies, but have desire for (and access to) cool medical toys that take up extra room.
Dermabond skin glue? Please and thank you. EpiPen? Not allergic to anything, but you never know. Tourniquet with clotting compound? Ahhellyeah.
I still (and especially) pack it when hunting with a buddy, and make sure they know what and where it is.
Whatever advantages hunting with a partner provides (and they are considerable), it invariably increases the danger of one person moving into the line of fire. Especially when every effort is made to exploit the advantages of hunting in the black.
Knowing where at where your partner is at all times is critical – whether he's three feet away counting down on a sounder or bunkered down half a mile out waiting for a shot. Splitting up a property can be productive, but when one of you wants to go on the prowl to a fresh spot or goes afield to track down a wounded hill country rhino, a previously safe shooting zone becomes a fluid situation.
I have found texting to be a highly valuable tool: quiet, virtually instantaneous, can be referenced at a later time. And smartphone GPS is handy not only for knowing where you are on the planet, but also in communicating that info in terrain that may be difficult to describe. Just open up the GPS on satellite view, snap a screenshot, send the photo and boom - your position is published.
Using these technologies in tandem can make for safer hunting, as long as each hunter promptly confirms receipt and acknowledgment.
But if you've spent enough time in the wild, you know that a lot of bad things can happen suddenly and unexpectedly. Then toss wild animals, rough terrain, firearms and darkness into the mix. And regardless of the technology, when a hunting companion doesn't respond to your call, the hog hunt is over and the manhunt begins.
Last winter, a friend and I had hunted together at the start of the evening. After spotting only a single hog, we decided to separate on the large property (each with a vehicle). I planned to spend the night; he did not. ("My house" refers to an old farmhouse on the property).
The conversation was documented on our text messages; the initial photo and all green message are from me.
Note the time stamps. It's usually not reasonable to expect an immediate response - sometimes you don't notice your phone vibrating, or you aren't able to answer right away. That said, I regret that waiting so long to go searching after his comm went dark.
I wait about ten, then jump in the truck and head for his last known location.
No one at the blind, but after some searching I find his black vehicle with my Flir handheld - the engine is cold, windows closed. From twenty five yards away, I lift the NV monocular through my open window. No one in the car, but something odd is laying on the top of it, not moving.
I call his name. Twice, loudly. Nada. Step out of the truck, reach down to make sure the trauma pack is in place. Bright beam on, holster unsnapped.
As I slowly approach, I can just make out the object on the roof. Although the weather is cold and damp, his expensive rifle and scope are laying on an old jacket, uncovered. I check his thermal scope - powered on, but low battery.
Why would a rational person stopped responding to texts and abandon a $5000 rifle?
I call again. No response. Don't remember drawing it, but the Trooper hangs in my hand.
A flicker of movement catches my eye - from inside the car. I step back and shine the beam inside. There's a body in the driver seat, but slumped over into the passenger side.
Warning: Disturbing Image Follows
Relief.
Now I've just got to find the other six.
Done it for six years. Logged hundreds of hours, dozens of miles tromping around. And enjoyed most every minute of it.
There are, of course, risks, which I take precautions to mitigate. Snake boots, medic kit, notification of where I'll be. And my primary rule of not setting foot from the truck (regardless of the time of day) without the big three: Blade. Flashlight. Phone.
The aforementioned medic kit hangs from on my webbing belt counterbalancing the weight of the Colt Trooper. (Almost). My medical background proves to be somewhat both of an asset and a hindrance; I can accomplish more with fewer supplies, but have desire for (and access to) cool medical toys that take up extra room.
Dermabond skin glue? Please and thank you. EpiPen? Not allergic to anything, but you never know. Tourniquet with clotting compound? Ahhellyeah.
I still (and especially) pack it when hunting with a buddy, and make sure they know what and where it is.
Whatever advantages hunting with a partner provides (and they are considerable), it invariably increases the danger of one person moving into the line of fire. Especially when every effort is made to exploit the advantages of hunting in the black.
Knowing where at where your partner is at all times is critical – whether he's three feet away counting down on a sounder or bunkered down half a mile out waiting for a shot. Splitting up a property can be productive, but when one of you wants to go on the prowl to a fresh spot or goes afield to track down a wounded hill country rhino, a previously safe shooting zone becomes a fluid situation.
I have found texting to be a highly valuable tool: quiet, virtually instantaneous, can be referenced at a later time. And smartphone GPS is handy not only for knowing where you are on the planet, but also in communicating that info in terrain that may be difficult to describe. Just open up the GPS on satellite view, snap a screenshot, send the photo and boom - your position is published.
Using these technologies in tandem can make for safer hunting, as long as each hunter promptly confirms receipt and acknowledgment.
But if you've spent enough time in the wild, you know that a lot of bad things can happen suddenly and unexpectedly. Then toss wild animals, rough terrain, firearms and darkness into the mix. And regardless of the technology, when a hunting companion doesn't respond to your call, the hog hunt is over and the manhunt begins.
Last winter, a friend and I had hunted together at the start of the evening. After spotting only a single hog, we decided to separate on the large property (each with a vehicle). I planned to spend the night; he did not. ("My house" refers to an old farmhouse on the property).
The conversation was documented on our text messages; the initial photo and all green message are from me.
Note the time stamps. It's usually not reasonable to expect an immediate response - sometimes you don't notice your phone vibrating, or you aren't able to answer right away. That said, I regret that waiting so long to go searching after his comm went dark.
I wait about ten, then jump in the truck and head for his last known location.
No one at the blind, but after some searching I find his black vehicle with my Flir handheld - the engine is cold, windows closed. From twenty five yards away, I lift the NV monocular through my open window. No one in the car, but something odd is laying on the top of it, not moving.
I call his name. Twice, loudly. Nada. Step out of the truck, reach down to make sure the trauma pack is in place. Bright beam on, holster unsnapped.
As I slowly approach, I can just make out the object on the roof. Although the weather is cold and damp, his expensive rifle and scope are laying on an old jacket, uncovered. I check his thermal scope - powered on, but low battery.
Why would a rational person stopped responding to texts and abandon a $5000 rifle?
I call again. No response. Don't remember drawing it, but the Trooper hangs in my hand.
A flicker of movement catches my eye - from inside the car. I step back and shine the beam inside. There's a body in the driver seat, but slumped over into the passenger side.
Warning: Disturbing Image Follows
Relief.
Now I've just got to find the other six.
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