Yeah, it's been a while.
Fortunate to have almost 700 acres in San Marcos to hunt and dislike sitting in the blind (nod to Rattlesnake Dan). I'd rather get tired walking around than bored sitting on my butt.
But I put up a tripod a couple of months ago and hadn't spent any time unit, mainly due to weather and schedule limitations.
But the view from above is outstanding and I want a shot at a spooky boar that had been pinging the camera at the feeder.
He hits the perimeter for shrapnel, but rarely goes underneath. He's apparently witnessed first hand what happens to those who do.
This pic sez it all...
I think we've all been in relationships like that at one time or another…
I'm on the property about an hour and a half after sundown, park a quarter mile short of the road waterhole and drop a couple pounds of corn around the feeder. (Battery died and I didn't have a spare).
Nothing but a raccoon or two until 11 o'clock. I have my amplified earmuffs on, so I hear him before I see him.
He has waded into the water directly across from me, on the far side of the tank about 65 yards away.
I'm scouting regularly with a thermal monocular, but miss him coming in. Which is too bad, because I would've been able to drop him on dry ground where I could drag him out.
But now he's rooting around in the muck and if I shoot him, I would have to pull his 200 pound carcass out of the mud. There's no access with the truck, and I don't have a long enough cable to reach him from clear ground. And I certainly can't leave him to rot in the waterhole.
So I have to wait for about three minutes, giving up a clear broadside shot. I figure he'll come out of the water and wander across the bank to the feeder and I can tap him along the way.
I'm steady on him as he finally exits the water, showing only his ass to me. But instead of turning, something seems to spook him and he starts scrambling at the incline. I'm not sure if he'll settle or not, and I don't want to miss my only potential shot. He quarters slightly and I drop the .270 behind the shoulder.
He stumbles, then takes off at a run up the bank. Even with my elevation, I lose sight of him as he's over the berm and into the brush.
No regrets on how my played it so far with the limited opportunity offered, but here's where I start to make a sequence of mistakes.
I should just sit here for about fifteen minutes. There's never any harm in it, and I have bagged a couple extra hogs over the years just sitting tight.
But I'm antsy and go after him. No blood trail, but fortunately, there's dew and by kneeling in the grass with my white headlamp, I can pick up his trail heading across the meadow in the direction of the gate.
Again, I realize that I should just wait a few minutes to prevent jumping him, but am now hot on the trail so I keep moving forward.
The dew trail leads to the edge of the thicket, so I start scouting for big white hoggy blobs with the thermal.
This is the point where I should've turned off my white headlamp and gone dark, or at least used my red beam. I'm probably not going to see him in the brush with the headlamp, so there's no point in using it.
But I leave it on and start circling the brush, and sure enough pick him up about 20 yards away laying down in the scrub. Trying his best to die.
But I can't have that, so I keep the white headlamp on him while I raise my rifle. He is, of course, bothered by the beam, so he gets up and turns broadside, offering a beautifully head shot.
Click.
Because I neglected to make sure I had a round in the chamber when I went after the damned thing. You know, exactly the kind of thing you check when you actually do what you're supposed to by waiting a few minutes.
And by the time I can rack one in, he staggers back even deeper into the brush.
I keep circling and looking for about twenty more minutes, then conclude he's too far in to see with the thermal, and I would need a machete to hack my way in anyhow. (Blue dot marks as close as I could get to his final resting place).
Good news is that he is hooves up; bad news is I didn't recover him. And I actually wanted the meat this time.
Thinking about submitting this compelling tale to Field and Stream; it would look great on the cover:
"Five Can't Miss Big Buck Tactics"
".308 vs 30.06 - The Verdict is In"
"I Shot a Hog and Couldn't Find It!"
Fortunate to have almost 700 acres in San Marcos to hunt and dislike sitting in the blind (nod to Rattlesnake Dan). I'd rather get tired walking around than bored sitting on my butt.
But I put up a tripod a couple of months ago and hadn't spent any time unit, mainly due to weather and schedule limitations.
But the view from above is outstanding and I want a shot at a spooky boar that had been pinging the camera at the feeder.
He hits the perimeter for shrapnel, but rarely goes underneath. He's apparently witnessed first hand what happens to those who do.
This pic sez it all...
I think we've all been in relationships like that at one time or another…
I'm on the property about an hour and a half after sundown, park a quarter mile short of the road waterhole and drop a couple pounds of corn around the feeder. (Battery died and I didn't have a spare).
Nothing but a raccoon or two until 11 o'clock. I have my amplified earmuffs on, so I hear him before I see him.
He has waded into the water directly across from me, on the far side of the tank about 65 yards away.
I'm scouting regularly with a thermal monocular, but miss him coming in. Which is too bad, because I would've been able to drop him on dry ground where I could drag him out.
But now he's rooting around in the muck and if I shoot him, I would have to pull his 200 pound carcass out of the mud. There's no access with the truck, and I don't have a long enough cable to reach him from clear ground. And I certainly can't leave him to rot in the waterhole.
So I have to wait for about three minutes, giving up a clear broadside shot. I figure he'll come out of the water and wander across the bank to the feeder and I can tap him along the way.
I'm steady on him as he finally exits the water, showing only his ass to me. But instead of turning, something seems to spook him and he starts scrambling at the incline. I'm not sure if he'll settle or not, and I don't want to miss my only potential shot. He quarters slightly and I drop the .270 behind the shoulder.
He stumbles, then takes off at a run up the bank. Even with my elevation, I lose sight of him as he's over the berm and into the brush.
No regrets on how my played it so far with the limited opportunity offered, but here's where I start to make a sequence of mistakes.
I should just sit here for about fifteen minutes. There's never any harm in it, and I have bagged a couple extra hogs over the years just sitting tight.
But I'm antsy and go after him. No blood trail, but fortunately, there's dew and by kneeling in the grass with my white headlamp, I can pick up his trail heading across the meadow in the direction of the gate.
Again, I realize that I should just wait a few minutes to prevent jumping him, but am now hot on the trail so I keep moving forward.
The dew trail leads to the edge of the thicket, so I start scouting for big white hoggy blobs with the thermal.
This is the point where I should've turned off my white headlamp and gone dark, or at least used my red beam. I'm probably not going to see him in the brush with the headlamp, so there's no point in using it.
But I leave it on and start circling the brush, and sure enough pick him up about 20 yards away laying down in the scrub. Trying his best to die.
But I can't have that, so I keep the white headlamp on him while I raise my rifle. He is, of course, bothered by the beam, so he gets up and turns broadside, offering a beautifully head shot.
Click.
Because I neglected to make sure I had a round in the chamber when I went after the damned thing. You know, exactly the kind of thing you check when you actually do what you're supposed to by waiting a few minutes.
And by the time I can rack one in, he staggers back even deeper into the brush.
I keep circling and looking for about twenty more minutes, then conclude he's too far in to see with the thermal, and I would need a machete to hack my way in anyhow. (Blue dot marks as close as I could get to his final resting place).
Good news is that he is hooves up; bad news is I didn't recover him. And I actually wanted the meat this time.
Thinking about submitting this compelling tale to Field and Stream; it would look great on the cover:
"Five Can't Miss Big Buck Tactics"
".308 vs 30.06 - The Verdict is In"
"I Shot a Hog and Couldn't Find It!"
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