Met this little guy in San Marcos last night at about 60 yards; he was rooting near a waterhole. I knew I hit him very hard and expected DRT, but heard a splashing noise as I got closer.
Oh, hell, I think, that fool's done run off into the waterhole (unlike in Frank's locale, this would not be a self solving problem). I scan the waterhole with thermal and green light...nothing. Not even a ripple.
More splashing sound - and I find that he DID drop instantly - in a nice little wallow an Orc would be proud to call home. My thermal mono was now picking up a very cosmic signature as his body heat dissipated slowly through the slop, with eddies and swirls emanating from his last few flutter kicks. (I imagine this is the kind of thing a hog hunter would envision when tripping on acid).
Nearly lost my favorite boots (Muck Field Blazers) hauling him out of the groovy goo. It was late and I didn't want to haul him down to the water tower cleaning station. However, I didn't want to waste all the meat, and am not sufficiently proficient at butchering to keep the meat from getting filthy in the process.
So, a loop around the hooves, another round the SUV bumper and I take him for his final five-minute tour of his old stomping grounds.
Grabbed a copy of the Austin Chronicle (a liberal local weekly paper whose editors, no doubt, would have objected vigorously to this off-label use of their product) from the floorboard and after a few wipes, was ready for his meeting with Mister Marbles.
As you can see, he cleaned up pretty nicely. Took the back straps and left the coyotes an undeserved Christmas present.
I've been on the naughty list myself, a few times.
(PS24/Pulsar Photon 3x42/Mossberg .270/Barnes Vortex 130gr/Primo's Trigger Stick Bipod)
Oh, hell, I think, that fool's done run off into the waterhole (unlike in Frank's locale, this would not be a self solving problem). I scan the waterhole with thermal and green light...nothing. Not even a ripple.
More splashing sound - and I find that he DID drop instantly - in a nice little wallow an Orc would be proud to call home. My thermal mono was now picking up a very cosmic signature as his body heat dissipated slowly through the slop, with eddies and swirls emanating from his last few flutter kicks. (I imagine this is the kind of thing a hog hunter would envision when tripping on acid).
Nearly lost my favorite boots (Muck Field Blazers) hauling him out of the groovy goo. It was late and I didn't want to haul him down to the water tower cleaning station. However, I didn't want to waste all the meat, and am not sufficiently proficient at butchering to keep the meat from getting filthy in the process.
So, a loop around the hooves, another round the SUV bumper and I take him for his final five-minute tour of his old stomping grounds.
Grabbed a copy of the Austin Chronicle (a liberal local weekly paper whose editors, no doubt, would have objected vigorously to this off-label use of their product) from the floorboard and after a few wipes, was ready for his meeting with Mister Marbles.
As you can see, he cleaned up pretty nicely. Took the back straps and left the coyotes an undeserved Christmas present.
I've been on the naughty list myself, a few times.
(PS24/Pulsar Photon 3x42/Mossberg .270/Barnes Vortex 130gr/Primo's Trigger Stick Bipod)
