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| Javelina Near Home Mind those nylon holsters! | March 2011 | ||
| Gerhard Schroeder
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For the 2011 HAM hunt we almost blew it before it began.
Giving the postal service too much credit (which really means we screwed
up by not dropping our envelope into a blue box on time) our application
and checks were returned with a ‘too late’ stamp on it. We had no
choice then but to settle for leftovers. Luckily, in 2011 there were
quite a few.
More out of ‘what the heck’ I chose areas close to Phoenix. We got the
closest one, unit 20B, stretching from New River all the way to Crown King.
OK then, why not begin the hunt nearby. That meant turn off at Table Mesa
Road. Sure, we bounced in there quite a ways, and the roads certainly
don’t invite. But as the crow flies, I had never hunted pigs that close
to home.
Neither can I remember ever opting for long johns on a javelina hunt.
It was cold that Friday morning. So I had left my house in exactly
such attire, of course with an outer layer of camo. Ron, Daniel and
I arrived in suitable looking country at first light.
Off into the mountains to the west we stormed. Once arriving on top we
could see the edge of Lake Pleasant, and all the fabulous and rugged
beauty spreading to the horizon behind it.
The deal with peccaries is this: once you find them they are easy to
stalk, easy to kill. But find them first in all of this wild desert
where everything scratches or gores you! And everything could conceal
a pig.
Throughout the day I covered maybe ten miles of walking, flushing quail,
spotting eight deer, eight burrows, rabbits and two foxes. But nothing
that matched my permit tag. Daniel and Ron had opted to drop all the
way down to the Aqua Fria, follow it a ways, then circle back the long
way to camp. It paid off. They kicked up one loner. Ron’s first .357
Mag slug tore through a hind leg. They reported that ‘a lot of noise’
later the boar finally came to bag. They tagged it, gutted it, then
tied it to a length of dead tree and carried it out Africa style.
Not familiar with the terrain, but aware of our camp’s location (1.6
miles per GPS) they ‘opted’ for serious hardship and carried the beast
over the mountain. I eventually received their call, met them half way
with the 4Runner and ended their torture. They had killed the pig
around 10:30AM; we were back in camp by about 3PM; they were spent. I
skinned his prize.
Saturday morning we all scattered in different directions. Ron now
aimed with a shotgun, hoping to luck into quail while re-scouting the
area I had combed the day before. He met neither fur nor feather.
Daniel stayed low to the south of camp. I chose to climb and check the
next canyon. Aside from three more deer and cattle we saw nothing.
Noteworthy was the steepness of some of those hillsides. At one point I
dislodged a rather large rock. It took off downhill with ever increasing
momentum, even falling out of view. What that rock did to some things in
its way was rather sobering. I chose the placement of my feet and walking
stick well after seeing that.
After lunch we committed to circle the mountain again that had yielded
prey for Ron the day before. The sun wielded its might the first couple
of hours. Then we entered the land of the gut pile. The vegetation indeed
looked oh so encouraging there. But aside from some noticeably irritated
cattle no other critter showed up. Quite exhausted we reached camp at 6 pm.
Over dinner, salad, deer brats and beans, we discussed options for the
next morning. The winning scenario was to drive a ways back towards I-17
and try the mountains there.
Sunday morning we did exactly that. A cold wind accompanied us into new
country. We were spaced about fifty to a hundred paces apart, Ron armed
for quail again. There seemed to be no escaping this wind. About an hour
into our exploration I made a small mistake.
Rather than keep formation I headed up a draw, really to quickly
reestablish the formation after climbing higher – I had the mountain side,
Daniel the middle ground, and Ron the longest distances to cover in the
lower portion of the hills.
Going rather fast I forgot my own prediction when we had left the vehicles,
that the pigs would probably be somewhere out of the wind, possibly in the
bottom of the washes. The draw had a rather narrow and deep ditch, and now
little wind. After walking uphill, quite swift, along the edge of that
ditch for about a hundred steps, things suddenly happened fast.
I heard ‘something’ down there and froze. Immediately a pig appeared on
my bank, about twenty steps ahead, parked broadside. Perfect! I drew the
Kimber.
Instantly this small paradise evaporated. Yanking the .45 auto from its
nylon doghouse made a whooshing sound that this javelina took as
unquestionable motivation to hit the afterburner. Gone! Not even a
chance for a what-the-heck thrown shot.
But wait: There was more noise ‘down there’. Sure enough, a second
javelina emerged, this time on the opposite bank. This customer, however,
behaved quite differently. Within the first fifty or so yards I remained
hopeful the critter would stop. Didn’t happen. So, at around sixty, Miss
Kimber spoke. All trash talk, though, three misses on an ever accelerating
porker.
Yet luck stayed with me, as another beast left the depths of the ditch.
This one stopped in about the same place the first one had. The open sights
settled on its broadside quite rapidly, and a 185 grain JHP slammed her to
the ground. She squealed her death grunt, kicked some and slid back into
the ditch. Down for the count.
All that commotion convinced a fourth piggy to leave the fake safety of the
deep and narrow and trade it for country beyond the high hill, also never
stopping until it disappeared over the crest. Daniel saw that one escape,
but was too far off to engage with his Smith.
He and Ron did follow after those two, of course. Meanwhile I retrieved my
sow, tagged her, then did the red work. It was 8:15AM, and suddenly a very
good day.
By a little after ten my prey was hanging from the 4Runner hatch, as has
been the custom. Then I waited for the others, reflecting on the hunt,
thanking our creator.
Daniel and Ron returned about ninety minutes later, without ever having seen
any of the survivors. By then the cold wind had done a fine job. We had a
quick lunch, during which Daniel decided that he had hunted enough. I cut
my javelina into the customary pieces to fit the ice chest, and was home by
1pm.
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