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This is the story of one of the earlier trips this year, as told by Marty. Yall seem to enjoy them, so heres another one for ya with a different perspective! Will try to get out again for more chops and tales!
Hog Hunting on the Marsh
By Marty Thompson
With the cool, damp wind in our faces we reminisced on past hunts shared. My hunting buddy and I go way back. We have been hunting and fishing together since junior high school, and have shared many memories of the furry and finny kind.
The boat ride is short, but long enough to make sure we are very awake before a face-to-face encounter with the swamp rooters we are chasing. The sun is quite high above the horizon already, since the tide charts determine our departure and return times to this marshy river swamp.
Our first stop is the glassing tree. Much like western hunters, we try to gain elevation to best spot our quarry from a distance. With no game spotted, and no immediate stalk to plan, we move on to another location.
I choose to hunt the traditional way with my recurves and longbows. I have taken quite a bit of game with firearms and compound bows, but I have never enjoyed hunting as much as I do now with traditional tackle. In order to stay proficient with my chosen weapon, I must shoot several times a week. I consider it all part of the hunt and shoot almost everyday. One day my good friend Brad will share the excitement in taking a game animal with stick and string. It is truly special to feel like a little kid again every time I carry these romantic weapons afield.
We approach the marsh flat very slowly and quietly, in case of close encounters. Brad spots several hogs on the edge of the tall grass a hundred or so yards away. We plan our stalk as he readies his gear. I have chosen to be the camera man on this stalk and fall in the rear. As he closes the distance, I take some action photos. Not much cover for the stalker, but luckily the pigs are “pigging out” and making quite the ruckus. He closes the distance to 25 yards with his hard earned stalking skills. Of course, Brad is the only man I know who can hide behind a thick grass stalk! A slam dunk shot that is mysteriously deflected by a stray gust of wind, or maybe an unseen grass stalk? I prefer a clean miss any day of the week!
At the shot, hogs exploded out of the cover. A group of three runs down the edge of the canal toward the largest section of this particular flat. They did not see or wind us. We decide to split up and move toward the three little pig’s last course of departure. Brad chose to travel a more direct route, while I took the round about. Why does it always work out that way?
After covering a couple hundred yards across this boot sucking mud, Brad signals that he has spotted some hogs. After pondering the possible escape route, I signal for Brad to hold his position until I can circle around and take a stand about 100 yards down the canal. The only cover is right on the edge of the water. I try to become one with a small scrubby bush on the water's edge. This is difficult for me, as I need a 36 inch tree trunk to hide behind! This is going to be a really close encounter if they head my way!
I watch as Brad makes his stalk on the feeding pigs. In short order he is at full draw again. As he shoots, I hear the reassuring thwack as the arrow finds its mark. A herd of hogs are headed my way! At first it is just color in the chest-high rustling grass. I try to pick a target as they are headed straight toward me! I choose the largest black one, which is around 150 pounds. They are following the canal really closely, but I need them to veer off some. A frontal shot at a hog is bad news! The black one stops and stares my way at 12 yards. A red one trailing him almost runs into his rear but swerves around on another trail. The red one is trotting broadside at 10 yards now as I reach full draw and find my anchor point. At this point in time my instincts take over. The shot sequence that I have practiced thousands of times seems to happen automatically. The arrow is away and hits just above perfect in the hog's shoulder. He swaps ends and runs back to the canal. I hear him hit the water to swim across, but can not see him due to the heavy grass and brush. About seven or eight smaller hogs continue past me, actually brushing my pants legs as they pass! What a rush!
Brad and I slowly and quietly slip away from the area and back to the boat. We plan our tracking job and discuss possibilities as we give them an hour. The tide is rising and will be full in a couple hours. The tide will flood this flat with several inches of water obscuring important tracking sign. Tracking will be tough, forcing us to concentrate on standing grass and scrub brush for sign.
After an hour, we motor the boat up the canal. Brad finds his hog after a short 40 yard tracking job. Mine will be a little more difficult. Our plan is to search the canal bank across from where my hog entered the water. We spend 45 minutes or so without any sign of him having left the water. My gut tells me that he died in the canal. How to continue the search for a submerged hog? I try a push pole, but have no luck. The muddy bottom composition varies, such that much of it feels like a hog when pushing it with a 14 foot pole! We decide to drift along ever so slowly with the tide while scanning the water carefully. The canal is only about 20-25 feet wide at this point. Brad spots my hog just under the surface only 20 or so yards up the canal.
We find a cypress tree with a really nifty overhanging branch we can use for our skinning chores. Time to make pork chops!
Brad’s hog is a young boar that weighs around 50 to 60 pounds. Mine is a little larger, and probably weighs 80 to 90 pounds. Perfect for the table!
What a beautiful day to be doing what we enjoy most! Thanks for the memories, Brad!
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Originally Posted by neilinov
