12-16-09 - 12-18-09 Texas Boar Hunting

Mo had invited me to come down to his place 3 years ago with my friends Nic and Ruder, also from CSU, to hunt some wild boar in the Texas hill country.  While inquiring about the logistics of the hunt I asked what gun to bring.  "Just bring your huntin' knife, we're gonna stick 'em, you'll be jus' fine."  That sounded like a terrible idea so we ended up bringing our hunting knives as requested but also packed our confidence-inspiring .357magnums just in case.  Our hunt that year ended up being a success and we learned that guns weren't all that necessary so long as your not the slowest in the group.

Even though Mo wasn't going to be there this time, one of his employees, Danny, the boar hunting shaman, would be in town and was up for taking me out hunting for a couple nights.  I had hunted with Danny the last time; he made quite the impression on us.  When I first shook hands with him, it felt like I was trying to palm a basketball.  The guy stands several inches taller than me and outweights me by a hundred pounds.  He's a big dude.  I have no doubt he coudl tie Chuck Norris' legs in a knot if he felt so inclined.

I called up Danny not long after getting to Mo's house to see if he was up for hunting that night.  "Oh sho' nuff, mista, just meet me down at the shed at 7:45.  We gonna try out some new dogs tonight, the guy sez they real good."

I rode down to the shed and met up with Danny before heading over to pick up Jason, the goat rancher.  After a brief drive we connected with another guy, David 'The Percolator' Perkins, at a gas station.  He had a long scar on his face, running from the corner of his eye down to his jawbone.  His truck had a dog cage in the back with 7 dogs eagerly awaiting the hunt.  "Jus' don't know 'bout dem dogs, Ben." Danny said quietly.  "Why's that?" I inquired.  "Well, they's all yella, every damn curr is yella, gotsta have more colors n dat."

The farm we were hunting on was owned by a friend of Danny's who'd been having problems with wild boars tearing up his fields.  The boars will run their tusks lengthwise down a furrow to unearth the tender roots of crops to snack on.  They'll also make large wallows in the dirt where they essentially dig themselves a sleeping pit which further destroys the crops.  I was rather shocked to find out that it's not uncommon for a wild boar to eat a calf.  Yes, pigs eat baby cows here in Texas.  Danny wouldn't tell a lie.

Generally speaking, wild boars are not native to North America, they came as wild Russian razorbacks that were released some time ago and have since bread with local feral hogs and the javelinas creating what we call wild boars.

The first night of boar hunting was a total bust to say the least.  Danny was right, the dogs were bogus.  At one point Danny and I were standing with our lights off in some brush with the dogs barking and fighting each other about 20 yards off.  As we stood their waiting, a decent-sized hog snorted its way past us, no more than 10 feet away.

The second night was quite a bit different.  We decided to head up to Rock Springs, about 60 miles north of Uvalde to hunt with Wesley.  Wesley is different.  I'd hunted with him the last time I was down here and was excited to go up to his place again as he was nothing short of a a spectacle.  He's the epitome of a hillbilly.  He dropped out of ELEMENTARY school in the 3rd grade.  Apparently, on his 2 mile walk to the bus stop every day he'd typically go run off in the brush and hide, spending his day with the wild critters of the Texas hill country.

Wesley can't reed or right, and has a total of two upper teeth, one white, one black.  He's a goat rancher whose family has lived on the same spread for several generations.  His home is constructed of corrugated tin walls and roof, the floor is a concrete slab.  Upon entering his residence I came to find that the place is heated via leaving the oven on with its door open.  Inside I counted a total of 13 mounted animal as well as 11 guns lying around.  His wife (we'll call her Tina) had a won a raffle for a new rifle which she was awful proud of.  She hefted the rifle into my hands, "How 'bout dat!" she said grinning.

I kinda met Tina last time hunting as well, on slightly different terms, though.  We had been standing outside chatting with Wesley when we heard a baby scream from inside, followed by Tina throwing open the screen door and yelling, "WESLEY! THE CAT JUST BIT THE BABY!!" Wes didn't waste any time finding the guilty kitten inside.  He grabbed it by the head kinda like those stuffed-animal vending machine tongs do and proceeded to hurl the feline through the screen door, off the front porch, skipping off the ground before darting off. "GIT!" was all he said.

The screaming baby has since 'growed up' to be about 3 years old.  He's got an aptitude for swearing, so much so that he even made Danny snicker.  "Ben, you hear what he just said!?"

Wesley was nothing short of one of the best boar hunters in Texas accoring to Danny.  Because of this I was slightly confused by his knife of choice.  I was assuming some stately-looking Texas Bowie knife but was quite wrong.  The thing was some sort of multi-colored curve bladed Clingon battle sword.  I really should have predicted this in hindsight.

Upon arriving at Wesley's place we were greeted with a cacophony of dogs barking and baying.  The dogs we hunted with this time knew what they were doing.  They were all hound dogs with the exception of Mox, the old pit bull.  The hounds were of several breeds- blood hound, bone hound, red hound, blue tic hound and a little black mouthed curr.  There was Deuce, Yoda, Bill, Squishy, Lacey and the one they referred to affectionately as 'dat lil' pup'.  "Yep, she's gonna be a real good hog-dog someday."  I was happy to find that Wes had gotten more creative with naming his dogs, the last time I was down there, his dogs were all named colors. Red, Blue, Whitey, Blackey, Yeller Bastard, etc.

We loaded all the hounds up into the truck cage and chained Mox on the top of the cage by himself.  We then drove for about 10 minutes to a spot where Wesley thought there had been some recent hog activity.  The hounds were let out and proceeded to run circles around the truck, darting into the brush and turning back, sniffing the ground trying to pick up scent.  The dogs worked silently and were clearly focused on their job.  After several minutes a dog let out a lone bark which triggered the other dogs to sprint over to his location.  The dogs were now 'on scent' and tracked the hog for several more minutes before we heard another chorus of barking followed by a distant squeal.  Danny checked the GPS collar on Bill, "They're still movin'."  After another few minutes the GPS stopped moving, "They're all bayed-up now."  This means that the dogs have surrounded the boar in the brush, when the boar tries to escape the from the circle, a dog with dart in and nip at it, pushing it back into the circle. 

Danny let the dogs work the boar for several minutes to wear it out before calling out to 'Cut Mox loose!"  Mox was still atop the dog cage quivering in excitement, he knew exactly what was going on and was keen to get in on the action.  Mox exploded off the top of the truck and went crashing in a straight line through the brush towards the dogs, some 280 yards off.  There was no doubt when Mox met up with the pack as an even louder squeal was heard.

The rationale is to let the hounds tire-out the boar to make him less of a threat for the pinch dog (Mox) who's got the most dangerous job.  His only duty is to latch onto the boar's snout and not let go, something pits are instictively good at. 

Mox wore a heavy leather collar about 6" long, fastened with three buckles to protect his neck from the sharp boar tusks.  Other pinch dogs will wear chain-mail or even Kevlar vests for further protection.

We then made our way through the mesquite and loose white calichi towards the dogs.  Upon getting there, it looked very similar to a National Geographic program where hyenas have jumped on a gazelle.  Mox was doing his job by holding onto the snout and getting jerked around by the boar, but clearly wasn't about to let go.

The next step was for us to step into the mix.  One man grabs the hind legs of the boar, wheel-barrow style to prevent the boar twisting back, while another gets alongside the boar, placing the knife on the boar's armpit, being careful not to nick a dog.  One quick push on the knife ends the whole ordeal.  The dogs instantly quit (except Mox) and looked up to us as if to say, "Hey humans, how'd we do this time?"

Upon cleaning the boar, we were happy to find it to be much more fatty than usual, typically wild boar is very lean.  Several square feet of bacon was easily visible along the ribs, looking no different than what you'd see at the store.  We ended up leaving the cleaned boar as a gift on the tailgate of Fernando's truck, one of the workers at the place.  "He's really gonna like this one" Danny said proudly.

All in all it was a great hunt, we took two boars and a sow.  The best part was of the hunt (besides indulging myself in the unique culture) was working with the dogs.  It seems like the vast majority of dogs in the States are used just for companionship.  There's nothing wrong with that, but it certainly doesn't allow for the dog to live to their fullest potential.  More often than not if your dog chases after a rabbit or deer, he gets reprimanded, even though that's what instincts are telling them to do. These dogs, on the other hand, get to follow their instincts 100% of the time, quite interesting to watch.