My buddy & I ventured down to the GA swamp after a lull of several years. We both needed a break, & it was good to reconnect with the folks down there. We'd first gone in 2008, so we have quite a history with the place.
Being that the default weather there is infernally hot, their last group of hunters is usually in mid-March, with the place then going unmolested 'til the first of October. We endeavored to be the first group in, so as to catch the hogs unaware & oblivious. It actually worked.
First light at my stand brought a sounder of 6 out to the food plot. They appeared small-ish, and I didn't want to limit-out immediately, so I watched. And watched. And they were in no hurry to go anywhere else. Then it dawned on me that I'd never yet taken a hog with a handgun, and I had my trusty J-frame in pocket. I made a deal with myself that if they were dumb enough to meander under my stand, I'd plug one of 'em.
Remembering that I'd replaced 2 of my self defense rounds with birdshot (it's snake season down there, after all), I advanced the cylinder to be sure I'd be sending out a slug. In a few minutes, the hogs held up their end of the bargain, so I obliged the largest:
Down and done. I was glad to get some media testing of those Speer Short Barrel 135 gr. Gold Dots. No exit from the skull, however.
Shockingly, though, the other hogs didn't even flinch. They just kept feeding. I've NEVER seen animals of
any kind NOT scatter at a gunshot. Perhaps after not hearing any since March, they didn't make the connection.
Half an hour later, a group of 15 appeared, noses down, not a care in the world. Again, I didn't want to be too hasty, but they were taunting me. Finding the biggest dry sow in the group, I let the trigger break, and she fell in her tracks. A .300 WM wasn't necessary, but it's hard to argue with success: the 165 TTSX severed the spine at the base of the skull.
And yet again, the others all stayed put. In fact, they fed right up to her carcass, seemingly annoyed at her horrible manners of falling on top of the scant trail of corn kernels they were jonesing for.
She was actually a good bit larger than I'd estimated when she was on the hoof, and had a really thick layer of fat. I guess they found plenty of victuals over the summer.
The morning wasn't as fruitful for my compatriot, but he pressed on with it. That evening, he took a nice eater with his 7x57 Mountain Rifle:
... followed by an adorable li'l red boar the following morning:
That rifle favors the S&B factory 173 grain soft points, and they performed like they always do:
Not all of the rifles we brought were bloodied, but I did press Great Grandad's Mauser into service for the obligatory photo op:
We stopped shooting only due to the dwindling freezer space back home. We ate ridiculously well, drank even better, and laughed ourselves stupid. Friendships were rekindled, and glasses raised to those who've passed on. A fine swine time, indeed.
FC