For Mr. Howell, hope it does the hunt justice!
For the participants, Thank You for being there!
'Twas a beautiful late May evening on the 700 Springs Ranch.
All was quiet and peaceful, until, some Yankee cop from St. Louis quipped, �where the hell did the Shetlands come from�. 'Course our esteemed (using the term loosely of course), police officer was relieving himself from the step of a guides truck.
Am a little ahead of myself, so will give a bit of a preface.
1st Annual (I hope) Spring Texas Hog Hunt. To get a good feel for this, you must at least skim the Hog Hunt thread.
Yours truly arrived at the Camp on Friday afternoon to, NO GUNS, KNIFE ONLY HUNT, from our most excellent guide, Kirby, and my soon to be friend Gordon. OOPS, am I at the right place? Oh well, surely they jest??? NOT!
After a time for meet and greet, some hunted, some relaxed, others got into the Canadian Beer, eh Pat?!
When we returned form our respective spots, the plot was revealed.
Bubba and his dogs arrived, and volunteers were, umm, rounded up. If I remember correctly, there were about a dozen or so of us, including Bubba and his crew.
The plan was to follow Bubba and dogs on the trails in the trucks. The tracker dogs would crisscross the trails following hog scents. The four dogs were fun to watch do their job. When out of the headlights, you would see the LED lights from their collars-very nice.
When a hog was scented, all lights went out-FULL STOP! QUIET was the word for the moment. When the trackers had a pig cornered, you can tell from the noise, the BIG dogs were loosed. Pit Bull crosses were this nights treat. I figured 80? pounds apiece for the two, Page and Rambo. Hence the Shetland reference-course our oh so eloquent speaker is but 5'4?
Without a flashlight? Grab onto someones belt loops that had one! Run like hell through a maze of Lord knows what-knee high grass, fallen trees and limbs, those with out flashlights, heh heh.
Dogs are yelping, pig's-a-squeelin, people hollerin! It was WONDERFULLY CHAOTIC!
As I arrive, one handler is pulling the hundred and a quarter or so pound hog out of a crevice in the wall of rock and flora. Brave or crazy-still not sure.
I, and others get as close as possible, others are still coming. Flashlights shine, and we find the animals, and Bubba in a CAVE! This cave, is probably six or eight feet deep, maybe four feet high, and, in my view 20 feet long. Large pecan and or oak? tree/s (it is dark!), are close to the opening. This makes it more exciting for the viewers-jockeying for position.
Page and Rambo attempt to do their job, and grab what they can of this hog to restrain it. Page, the older of the two goes in for the head. Being such a tight space, she must come in with her head at an angle that gave our/her nemesis it's chance. The hog used it's inch and a half cutters to inflict a nasty cut/stab into Pages chin. Page got hold of the head, and I'm still not sure how, bounced that poor dog off the ceiling of that cave! She backed off a bit and Rambo moved in. He grabbed an ear and jowls on the hog, and Page got the leg. Oh how I wished I had a picture of Rambo at that moment in time! The determination, hate and power that he showed was immeasurable, unbelievable. I just cannot find the words, nor do I think I could do that DAWG justice in describing him.
This all happened faster than a snake bite!
I feel a hand on my shoulder, Mrs. Okie is there, Okie on Terry's other side, and a mess of other folk scattered about.
About this time Bubba is screamin, and I mean screamin for someone to �STICK THIS DAMN HOG!�
Not sure if good old Canadian indecision or self preservation held me up, but I flinched and our hero, rockchucker moved in for the kill.
As an aside, had Mrs. Okie taken that knife, (and believe me, we tried) it would have been like a power ginsu! Her hand was shaking like she was holding onto a chainsaw-but then again-could it have been me shakin?!
Bobby, being slight of stature, (among other things-according to Dale and Bart), and long on GUNG-HO, grabbed that big ole sticker, and was told �git him behind the ribs-twist and pull out�, but with a little more emphasis.
As Bobby pulled the more than foot long knife from the hog, he was told in no uncertain terms to �HIT 'EM AGIN�!
But as Bobby thrust again, on of the dogs jumped in the way, and rockchucker near had himself another �trophy�.
�NOT THE DAWG! NOT THE DAWG!�
Bobby pulled up, dawg was safe-or so we thought.
The hog bled out faster than any pig or steer I ever throat cut, or saw cut, in almost 40 years of doin that job.
rockchucker looks at the blade, hands it back to Bubba, and quips.�like hot knife through butter�, best we could cypher anyway. The deed is done. Back slaps, handshakes, insults and kudos are given and taken.
A job well done, or a job, well, done-depending on your point of view.
Upon returning to the trucks, yours truly got to umm, guide-yeah, we'll go with that,
guide Rambo back to the trucks, we found some injuries. Seems that two of the chase dogs got caught up in the crevice with the hog and got cut.
One was cut on the chest, ripping the hide back in the shape of a large Y. She needed nothing other than some antibiotics and TLC.
The other, wished I could remember the names, was not so lucky. She needed ten staples, provided by Bubba, on the spot, antibiotics, and lots of TLC, which of course, she got.
I tried, thanks to one of my new found friends, Bob Jr., as he gave up his �first jab� to me, to follow up Bobby's fantastic voyage the next night. But the stars did not align for me. But I can GAREN-DAMN-TEE I will return!
I personally have never felt an adrenaline rush as that! Was immense, terrific and life altering. To wit, I was in the Texline, TX/Clayton, NM tornado (within six hundred yards), and the rush was nowhere near that of the evening of May 23rd 2010.
I would like to thank all of the great folks who attended this most entertaining, educational, fun long weekend I have ever had.
I may have had a long trip, about 4500 miles round trip, alone, but it was worth it, and would do it in a Texas heartbeat!
Later.....
