I got a call from an outfitter inviting me to hunt two of the wildest boars he had ever seen. Two other groups of hunters had tried, and both had failed. Score the two wild boars two, hunters zero.
The weather had cooled somewhat and thunderstorms were expected, so I told him we would be there, my trusted hunting buddy Rick Hardy and myself. He said to plan on at least a three-day hunt.
I planned to hunt until the job was done, no matter, but Rick, who can’t seem to be away from his wife more than a couple hours, just wanted to hunt a day.
We arrived at the lodge just after daylight, talked to the guides for just a few, and headed into the woods with a light rain, fog, and 78 degrees.
At the top of one of the steepest mountains in Ohio, we had a short meeting to work out our directions when the two wild boars shot by us like they were on a mission. They had been within 30 yards of us. Color them gone, I have never seen two animals move that fast, except the time my friend Martha Watts got the “Racing Pigs” for a Kids Day event.
In a heartbeat they were gone, and the hunt was on.
The first few hours were spent on trying to find them. I knew they would be looking for a place to hunker down from the daylight and the heat. I looked and saw one of them getting ready to go under a dead fall. I took careful aim, pulled the trigger, he took off with the speed of light again, a clear miss. But he was running toward Rick. I saw Rick put the rifle to his shoulder, pull the trigger, but it didn’t fire.
The boar came back around. I shot again, missed. I now knew my scope was off, and bad. Rick walked up, we looked at his Mossberg 30.06. The bolt had come apart; his top-of-the-line gun was useless.
I stopped the hunt and sighted in my scope. It was shooting about nine inches high, and the hunt was on again.
I took aim on him, pulled the trigger and to my surprise out he came, running at full speed, but about 60 yards from where he was, he dropped. One down, and one to go.
I passed my gun on to Rick. We were on a log taking a break when I heard the sound of hoofs coming through the quiet woods. Rick got up to see what it was. I stayed put, but looked to my right, and here came the wild boar running at me full steam ahead, doing damage on his mind. I never had a pocketknife I could get to, and here is a 200 pound boar ready to take your leg off.
I jumped to the side at the last possible minute, and he went on by.
Because of the boar being so close, Rick was unable to get off the shot. We left the woods around two that evening, knowing we had done our best, but failed.
I took Rick home instead of staying for any more hunting. Strange what a feeling you get when you look death in the face!