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Struttin’ Time:

Why it’s called ‘hunting’ and not ‘killing’

We are headed to Florida in just a few more days. We will leave March 17, arrive to hunt about noon in San Mateo, get with the God’s Country Outfitters, and start our wild boar hunt.

If things go as planned, we will be in the swamps by one o’clock and bayed with the dogs no later than 3 p.m. After running through the swamps, sometimes for what seems like miles, through snakes, gators, and brine water, I hope to get a nice boar. Sometimes it is so small we just let it grow. Other times it will be 200-plus pounds. You just never know until you get to where the dogs are bayed.

Once we down the wild boar, the fun stops and the work begins. Field dressing can cause quite a stir among the alligators, once they get a smell of the downed hog. Then there are bugs of all kinds trying to suck you dry of blood.

Oh, the life we live hunting. Sure is tough (ha-ha). Once we get the downed boar to camp, it will be skinned, quartered, and put on ice for us. We will nurse our wounds and get ready for the next day.

On this day we will rise before sun up, get with the outfitter — he will be the one with the pit bull terriers — and off we go again. Same story, different day. Of course the chances are about 50-50 on whether we get one. If we don’t, we just chalk it up as hunting and on Friday, March 20, drive the short distance to our turkey outfitter, Ms. Kate at Watermelon Pond Plantation.

She is my favorite outfitter of all time, and I have made the trip to her place for many years. Again, we may not even see a Osceola turkey, but that is why it is called “hunting” and not “killing.”

You can enjoy our hunt in the comfort of your home by reading all about it in The Mountain Eagle. The cost to you is only a buck, but it’s really going cost a couple thousand.



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