High Water Hogs

The fall and winter of 1997-98 was a banner time in my life. It was my senior year of high school, and I’d be departing for the University of Florida the following autumn to study...something. That August I took a velvet buck in South Carolina and followed him up in November with a fine trophy Florida whitetail, two mounts I still gaze upon fondly. In October I flew out West for the first time on a successful week-long mule deer and elk hunt in the mountains of the Roosevelt National Forest in North-Central Colorado, an adventure that will never be forgotten.

And I way-laid a ton of hogs that winter.

Florida experienced an exceptional amount of rainfall during November and December of that year. We were trapped in the effects of an El Nino cycle that deluged the state. All of the creek bottoms on the properties we hunted flooded. Trails and roads were impassable with anything shy of a canoe. There was a chop of whitecaps across cow pastures. Normally this extra water would've receded in a matter of days, but the rain just kept on coming.

As a result, the game was pushed up on high. The sounders of sows and shoats were particularly susceptible while the bigger boars that were once inviolable were forced onto the dry land. I don’t recall the accurate number of swine we popped…let’s just say it was quite a bounty to this young hunter. We’ve had wet years since, but this one will always stick out in stories.

With two tropical storms and our usual buffet of evening thunderstorms, Florida has had a pretty wet summer. If this continues – which is a big “if” because we typically experience dry autumns and winters – we could realize another hog year like that one. Already on our lease - which is as dry as a box of matches – after months of no hog sign, a few showed up on trail cameras after Tropical Storm Issac passed, no doubt the result of the stormwater pushing these fellows out of their comfort zone. And I’m noticing hogs and hog sign everywhere recently, just driving through the state.

There's no question wild hogs like the water, and it's why they're regarded as cagey swamp dwellers, but pigs aren't aquatic mammals. They don’t possess sweat glands which render them sensitive to high temperatures. If you've ever held a hog hide, you've probably considered how awful it'd be to wear that in the warm months. That and being covered with ticks would be pretty horrible. So to regulate their body temperature they wallow and take to swamps with that wonderful combination of cover, shade and moisture that lends to a life of leisure for a pig. 

Even still, while hogs prefer this habitat, don’t mind traveling through water, and are powerful swimmers, too much is too much. When their bedding and feeding areas flood, hogs behave about like those little sandpipers and plovers you’d see at the beach - they don’t care if their feet get wet, but they’re not going to nest there either. Hogs will be pushed to the peripheries when it's too wet for comfort, and it’s a boon to hunters when this happens.

And I typically witness this during the summer and note on dry years how we don’t see the numbers of hogs we're accustomed to. Travis, Krunk and I were hog hunting in Sarasota County a couple weeks ago. It was blazing hot, and the property was, in its driest areas, a marsh. We saw hogs the majority of the day, atypical for a place where your best afternoon opportunities occur an hour before dark but the hogs had spilled their banks. We should have rung up high numbers with the rifles, but we were spotting and stalking from the truck. The ground was so soggy that the splashing tires alerted the hogs before we could shut off the engine. Our spy-to-kill ratio was remarkably low. With the number of hogs were were seeing, though, a chance or two had to ultimately prevail. 

Around 5:30, Krunk shot a nice sow that hesitated a bit too long before retreating in the palmettos. Soon after, Travis and I bailed out on a sounder feeding in a dry patch of tall grass, probably sharing that patch with fireants, ground-nesting birds, and any other critter seeking the Ark. Travis split left for a direct approach while I moved to the nearest woodline to cut off their retreat. Unfortunately they spooked before T got a shot, but I was ready. 40-pounders burst from the grass as I armed my AR-15. I sorted through the runts until a large sow erupted from cover and into a hail of .223’s.

But that’s summer-time hunting. With deer season starting soon, most of us will be in treestands. Anyone with stands on the water’s edge is likely to have run-in’s. It’s not like you’ll need to keep a watchful eye; you’ll hear them come, a-splishing and a-splashing and a-grunting. 

If the heavy rains do cease like during most FL winters, the hogs will retreat into their swamps, popping out to feed on acorns, palmetto berries, crops, and return to whatever semblance of a normal life a hog has.

But if you have a wild hog on your wish list this year - for a BBQ or for a shoulder mount - I’d continue to pray for rain and swollen rivers and swamps.

It’s about as good as hog hunting gets.

The Case of a County-Run Hunting Program

I attended Duette Park's mandatory hunting orientation last Saturday morning. Manatee County runs the show and, to my knowledge, Duette is the only tract of public land in Florida where the county designs the hunting program, within the guidelines of state law. Over 21,000 acres, the land is home to the headwaters of the Manatee River which favors healthy populations of deer, hogs, turkey and other game animals. Duette shows scars of human use from a couple generations ago and is still surrounded by agriculture and phosphate ventures. Today, it's managed with a plan to restore it to its native, natural condition - with shell roads, power boxes and fences, of course.

Part of their management plan includes this unique hunting program to keep the deer and hog herds in check. Several weekend hunts are sold through a random-draw system. The added income helps fund conservation projects such as longleaf pine restoration, and land management tools like prescribed burns. These hunts have been held every year for nearly 20 years and enjoy a loyal following. In a section of the state where public land is limited, it's valuable real estate.

And it's a lot to ask for in these days of shrinking local government budgets. These hunts aren't overflowing the coffers considering labor costs, machinery, etc. A few seasons ago the hunt program was very much in doubt as the entire state buckled under the recession. So take a tough economic climate and add the wishes of sportsmen, and the challenge for the county comes down to satisfying paying customers while keeping management plans in check with the limited resources available.

I remember the first orientation I attended. The park biologists and managers stood in front of the drawn hunters and read through the rules. Then they were verbally accosted for all manner of  supposed transgressions. Quite a few in the mob – many of whom couldn't even spell "diploma" – queried the biologists on their qualifications to enact management policy. It was known that a lot of the staff were non-hunters, though they worked closely with FWC to draw up management goals from season to season. It was as close to a public flogging as I'd ever seen, and honestly made me worried sharing the woods with these folks.

Duette Park 8-pt

I left that year thinking, "Why do they put up with this? No way can this last." 

But, to their credit, the show’s gone on. 

Since then these annual meetings have been pretty tame, and I'm recognizing the same outdoorsmen from year to year; the majority of the loudmouth malcontents have since packed sand. This year, though, I thought would attract scorn. One, there were no hunts in November, the prime rut period in this section of the state. Two, it didn't appear there'd be any doe tags this season. Three, they raised the antler restriction to 3-points on one side, up from 2.

I figured the antler rule would rile up the most derision. It was front and center in the debate 6 years back. Then, they proposed a modest increase from spike to forkie to improve the age structure and trophy potential, and Holy Jesus, you’d thought they’d been restricted to shooting fictional creatures.

It passed without a peep this year. People will surprise you. It was explained that, yes, they’d still like to improve the age structure. Not a murmur dripped from the crowd. But that’s not the most shocking point to this lack of aggression. See, it's not a free-for-all deer slaying; they work on a quota system. Usually the number of bucks that can be taken on a weekend is 4 – 6. If that is met or exceeded on Saturday, bucks are off-limits on Sunday, allowing only the harvest of pigs or does – if one possesses an antlerless tag (be there in a second). For a 100 hunters paying $80-$90 a hunt sharing a bag of 6 bucks, it's tough to swallow expectations of a whole weekend and only getting a day for that Big Buck. And Big Bucks are tough to do in a day.

Again, not an eyebrow raised, and I believe the rangers relaxed enough to uncross their legs.

As for the doe situation, the guy running the orientation this year, now confident in the calm, claimed he’d prefer no doe tags for the next five years. Nighttime surveys convinced them they’d been a little too liberal doling out these special permits in the past. Bowhunters were welcome to pop a flathead, but the rifle crowds were out.

A striking silence with hunting opportunity shrinking by the paragraph.

The final issue was a lack of hunting weekends during the rut in November, save for one Youth Hunt – youth recruitment was also a big topic this year, happily. One guy stepped forward to challenge this decision, maybe having concluded we were getting chumped out of the best time to hunt. The Man in Charge flatly told him they didn’t have the staff. The limited crew was spread out between here and several other parks throughout the county. With the holidays and influx of Snowbirds flocking south, they just didn’t have the manpower or budget to accommodate November hunts. The gentleman ghosted back into the corn.

All in all, I was impressed with the crowd. Though the added money is critical, hunting is not a priority on this property and this group seemed to understand. Or maybe it was hot and they were lazy, who knows? The County certainly doesn’t need the hassle but has put together about as fine of a quality deer hunting program as you could expect, given the variables. 

The major attribute I see in this success is the communication. The park employees ask hunters to volunteer input on season dates, recommendations for the park, and ways to improve the program. And they appear to be listened to, in some form. A few years back it was suggested to open up the park in the summer for hog and predator hunts. The hogs are rampant here and need serious thinning, a point on which the biologists and hunters always agree. This year they obliged, and it was a superb hunt. As an added bonus, the proceeds of the weekend went to the United Way.

One last remarkable part of this program that other state agencies would do well to notice – the place gets quite a bit of traffic from equestrians, hikers, birdwatchers, butterfly gazers, etc., and there appears to be little conflict, though the park is closed to outsiders during hunt weekends. Beyond the game animals, Duette is also home to endangered scrub jays and indigo snakes and other special species such as gopher tortoises all living in delicate ecological environs. If in nearly twenty years the sanctity of the park’s mission to protect and restore this vestige of native Florida landscape was threatened or conflicts arose with other user groups, I think us hunters would be shown the door in hurry.

Thankfully that’s not happened. It’s a rare piece of property in this state and a fine example of not only assimilating hunters and sound land management practices, but also allowing various populations of outdoor enthusiasts to enjoy the land. We need it in Florida. 

Think folks understand that, too.

Hogs on the Run

We spied five or six hogs slinking along a wet-weather pond on the edge of a palm hammock around 5 in the afternoon. At 250-300 yards and the wind in our favor, there wasn’t much chance of them picking us out, even though there were five of us tromping through the South Florida underbrush. In all reality we could have probably just walked across the field and tapped them in a cold assassination style. But, there was plenty of cover for a stalk, and we are hunters. Gotta play the part, you know. The hogs filtered in and out of view as we darted about trying to close the distance. We needed to get to one last myrtle bush before we could deploy and cut loose.

Well, we never made that myrtle. The problem wasn’t the hogs busting us. It was the coyote. One old mangy dog was loitering around the herd. These pigs were big enough not to be bothered by a pesky song dog, but they certainly took notice of him after he caught wind of our activities and bounded away. The coup de grace, though, were the turkeys. A couple hens were holding sentry and naturally took off when they saw us, taking the finally-frightened hogs with them. Wild pigs don’t have the best sense of sight, but they’re wary enough to recognize something amiss. (And how strange is it to find a coyote, hogs, and turkeys hanging around each other outside of a Disney movie?)

The next batch was not nearly as lucky. The way we do this is drive the ranch until we spot swine. We then hop out and stalk within range. Sometimes it’s fifty yards, sometimes 300.  Everyone picks a hog and cleans up, hopefully. It is exciting stuff experiencing five rifles bark at once. It’s frenzied. Hog squealing, folks yelling, brass being shucked out just as fast as the action works. It’s dessert after a long winter and spring of meticulous deer and turkey hunting.

Anyway, the next batch was not nearly as lucky. I had my AR-15. Again feeding in a wet-weather pond, this group was caught in the open. We slipped to about 75-80 yards away. The other four saddled up next to a palm, I fanned out to edge of the action. Somebody shot and the hogs scattered like quail, with three or four sows – I lost count in the action – spinning my way and into the Teeth of the Beast.

I doused one sow pretty quickly. With the hail of gunfire, it could have just been an accident, but I caught up to a second that required a trailing job. Those guys with their bolt actions downed one. Krunk got her, which was only his second or third hog, so he was pleased. Three pigs was a fine start to filling the freezers, and we sensed with this much activity early that this was going to be a special day.

The lone gaffe of this assault was one guy missing with my pet .300 Win Mag, which had me concerned the zero was off because it’s an easy weapon to shoot. Being an avid and successful bowhunter, I just assumed Chris knew what he was doing with my rifle. This was his first hog trip, though, and with an archer’s ethos was ill-prepared for the turpitude that had just occurred. Hell, he only loaded one round in the chamber – rookie mistake. We really wanted him to pop a hog and were dismayed that he left this encounter without a ham to call his own. We loaded the pigs in the back of the truck and pressed forward. No more than ten minutes later, Chris had his opportunity.

You could just barely make out the line of the boar’s back over the thick grass. Travis and I studied intently with the binoculars to make sure it wasn’t a black calf. Only after we caught his long wire-haired tail swishing did we made the correct call that it was in fact a pig. Travis, Chris and PJ set up a stalk covering a couple hundred yards while Krunk and I enjoyed the experience from the Chevy. This time, Chris came through, felling a 120lb. young boar with one shot.

The action went slack as we drove through the drier sections of the ranch – though still saw plenty of deer and turkey.  We eventually meandered to a section of the property known as the Railroad Grade where we could see down and out across swampier portions of property. And I know it’s starting to sound like a fish story now, but we did indeed locate another herd of hogs.

This time we did creep across the open pasture. They were milling through reeds and other tall grasses and didn’t pay any mind to our advances…we actually trotted to them. I did have a different issue this time. Expecting to guide more than shoot, I only toted along a handful of .223’s and they were gone. So I swapped out to my Marlin Guide Gun in .45-70 which isn’t exactly a long distance poker. Unfortunate because as we stalked up to the herd of young sows, a giant swagger of a boar appeared from the woods.

I motioned over to PJ and he saw the stud, but we were now too spread out and too close to the hogs for any effective communication. Had my .300 been resting in my hands, I would have just screwed everybody else over to shoot that boar. But I didn’t and PJ ended up dumping a fine eater sow.

So if you’re keeping count, that would be five hogs and there was still an hour before dark. We decided to split up and hunt the feeders for Last Call. Travis and I were skunked, but PJ, Chris and Krunk had a fat young boar visit their haunt, and PJ promptly settled his hash.

Days like this are certainly special and even on this private land, relatively uncommon. The owner’s annihilating contempt for hogs allowed us to do this, but the game doesn't always cooperate. This time, everything lined up correctly. It’s been dry in Florida and the hogs are concentrating their rooting efforts in the vestiges of wetlands. So while this was a bunch of fun, it’s also a reminder that we need rain badly.

We saw the owner before we set out on the hunt. He told us to kill them all. We certainly tried, but didn’t even make a dent. But it is nice to know there will be some for next time.  

Field and Kitchen Care for Wild Hogs

A lot of wild hogs are going to die in Florida this fall and winter. The signs are everywhere for a fine season. I’m seeing rooting everywhere – even along public roads and highways. It’s a weak acorn crop in many parts of the state, and the hogs compensate for this cash crop deficiency by increasing this destructive, hatred-breeding feeding style. Hunters are reporting plenty of swine activity. I’ve not set foot on hunting land in Florida the last three months and not seen a hog - total opposite from last year where you’d slide across acorns like marbles on a tile floor. The hogs fed at their leisure, limiting their daylight movement.

As we move out of the deer rut in most parts of the state, hogs will become the primary target of opportunity. Let ‘em have it!

Well, let’s pretend you snuffed out a hog. What to do now is critical to fine eating pork, a memorable mount, and even your health.

Things to consider as you slice your swine.

1. Taxidermy Tips – Starting on a high note, let’s say you have bagged that monster boar for the den, garage, camp, or wherever this animal head will fit with your spouse’s décor. Avoid dragging the hog with his head hitting the ground. This could burn off his hair and even potentially wreck those chompers on a pine stump or some other debris. Most large boars will have a thick shield over his shoulders. It behooves the hunter to cut well behind this and peel everything down from there. The taxidermist can then deal with the extra hide. Ice it down immediately and keep it on ice, making sure it’s not sitting in a puddle of melted water. Freeze or take to the taxidermist ASAP. A buddy of mine shot his first boar a few years back in pretty warm weather. The taxidermist’s best guess was the hog was either sick or improper care led to a mount that stunk so bad, the boy had to keep it in a shed outside after getting it home. We tried knocking it out with Febreeze, Lysol, and even scent-killing foot pads. The flies enjoyed it. By the way, you’re likely to pay more for a boar mount than a deer; it’s just that much more work for the taxidermist.

2. Hose that Bad Boy Down – If you have a water hose available, wash the animal thoroughly. Get off all of that caked mud, dust, dead ticks, or whatever. One, this helps prevent against contaminating the meat once you commence to dress it. And two, hog hide will dull a knife quickly; the extra dirt and grime will accelerate this process. Put that piggy through the wash.

3. Wear Gloves – I’ve never heard of a hunter getting sick from cleaning a hog. I’d have to believe contracting a disease from a tick from their hide or even from a mosquito hanging under the lights of the cleaning shack would be more likely. However, wild hogs are known carriers of human-transmittable diseases such as swine brucellosis. Simple, cheap latex gloves from the grocery or drug stores are invaluable in your day pack.

Here are the recommendations on hog handling from the FWC:

Wild hogs, though not originally native to Florida, are now found within all 67 counties, and like any wild animal, can carry parasites and diseases - some of which can be transmitted to people. One such disease for hunters to be concerned with is swine brucellosis.

The FWC is advising hunters handling wild hog carcasses to take the following precautions to protect themselves from exposure to this bacterial disease:

- Avoid eating, drinking or using tobacco when field-dressing or handling carcasses.

- Use latex or rubber gloves when handling the carcass or raw meat.

- Avoid direct contact with blood, reproductive organs and fecal matter. Wearing long sleeves, eye protection and covering any scratches, open wounds or lesions will help provide protection.

-Clean and disinfect knives, cleaning area, clothing and any other exposed surfaces when finished.

- Wash hands frequently with soap and water.

When cooking wild hog, as with any wild game, care in handling is an important part of disease prevention, and the meat should be cooked thoroughly to 170 degrees. Swine brucellosis is not transmitted through properly cooked meat.

Brucellosis in people is called undulant fever and could be transmitted if a hunter cuts him/herself while field-dressing a wild hog or was exposed to the animal's blood or bodily fluids. Symptoms include a recurrent fever, chills, night sweats, weakness, headaches, back pain, swollen joints, loss of appetite and weight loss.

Hunters who exhibit these symptoms or may have been exposed should contact a physician.

4. Meat Care – Ice down well after cleaning the hog. Now, here’s where people separate. Some folks prefer to brine wild hogs – boars, especially – to remove a lot of the gamey taste out and tenderize the meat. It’s a long process of salt, water, large coolers, and time. Some hogs are just going to be poor without brining. But I am ignorant of this procedure. I don’t have the time, space, or the need to keep large hams frozen for any length of time.

5. In the Kitchen - Generally speaking, I’ll put the whole hog in a coffin cooler and take it to a processor. The hams I’ll have cut into cube steaks or roasts. The shoulders are rolled into roasts. I prefer the roasts because I can put it right in a crockpot and slow-cook it. I’ve not had this fail me yet. The backstraps can be kept whole and marinated and is quite delicious when cooked over low-heat. Or, sliced into boneless chops and grilled quickly. Or, I’ll have bone-in pork chops cut. The chops and cubed steaks I like to fry and simmer in gravy to tenderize. Ribs are good if meaty enough; if not, it gets ground into breakfast sausage or links. A lot of people do this with boars in lieu of brining. Fat should be trimmed – it’s not nearly as delicious as on domestic swine. For grilling, wild hog begs for marinades; Stubbs Pork Marinade my favorite, followed by Italian dressing. (Feel free to go through my recipe archive for ideas.)

There ya have it. From loving life to your fork and knife. My Porky-Senses are tingling – it’s gonna be a banner year for the wild hog hunter. Best of luck on the hunt and keep these things in mind to keep enjoying your kill after the hunt is completed.

Summer Hog Hunting

Like singing in the shower, cutting into a herd of hogs with an AR-15 is an unbridled joy. I could have popped the first one easy enough, but Travis was not at a vantage point where he could see the 100 pound sow. Plus, he was in front of my left shoulder just enough that it would have scared me – and certainly him – if I’d launched a round or three at the black pig without him aware of the situation. As we corrected our position, the sow caught our movements and thrashed into a head of willows and deep aquatic grass.

That’s when her herd of 40-50 pound progeny started piling out of the Tall Grass. They were perfect BBQ hogs. The shots would have been fleeting, but, again, with an AR-15 the temptation to go Predator-era Jesse Ventura on them was pretty high. But, I’ve calmed myself in recent years, and believe in the economy of a bullet. The group settled under those willows as we recomposed ourselves and crept in for a shot. This was pure luck; the circumstances of us even being there too convoluted to really comprehend.

The week before we had been at the ranch hanging stands, filling feeders, and preparing for bow season. It was a fine time for the battery in my truck to die. We had to call the ranch manager to tow us out of the woods, humiliated, but grateful, that his Ford Ranger was able to coax my Dodge Mega Cab over ditches and down the trails back to the ranch shed. There, the ranch manager loaned me a tractor battery so I could drive home. We agreed to bring it back at the earliest possible time and thanked him profusely for saving our rears.

We returned the next Tuesday evening to deliver the battery. I had also become concerned with the working conditions of my trail camera, so we decided we’d slip in and grab it before calling it a day. On the path back to the truck, we wandered across the hogs. It’s important to carry a rifle with you in the working hours of summer, especially when pigs are around.

Summer hog hunting is typically an early morning or last light affair. Sure, I’ve rambled across plenty in the heat of noon while driving properties or hanging stands, but by and large, the gloaming of the day is prime time. Exceptions do arise.

The hogs were out feeding well before last light, around 6pm. The caveat was the weather. A tropical wave had buffeted the property with light rain before our arrival which had significantly cooled the area. The conditions were still overcast, and for a Florida July, I’d call it comfortable. In our limited roaming, we saw several deer and a couple hens.

Florida hogs emerge from their swampy hideouts after a rain shower or thunderstorm to munch on freshly-wet green grass. The problem is, down here everything is green during the summer, so it is important to stay mobile. If it’s a blistering 95, that makes hunting awfully unrewarding. So maybe it’s as much me liking to hunt after a rain as much as hogs prefer to eat after one that makes this summer hunting successful. Either way, it is savvy practice to stay on alert during these times, whether you are out stalking or out bumbling.

You could always guard a feeder, but stand hunting in the summer for hogs doesn’t do much for me. The cat’s meow is to park your truck under a shade tree with the A/C and radio humming and glass cow pastures and cutovers, then slip out and stalk up to them. Hogs are the perfect southern animal on which to hone your stalking skills.

What is also nice about summer hog hunting is the lack of hunting pressure. While we were on a private ranch, it gets pretty heavy traffic from September through April, and not all of the guests are as single-minded about deer or turkey as I tend to be. During this time, too, the ranch hands do a fair amount of dog hunting and trapping. This all relaxes in the summer, as do the hogs. Even drawing on experiences from other properties that have not endured the hard-core hog obliteration, the pigs just seem more comfortable in the summer. Wish I could quantify that beyond anecdote, but I can’t.

It’s too bad Florida doesn’t open more public lands to summer hog hunts. Swiftmud is currently analyzing their lands to see which would be suitable for hunting. They’ve been amenable to hog hunts. It’s something to investigate. And those of you on deer leases who don’t hog hunt are missing a fine offseason reprieve.

Wild hogs are also a delightful quarry on which to employ some of those neglected arms in the back of the gun locker. Summer hog hunting is the perfect opportunity to pull out that old lever action or handgun. Or Grandpa’s old military rifles. Perhaps try open sights for once in your life. Any fast-handling firearm is perfect for sneaking up on a sounder.

To wit, the AR-15. Those hogs were bayed in the willows grunting and wheezing. Probably not a great idea to get any closer, but we were game.

From the corner of my eye, I caught what I thought was a boar lope across the road. I swung and fired once, rolling the 150lb sow head over heels.

Just straight up Summer Luck.

Stalking Orange Groves for Wild Hogs

I wish I’d taken more pictures, but I didn't want to stop the action and burn daylight for the camera. Get while the gettin’s good. So after we tossed one meat hog in the back of the Chevy, down the road we went, sneaking from row to row, glassing for more targets in the open trails between the lines of Valencias.

And the pigs were thick. More pigs on the hoof than fruit on the trees. No scurvy swine in this herd. We stepped over the crushed rinds of oranges and grapefruit dragging hog after fat hog back to the main road. Whether the swine scavenge fallen fruit or pluck them off the lower branches, they take a sample of Florida’s signature cash crop in their snouts and smash it open, consuming only the pulp. Here I thought pigs would eat the whole thing!

But beyond the vast quantity of goodies, the whole grove proved something of an ideal location to spot and stalk wild hogs. The thick cover of the grove kept them shaded and provided a false sense of security - very false for those of us with a scoped magnum. The trees hung low to the ground and wide, concealing much of our movement as we glassed down the lanes and prepared for shots. The cowboy who worked the ranch knew all this and was more than happy to provide us the combination to enter the grove.

The plan in the mornings and evening was to sneak into the grove, and slowly creep down the main roads. The hogs, always the movers, often had us stalking back and forth between rows waiting for a shot. But eventually they’d freeze long enough for a steady rest – my Harris bipod proving to be a real winner here – to torch off a round.

The owner of the property made it well-known his distaste for wild hogs and gave us permission to strike down as many as we wanted. But we all sorta had our own goals. I was looking for a nice boar for a mount. Travis was grocery shopping. And E-Man just wanted to pull the trigger on something. Honestly, more got away than bit the bullet, all of us uncommonly polite around this bounty, waiting on the other to decide what to do.

T got the train moving, taking a couple of meat hogs. I got a small boar one evening, and whiffed another on a rushed shot as it bird-dogged a sow.

But E-Man got the trophy of the group, plugging his best hog ever, a 220 lb. boar with 3-inch cutters and a pair of the sharpest wetters I’ve seen. So happy, he even claimed he’d tattoo a boar on his chest with the gate combination to the grove inked in above the hog body art.

This has been a couple winters ago. We’ve since hit the grove during all the seasons and routinely enjoy a fine hunt. In Spring and Summer the hogs camp out to feed on new-growth grasses and wallow in irrigation ditches. They know when the workers are abandoning their labor for the day and emerge in the evenings and early mornings, or after a thunderstorm. No matter the constant efforts to keep the grove hog-proof with fencing, there are always plenty of trails they sneak in through.

If you have access to an orange grove, you may have access to successful Florida hog hunting year round. Ask around, you never know who may accomodate your request.

The Lost Hog Lease

The neighbor who owns the cattle lease is trapping hogs?

I just didn’t buy it from Mike. The claim was pure conjecture. He had no real evidence. But something had caused the hogs to disappear. I chalked it up to the usual culprits – you know, if you hear hoof beats, don’t think “zebra,” think “horse.”

Over the previous nine months the 100-acre lease had become an all-purpose outdoor club. Shooting ranges, duck blinds, feeders, stands, dove fields, ATV’s, blackberry gathering, predator hunting, turkey hunting, butterfly collecting...the varying pursuits of the six members appeared infinite. It was well-trodden by the time Mike pushed his theory.

When we signed the lease agreement in February of 2010, the hogs were thick as flies. You could not walk around the property and not see at least one or two. Corn feeders were hung, and hunters reported sizeable herds arriving near dark, including a couple real beasts. The place had no deer and only a few turkeys, but it was fairly cheap and within 15 minutes of the house. There may be Midwestern hunters reading this wondering what the big deal was, but private land this close to home in Central Florida was a luxury, even if only for piggies.

Of course, a few people killed hogs late last spring and into the summer. I bowhunted in June and a herd of black hogs ran back and forth by my ladder stand through the palmettos until dark, never presenting a shot. After that, the buzzing flocks of mosquitoes and humid heat largely kept me away until September.

By then, the hogs were no strangers to the pain. The only swine photos on the trail camera were at night. Then, suddenly, there ceased to be any porcine pictures.

As one who likes to analyze and explain events, this was pretty simple. The pressure was just too much. Hogs are sensitive to human influence. Sure, they’ll accommodate vehicle traffic and cowboys and other regular influences, but once the shooting starts and human scent is dusted up and down their trails, they either go totally nocturnal or evacuate the property. Since our lease backed up to a state park, I assumed the swine abandoned our slice of Heaven.

But still, the hogs should be on the corn feeders. From late October thru February not a single hog was photographed.

Explanation?

In Florida this past fall, we had a magnificent acorn crop. It was like nothing I can remember. Acorns were still ploinking out of oaks into March. Once the acorns start falling, hogs will leave the corn be. This high-grade protein is too much for them to pass by.

The only thing that really bugged me – more so than the lack of photographic evidence – was the lack of spoor. No rooting, no tracks, no crap, nothing - which led me back to the pressure/state park theory.

Well, April arrived and we had to decide whether to stay on the lease or not. Of the original six, three bailed. We survivors figured we’d find two more guys, pay a little more and develop a plan to bring the hogs back.

PJ knew a couple guys from work who enjoyed bowhunting and videoing hunts. We held a Captain’s Meeting the next Monday and shared our thoughts on what to do to manage the land for strictly hunting. We’d cut out the extra-curricular activities like hiking and target shooting and barbecuing. Food plots were planned, with a dove field to plant in the summer. Guest limitations were set. Stand locations and feeders were discussed, and I left figuring by fall, with this group, the healthy population of swine would return.

The next evening, the two members were sitting along the eastern fenceline, newly erected by the cowboy neighbor, turkey hunting. Lo and behold, he drove up on the guys and had a conversation with them.

It seemed the guy was none too keen on our turkey hunting aspirations and let the newbies know it. His house was on the northeast border of the lease and near the thick cypress swamp that shared both properties. He had been feeding the turkeys for years and thought of them as pets. Apparently, the notion of number 5’s whacking his beloveds did little to endear us to him, though they were wild birds.

As a third-hand story, I never figured out if he did it out of reprisal or just for the sake of doing so, but he admitted to trapping hogs off his place for the last six months, catching several each time the trap was sprung. What he did with them I never ascertained, but it was evident he wasn't releasing them nearby.

Mike’s fears were founded. With this small property and the numbers of hogs he supposedly captured, no wonder we'd not seen any pigs in half a year. By Florida law, he was well within his rights. Feral hogs are considered the property of whoever’s land they inhabit.

But this did nothing for us. PJ called the landowner with apologies, but we’d have to bail on the lease. It would be too expensive to justify only a dove field.

EPILOGUE

Again, this has all come to me through the filters of several different mouths, but even if the truth is a better tale, I still enjoy this one.

Apparently, the landowner was awfully upset with the neighbor. The owner knew he had a pretty penny in the hunting lease. Anyway, he ordered the neighbor to get his cattle off the property. That’s a fairly swift and stiff payback.

Furthermore, the land, from what I was told, went on to be leased by a group of AR-15enthusiasts. I’m sure if he had it to do over, the neighbor would sacrifice the occasional gobbler rather than listen to that racket every weekend morning.

We still have not found a new lease.

Trapping Wild Hogs

Well, Mike shot the 40-pound red boar for a BBQ. He called a few people to see if they’d want fresh pork but solicited little interest. Out of my allegiance to sport and good form, I passed on shooting one in the pen – really, I didn’t need the meat and abhorred the thought of cleaning a hog in the rapidly climbing heat.

So what to do with the 3 other young boars? There were five originally but minus the deceased and one that jumped up and wiggled his head and body through the fencing to freedom, this trio remained. They were certainly eaters – and they should be dispatched to alleviate the rampant damage they do to the area.

Oh, and then there was the matter of the 120-pound boar in there that would kill you just as soon look at you.

Trapping hogs is kinda cool, and it has hit Prime Time on the Discovery Channel’s Hogs Gone Wild. The show is overly dramatic, but it documents the troubles landowners are facing with the exploding pig population from Florida to Hawaii. Some of the hunters on the show use dogs to chase down feral swine. Others utilize traps.

The trappers really provide the theatrics. When they capture the hogs, the danger awareness lessons commence at once, what a perilous occupation this is and so on. True, but if your objective is to rid a place of hogs, you could make it easier on yourself by, I don’t know, shooting them in the head once trapped. This is work, not sport. Then donate the meat to local charity. Or local scavengers. I know they are not rehabilitating and relocating the damn things. The producers are probably catering to the sensibilities of the common viewer, but I know better.

So, they have one lackey distract or lasso the hog while Stud Trapper gets in and wrestles with the filthy animal. The hog is then tied up and hauled into the back of the truck while the wranglers pose for adoration or perhaps kisses and tins of chocolates like the Parisians bestowed upon Allied troops in 1944. It’s a fun program.

Trapping hogs really isn’t all that tricky, though they do learn in a hurry to avoid them if there’s too much human activity. Basically you build a pen high enough they can’t jump out – and yes, hogs can jump. Not like deer, but I’ve seen them easily clear silt fences. Place bait, typically corn, in the back of the pen and rig a tripwire to slam the door shut behind them.

For the tripwire, most folks use a peg on a line connected to the door and place it in the middle of the bait where it is triggered while the hogs feed. I built one when I was 12 or 13 in my parent’s backyard for a boar that was tearing up the horse pasture. I borrowed chain-link fencing material from a neighbor that included poles and a gate.

After the posthole and wiring work, I ran a tripwire across the back third of the cage. This connected to a tire looped over a pine branch to provide the energy needed to slam the gate courtesy of yet another line. It was all very Mouse Trap-ish and had more rope than a Mayan suspension bridge.

But. It worked. Sort of.

Friends and family helped test and fine-tune the contraption until one evening we watched the boar enter the pen. He tripped the wire. The tire fell from its perch. The gate slammed behind him. The boar immediately pummeled under the fence and into memory.

In hindsight, I probably should have just shot it. But, a lesson was learned. Make sure you bury the wire around the pen or have reinforcements to prevent the hog from burrowing under or running through it.

I thought of this lesson last Saturday morning on my way to try to call in a Levy County gobbler. I had been told the trap was baited. The squealing and banging of metal down the path confirmed a capture.

I approached the trap and shined in with my flashlight. The morning was pitch-black and a low fog hung on the edge of the cypress head, drifting in and out of the cage. I immediately noticed the young swine shuffling about and clamoring over one another to get away from the intruder. Then I heard another, deeper, grunt from the far back corner. I lifted the light to look, and the big boar charged from out of the fog and slammed full-speed into the fencing at knee-level.

A cup of coffee has never been brewed that’ll wake you up that quick. Glad that fence held. Had it been my trap, family and friends would currently be asking doctors which limbs can be saved.

He shook it off and pranced in a circle, popping his teeth. I checked my pants and shuffled on down the road to set up for the turkey hunt. All morning long, I listened to those hogs squeal and whine and bang into the doors. 2 ½ hours of that will threaten dementia.

Gene and Mike met me after the hunt and after we exhausted the rudimentary list of locals who’d possibly want a hog, Mike elected to turn them loose.

This prospect did not excite me.

For all the fun I’ve made about the Discovery Channel boys, they are correct that an angry wild hog is a dangerous critter, and this boar didn’t appear to have lost any zest for reprisal. He continuously beat against the fence, charging us as we walked by. His eyes were fire yellow. Truly, he was a young male, an adolescent eager to prove his aggression.

Mike climbed onto the top of the pen, the boar running about in a fury, sweeping aside the smaller hogs and flipping them in the air out of just pure anger. If Mike had fallen in...

Gene and I backed up to the nearest climbable tree fifty yards from the pen, though the 12 gauge was my first line of defense. Never had a hog charge before. Can’t say how I’d react. If there was ever an alignment of the stars for such an event, this was it.

Mike lifted the gate and the little ones streamed to freedom, leaving their fallen comrade behind. The big one froze at the entrance of the gate, not sure what to do. He gazed our way for a moment, but thought better of it. I doubt he slowed down before hitting the Georgia line.

I would hope no one got in his path.

The Downside to Wild Hog Management

Have you ever hunted by a feeder when the hogs start trotting in? It’s quite the cacophony. The urgent hoofbeats and grunting. Greedy buggers.

Per usual, I heard this one coming. The ground blind was designed as an archery ambush. The shot would only be 25 yards or so. You take a folding metal chair and sit amidst the ring of cut palmetto fronds underneath a fallen pine braced by a rotting water oak. It’s a fine, shadowy haunt, but today I left the PSE and toted my pet Savage .300 to eliminate the guesswork.

While the rest of the country was being buried under snow, South Florida was caught in the frontal boundary. Warm Southern Winds made this afternoon a sweater. The switching gusts of the weather system created a cyclone of human stink. I could spray down with cover scent and possibly fool a deer. Not so with a hog.

The small boar, maybe 50 pounds trotted by at 10-12 feet as an ungrateful switch of North Blow piled him with sweat. If I’d hopped out and hit him in the face with a pie, he wouldn’t have been more spooked.

The young guy wheeled around and hauled pork butt, front legs between the back, motoring as fast as he could. As a final indignation, he paused for a few moments out of sight and whoofed at me. Maybe my trail camera will catch him later.

And that’s as close as I’ve come to killing a hog in a year, the longest time since when I was 12 and shot my first, and 14 when I shot my second. Strange, because I have always taken it for granted since then.

You see, conservatively estimating, I’ve laid low 150-200 hogs in my day. A great many more would have headed to the Sty in the Sky had my bullet found its mark. Others were lost to unsuccessful tracking efforts.

Oh times, how they have changed.

In the day when my father and his buddies worked for the phosphate mines, we hunted thousands of acres of un-pressured Hog Heavens in the unspoiled river bottoms and adjoining fields. In the summers, it was nothing to pop several dozen a year. I credit my shooting acumen to those well-spent days.

After that was gone, intermittent invitations over the next couple years to others’ properties filled the void and rather successfully, I may add. Then Travis and I started regularly hunting a large ranch in Sarasota County where T had been hunting for years on a strict invite-only policy. This place swarmed with hogs, and the landowner entreated us to shoot as many of the pasture plowing pests as we could. He didn’t care, and we obliged.

This is where I was hunting the ground blind.

Last year, we signed onto a lease in Polk County that had a fair population of pigs. Almost every trip out, someone saw at least one. A few were killed. But six months of activity on 120 acres left the land vacant before the October air cooled the state.

Back to the Sarasota ranch I was talking about, we have hunted a half-dozen times – by stand, by still-hunting, by truck to spot and stalk – and a couple boars were taken in August. Since then, nada.

Came to learn, the ranch had hired a young man to tend to things around the property. As a job perk, he was able to run dogs at his leisure, and he spent his summer rounding up swine. Couple this with a new deer season that ran from August to January and the accompanying hunters, the survivors learned their lesson. One group from North Carolina comes down annually with horses and runs dogs, as well. They’ve been known to take a few dozen pigs a trip. The cowboys will run traps from time to time. And in the 5 years I’ve been hunting there, we’ve made our presence felt, too. (One particular December hunt I call “The Day of the Dueling 300’s.” If that paints a picture for you.)

Not that there aren’t plenty of hogs left. There are. They are just a little wiser in the ways of the world. The owner wanted serious hog management and he got it. The fields are no longer plowed through. His waterways and irrigation ditches don’t look like he hosted a year-round mud bog competition. In the long run, for the deer and bird hunting, it’s a great thing. If you’re looking for a meal of pulled pork, it’s a little unseemly.

Hogs will respond to this kind of pressure. The older ones will hole up in the real nasty stuff. Or they’d just trot off to a place with less pressure. It doesn’t take wild hogs long to travel a few miles. And they will. That’s what I think has happened at our Polk County lease.

It may not be possible to totally get rid of them, but at least you can keep them down to a dull oink.

If you're into that kind of thing.

Love for Lever Actions

Originally posted May 2009

Hunters are no more immune from stereotyping than any other group of humans. Say a newcomer strolls into camp toting an AR-Style firearm. What do a lot of hunters think?

“Here’s Rambo!”

Switch that rig out with the newest, fastest magnum chambering?

“Show-off, blowhard.”

And a lever action of any kind?

“Rookie, public land hunter, rube!”

Now, I may join in and hate hoot the first two groups - though I hunt with each style of weapon regularly - but I’ll take umbrage with those who consider the lever actions to be any sort of novice toy.

My first run-in with a lever action was way back in the ancient days of the ‘90’s. My longtime buddy Dirty J was carrying his father’s Marlin 336 .35 Remington down a limestone road in Manatee County when an old sow came be-bopping across the trail. Dirty tossed up the .35 and rolled the hog in an instant.

Several years later, I stood over a 170 lb mottled boar I popped with a Winchester 94 in the classic .30-30. As Dad and I re-lived the details of the stalk and shot, a black 120-pound boar crept out of a palmetto head. I deftly raised the rifle and lowered the boom, astonished this hog would stick his snout out in the commotion, yet proud as can be that Pops was there to witness it.

Since then, Dad bought a Marlin 1894 .44 Mag. which he’s enjoyed. A few years back I answered a classified ad in the paper and, more or less, stole a Marlin Guide Gun in .45-70 topped with a 1.5-4.5X Nikon Monarch, the cat’s meow in lever actions in my humble opinion.

(Note that I’m leaving out, solely for the purpose of this discussion, such fine lever actions such as the Ruger 96/44, Browning BLR, Savage Model 99, amongst a few others. What I’m really talking about are your cowboy guns. My reasons? I simply, sadly, have no experience with these. I do hope to change this.)

When I show up to camp with these guns, I am often met with the mocking statements I mentioned above, especially when those in the know realize I have much more capable and fashionable firearms in the locker. And it’s here where I’m lost trying to decide whether I’m defending these lever actions or campaigning for them. Mostly, I enjoy a little variety and debate.

Let’s start with what these guns are not. Plainly, the range limitation of the common lever action is a buzz kill. Even with a scope, your furthest responsible shot shouldn’t be much beyond 130, 140 yards. For some hunters, such a compromise in reach is unacceptable. And in truth, depending on where you hunt, this is a real consideration. Florida and much of the South is land of mixed terrain. Yes, we have the thick swamps and scrubs, but there are plenty of acres of broken pasture, prairie, and crop fields in which game is known to thrive and a lever action is out of its element.

Next, lever actions aren’t the most accurate. Start with the blunt-nosed, lead exposed bullets - they don’t scream “High Ballistic Co-efficiency” like Ballistic Tips and other spire points. Though they now have soft polymer tips for use in tubular magazines, the anatomy of the rifle is still not designed for MOA groups. These guns are made for portability - the shorter barrels, for example. You simply won’t harness the ballistic potential of any round fired out of an 18-inch tube. Couple these stumpy guns with iron sights, and precision is sacrificed. Scopes help, but even Swarovski glass is not going to improve the natural flaws of design.

As a result, there’s a stigma on how this accuracy prints on paper. Hunters equipped with a bolt action of some variety will dismissingly scoff at 3 ½ inch groups, though few really understand how accurate their own rifle and load may or may not be. A great many campfire storyteller would be humbled if their alleged sub-MOA rifles were truly put to the test. With an audience, wind, bad rests, drops in atmospheric pressure, and solar flares have all been blamed to explain why today their pet is punching 2-inch groups when just a few weeks ago a quarter covered three shots. Personal mythology aside, accuracy, as it is applied in the field and into the shoulder of a deer, is terribly over-rated.

But if we really want to talk about mythology and being over-rated, let’s discuss the lever action’s moniker of being a “brush gun”. I listened patiently to a guy in camp a few years back bragging on how his .444 Marlin would freight train through any tangle. Finally I asked him how many deer or hogs he’d shot in such conditions. He claimed none. His argument became even less persuasive after watching him miss a doe at 30 yards standing in the wide-open. The point is, a .444 will foul off a twig or anything else. Too many tests have been done to argue otherwise, but this has always been a fun source of pride and folklore for plenty of lever action enthusiasts.

The brush gun title really comes in the design of the firearm itself. These guns shine like diamonds in those dark swamps and scrubs. They are handy to carry and handle through the vines and overhanging branches. Those short barrels with open sights or low-power scopes pick up the target in a hurry. Lug a lever action with you once, and you’ll quickly discover the advantages both in portability and ease of operation.

And when you fair-punch your game, woooo-weeee, does that bullet deliver a smack-down. That slow, chugging bullet hits like a ton of bricks. The energy transfer from those blunt-nosed projectiles seems very real. Not a whole lot is left to scream across the countryside after passing through the off-shoulder which can be the case with the magnums. To date, I’ve never seen a hog or deer get his or her feet back under them after a clean shot with one of these rounds. I can’t say the same about my .300 Winchester Magnum.

So, what do we have in these lever actions? A novelty? A specialty tool?

Some of both. In swamps, oak hammocks, pine stands and other areas where you don’t have a shot much farther than 100 yards, lever actions should be in your wheelhouse, particularly if you still hunt.

Lever actions may not be ideal for your style of hunting. Still, it’s never a bad idea to keep one handy. They are slick handling, fast on the target, and all around fun to shoot. And you may think about holding your tongue next time someone rolls into camp with such a rifle.

They just may know how to use it.

Soaked in Levy County

I wish there were a way for me to gain some measure of reprisal against Mother Nature for sabotaging my deer season. Simple air pollution from my 10 MPG Dodge Hemi isn’t granting enough satisfaction. I may have to step it up a notch, perhaps lighting a tire fire and exploding CFC- infused spray paint cans in the melting black rubber while donning a baby seal fur coat. It’d be a start.

She’s paralyzed and put in real jeopardy my four-year streak of harvesting at least one decent buck, somewhat remarkable for a guy without his own TV show. Heat, rain, fog, wind, late acorn crop – She’s Shanghi-ed me this year.

Case in point, my last trip to Levy County in the Rosewood area. With the high deer population in this region, and hunting private land, I figured I’d get at least a shot at one of those scraggly scrub bucks. Heck, Mike had been e-mailing trail camera pictures of a certain pair of bucks for weeks now.

A Cedar Key buck is high on my list of trophies for the wall. They are comparatively little deer, even going shoulder-to-shoulder with the average Florida buck. But, they are attractive animal with a distinguishing contrast between their auburn hide and bright white throat and underbelly markings.

Anyway, the trail camera pics drew me to this stand and my plan was to somehow sidle my way into this area, which I accomplished. Yet, a cold front was pushing south on that Friday evening. A sharp, wet Northeast wind cut through me like no cold has ever done. The drizzle, lower 40’s - I gave it my best, and huddled there til dark with nary a glimpse or hopeful thought of whitetail. It took me two hours, a campfire, a rib eye and baked potato, and copious amounts of bourbon to lift my body temperature back over 90.

Saturday morning I posted up at the so-called “Stuart Stand”, a beautiful area with a cypress swamp to the left, and palmettos and small planted pines ahead and to the right - killed an 8pt here last year. Temperatures were in the mid-50’s with a light sprinkle. Not ideal, but a workable deer hunting scenario.

Maybe a minute past legal shooting light, I looked up from the latest baseball trade rumors – thank you, Verizon and Al Gore for making the Internet accessible by phone in remote areas – and spied three hogs milling under the feeder. Didn’t really want to pop one under the guise of deer hunting, but already the precipitation had increased and the wind began to whip around. Plus, I knew the guys wanted as many swine shot as possible.

I rolled the middle hog, a young, corn-fat boar as they beat a retreat back into the swamp, dismayed the feeder had not yet gone off. I regretted not being able to tag a second pig as it scurried across the open – didn’t even fire a shot as it put its front feet between its back and burned towards the sunrise.

Now where are you, Mr. Buck?

Still don’t know. Mike picked me up at 8, mercifully. The rain became too much. I don’t mind hunting in a light rain, but when it’s down-pouring, forget it. Not this far after the rut with a swirling wind.

We got back to camp and the sausage and bacon. If you’ve ever hunted in the rain, you know exactly how I felt at that moment to change out of wet camo and digest some greasy pork. After breakfast I pulled up the radar on my phone. Streaking from west to east, like skidmarks in the underbritches of the South, was a frontal boundary that had stalled over the upper third of the state. It was warm, but cloudy to the south; cold and clear to the north. I guess what happened was, a cold front moved down, but was pushed back up by warmer air coming from the Gulf. We were caught in a soggy limbo. By Saturday evening, the temperature had risen to 75. In case there are Southern Californians reading this, this is what we mean when we say if you don’t like the weather in Florida, wait 10 minutes and it’ll change.

But change into what? It got warmer, but the rain barely relented. Saturday evening, posted back up in the Stuart Stand, was a wash. Literally.

Morning 2 showed promise. The sky had cleared; you could actually see stars and the moon. There was hope! There was talk of the deer moving this morning!

Then Lucy yanked the football away. Soon after sunup, a dense sea fog pushed in from the west. Visibility rapidly declined as the morning progressed, though once again, I did manage to pop a pig.

Quick thought on the hogs for those of you who think I may sound too whiny or morose. They are an eat-everything, destroy-the-roads pestilence here, as they are in other portions of the state. The landowners want them gone. While I really want a deer, I’m obliged to assist when I can. In some situations hog hunting is very sporting and I love it; here, it’s nuisance patrol.

Actually, I will say the swine served as something of a moral victory. In these elements it’d been a cinch to see nothing all weekend, as my father did. And in the end, by ridding the property of a couple porkers, I actually helped out Mother Nature.

She’s just dancing this puppet on a string, isn’t She?