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On a backpacking
trip this past winter, I came across a large area that a group of feral hog had rooted up. As I continued my hike, I
found more and more sign these animals had left behind, there were obviously a large number of hogs using this wilderness
area.
Feral hogs
have been present in Missouri ever since the days of the Civil War. Rather than keep them penned up, where they
would have to be looked after and fed, locals would allow their hogs to forage for acorns in the surrounding hills.
Also, during the war, many families were forced to abandon their farms and, in turn, had to turn their livestock loose to
fend for themselves. Up until the past centaury, these small bands of hogs were of little consequence, their numbers
remained small enough to have little impact on the native landscape. Unfortunately, the popularity of feral hogs
as a sporting animal has grown over the past ten years. This popularity has prompted ill-informed hunters to release
enough new animals into the population to give it a major boost. Today, feral hogs are showing up in numbers that have
never before been seen in the state, and the Missouri Department Conservation has declared all out war an them.
Having a bad
case of cabin fever, I figured I'd try and do my part to get this population boom under control, and if I ended up with a
freezer full of pork as a byproduct, that would be all the better. This reasoning ended in a series of hog
hunting trips into the Bell Mountain Wilderness.
Bell Mountain is a relatively large wilderness area that doesn't allow any motorized vehicles.
This fact, along with the fact that the resident hogs tend to hang out in the center of the wilderness area, seem to
keep the hunters at bay. I had an advantage though, I was a backpacker, I could backpack in, set up camp, and then
make shorter hunting trips from camp.
*Other than
the very last one, the following pictures are all from my cell phone and their quality reflects that fact.*
These first
three photos is of the rooting left behind by foraging pigs.
A couple of tracks
Scat
The view from the
top of Bell Mountain
Leaving the wilderness area one evening
Entering the wilderness area one morning
A cold camp
A self portrait
of myself freezing on a bed of ice
An icy view from atop Bell Mountain
The next three photos are of the top of Bell Mountain on a day that it was completely socked in by an icy cloud.
It was quite beautiful.
I was actually
tracking a hog when it led me to this deer kill that it appeared to scavenge on. By the size of the tracks present,
I assume the kill was made by coyotes. Note the bloody paw print in the first photo.
Over the winter,
I spent many hours and hiked many miles hunting these pigs. While I spent some very cold nights, and had my share of
disappointingly close but missed opportunities at killing hogs, I finally had my day towards the end of the winter.
I had hiked
all day in a two day old snow looking for fresh tracks. I found a lot of sign from the previous day but nothing new.
Finally, as evening approached and a steady icy rain started coming down, I started making my way in the direction of the
car, which was a good six or so miles away. Along the way, I came across a whole group of very fresh tracks heading
right into the wind. I slowly picked my way along the tracks keeping note of the wind direction, and a close eye on
the surrounding woods. After about an hour of this, I was making my way across a series of glades when I spotted
a little movement about one hundred yards or so into the woods. Moments later, I realized the movement was
in fact from hogs but there was a lot of cover in-between them and me, and they were hard to see, much less get a shot
at. There was a large bolder about ten yards, and slightly to the left, of my position that looked like a good place
to get a shot from. I backed off and slowly crept up behind the bolder. Clicking off the safety, I raised my rifle
above the bolder only to be disappointed. All the hogs had disappeared. I was distraught, cold, wet, and empty
handed once again. I figured they must have seen me, caught my sent, something. I was ready to pack it up and
head home but I figured I'd go down to where I saw them, and try to make out what exactly happened. I couldn't find
any sign that the pigs spooked, the tracks just seemed to move off, continuing to root for acorns. I went ahead followed
along, carefully. Coming to another glade, again I spotted movement about a hundred yards across the glade and into
the woods. By lying down and sliding across the ice covered glade on my belly I was out of sight of the hogs and able
to get into a good shooting position. Lying on the edge of the glade gave me a good view of two large hogs, both of
which were using their shovel like heads to root and throw large chunks of snow and ice into the air. At this point
my heart was pounding and my limbs were shaking. I had to remind myself to take my time, breath deep, and concentrate
on making a good shot. One of the hogs turned broad-side offering me a clean shot. Setteling the scopes crosshairs
just behind the hogs shoulder I squeezed the trigger. Recovering from the recoil of the rifle, I looked through the
scope again. I had apparently missed; both hogs were standing at full attention, seemingly unharmed. I quickly
released the rifles bolt allowing the spent cartridge to expel and immediately slammed a new one into the chamber. Again,
taking aim, I fired. This time all hell broke loose. There was a whole group of hogs, foraging out of sight, just
below the two I could see. At the second report of the rifle they all came running
directly in my direction. Immediately, my head was spinning with all the exaggerated tales I had herd of these animals
tearing hunters limb from limb. My first thought was to stay on the ground and hold still because the hogs had obviously
not seen me yet but, it was quickly apparent that this strategy would not work because the whole group was cutting a strait
line for me. At this realization I jacked another shell into the chamber, stood up, and waved my arms in the air.
The hogs saw me and split off to go around me, a couple on my right, and the rest on my left. Right away I noticed one
of the hogs on my right was favoring a leg. Knowing this must be the one I shot, and not wanting to be responsible for
it escaping only to parish slowly later on, I aimed my rifle, fired, and an instant later it lay still on the ground.
To my left there was still a steady stream of hogs moving past. Again I raised my rifle and fired, dropping a second
hog only ten yards from my position. From the very first shot, the events that took place seemed like an eternity, but
in reality it was all over in an instant. Gathering my thoughts and coming to the realization that all my effort over
the winter had just paid off, I made my way down the hill to admire the larger of the two pigs. Needless to say I was
elated, that is, until I tried to move the animal. This brought me to face the reality of just how difficult
it was going to be getting them out of the woods.
I climbed to
a higher position where I could get a signal on my phone, and then I called every one I thought I could talk into helping
but, only reached my friend Brian. Brian was to gather up flashlights and rope, and I'd go ahead and field dress the
hogs while I waited for him to make the hour drive to the wilderness area. We made plans to meet at a particular trail
head about three miles into the wilderness, and by the time Brian reached the trail head it was dark. I was very happy
to see that stopped along the way and picked up my brother, David, to help out as well. We made our way through
the dark woods until we found the hogs. We were all concerned if the chore ahead was even going to be possible, and
in the end, it turned out that it just barely was. The difficulty of dragging those two hogs miles out of the cold,
dark, woods certainly sapped any inclination of trying all this again anytime soon.
Despite the
difficulty getting the hogs home, the overall experience was fantastic and a great way to spend the winter.
This last photo,
of me preparing to enjoy the fruits of my labor for Easter dinner, is by my aunt Margaret.
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