My friendship with Brad began when we were both beginning college. It was in both our natures to have total wanderlust and travel the world and hunt everything that came across our paths. We met on an internet hunting website when the idea was still fledgling and we decided to get together and hunt some stuff.
Brad was raised on a ranch in Florida, and I was raised on a farm in Ohio, and since the two places have vastly different types of game to hunt, we decided it would be fitting to hunt each other’s places. Several years after our first hunt together, I called Brad and asked what he was up to for the next few weeks. I had been spending the summers in Alaska and my winters in Kansas. So it seemed that I had been in perpetual winter for nearly 3 years. I needed to see a greener landscape. Brad was working on a ranch in Texas near College Station where he was going to school. That ranch, and the whole area, is nearly overrun with wild hogs.
So we agreed that a few days of hog hunting would end my severe case of spring fever.
After my then fiancée and I drove down to Snook, TX, we greeted Brad and got the run-down of where and when we were going to have time to hunt. Brad had classes the first few days of our trip, but we would get the chance to hunt together on the last.
The first few days came and went, with wet and cold spring weather. I largely hunted public land and had several good stalks with my recurve, but couldn't quite close the deal.
The final night, we were able to hunt private property near where Brad was living. We ventured out in a Kawasaki mule in search of hogs coming out to feed.
We didn't travel long before we encountered a group of large boars that were coming out of a creek bed to munch on some corn under a deer feeder. Just as the sun was going down, we made a very successful stalk ending in a 30 yard shot with my 30-06. as we continued, to our surprise we bumped the same group of hogs again, and in failing light, I got one final shot off at a nice boar hog running dead-away as fast as those stubby hog legs could carry him. At 144 yards the pig buried his head in the dirt and flipped end-over-end.
Out of the vast number of animals that I have killed all over the country with a wide range of weapons, I recall that shot as one of my top 5 favorite of all time; with my trusted Weatherby rifle, I've taken most of these "favorite shots." But there's nothing quite as sweet as enjoying it with an old friend.
As far as the statistics go, the first hog we think was about 220 pounds, the other, maybe 175. I wished I could have saved some of the meat from these animals, but for some reason, I've never smelled meat that was as foul as that. I determined that I was not okay with the idea of eating it. While it may have been technically safe, it sure was anything but appetizing.