I read the weather report for Saturday night and Sunday morning. Predictions were for very light NNE winds, not really the best direction for my bowstand. I figured I might not get another chance to go hunting for a while, and the lure of a big buck I've seen on the gamecam has been teasing me all month. So I gambled that the report was wrong.
Saturday night delivered a very light wind that was carrying my scent about 45 degrees to the right of the feeder. It didn’t seem to bother the family of javelina that showed up right as the corn hit the ground. Just a couple of minutes later, three deer showed up and spooked the javelina but could not get the nerve to take over the feeding area. Here are the leaders of the respective packs coming forward to figure out what the next step will be.
The javelina eventually took charge, made themselves at home, and ate until all the corn was gone. The deer returned twice but wouldn’t displace the javelina.
Here is the shooting lane that I have for the stand. My eyes are 14 feet off the ground and the feeder is 25 yards away
When they got tired of eating, they just sat down and rested.
Sunday morning brought cold, still air. It was 40 degF when I reached the stand (that’s cold for a South Texan). A lone javelina came to the feeder before it threw. Not finding any breakfast, he just kept on walking. Green jays, cardinals, and squirrels finished off the morning’s throw by about 09:00. I stuck it out until 09:30, but nothing else showed.
On my way back to camp, I found myself following a young buck. He was about 150 yards ahead of me, walking down the road on the side of a 400 yard open field of grass. When I’d get a stray huisache between us, I would quicken the pace. But when I got within about 75 yards, he ducked into the brush and disappeared.
Back at camp, I piddled around a while and eventually pulled out my new MSR Superfly stove to practice making breakfast with it. Just as I was about to light it, I caught a flash of black on the opposite side of what used to be a 10 acre lake. First one pig, then another. I didn’t wait to count them all. I grabbed my release and picked up the bow.
They were about 125 yards away and moving left to right along the ‘bank’ of the dried up lakebed. I ran to the right side of a big brush pile that was between us and planned my advance. I was kinda pinned to the brush pile until they disappeared into some knee high weeds that had popped up where the soil was still damp. I took about 30 steps toward them, hoping to catch them in the weeds. Just as I reached the center of no-man’s-land, they popped out of the weeds at my 2 o’clock… not exactly what I had planned.
I now found myself in a quandary. I had planned on a 20-25 yard shot. As such, I had nocked an aluminum arrow that I wasn’t worried about losing to a pig. I dropped to two knees and pulled out the rangefinder… 44 yards. I knew the aluminum arrows hit two inches low at 25 yards. But I had no idea where they would hit at 44. It was now or never. Time to make a decision. The group was moving and about to climb out of the dry tank, and they hadn’t yet figured out that I was a threat.
I pulled off the aluminum arrow and nocked my standard carbon arrow, the one with the 125 grain Spitfire on the business end. I hated to part with all that money for a lowly pig, but I told myself, “What the heck, you only live once.” I ran my HHA sights up to the 45 yard mark on the tape and hoped that one of the group would stop long enough for me to draw a bead on him. With only three of the nine left, I got my wish. Lucky number seven paused to check on his buddies. I put the green dot on the vitals of the small boar and let her rip. As I watched my target in the follow through, I saw him spin to the left. But the arrow was still on track. The elevation was perfect! Unfortunately, the pig had turned 90 degrees by the time the two met. That arrow buried itself six inches deep in his right rump.
The pig let out a long loud moan and tried to run up the bank with his other fleeing buddies. Blood was pouring out from his right hind cheek and he just couldn’t get his motor running. Eventually, his adrenaline kicked in and he hobbled along, trying to catch up with the others. They all retreated into the brush and I rushed to keep up with them. I could see that the pig was hurt pretty badly. He would run about 20 feet and then his hind legs would give out. About 40 yards into the brush, he finally settled down for a break.
I angled around so I could put a finishing arrow through his vitals. I got within 20 yards, loaded up one of the aluminums, aimed two inches high, and watched the arrow sail right over his back. How could I miss? It was a 20 yard chip shot! Oh yeah, the sights are still set for 45 yards you moron. With that, the pig got a fresh shot of adrenaline and took off again, but only another ten yards or so. I worked for a 15 yard broadside, reset the sights for 25, and sent another aluminum arrow towards him – this one a clean pass through centered on the vitals. He was dead now, he just didn’t know it yet.
As I approached him to be sure he was down for the count, I realized my carbon arrow was still imbedded firmly in his ham. Because it had entered from behind, it survived the romp through the brush unscathed. A gentle yank was all it took to recover it. I guess it wasn’t wasted after all.
Saturday night delivered a very light wind that was carrying my scent about 45 degrees to the right of the feeder. It didn’t seem to bother the family of javelina that showed up right as the corn hit the ground. Just a couple of minutes later, three deer showed up and spooked the javelina but could not get the nerve to take over the feeding area. Here are the leaders of the respective packs coming forward to figure out what the next step will be.
The javelina eventually took charge, made themselves at home, and ate until all the corn was gone. The deer returned twice but wouldn’t displace the javelina.
Here is the shooting lane that I have for the stand. My eyes are 14 feet off the ground and the feeder is 25 yards away
When they got tired of eating, they just sat down and rested.
Sunday morning brought cold, still air. It was 40 degF when I reached the stand (that’s cold for a South Texan). A lone javelina came to the feeder before it threw. Not finding any breakfast, he just kept on walking. Green jays, cardinals, and squirrels finished off the morning’s throw by about 09:00. I stuck it out until 09:30, but nothing else showed.
On my way back to camp, I found myself following a young buck. He was about 150 yards ahead of me, walking down the road on the side of a 400 yard open field of grass. When I’d get a stray huisache between us, I would quicken the pace. But when I got within about 75 yards, he ducked into the brush and disappeared.
Back at camp, I piddled around a while and eventually pulled out my new MSR Superfly stove to practice making breakfast with it. Just as I was about to light it, I caught a flash of black on the opposite side of what used to be a 10 acre lake. First one pig, then another. I didn’t wait to count them all. I grabbed my release and picked up the bow.
They were about 125 yards away and moving left to right along the ‘bank’ of the dried up lakebed. I ran to the right side of a big brush pile that was between us and planned my advance. I was kinda pinned to the brush pile until they disappeared into some knee high weeds that had popped up where the soil was still damp. I took about 30 steps toward them, hoping to catch them in the weeds. Just as I reached the center of no-man’s-land, they popped out of the weeds at my 2 o’clock… not exactly what I had planned.
I now found myself in a quandary. I had planned on a 20-25 yard shot. As such, I had nocked an aluminum arrow that I wasn’t worried about losing to a pig. I dropped to two knees and pulled out the rangefinder… 44 yards. I knew the aluminum arrows hit two inches low at 25 yards. But I had no idea where they would hit at 44. It was now or never. Time to make a decision. The group was moving and about to climb out of the dry tank, and they hadn’t yet figured out that I was a threat.
I pulled off the aluminum arrow and nocked my standard carbon arrow, the one with the 125 grain Spitfire on the business end. I hated to part with all that money for a lowly pig, but I told myself, “What the heck, you only live once.” I ran my HHA sights up to the 45 yard mark on the tape and hoped that one of the group would stop long enough for me to draw a bead on him. With only three of the nine left, I got my wish. Lucky number seven paused to check on his buddies. I put the green dot on the vitals of the small boar and let her rip. As I watched my target in the follow through, I saw him spin to the left. But the arrow was still on track. The elevation was perfect! Unfortunately, the pig had turned 90 degrees by the time the two met. That arrow buried itself six inches deep in his right rump.
The pig let out a long loud moan and tried to run up the bank with his other fleeing buddies. Blood was pouring out from his right hind cheek and he just couldn’t get his motor running. Eventually, his adrenaline kicked in and he hobbled along, trying to catch up with the others. They all retreated into the brush and I rushed to keep up with them. I could see that the pig was hurt pretty badly. He would run about 20 feet and then his hind legs would give out. About 40 yards into the brush, he finally settled down for a break.
I angled around so I could put a finishing arrow through his vitals. I got within 20 yards, loaded up one of the aluminums, aimed two inches high, and watched the arrow sail right over his back. How could I miss? It was a 20 yard chip shot! Oh yeah, the sights are still set for 45 yards you moron. With that, the pig got a fresh shot of adrenaline and took off again, but only another ten yards or so. I worked for a 15 yard broadside, reset the sights for 25, and sent another aluminum arrow towards him – this one a clean pass through centered on the vitals. He was dead now, he just didn’t know it yet.
As I approached him to be sure he was down for the count, I realized my carbon arrow was still imbedded firmly in his ham. Because it had entered from behind, it survived the romp through the brush unscathed. A gentle yank was all it took to recover it. I guess it wasn’t wasted after all.