The Hog Blog

Boy, that’s probably the dumbest topic title I’ve done in a while.  Oh well, it rang in my mind and now I’ve shared it… 

Anyway, true to form, after walking several miles and several thousand feet of elevation gain and loss, I’m sitting here getting ready for another work week.  The ice chest won’t need to be cleaned this afternoon, and my butchering tools will stay in the drawer.  Porky evaded me once again. 

The world is full of “what-ifs”, and such was this trip.  IF I had been using a rifle instead of the Mathews, I could have killed several pigs.  I practically ran one down in the road yesterday morning, but there’s no way I could have leapt from Petunia, unlimbered the bow, nocked an arrow, and got a clean shot at him as he boogied up the ridge.  IF it were gun season on the ranch (it opens next weekend) I would have had the .44 on hand, and would have had no problem taking that boar.  Likewise, the group of 15 that fed down across canyon from me.  At 200 yards, they remained oblivious to me as they fed on an open shelf, in the wide open at 1100 hrs.  I could have plopped down with the rifle and a rest and taken my pick.  With the bow, I have to get a little closer than that.  Unfortunately, at about 150 yards, I practically stepped on a group of deer who proceeded to bolt right through the feeding hogs.  At last glance, the hogs were just shy of Mach 1, and disappearing back over the high ridge and headed toward the safety of the property line.

Not that it was a bad trip, because there’s seldom a bad hunting trip… it was really nice.  It was my first solo hunt in quite a while, and as much as I enjoy guiding and taking people hunting, sometimes it’s really good just to get out there and not have to think about anyone else’s experience.  It was relaxing just to walk and hunt, and enjoy all the things you see on a beautiful, cold November morning.  There were grouse, band-tailed pigeons, quail, eagles, coyotes, tons of deer, and lots of smaller critters.  The salamanders were on the move, an annual event I’ve been told, and there were times when it was hard to walk without stepping on one. 

And there was pig sign… oh brother, was there pig sign!  The recent rain had softened the ground, and the hogs were taking full advantage of it.  Hilltops were rototilled, and tracks and scat littered the ground.  The only problem was, for the most part, I was consistently where they were, instead of where they are.  Tracks are great and all, but they’re best when they still have pig feet in them.

Anyway, it doesn’t really matter if I killed a pig.  I still have two freezers loaded with meat.  I was actually hoping for a turkey, for Thanksgiving, but they were pretty scarce up there this weekend.  I thought I heard some once, but never could locate the danged things.  I don’t think I tried all that hard anyway.  It was just good to go, to be out there.  I need that sometimes.  I think we all do.

Well, I’m outta here for the weekend.  Gonna head back to the Hedgepeth Ranch (Golden Ram) in Sonoma County for another go at the hogs and maybe a turkey with my bow.  The weather is kinda messy right now, but it should blow out tonight, and tomorrow could be a really happening day. 

Well, wanna make God laugh?  Tell him your plans, right?  We’ll have to see.

Until Monday…

He was coming in hot, gobbling his fool head off.  In his lusty rush, he didn’t even notice as I snaked the barrel of the Remington 870 out the window of the blind and took a careful aim.  At about ten yards from the blind, he stretched his neck to gobble one last time, and I covered his head with the muzzle and squeezed the trigger.

Here’s where things get a little odd… at least to me. 

The gun went off, just as it always does.  The blast caused me to blink, as it always does.  And when my vision cleared, as it always does, the bird should have been laying there flopping its last… as they always do.

Except, as you may have gathered by now things didn’t go the way they always do.  In fact, from the time I pulled the trigger, nothing went exactly as it always does. 

Read the rest of this entry »

You call.

He responds.

You call again.

His calls are getting closer.

Your heart beats faster, spurred by the primal urgency in his responses.

And then he appears… regal and proud, he marches into sight.

Now’s your chance.  You raise the gun slowly, covering the bright red head with the muzzle… and in a flash and bang, your prize is on the ground, a few stray feathers drifting down like snow on the morning breeze.

Well, I hope that’s how things play out for me this weekend, as I’m off to Deedy’s Bryson Hesperia Resort, for what will probably be my only turkey hunt of the year.

Well, I don’t know about ya’ll, but I’m ready for a break from the discussion about the lead ammunition ban.  Not that this isn’t an important topic, and a discussion that needs to be carried on… but if we let ourselves get bogged down in political issues, we start to lose sight of why we’re here… and that is, to HUNT! 

I’m fortunate in CA, because I can hog hunt all year long.  I break up the hog hunts with deer hunting, a little waterfowl, and, come springtime, turkey hunting!  And that time is almost on us! 

The hills are alive with the sounds of locator calls, as hopeful and eager hunters hit the field in search of roost trees, dusting grounds and strut zones.  The greening countryside is starting to wake up with gobbling, and the big toms are starting to bully the jakes. 

Soon, the show will begin in earnest (especially if this weather holds), and the fighting and gobbling will intensify.  Camo-clad nimrods will filter through the oaks and field edges in search of the horny long-beard, hoping to lure them to a sudden demise with the lusty calls of lovelorn hens. 

OK, enough of the attempt at artistry… 

Holly, the NorCal Cazadora put it into words a lot better in a great piece she just did for the Sacramento Bee newspaper.  Get yourselves on over there and give it a read. 

And, when you’re done, make sure you post up a supportive comment or two… let the editors know that hunters read the Bee, and appreciate positive stories about our sport.

Well, the turkey hunt was tough, but my hunter went home with his bird.  Without going into too much detail, it was a learning experience for the both of us, I think… at least I’m certain I learned a lot as a guide, and I sure hope he learned a bit as a hunter and a client. 

As a guide, I learned that you have to take control of the hunt from the beginning, because if you let the client take over you’ll be run ragged and frustrated.  I made that mistake this weekend and it made me look pretty bad.  It’s important to give the customer what he wants, but you have to decide where the line is drawn between letting him learn the hard way and doing what it takes to ensure that the hunt ends with success. 

As a guided client, there’s a golden rule that you should always observe.  Don’t try to guide the guide!  The guide is the expert.  He (or she) knows the animals in the specific area… their behavior and their eccentricities.  The guide knows how to hunt those animals.  When the guide suggests a tactic or a location, it’s best to go with the suggestions. 

Sure, ask questions.  You can even challenge the guide’s recommendation.  But do so knowing that, when all is said and done, you are the customer.  Most guides will give you what you want, because you’re paying the bill.  Very seldom will your request be flat-out denied, so you’d do well to consider carefully before going contrary to the guide’s advice. 

If you want to do things your own way, why would you pay so much for a guided hunt in the first place?  Hunt public land, or pay a tresspass fee for an unguided hunt on private property.  To do otherwise is a waste of your money, and of the guide’s energy. 

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about that.  As much as I may enjoy it, I have to remember that guiding is a job.  It’s not about me. 

Meanwhile, during the weekend I got an email from my little brother, Scott, back in NC.  He got drawn this year for the limited entry turkey hunt on the Roanoke River, and couldn’t wait to share his success.  Two turkeys in two days… one of which was this really nice tom, sporting an 11-inch beard and 1 1/2″ spurs! 

He said that the area was a madhouse of gobbling and fighting birds, including two toms who were gobbling their heads off at each other across the river!  Sure sounds like fun to me!

So, I guess I’m officially a professional turkey hunter now, so I am qualified to offer the following turkey hunting tips.  Read carefully, because I’m about to give you some guaranteed ways to get your turkey!

1. Call aggressively!  Sometimes you really need to lay on the calls.  Don’t hold back, because the birds are coming and they’re coming strong!
2. Keep the calling to a minimum.  Don’t call too much, and keep it soft and quiet. 
3. Don’t call!  Turkeys get called to much.  Get their attention then shut up! 
4. Sit tight!  Be patient and the turkeys will come to you.
5. Be mobile.  If the turkeys don’t come to you, you have to go to them. 
6. Use a blind.  It keeps you well hidden wherever you are, and may be the only way to get close to pressured birds.
7. Use only natural cover.  Blinds stick out, and may spook pressured birds.
8. Use a super-tight choke.  It concentrates your kill zone.
9. Avoid the extremely tight chokes.   They concentrate the shot too much.
10. The final tip to guarantee a turkey?  Go to the grocery store.  This is hunting dangit!  There ARE NO GUARANTEES!

Hope that helped!

See all you Hog Blog friends and readers on Monday!

Well, it’s another weekend in the woods for me, as I’m back down to the beautiful Bryson Resort to try to make another turkey hunter happy… and maybe find some hogs too! 

It promises to be a busy weekend, with six hog hunters and one turkey hunter on the resort.  The critters are here, and we’ll have three Bryson guides, plus the likely assistance of Tom Willoughby (well-known, long-time, Central Coast hog guide) to make it happen, and I hope to be bringing some tales of success, along with photos and maybe even some video if I have time.

Deedy has put wireless internet in down at the Resort, one more luxurious amenity in these beautifully appointed cabins.  This is NOT roughing it, I can tell you!  So anyway, if things go well, I will update you, good readers, as things turn out.  The hunts officially start tomorrow afternoon, and will run through the weekend. 

Until then, it’s time to do some scouting and see what’s out there! 

I certainly don’t consider myself an “expert” turkey hunter.  There are people who’ve been chasing and studying these birds for a lifetime, and I’d love to have half the knowledge they’ve amassed.  Heck, I’d be happy with a quarter of their experience. 

But I have managed to learn a little bit when it comes to turkey hunting… which is a good thing because nowadays I guide other hunters.  I guess they expect some level of expertise, and I try hard not to disappoint.  My hunter down at Bryson Resort this weekend certainly wasn’t disappointed… unless he was expecting a textbook, TV hunt experience.  Fortunately, he understood that those TV hunts are just that… television.  Real hunting demands adaptability. 

Things started out promising enough.  On Friday evening we did a little scouting, and set a pop-up blind downhill from a good roost.  As we were putting everything in place, the birds were gobbling up on the ridgetop, a couple hundred yards away.  Come sunrise, I fully expected the birds to follow their normal ritual and fly down to work along the open hillside just past the blind.  Given the consistency these birds had shown, I honestly expected to be done with a bird in the bag by 0830.  It was going to be almost too easy.

I’m not the first to say it, and this isn’t the first time I’ve repeated it… but if you wanna make God laugh, just tell him your plans!

Sunrise came and I started out by flapping an old turkey wing against the ground of the blind.  Larry, my hunter, yelped a few times on his box call.  Within seconds, I heard an angry cluck from the hill behind the blind.  The cluck became a series of fighting purrs, yelps, and cackles as the hen was obviously quite agitated with our decoy.  “Cutting in on my men,” she seemed to scold.  “I’ll whup your feathered butt!”

This was promising, as I was sure the gobblers would be right there with her.  But there was no gobbling.  We sat still, hoping she’d lead an unsuspecting tom right by the blind, but it never happened.  In fact, even the hen never showed herself.  At one point, we could tell she was less than 10 yards behind us, but she stayed in our blind spot until she finally tired of her tirade and putted away into the canyon.

A few minutes later we heard a gobble across the hillside.  Larry responded with a couple of yelps from his box call, and the tom immediately gobbled back.  We spotted the bird on the edge of the distant ridge, pacing back and forth like he wanted to come in.  Another tom joined him, but while they wandered up and down and gobbled their heads off, they wouldn’t come any closer. 

I pulled out a slate and my mouthcall, and between the two of us we sang a love song that would’ve made Barry Manilow proud… if he had been a turkey.  (Actually, I’ll take turkey music over Mandy any old day.)  A hen popped up beside the toms, starting jealously toward our decoy, but nothing moved those birds in our direction.  Another hen popped up, and we realized that we were fighting a tough battle against fairly overwhelming odds.  A moment later, the little group turned and disappeared down into the canyon.

That was as close to a “classic” turkey hunt as we’d get.  The rest of the morning brought us distant gobbles, but the birds simply didn’t want to work with us.  Instead they held to cover, moving in the chemise and oaks, acting more like deer or pigs than like turkeys.  It was a beautiful day, not too hot or cold and a beautiful sun-drenched morning… but there was almost no sign of strutting or courtship. 

What to do?  Well, maybe it wasn’t the traditional idea, but if the turkeys wanted to act like deer, we’d hunt them like deer.  Get up high, glass, and move on the birds when we’d find them.  We could stalk the edges of the brush, moving slow and scanning constantly with the binoculars. 

Unlike deer, though, turkeys gobble, and that proved to be the undoing of one big tom. 

Larry and I had just parked the truck, and we were easing back up the hill to look back toward our blind.  We were, honestly, still formulating a plan for the rest of the day and didn’t even bother to bring Larry’s gun or any calls from the truck.  We’d glass the valley, and figure out where to set the blind for the afternoon hunt. 

Well, that was the idea, anyway.

As we were easing up the hill, a group of toms suddenly began to gobble from the canyon a few hundred yards away.  Then, less than fifty yards behind us, on the other side of the truck, a single tom gobbled back.  The echoes had scarcely died off before I had Larry running back to the truck.  I grabbed his gun case and tossed it back to him.  He loaded up and slid under the low branches of a scrub oak.  I popped my mouth call in and gave a few gentle clucks.  The tom didn’t answer.  “Let’s move on him,” I suggested.  “We’ll ease up the hill.  You go first, and if he steps out, smack him!”

We crept to the hill, and as we topped it I heard the telltale, “putt”.  Larry blocked part of my view, but I caught the red head craning over the grass to see who was interloping on his territory.  I caught a quick glimpse of some beard, but it looked like a jake.  I started to say something when the bird turned a bit more and I saw the entire beard.  “Take him,” I said, unnecessarily as Larry’s shotgun roared and the bird went down hard. 

The bird sported a nine-inch beard, and spurs in the area of 3/4″.  We figured him to be a two-year-old, nothing that would make the record books, but Larry was pretty happy with him.  Even more impressive was what we found when we picked the bird up.  I estimated him at15 pounds, but when Larry handed him to me, my estimate jumped up by five.  Back at the resort, we put the bird on the scale.  21 1/2 pounds of Merriam’s turkey!  That’s a hefty bird!

 Plenty of time left in the CA turkey season.  If you haven’t got your bird yet, this is a good time to start.  If you’re looking for a guided hunt, give Deedy a call at Bryson Hesperia Resort. 

While I was down in the Central Coast this past weekend, I took a few hours to go scout out the turkey situation at Bryson Hesperia Resort.  As I’ve mentioned, I’ll be guiding there for turkeys this year, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to get some time in the field a bit early, just to see how things were going. 

Well, here’s how things are going…