It’s what we do when no one is looking that really matters.
Well, I finally got out to do a little hog hunting after a long, dry spell. I was already jonesing to get out there anyway, but with all the stuff that’s been going on the last couple of weeks, I really needed to get away from the city, and out into the hills. Michael Riddle, from Native Hunts had extended a generous invitation for the coming weekend, but I couldn’t take him up on it. Fortunately, I was able to make a last minute call to the Golden Ram offices and line up a weekday hunt at the Hedgepeth Ranch in Sonoma County.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve pretty much figured out an area of this ranch that seems to always hold hogs. The last few trips out there put me right on them, but I couldn’t capitalize with the bow. This time I wanted meat, so I left the bow behind and grabbed my old stand-by rifle, my Savage 30-06. I figured if I could see them, I could kill them. I needed success, not more frustration.
As the hunt dates got closer, the weather came in… finally. Forecasts were calling for rain and hail, with near-freezing temperatures and a snow level descending to about 1000 feet. I was stoked! The newly wet ground should get the pigs rooting, and the cloud cover should obscure the nearly full moon, and keep the hogs out during the day. I was also excited just for the possibility that I’d get to hunt in the snow. There’s something special about that, at least for this translocated southern boy.
I hit the road up to the ranch at about 0300 yesterday (Monday). It wasn’t snowing, and the two and a half hour drive was punctuated by periods of rain and crystal clear skies. Temps hovered in the 40s until I started climbing into the hills around Lake Sonoma. By the time I reached the ranch and drove in to my hunting spot, temps were in the mid-30s, but the rain was breaking up. I geared up and headed down the trail as the sun came out into a clear, blue sky.
Because of the cool, wet day, I’d geared up in my Rivers West Stalker jacket and pants. This stuff is really excellent for rough weather because it sheds water like a traditional rainsuit, but it’s quiet. The thing is, though, I can’t use it very often here in CA, because most of my hunts take place in the warmer parts of the state and I do a LOT of walking. The Rivers West gear is made for colder weather. I figured the day would be perfect for it.
About halfway up the second ridge, I realized I was over-dressed. I stopped and peeled off the jacket. As I cooled off and got comfortable, a chilly breeze suddenly came up. In a matter of seconds, the blue sky went slate grey and it started raining. Off went my pack and on went the coat. Like magic, a few moments late the rain stopped and the sun came out. This would be the pattern all day.
But you’re not here to read about the weather. What about the hunting?
The hillsides were ripped to shreds by rooting. I picked up the trail of a large group of hogs. Fresh tracks, scat, and rooting marked their path across the hillside. From the freshness of the sign, I was pretty sure the hogs were close, but I also know how much ground these animals can cover. From the top of the ridge where I picked them up, the sign led across the steep hillside, dropping in elevation steadily until I’d reached the bottom of the canyon, some 500 feet down from where I’d started. And then, of course, the trail started to climb the other side.
To folks accustomed to the high country, 500 feet of elevation change may not sound like a lot. And on an easy, rolling slope, it’s really not much of a climb at all. But in these hills, the climb is not far from vertical, and it takes some effort… especially when the most exercise I’d had over the last several weeks was dragging and dropping files on the computer.
Point being… I looked up this next hill with a mild dread. I knew where these hogs were going, and unless I got really lucky, this was going to be one heck of a tough hunt. I adjusted my pack, slung the rifle, and started climbing.
I finally topped out the climb and knew I was close. I could see where the herd had stopped to root under some oaks in the saddle, just over the ridgeline. From the looks of the ground all around, they were staying pretty busy up here. There was sign, literally, everywhere! I picked the freshest tracks I could identify, and started back on the trail which led, predictably, down the other side of the ridge. I knew that the property line was in the bottom of this next canyon, but that the thick oaks and manzanita provided shelter. If things worked out, the hogs would hold up in the bedding areas instead of crossing the property line where I wouldn’t be able to get to them.
I eased down the track, moving slowly and listening for the telltale patter of hog feet. The rain dripping off of the trees made it pretty tough to hear anything, so I had to rely mostly on my eyes. But then my nose told me what my eyes and ears missed… I could smell hogs. I dropped my pace to a near crawl as the trail led down a steep finger ridge into the bottom of the canyon. The wet clay ground was slick as grease, making the descent a little tricky, but I knew this is where I’d find my pig.
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