The bass beat of Atomic Dog rattled our windows as the truck gobbled up a
freeway lined with oil well pumps and cattle on this road trip to Oklahoma.
Deb did the Cabbage Patch to the downbeat and I had laughed myself
hoarse. We were both getting slappy from the long drive, but totally
stoked to be heading to our first wild hog hunt. The 14-hour trip had gone
quickly and so was our sanity at this point. At a recent stop for gas, the
clerks Southern drawl was as difficult for me to understand, as my
Minnesota twang was for her. "Were not in Kansas anymore, Toto" I quipped,
once back at my truck.
Navigating the country back roads and arriving at our destination, we
unlocked the gate to the Shiloh Ranch and inched down the picturesque road.
A gent in an outback coat, cowboy hat and sunglasses came galloping up the
dirt road on horseback to greet us. Stepping out of our reality and into
this setting was a blast to the senses. For a precious few days, we would
forget about everything and zone in on the experience of the hunt. I was
pumped. This was an all women’s hunt and we weren’t sure what to expect.
As the four other members of the entourage arrived, it was exciting to
discover we were in a group of our peers, not only as experienced and
independent hunting junkies, but as peer professionals as well.
As the morning progressed, our focus began to shift from social banter, to
the predators we each were. I have always marveled at the contrast that
women present in this regard, with our ability to transform from femme to
killer. After flinging arrows on the 3D course, we each emerged from the
bunkhouse in our respective camo uniforms, replete with bows and tackle.
Some shot compounds, others shot primitive. The day was a perfect 55
degrees, and soon we were each on stands near feeders and game trails. On
the walk to my stand, I jumped two groups of hogs, who first sized me up
and then sprayed in all directions. I didnt have much knowledge of pig
psychology and mistakenly thought "Just like whitetails". I pictured a pig
or two coming through the woods, just like whitetails.
Wrong!
My particular ladder stand was about mile from the housing compound. Once
settled, I had no idea what to expect, and when the spin feeder released
corn two hours later, I startled with such vigor that I nearly fell off my
stand. "That’s all I need", I thought to myself "they’ll find me hanging by
my safety strap like a Christmas tree ornament". A moment later, I heard
the crunching of leaves in the distance. Their many hooves walking in a
straight line, I spotted the caravan of hogs 100 yards out. I eased my
release onto the bowstring and slowly torqued around for a shot. The hogs
split into three groups as I was turning. Suddenly, they all halted as if
in the stop action frame of an instant replay. I froze in my twisted
position as my left inner thigh muscle decided to go into a full blown
charlie horse. Sweat beading on my temples now, I ignored the pain and sat
motionless. The pigs resumed their march and I again positioned myself for
the shot. From three directions, the lead animals entered the clearing
before me, all abruptly stopping again. I froze, now positioned to draw.
My leg muscle was screaming but I didn’t care. The entire group startled me
as they dove for the corn like crows on carrion.
Too much adrenalin! Too much adrenalin! Calm down Linda! I started to go
to full draw on the largest hog but my peep tubing snapped mid draw. DANG!
These hogs were going to be gone in two minutes and I was running out of
time. In slow motion, I let down my draw, re-affixed the tubing, snapped
my release back on the string and went to full draw again.
I put my pin
site on the biggest hog, let out a breathe and timed the arrow launch
between the beats of my now pounding heart. Zap! The arrow connected with
a lung shot and passed through. The animal did a zig zag run, dropped at
seventy yards, flip flopped and was done in two minutes.
The sweat poured
off me and my knees were shaking. Not wanting to spoil the hunts of the
others, I sat tight till dark, tracked the hog, and then radioed for an
ATV to help bring it back to camp.
Deb had arrowed a small boar that evening, and with one of the owners, we
tracked the animal through several hundred yards of thick spiny brambles.
Deb got her Leafy Lite Suit hung up on the thorns so many times its a
wonder she made it out of there dressed. With the help of the owner Matt,
we found the hog and struggled to get it out without getting completely
lost in the thickets. Matt lacerated his eye on a thorn and one point,
and had to go to the emergency room the next day for repairs. Back at
camp, I field dressed my hog and spent the rest of the evening around the
campfire with our group, sharing our respective hunting stories, past and
present.
Hog hunting lady style
The owners of Shiloh Ranch had an overabundance of pigs this year, and
allowed each hunter to shoot another small pig the next day for no charge.
I decided to sit on the same stand, and was fortunate enough to arrow a
small orange colored pig (named Twinkie) the second evening.
Several of
the other ladies had success with larger pigs, so I decided to drag my
little boar back to camp in the dark until the ATVs caught up with me. I
had forgotten rope, and used my camo bandana as a drag, looped on my wrist
and around the pigs two front hooves. 100 yards from my stand, I had the
uneasy realization that I was being followed.
I stopped in my tracks. The
sounds of number of animals in the dark woods also stopped. I started
again, going quickly and then slowly, as my followers kept pace with me,
their sounds getting closer. The bandana slipped off the pigs hooves, and
I stooped to fixed the tether, fumbling with my flashlight.
The sounds in
the woods were now all around me, and I was suddenly struck with the
thought that I might be the prey instead of the predator.
Now, I am not
afraid of the dark and in fact like it. However, being alone and
surrounded by who-knows-what, while dragging a bloody dead animal in the
pitch dark just didn’t seem very smart at that moment. Not wishing to be
the unwitting meal of whatever was following me, I let out several loud
primal growling noises and waved my flashlight about wildly.
That scared
them back a few yards. I radioed our hosts about my situation, and within
minutes ATVs were speeding up the trail. The mystery critters zoomed off.
I have been on hunts many times with many groups, but this was by far one
of the more unique hunts of my life. This was in part because of the hogs
we were hunting, but also because of the hunters in the group and our
hosts. I have been a serious lady hunter for many years.
In my social and
business circles, I am regarded as a bit of an oddity, not only because I
hunt, but because I pursue it mostly alone, independent of other hunters.
I have to, because of my personal requirement to hunt a LOT! I had hunted
with other groups of ladies, but this group was patently unique. These
were not only hunters, but serious, experienced, passionate, addicted,
focused, and accomplished women hunters. I have sat around a camp fire
with hunting chums many times over the years, but here I was sitting around
a campfire with women, sharing our stories, our histories and the
inexplicable hunting addiction that linked us all. No offense to my
favorite male hunting buddies, but this experience was in a totally different class.
Linda riding her Hog
My friend Deb arrowed two hogs and in fact each member of our group except
one, arrowed two hogs as well. The drive home from a hunting trip always
seems to take twice as long as the drive there, and by the time we hit
Iowa, we had demoted our thinking to playing a game of "count the road
kills". A blizzard greeted us upon arriving in the Twin Cities.
Yes, this had been a most enjoyable hunt, both from the
standpoint of being with other experienced and avid hunters, but also
because of how well prepared and hospitable our hosts were to each
member of the group. I will definitely go back. Copyright January 2002
