Blondes Have More Pork By Ted Nugent
May 10, 2010 - 6:40:06 AM
Nuge takes another boar as everything comes together. Did he say 'Incredible'?
If I don't clarify this title, my wife and all lovely blonde ladies, whom we all so admire, will surely kill me. Everybody relax. I love blondes. There is nothing more wonderful to gaze upon, and in the case of Mrs. Nugent, no better lover/soulmate in the world than a fine blonde babe. OK? Got that? Good.
Now let's get to the blonde bomber porkbeast of the dark forest, shall we?
It was another stunning springtime celebration at the Nugent family sacred timberlands of Michigan that we call the Annual Uncle Ted Sunrize Acres PorkSlam. It is a much anticipated event where fine families from across America and beyond gather round the joyful, primal campfire eternal to celebrate the wonderful soul moving camaraderie of another season of renewal: Renewal for the soul, belly, mind, spirit, and the good mother earth in all her glory. Ma Nature was being very kind this week with clear skies, cool mornings and sunny days as green-up gushed forth all around. A most moving spring ritual of planting young trees was just consummated, and the sweet, pungent aroma of fresh turned earth still lingered on our hands. Master guides and gungho hog hunters Paul Wilson and Big Jim Lawson had put their hearts and souls into nonstop scouting of the forests and ridges on these game rich acres, and by the time the twenty plus hunters had arrived, confidence was running rather high. We could taste it.
The warming trend would make any water source a prime hog rendezvous zone, and the fresh green shoots erupting in our Heartland Wildlife Institute foodplots would represent pig magnets for our hunters. Well worn trails converging where multiflora rose thickets interspersed with deadfall tangles would make ideal ambush locations for both archers and gun hunters alike. Though the acorn orgy was long gone, remnant scatterings of hickory nuts still carpeted the hardwood hillsides, so Double Bull blinds erected nearby promised ample BBQ porkage on the hoof, I was quite sure.
Eight year old Abigale had been practicing diligently with her Crossman pellet rifle on animal targets all winter, and her recent dedication at the riflerange with her H&R .243 proved her to be an out and out sniper. Paul had guided her on the first afternoon to what can only be described as a behemoth trophy Austrian boar of a lifetime. Abi weighs in at about 65 pounds dripping wet, but her trophy tusker more than quadrupled that number. I know one family that will be eating delicious, freerange organic pork for the rest of the year. Way to go Queen of the Forest!
Everybody was having the time of their lives and killing some truly amazing pure Austrian wild boar on Sunrize Acres. Master Chef John Kolokowski had brought out his award winning Kola's Kitchen wildgame catering-mobile from Wyandot Michigan to serve scrumptious elk, moose, bear, pheasant, quail, duck, frog, muskrat and raccoon. Oohs and ahhhs and much lip smacking transpired as everyone came to realize just how wonderful game can be prepared by an experienced master game chef.
After taking pictures with all my hunters and sharing all their thrilling stories, I whipped out an acoustic guitar and jammed out the ultimate rockin huntin soundtrack of alltimes. Such a setting creates a powerful and dynamic spirit, and the right music simply comes to life. The campfire roared along with "Fred Bear", "I Am The NRA" and "I Just Wanna Go Huntin". It was the ultimate American BloodBrother rockout for hands-on conservationists everywhere. Spirits moved.
With a hint of darker skies appearing from the northwest, I felt a calling from my old treestand in the far west woods, and politely excused myself for a little hunting of my own. Paul and Jim had conveyed to me that an occasional fleeting glimpse of some strange light colored beast was witnessed by more than one hunter over the last few months, and that no one had hunted the westerly thickets in the last few days. Respect for your elders is so appreciated and I took advantage of it and headed out.
Up and coming vidcamdude John Hitchins of Brooklyn Michigan climbed high into the old hickory tree above my Ol Man treestand, and we settled in for another glorious day in the wild. I instructed John to film the beauty of every bird, squirrel, woodpecker, falling leaf, wind blow branch, cloud and glint of light so as to adequately convey the spirit of our experience for Spirit of the Wild TV viewers to enjoy with us. John gracefully swung the camera along the wooded ridge to capture the beauty and grace of a dozen or so whitetail deer browsing along in the distance. God, I love this stuff!
We both jerked upright when the corn feeder went off as golden kernels flew heather and yon before us. It was just another game call in our arsenal of bowhunting, and combined with the year round scouting, intelligent wind considerations and topographical breaks in the landscape, we hoped that the addition of this supplemental feed on the ground might lure a porkbeast into bowrange. We scanned the forest. Nothing. We settled our nerves and took it all in, knowing that many a morning and evening sets had produced no shot opportunities for numerous days in a row, but at the same time, anything could happen at any moment. That's why we call it hunting. It always boils down to the final reality of "right place, right time."
Snap! We both heard it at the same time, and slowly turned hard left for a looksee. We saw nothing for a few minutes, but then at about 75 yards, a long, dark snout emerged from behind a big fallen cherry tree trunk as a porcine roto-tiller grinded earth in our direction. Pork baby, comin' on strong! Here we go!
John filmed the beast doing an assortment of pig things as I carefully adjusted my position for a possible shot if he stayed on course. Once the hog cleared the cover of the deadfall, we could see that it was the golden boy of porkland. These moments are cherished, for the sheer adrenalin dumpage is off the charts and level of excitement and anticipation is indescribable. Bowhunting is IT!
On he came, plowing terra firma, rooting, snorting and basically pigging out in all his glory, but still much too far off for a bowshot. Waiting is at once both stimulating and frustrating, but the patience game is bowhunting personified. We waited.
I lifted my bow into position while the beast's head disappeared behind a large boulder. The giant blond hog stopped and began scratching his rump on the rock and gave us quite a show on video. When he looked away as if to change course, I also turned away and let out the sexiest deep throated pig squeal you have ever heard. From a lifetime of hog hunting, I have learned a pretty good pig call I can do with my mouth and throat, and the hog immediately snapped his behemoth pighead back our way. And here he comes, headed straight for our hickory tree. Cool!
This was John's first video hunt with Uncle Ted, and accented by the sheer dynamo of this oncoming monster, I could sense John's nerve wracking excitement as he did his best to smoothly follow the approaching trophy boar with his vidcam. Thrilling stuff.
The bow came back to fulldraw gracefully as I settled my Sims sightpin on the hog's right shoulder and let 'er fly! THWACK!! The Magnus Stinger broadhead punched hard and sliced clean through the heavy legbone, penetrating well into the chest cavity. The blond bomber snorted loudly and spun like a prize fighter in his prime, clearly stunned by the arrow's impact. This old bowhunter learned long ago to always nock another arrow as fast as possible, and when the huge pig lurched to his left, GoldTip number two was already on its way, cutting every vital organ in its path between the left center ribcage and the right shoulder.
Now the mortally wounded porkmaster erupted in a frenzy, running wildly away, grunting and growling like a prehistoric monster from hell. It was beautiful. Why would anyone chose to simply go to the grocery store when bowhunting is so much more fun and exciting? I just don't get it.
But the huge, blond wild boar gets it, and gets it good, for he only made it fifty yards before he spun around and crashed to the good mother earth one last time. And all was still, except for the whooshing of pent up air from the lungs of John and me, finally breathing a sigh of relief. Incredible! The beast is dead, long live the mighty beast!
We carefully descended our ambush perch and filmed the ceremonious recovery of this amazing creature. Paul and Jim were correct, for it was a golden boar with patches of calico and brindle, weighing more than 400 pounds on the hoof with razor sharp tusks protruding from his primordial piglips. Did I mention "incredible"?
I radioed for assistance, for all the Glenn's Deerhandles in the world wouldn't get the job done with only John and me dragging this gorgeous boar. Many photos were taken and a hearty, smiling, laughing, backslapping celebration party went on for awhile in the beautiful forest. With one last journey to Jason Peeks custom butcher shop in Parma, Michigan, and perfect cycle of sustain yield renewability would be complete. Organic pork sausage for the masses would be dearly appreciated for many a campfire to come, and thrilling stories of the blond bomber would become legend. In the wind, he's still alive.
Contact tednugent.com or go to: Spirit of the Wild.