The morning hunt had been ugly.  The rain had turned the roads to gooey mush, bringing an icy fog that often limited our visibility to less than 25 yards.  Fresh tracks littered the steep hillsides.  Unfortunately, for all we could tell, the hogs could have been strolling around just a few yards away.  We’d have never seen them.

After a few hours of futile hill-humping, we both realized we were wasting our time.  We rolled back to camp to consider plan B.  For the immediate present, as best we could tell, Plan B consisted of hot chocolate and a nap as the rain pattered down on the roof of the camper. 

A few hours later, we awoke to find that the fog had lifted enough to see across the camping area.  It was still fairly early afternoon, but it looked like we could go ahead and make a go of it.  It was the last evening hunt, not really down to the wire, but it could be the last, best chance.

Because the roads up onto the ridges were pretty much impassable, I decided we would walk into my favorite area from the bottom.  It would be a tough climb, but I knew there’d be hogs there. 

About a quarter mile in, we decided to split.  I’d go high, and Michael would walk the bottom and then sidehill up across from me.  We’d be able to watch the hills below one another, and direct each other to the hogs when they came out.  I headed up an old road, and less than 200 yards in I caught movement across the canyon.  A hog stepped out of the brush, and stood broadside on the opposite hillside, maybe 250 yards away.  I couldn’t see Michael down below, but there was no way he’d be able to see these pigs.  I decided to take the shot.

But first, let’s go back a day.  We’d arrived at Tejon before noon on Friday, following an extended, pre-hunt orientation by one of the ranch personnel.  Once everyone had camp set up, folks started rolling out.  Never mind that it was still mid-day, this group of 12 hunters was stoked and ready for the hunt.  Michael and I followed my buddy, Scott, out to our favorite area and set up. 

We were on a high ridge that overlooked some primo bedding areas.  A quick time-check showed that it was barely noon, so I suggested we just get comfortable and glass the beds for a while.  The wind was blowing an icy chill, so we settled down in the lee of the ridgeline, and started looking for movement.  It didn’t take long before the comfortable perch on the hillside combined with the lack of sleep over the previous couple of days to make my head start nodding.  “Hey, Michael,” I mumbled.  “Wake me up before you shoot.” 

I was only half-kidding, as I leaned back and closed my eyes. 

The next thing I knew, something exploded.  My eyes popped open as I recognized the sound of a gunshot… a very large gun.  Scott was hunting with his new .375 H&H, and I had no doubt that was his shot.  A moment later, the radio crackled.  “There are about six hogs coming right toward you,” he said.

As I stood to look for the hogs, I heard two more shots from a different direction.  My friends Bob and Keith were hunting with Keith’s 12 year-old daughter, and I was pretty sure that was where they were located.  I told Michael I hoped the young lady had whacked her first hog (she did), and stood vigilant to see what came next. 

A group of about six or eight hogs came trotting over the hillside from the direction of the last shots.  We both ran downhill to get into position for a shot, but they wouldn’t stop long enough between the chaparral to give us an opportunity.  We watched as they disappeared into the bottom of the canyon, and then listened as they started to work their way up our side of the ridge.  My heart was racing as the shuffle of two dozen hog hooves rustled the leaves and grass, just out of sight below.  Unfortunately, they turned and kept to the thicket. 

We were getting ready to take off across the hillside in hopes of catching the group in an open spot when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.  There, not 50 yards away, a sow stood broadside, looking at us.  I looked at Michael, and he looked at me.  The hog looked at both of us.  Michael and I looked at the hog.  Then, since we didn’t shoot, it trotted off to catch up with the rest of the herd. 

It occurred to me then that I wasn’t guiding a paying client.  I think the same thought occurred to Michael.  What had we been waiting for?  Why didn’t I shoot? 

We held tight on the end of the ridge until the cold wind finally had me shivering pretty hard.  I knew I should have put on an extra shirt, but hindsight wasn’t keeping me warm.  I decided we should move back up the ridge, and find another warm spot to glass.  As we moved along, I caught hogs coming out at the bottom of another ridge, across the canyon to our west.  I checked the time, and saw that we had about an hour of shooting time left.  We could make it if we hurried.

So we did. 

We raced back up the ridge, arriving back at my little Samurai, Petunia, breathless and aching.  I pushed the little 1.3 litre engine as hard as it would run up and down the hills to get around the canyon and to a spot that I thought would put us on top of the hogs.  We bailed out, loaded up, and started the long, steep descent. 

Unfortunately, ground that looked so open from across the ridge wasn’t quite the same once we got there.  The chaparral and scrub oaks were much taller, and the brush thicker.  I knew we couldn’t have been more than 100 yards above the hogs, but we couldn’t see 20 yards.  Undeterred, we continued the stalk until, just as shooting light was beginning to fade, we ran into a small group of cattle.  At first, I thought we’d get away with it, but then one calf took off at a fast trot.  The others followed shortly afterward, and there was no doubt the hogs would be long gone. 

It was a long crawl back up to Petunia, but we were a couple of pretty happy hunters. 

Back at camp, the final tally for Friday’s hunt was six hogs.  Our group was at 50% success with another day and a half to hunt. 

Which brings us back to Saturday. 

I settled into a prone position, resting my rifle on a dirt berm.  It was as comfortable as a bench rest, and I felt perfectly solid when I started squeezing the trigger.  At the report, hogs started running everywhere!  There must have been 15 or 20 hogs bedded under the bushes. 

There was one more shot, and Michael and I were both done… tagged out by 2:30 pm, with the rest of the day to skin hogs and relax around camp.