How much would a wild hog population change your hunting traditions?
My nervous arrow bounced off its rest. Heaving for every breath, I managed to draw back and steady my aim just long enough to release. The four-inch bright green fletchings from my shaft disappeared deep within the black hide of the hog and a heated chase ensued. What seemed like hours later with empty quiver, the black lifeless body of a 265-pound, heavily tusked, nine-year-old boar lay at my feet. The cruel Texas countryside with all its burrs, snakes and ugly spiders seemed very fitting for a beast such as this. Not so the rolling hills of my native Wisconsin.
Born in the southern part of the state, I was raised around pigs (they turn into hogs as soon as you travel south). My cousin, Wayne Grunewald, had a large pig farm in Cleveland and routinely warned us of the unpredictable behavior of these temperamental animals. One time I even remember him getting a large part of his upper leg and calf muscle torn away from a less-than-happy, overly-tusked boar.
As adventurous children, we would sneak up on the unsuspecting pigs as they napped in the sun, jump on their backs, and go for a ride. (Kids, don’t try this at home!) Looking back, we were fortunate to never suffer any life altering injuries. Surprising a sleeping tusked hog is NEVER a good idea! In my opinion, this is exactly where pigs belong, on the farm sleeping in the sun, not running the woods of Wisconsin.
Delicious to eat and fun to chase with the bow and arrow, I would never have understood the rank of their destructiveness until I hunted the plantation of Great Southern Outdoors as part of their annual "HOG WILD WOMEN" hunt in Alabama. Perched in a Pecan tree overlooking over a 20 acre green field I saw the results of an over zealous group of wild hogs. Only a couple days before, the plantation owner, Rex Pritchett, had counted 55 hogs rooting in and around this area. Two thirds of what once was flat farmland was transformed into lump after lump of torn up terrain. It looked like a blindfolded farmer took his plow and drove around chasing the wind. Outside of the black bear damage in Brantwood, Wisconsin that leveled an eleven-acre cornfield nineteen years ago when we lived there, I had never seen destruction like this by a wild animal.
Aggression is the way of life for the wild hog. Sows are terribly protective of their piglets and will charge just for being in the same general area of her family. Boars, on the other hand, are just plain ornery. While hunting the same plantation in Alabama for whitetails last year I heard a hellish shriek that I can only describe as a cross between a growl, a scream and a grunt. The brush burst open with a charging black hog, hair bristled, tail up, running full tilt. As quickly as he showed up, he spun around and was gone. Exiting the way he came squealing and charging as fast as he could run. Just another day in the life of a wild hog, a typical demonstration of their unpredictable nature.
I became thankful that pigs stayed behind panels on the farm in Wisconsin. In my great state all we really have to worry about is wood ticks or an occasional rattlesnake. While these threats may bump us out of our comfort zone, I never felt the need to tote a rifle for protection from either one. Not the case with wild hogs.
One thing I never gave a thought to is how different it was turkey hunting in the presence of hogs. This became a challenge for me when while seated on the ground in the heart of wild hog country, I found myself asking the question, "Was that noise a turkey drumming or a hog?" I had seen both in exactly the same area the day before so not knowing whether to clutch my shotgun or rifle (with my cousin’s words echoing in my ears) I didn’t stick around to find out.
Why is any of this important to me? I didn’t really think of the freedom I have in Wisconsin to pick up my bow and march off into the woods without having to worry about being charged by a hog until it became a real threat. To add to it’s ugliness let me state the fact that hogs exist eating anything from meat to plants. One hunter I visited with told the story of attempting to retrieve his hog after he had shot it only to come up upon a group of them feasting on it. No salvageable hog parts remained.
Time spent afield is made so much richer if all you need to concentrate on is enjoying the hunt. Should wild hogs get a foothold in Wisconsin it will not only mean a big change in the way we have hunted for centuries but will also provide a new wrinkle in the fabric of both our agricultural landscape and our farmers already taxed pocketbooks. I applaud the DNR for trying to eradicate this feral nuisance and I hope they are ultimately successful.
Although I must admit hogs are fun to hunt and very tasty, I would rather leave my rifle in it’s rack and walk to my favorite bow stand without a care as I have for the past 27 years. Alabama’s sprawling pecan trees, green fields and swamps will long be a cherished place for me to score an unpredictable wild hog. I just hope I never have to say the same thing about my favorite bow stand in Wisconsin.
Tammy Koenig
www.greatsouthernoutdoors.com
