Chasing the California Wild Pig
The California Wild Pig, also known as Sus Scrofa, to some it is a myth. But, to me, it is an obsession. I’ve had my experiences of hunting pigs down in the bayous of the south. It is an exhilarating feeling, searching for pigs by piloting a boat slowly, while hounds stay the stern smelling the air for hogs. But, to a California native like me, I love trekking through the hills of California searching for wild pigs under the oak trees. The California wild pig is a challenging hunt to say the least. Tracking pigs is an addiction to me. Hunting them is not a vacation. It is a grueling, challenging, and painstaking expedition. These are intelligent creatures. My Grandfather grew up on a farm in Texas. He always would say, “Pigs are the smartest animals on the farm.” Hell, they’re even smarter in the wilderness.
This excursion was no vacation. My buddy and I left around 10 p.m. We arrived to our campsite at a little past 2 in the morning. My back ached from driving for so long. We decided to hell with setting up camp, the task can be saved for the next day. There was little chance of rain, so I laid my mat on the ground to get a few hours of rest. As I was pulling my sleeping bag from back of my Outback, a few dozen coyotes begin to howl about 50 yards away from camp. You have a higher chance of winning the lottery than being attacked by a yote. Even with those odds I decided it best to sleep in the back of my car (I mean isn’t that the point of owning a wagon?) The next morning was cold, windy, and occasional rain. After we prepped our packs, we didn’t make it 5 feet out of camp, a bobcat began to growl and hiss as it killed something in the bushes 20 yards from where we stood. The morning was quiet. No signs of pigs, but we kept moving.
Pigs can smell up to 5 miles and even 25ft underground. This makes understanding the direction of the wind the difference between packing out meat or going home empty handed. I personally carry a small squirt bottle with baking flower inside. Every few hundred yards you just pop it out and check the wind direction. After a morning of hiking and glassing we had only seen a large male turkey and a few hens, no signs of pigs. We spent lunch eating some cheap Stater Bros protein bars while watching the Gobbler make calls without a care in the world. Once we finished our poor excuse for a lunch, we checked Onx and determined an area that could be promising. Two hours in, my hunting partner lifts-up his binos to look for signs of life on the further ridges. That’s when I hear it, “Umm I think that’s a pig?” Mind you, he was a seasoned bird hunter, but never been on a wild pig hunt. Did I bring him to help me pack out in case I landed one…? Yes, yes I did.
The moment you set your eyes on a wild pig is like drinking ten espresso shots at one sitting. Your heart starts pumping and you feel the blood flowing through your legs. It is like a rejuvenation. The pig was quite some distance. A few ridges can seem like eternity. The weather began to turn worse. Fortunately, the rain and wind played in our favor. Rain helps cover your scent and noise, while the wind was blowing in the opposite direction that we were headed. With these positive factors, I thought what could possibly go wrong? We finally arrived at the ridge that was directly across the location we spotted the pig. We devised a plan to quietly sneak around the edge to glass and have a possible clean shot.
I took a few long breaths to keep my composure and heart rate down. As we came around the bend of the ridge, we saw nothing. I concluded that the pig must have headed over the ridge we believed it to be on. So, we began the trek over to its original location. There were signs of rooting throughout the area that we spotted it. We decided to climb to the top of the ridge to get an idea of where the hog may have gone. I was worried because the wind was pushing our scent into the valley, we believed the pig was in. We sat back to back on the top of the ridge, glassing for any movement of our lost pig. I was filled with doubt and frustration and the thought of losing this pig. It was almost 5 in the afternoon; I knew we didn’t have much time left.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, 4 black dots moving on the ridgeline that we were originally glassing on. “Really?!! 4 pigs where we were just glassing an hour ago…” I said. We quickly came up with a new strategy to get in range for a clean shot. It was risky because the wind was pushing our scent into the canyon still. As we quickly moved on the top of the canyon, I kept my eyes locked on the pigs. They were rooting in an open area with no trees so I couldn’t imagine a more ideal shot. We found a perfect patch that gave us a clear shot at the pigs. After looking for the largest Sal, I placed my crosshairs on her. I let off the first shot… Pop, hear the contact the bullet made with the Sal’s body. Before the shot, she was slowly moving up the hill, the moment the bullet hit, she turned and ran down into the canyon. “Shit, she is heading deep into the ravine, this is going to be a pain in the ass to haul out” I said. I started down the hill after her. A she ran through the bottom of the gulley she ran half-way up the other hill, the shot was about 250-300 yards from one side of this canyon to the other. I lifted my gun to get a second shot, POP! The second shot lands as she is jogging on the side of the hill. She makes it 15 feet then drops.
Blood from the first hit
Thankfully I kept eyes on the pig the whole time after the first shot.
As we made it up to the Sal I looked at my watch… 5:30 in the afternoon. We had two hours before sunset. Due to the steepness of the hill, I tied the front legs and hoisted them on a near by branch. I used gravity as my ally for the cleaning process. As I dragged her into the bottom of the canyons, I looked at my watch and saw it was past 6 p.m. Daylight was fading rapidly. I hogtied all four legs and placed a large branch in the middle to hoist the Sal between the two of us. There were two options, try to get the pig to the top of the hill and take the ridgelines back, or take the middle of the canyon which looked to be a cattle trail or pig highway. We chose the cattle trail thinking it would be easier… Boy were we wrong. Every twenty yards we had to crawl on our hands and knees to get through dense bush and tree branches, all while carrying the pig. It was mental torture, wondering if each bend would finally lead us to the trail we originally started on. After a few hours of enjoyable hell, we made it to the trail head. This marked one more mile to the car. We concluded that a predator wouldn’t steal the pig if we were gone for ten to fifteen minutes. So, we hurried back. We drove the car back to the location in which we left the pig. To my surprise a few cattle were strolling by and paid almost no attention to the dead and carved up pig laying right next to the trail. Now, the real fun began, I have a skinning rack that attaches to my tow hitch. It works wonders. After an hour or so of skinning, we placed the wild pig into the cooler and headed on home.
