Orchard boars caught in the act

The irrigation ditch ran in a dead-straight line for more than a kilometre. I pulled up the farm ute and looked down the length of the ditch. In the past few days, in passing on my rounds, I had shot half a dozen big hogs out of the channel. No pigs were obvious but, about halfway down, a narrow black line was evident. It looked like a floating stick, however there were no trees close enough to the channel to have dropped it.

I picked up my binoculars and had a closer look. The flick of an ear gave it away. A big hog was lying almost totally submerged in the shallow water. The breeze was blowing down the channel toward me. An access road ran along the channel edge. Easy peezy. By walking down the right-hand side of the road I would be hidden from the pig lying in the channel.

I got out of the car and took out my Merkel K3 single-shot in .243 Win. The soft dust coating the road made for silent walking. Every now and then I drifted to the left side of the road to take a cautious glimpse at the hog, checking it was still there.

When I was within 100m, I put a round in the chamber, but left the rifle uncocked. I also kept to the left-hand side of the road, walking along the edge of the channel using scatty, leafless weeds for cover. By the time I reached the last weed, I was about 30m from my target.

The pig had become alert. It had half-risen out of the water and was looking my way. I figured it would bolt if I showed myself above or to the side of the weed cover. I wanted to place my shot on the stationary pig rather than chance a running shot.

I decided to lie prone along the mounded edge of the channel and take my shot from under the weed bush. Having taken the prone position, I found the shot was obscured by grass. I then figured I would slide down the sloping bank of the channel half a metre, until I could get a clear shot.

The pig was now fully standing and watching the proceedings with interest. The channel bank was steeper than I had allowed for. Instead of remaining pointed at the pig, my body swung 90 degrees, and, with a loud scraping noise, I slid at speed headfirst toward the water.

The pig was a solid boar, and I figured I had better shoot fast rather than letting him bolt, or worse, come over to investigate. With my face just about in the muddy edge, the shot was taken from an awkward angle at 90 degrees to a normal position. The scope gave me a good smack between the eyes. That made my sinuses ring like a bell and numbed my nose. Fortunately, the boar collapsed from the shot.

Belatedly, I pondered how I would have managed to reload my single-shot rifle if I had needed a quick second shot. Something to be considered on the next similar occasion.

The slide down the channel bank had left me coated from collar to boot laces with about 100 noogoora burrs. As I picked the burrs off me, I considered the boar lying in the geometric centre of the channel. All the other pigs I had shot died close enough to the bank to let me grab hold of an ear without getting myself wet or muddy.

But, I did manage to snig him out and only filled one boot with mud in the process – a good result all-round. I squelched back to bring up the vehicle. It did not take long to hitch the boar to a length of rope and drag him up and out of the irrigation ditch.

The channel ran through 200 acres of native scrub forest home to a lot of feral pigs. The surrounding many thousands of acres were growing various grains such as wheat, sorghum and corn. Abundant food on offer, permanent water and plenty of sheltering scrub made for an attractive location for the feral pigs.

I decided to stalk the scrub on the coming weekend when I would have more time to devote to that task.

Saturday morning, after a few minor chores and with the rest of my day free, I was back in the same spot. The breeze had not changed. This time I left the channel-side road and entered the scrub. Not surprisingly, there was a wealth of pig sign. That confirmed what I knew already. The pigs were living off the various grain crops grown in the area.

I took my time and stopped regularly to glass all around me. Heavy shade with odd patches of sunlight surrounded me. There were a lot of fallen tree trunks lying about. Having already seen that the pigs had scraped out sleeping hollows up against such logs, I was giving them close attention.

About 100m ahead, I spotted what looked to be a large hog nestled in such a hollow. I kept my eyes on the dark shape as I closed in. By the time I was 20m away I could see it breathing. It was a big pig. I could not tell for sure but had the impression it was a sow.

To my side, I heard what sounded like a brief snore and, with the sow remaining undisturbed, I took my eyes off her for a good look about. There were roughly 20 large pigs and countless juveniles, all asleep, scattered around me.

I knew that I would only get one shot, maybe two if I was lucky. At the first shot the mob of pigs would disappear in no time. I was standing against a tree trunk surveying the collection of hogs, trying to decide on what to do. Lying among a collection of fallen logs, the pigs offered no clear kill shots.

I was on the verge of giving a dog bark to see if I could get them standing and alert, for a better shooting opportunity. About 80m away, a bush agitated violently, and a shrill pig squeal split the air. A quick glance showed that it did not disturb the sleeping hogs, so I returned my attention to the emerging action ahead.

Another big sow with four boars in attendance was coming toward me. I took a comfortable lean on the tree trunk and cocked the rifle. I always shoot any sows as a priority because they are the real breeding machines.

At about 40m the group were milling about but then diverted into a patch of scrub. A lone nuggety boar was trailing the group and still in the open. A quick decision was necessary. I swung onto the boar and dropped him with a shot into the shoulder.

There was instant pandemonium as I hastily reloaded my single-shot rifle. A half-grown pig hesitated uncertainly, so I rolled him too. In the echoing silence that followed, a haze of dust from the pigs’ rapid departure hung in the air.

I spent another week on the property while the owners, old friends, took the opportunity for a family holiday. I always had my rifle as I did the rounds of the property in the farm ute. And, every day that paid off with a few pigs.

When I got home from my western trip, I took up the pursuit of the pigs in my area. While not as plentiful in my neck of the woods, the hogs were a more obvious nuisance to farmers. They were persistent raiders of the local fruit and berry orchards.

Not only did they eat low-hanging fruit, they broke fruit-laden branches off the trees, rooted up the soft soil, broke the irrigation fittings, tore holes in exclusion netting, tipped over whole rows of potted bushes and occasionally scared farm workers with gruff behaviour.

Night photos from my trail cameras showed families of bulging-fat pigs that have generationally lived off avocado farms. These pigs also feed on the seasonal fall of bunya nuts. There are a lot of bunya pines around our area and they all drop at the same time. Sometimes that can be every 2-3 years.

Whenever I see the bunyas dropping, I begin to regularly check the wild trees for pig activity on the fallen cones.

More promising were late afternoon photos from another farm. A couple of well-nourished boars were raiding berry orchards every night. They had been in residence more than 12 months and, apart from the usual collateral damage, were getting bolder and more aggressive toward the farm workers.

The camera showed the boars to be consistently regular in their point of entry and timing. A sunset sit against the exclusion netting, 50m from an entry hole, proved successful. I dropped the boar just as he paused before pushing through into the crop.

My hunting buddy, Bill, was ready with his knives. We hitched a rope onto my vehicle and pulled the pig up on the branch of a tree. Bill skinned him down and checked out his state of health. With nothing to be concerned about, Bill soon had the boar disassembled.

We were done and dusted before the dusk set in. From a recent hunt, we also had a haul of venison from a red deer stag. Bill and I would combine the berry-fed pork and wild venison to make a memorable batch of traditional boerewors.