Where the Water Flows Uphill

On a brisk morning in late February, six outdoorsmen set out on an adventure through the Central Florida wilderness. The goal was to traverse 22 miles through the Little Lake George wilderness in Ocala national forest. The party was to hike and small game hunt along the way. Whoever’s genius idea it was to tackle such a feat is still unknown, though much of the party places blame on one individual in particular; especially when things began to go awry. The following is an account of the adventure through the eyes of one of the outdoorsmen…

February 28^th, 2014. 09:30:

Today, myself and five friends (Hunter, Mitch, Kyle, Rob, and Ian) set out on an adventure through Ocala National Forest. It’s the last weekend of small game season and I’m hopeful that we can shoot some pigs during this trip. I’ve admittedly done very little research when it comes to the path I’ve chosen, but I imagine it ought to be alright. 22 miles round trip and hunting alongside the St. Johns River. We plan to have a drop off and a pick up vehicle between our start and end spots. If all goes according to plan, and I don’t know why it wouldn’t, we will start our hike this afternoon and finish it by around lunchtime Sunday. Everyone’s beginning to show up now. I’ll update this log as the trip progresses. 

 10:30:

We’ve made one final stop for supplies in Palatka at the Winn-Dixie. Though I brought plenty of food, I couldn’t resist the impulse buy of summer sausage, triscuits, blue Gatorade, and cheese. Everyone else is currently devouring rotisserie chicken and other pre-cooked food like it’s their final meal. Perhaps they know something I don’t. 

10:57:

All the gear is unloaded and ready at our start point. Mitch and I are about to go drop off his car and Rob will follow to drive us back. It’s a beautiful morning. Though slightly chilly, I’m looking forward to this trip. I’m glad I brought my fleece jacket. I think I’ll leave this Gatorade here as a treat for when we finish on Sunday. 

11:30:

It’s time to start our adventure. Last minute preparations are underway as some of the guys are strapping down the last of their gear to their packs. The shotgun is loaded, bag is packed, and I’m feeling great. Spirits seem high. 

11:35:

We’ve stumbled upon what can only be a meth house. I’m pretty sure I can still see our car from here. We’ll cautiously try to make our way around this obstacle without getting shanked. 

11:40:

The vegetation throughout Little Lake George wilderness is much…thicker than Google Earth led me to believe. We’re still currently stuck walking down this dirt road. Through the brush, I can see the tree line of the swamp. That’s where I want to be. I’ll find a spot for us to cross this water-filled ditch soon, and we’ll be on our way. 

 

12:20:

The fleece jacket was overkill. I’m practically melting at the moment. And as if sweating wasn’t enough, we managed to walk through a peculiarly wet area, thus soaking my boots and socks to the core. If there’s one thing in the world I hate, it’s wet feet. Hopefully I dry out soon. I’m glad I didn’t pack more gear. I think my bag is the perfect weight. 

13:07:

Progress is rather slow. Though the edge of this swamp is relatively open, cypress knees and fallen trees continuously make travel extremely difficult. To add, six full grown men trudging through the woods are about as stealthy as a stampeding herd of bison. The woods are noticeably absent of life. I worry we may find nothing to shoot. 

13:42:

We shot something. Well…by we, I mean Mitch. And by shot something, I mean he defended himself against what can only be described as a boar-tadpole. It’s big enough that it should add plenty to our food supply. A supply that, oddly enough, is beginning to run low. As is our water. 

14:21:

Given our current progress, my calculations suggest that we should reach the pick-up vehicle by mid-May. Ground needs to be covered much more quickly if we expect to finish this trip. We’ve decided to forgo the swamp edge for the time being and walk through the pines further up the hill. Travel will be quicker, and it should be a bit drier up there. 

14:24:

The pines further up the hill are nothing like we expected. Somehow, there’s even more standing water here than there was in the swamp. To add, there’s fallen trees every few steps; forcing us to either climb around in the shin deep water, or trip wildly every few steps. My bag is beginning to feel heavier. 

14:28:

We’ve lost Hunter and Mitch. I can only assume they’ve somehow perished in this watery hell and have met their fate. All attempts to contact them have been met with silence. For the good of the group, we’re moving on. 

14:40:

I brought it to Rob, Kyle, and Ian’s attention that should we miraculously complete this journey intact, we’d make it to the pick-up vehicle with no keys and no way to get back. Mitch holds the keys and we at least need that if we expect to ever make it home. 

15:08: 

We found Hunter and Mitch. They apparently never heard our calls despite only being a few hundred yards away. This is a strange place. Sound doesn’t travel far, and I could’ve sworn I just noticed water flowing uphill. Perhaps I’m just tired. I need to drink more water and lighten this pack. 

15:52:

The nightmare labyrinth of dead pines and shin high water has yet to end. We’ve turned south now and are following the St. Johns.... I think…Everyone appears exhausted, though no one seems to be complaining. Spirits remain relatively high despite current circumstances. Each of us are soaked to the bone and everyone either has, or has almost, fallen into the water at least once. Earlier, I heard Ian shout, “Wha…Well…Yep…I’m going down”, and I turned to see him falling. In this bizarre twilight zone of wilderness, I watched him gracefully fall for close to 30 seconds before hitting the ground. And as if that wasn’t surprising enough, he landed on probably the only piece of dry land within a hundred miles. There’s no logic in this place. 

17:11:

If my body had to guess, we’ve been walking for days. The GPS claims we’ve come 3.2 miles, but I don’t trust it. It hasn’t seen what we’ve seen. We’re at the edge of the swamp again and have stopped to take a water break. Ironically, many of us are beginning to run low on water. There’s talk of blue Gatorades, but at this point, they seem an unachievable treat. The high spirits are beginning to wane. We must break free from this hell. 

17:30:

A look to the south reveals no end to this misery. The same mysterious, and interminable mire stretches out beyond the vanishing point in the direction we need to go. The bugs are horrendous, and as the day stretches on, we’re shortened for time to find a suitable campground. I doubt the guys want to sleep in the water, so we need to find dry land before nightfall. The liar GPS says there’s a road 0.4 miles to our west. We’ll believe it when we see it, though given that all the water around us is flowing uphill (to the west), dry ground cannot be far. 

17:55:

We’ve found the road! High fives all around. Now we just need a suitable campsite. My pack has gained 30lbs since we left, and I expect I will have shrunk 2-3 inches by the end of this trip. 

18:08:

Everyone has decided on a campground. Though the land here is dry, all the potential fire wood surrounding us is soaking wet. To add, everything here was recently burned, and the woods are scorched. Our fire is absolutely pathetic thanks to the wet wood. Some of the guys began rationing water earlier today and while we sit around the smudge of a fire in a vain attempt to dry ourselves, it’s clear that some are becoming delirious with dehydration. We’ve watched the fire die twice now without any attempts to save it. Spirits are low. I can feel the group breaking. 

18:40:

Summer sausage cooked over a fire is one of the greatest things in the world. I’m not sure what the suggested serving size is, but I devoured half of it in one sitting. Everyone seems to be in a better mood now that we’ve got some food in us. Kyle and Hunter have constructed some boot hanging mechanism over the flames in an attempt to dry their shoes. My old boots simply never dry out once wet, so I’ll keep them away from the fire. 

19:17:

It’s been drawn to my attention that I’ve inadvertently covered my face in soot. I suppose dragging charred dead wood to the fire put soot all over my hands, and I have a terrible habit of touching my face. The coal miner and black lung jokes have begun. 

19:33:

Hunter was busily taking pictures of the fire when we all suddenly noticed that it had gotten MUCH brighter around camp. Upon closer inspection, we discovered Hunter’s snake boots had burst into flames while drying over the fire. Unable to stomp out the flames barefoot, those sitting next to him threw sand in an attempt to smother the raging inferno. Delirious with a mixture of exhaustion and dehydration, Kyle and I could do nothing but offer hysterical laughter. Mitch’s boot laces were also torched in the flames. Much of my soot covered face is clean thanks to my tears. 

20:41:

After discovering my headlamp has stopped working, I’ve opted to face plant. Just the thought of walking or carrying my thousand pound pack will surely put me to sleep. Ian, Kyle, and Rob are having an intense conversation about blue Gatorades outside my tent. 

March 1^st, 2014. 07:10

Everything I own is wet. I will never again know the feeling of being completely dry. Somehow, even with the rain fly on, my tent gathered dew on the inside. This place continues to defy logic. Upon exiting my tent, I caught Rob licking the morning dew from his hammock. The water situation is becoming dire. I gave him a swig from my canteen. 

07:45:

We just broke camp and are on our way back down the road. Our goal is to get as close to the pick-up vehicle as possible, then strike camp and hunt for the evening. First things first, we must escape this watery hell. The roads hold standing water, and it’s going to be another wet day. 

12:18:

We’ve covered remarkable distance since leaving camp this morning. We actually made it to the road that our pick up vehicle is parked on. Spirits are much, MUCH higher and we’ve stopped for lunch on the side of the road. In an attempt to get my pack to weigh less than a ton, I’m eating as much food as possible. The land here is dry and with any luck we’ll not only find a good campsite, but also some game to eat. Everyone’s diving into their food reserves with ravenous hunger. We need to find some pigs. 

13:50:

We saw a squirrel; something so rare that everyone but Hunter and Mitch stood around dumbfounded. Those two gave chase but were too late. The mythical beast had escaped. It was the first sign of life we’d seen since yesterday’s massive tadpole incident. We’ve high hopes that that wasn’t the only squirrel in the forest. They’d go great with blue Gatorades. 

14:31:

By the grace of The Almighty himself, a suitable campsite has been found. There’s plenty of room for everyone, and enough firewood to have an actual fire tonight. The sudden lack of water is of slight concern as Rob and Hunter are dangerously low. How we ventured from a watery hell to this dry, barren wasteland, I’ll never understand. 

15:40:

Everyone has broken up into small groups to look for game. I found a lizard, but doubted I’d find it should I hit it with the slug from my shotgun. It was too fast for me to catch. My hunger grows. 

17:37:

I’ve given up on hunting for the evening and have decided to get the fire started at camp. I left Ian, Kyle, and Rob to continue looking for food. Hunter and Mitch are off somewhere…Hopefully not lost forever again. I did just hear a shot. Perhaps they’ve slain another tadpole. 

17:55:

The fire is roaring and I’m busily eating every last bit of food in my pack. Somehow, it continues to gain weight despite my best efforts. My summer sausage is almost completely gone, as is most of my water. What little I have left I’m saving for the hike out in the morning. Ian, Kyle, and Rob are here and they too have begun to chow down. Kyle managed to kill a lizard with his knife. He, at least, won’t starve tonight.  Hunter and Mitch are still missing. 

18:24:

Hunter and Mitch have made it back, and with food! A real life, honest to God squirrel. He’s currently cleaning it. He also brought water, though I’m unsure how safe it is to drink. Apparently pulled from a rotten stump, it still has the color of Jagermeister. I’ll just keep sipping my water and pretend it’s blue Gatorade. 

18:46:

Even split six ways, that was the best squirrel any of us have ever eaten. Spirits couldn’t be higher. As I stare into the flames, I can’t help but feel thankful. This trip was almost over and today had been infinitely better than yesterday. I’m overly thankful not only for the chance to do such a trip, but for having good friends crazy enough to follow me through such a mess. Though the trip has been a little rough, everyone seems glad to be on it. The only thing that could make life better right now is some blue Gatorades. 

21:15:

The fire has begun to die down and everyone has retreated to their tents. Tomorrow will be a short morning hike to the car and a relaxing afternoon in civilization. Everyone seems eager to get home. 

21:27:

There’s talk amongst the tents of Gainesville. Promises that we’re within two hours of sitting happily at a bar with a tall beer, or even blue Gatorade. The debate on making a night hike out of the woods to the car is underway right now. 

21:30:

The decision has been made. The night hike is a go. Camp is to be broken immediately. 

21:32:

I’ve never seen a camp broken so quickly. Tents are packed back up and everyone’s ready to go. My pack suddenly feels like it weighs nothing. 

21:54:

We were reminded that many of us had yet to fire their weapon during this entire trip. We took a brief moment to empty pistol clips into a nearby tree. One cannot simply escape the wild and still have all their ammo. 

22:15:

I’ve never night hiked before. The sliver of moon overhead lights the path in front of me and the pale sugar sand of the road marks the way home as it glows in the night. My headlamp is still broken, but I can see fine without it. The stars are out and with the sun gone, it’s beginning to get cool. The chilly night breeze feels great and the soft rustling of the nearby trees are only broken by rhythmic swishing of boot steps in soft sand. We’ll be to the car before we know it. 

22:50:

Never before have full grown men been more excited to see a Honda CRV. We all quickly crammed inside and are now on our way to find blue Gatorades. 

23:00:

The Dollar General in Ft. McCoy is closed. Much like Little Lake George wilderness, there is no logic in this place. I’m not sure whether it’s the stump water talking, but Hunter seemed physically hurt to discover he couldn’t get blue Gatorades yet. 

23:25:

I’m not sure how out of the norm it is for a group of disheveled, and grungy looking guys to stagger into a gas station in Palatka Florida at nearly midnight and empty the cooler of its blue Gatorades. But I fear it wasn’t too bizarre as the cashier barely blinked an eye at us. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that it feels good to be out of the woods. The ride back to Gainesville won’t take too long, but I doubt any of us will be going to the bar when we return. I think it’s going to be straight to bed. 

We survived Little Lake George wilderness and despite some troubles, honestly had a blast. Had it not been for the great group of friends, the trip would have been sheer misery. But with the right group of people, we managed to turn a trip like that into a great time and certainly a hunting trip none of us will forget anytime soon. I’m sure we’ll try something like that again soon, but next time we’ll be sure to pack a little lighter, walk a little easier, and stay a little drier. 

Oh, and bring blue Gatorades. 

Deer, Pigs, and Shame

The dull blue-grey of early dawn had already begun to illuminate the surrounding woods. But there would be no sunshine on this morning . A thick, wet fog was beginning to settle in and everything was soon soaked by its subtle misting. Though the day was truly beginning, the woods seemed suspended in a dark twilight under the shadow of the fog. It took longer than usual for the birds to start chirping and squirrels to begin chattering. It was a peaceful morning under the fog, and even the wildlife seemed reluctant to wake. That was, at least, until a long, terrifying growl echoed through the twilight…

The rumbling in my stomach hadn’t been going on for very long. In fact, it felt fine as I was busy attaching the climber to the base of the tree. But now, three quarters of the way up the tree, it hit me:

I think I have to poop

Situations like these are all mental games. Most of the time you can overcome the urge by just ignoring it or even telling yourself “You do not have to poop”. So I climbed on, inch-worming my way in my tree stand, all the while muttering to myself that I didn’t need to climb back down and take care of business. 

It wasn’t long after I’d settled into my stand before my gut rumbling shifted gears to full blown emergency. Reluctantly, I admitted defeat and with a great amount of frustration, I got ready to descend the tree to answer mother nature’s call. But I was quickly reminded that when mother nature calls me, she actually screams. And I hadn’t made it six feet down the tree before I realized what was about to take place. 

Oh no

There’s a real “Come to Jesus” moment that occurs when we, as adults, realize we’re about to crap our pants. It’s a humbling experience when you’re forced to make a snap decision based solely off of your inability to control your bodily functions. How you react in a moment of crisis defines who you are, and I had almost no time to think beyond the quick thought: “How does this even happen?”

 -----------------------------

 

Three days prior to this emergency, I found myself sitting in a Southwest Georgia hospital patiently awaiting my meeting with an orthopedic surgeon. I’d spent the entire night before in the emergency room for a very different emergency from the one happening up the tree. After nearly cutting off my index finger (a story that I won’t get into yet), the nurse who stitched me up flatly told me “Oh yeah, you’re gonna have to have surgery. You went right through the tendon and artery. I’ll schedule you an appointment with the surgeon”

So when the surgeon finally came in, I was fully expecting the worst news and that I would indeed need surgery. But in a bizarre twist of good luck, he looked at my finger, made me move it around some, and said “You’ll be fine without surgery. Here’s a prescription for some meds”. He then sent me on my way. 

I was on a hunting trip after deer on some of the plantations that I used to work on. I’d already missed my first morning hunt thanks to the finger fiasco, so I was excited to finally get some hunting done. This year I put away the bow for the time being. I darted deer enough. I was ready to blast one with the rifle, and I quickly set about doing just that. 

Just a few minutes before sunset later that evening, I lined the crosshairs of my 30-06 on a fat doe’s chest as she stood broadside, and squeezed the trigger. I was, however, shocked to see her kick, stumble, and run off. I was using the same 175 grain VLD bullet that took down my monster boar earlier this summer. It was almost expected for her to just fall over. So I climbed down and immediately found blood, but as soon as I did, the overwhelming smell of guts hit me. Looking down, I also saw half digested corn.

Oh no

I’d never gut shot a deer before. Ever. And I couldn’t believe I’d done it to this doe. My rifle was sighted in earlier that afternoon. So how had I shot so far back? And why was there SO much blood on the ground. Seriously, it looked like someone had dumped buckets of red paint on the ground.

Once my buddies showed up to pick me up, we began tracking her. Luckily, the blood trail was heavy, and we found her piled up about 100 yards from where she was shot. The entire time we were trailing her I was nervous and honestly kind of embarrassed to have gut shot a deer. When I shined my light down on her, it was obvious that the bullet exited the guts. But what about the entry wound? We flipped her over to discover a hole right in the shoulder. Exactly where I was aiming. 

So how did I manage to shoot a deer, perfectly broadside, in the shoulder and the exit wound come out mid rib cage? The only thing I can imagine is the bullet. The VLD is highly frangible and honestly not made for hunting. The bullet must’ve hit the shoulder blade, fragmented, and simultaneously ricocheted through the animal. Regardless, it got the job done, but I’ve stopped using VLD’s for deer hunting. Attempting to clean a gut shot deer one handed was enough to make me switch rounds. 

With meat in the freezer, I set about looking to shoot my first nice buck. Unfortunately, nothing aside from a spike and a little 6 point made an appearance the rest of the weekend. But my final day was anything but dull. 

Years prior to this day, me and my buddies had a long, drawn out conversation about peeing out of a tree stand. Some of us did it regularly, others (like myself), considered it a mortal sin. I know there’s tons of data explaining that deer can’t tell/don’t care, but it’s still a rule of mine. One of my friends, however, admitted that he’d had to poop from the stand before; a statement that we regularly ridiculed him about afterwards. I don’t know of a hunter who likes to poop in the same zip code as their tree stand, much less OUT of it. So we all gave him hell for years afterward about being the one guy we know who’s done it…

At least, until, my emergency 30 feet up a pine tree. I won’t go into detail as to how I managed to take care of business out of a climber. All that matters is that disaster was averted. I shamefully climbed the six feet back to the top, and sat down feeling extremely thankful that such a terrible outdoor experience was over. I’d made it 13 solid years of hunting without that ever happening, and I prayed that was the first and last time I’d ever have to do something like that again. 

Until 10 minutes later when round two kicked in…

Later that afternoon, I felt infinitely better and with a freshly restocked toilet paper supply in my bag, I deemed it safe to return to the tree stand. While walking down to a creek bottom with a lock-on stand, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see what looked like a small possum. Suddenly another one appeared. And another. I wanted a closer look so I walked within just a few yards of them. It was then that I realized what I was looking at. They weren’t possums. They were tiny little piglets. And that only meant one thing: Momma was nearby. 

It took me a second to figure out exactly what I was looking at. The stump that was only 4 yards from me suddenly moved and I realized momma pig was staring right at me. Now I’m still not entirely sure why she didn’t run, or charge, or anything. But I had time to take my rifle off of my shoulder, flip the scope covers off, turn the power from 9x to 3x, flip the safety, find the pig’s head, and pull the trigger without her moving. And as if that wasn’t enough, I heard a snort and looked to see a second sow just 10 yards away. Also not moving. I chambered a new round, found the pig’s head, and squeezed the trigger. Almost immediately I heard more snorting through the brush as a THIRD sow moved in close. This one, however, never stepped out, and just grunted at the piglets as they ran to her through the brush. 

I left the pigs on my path to grab them on the way out and went ahead to climb my stand. I was hunting over a scrape line and there was a nice looking scrape just 30 yards in front of my stand. The evening was pretty uneventful. I saw a bunch of turkeys, and a bobcat carrying a dead squirrel walked directly underneath my tree. It wasn’t until about 45 minutes before sunset that I saw brush moving just beyond the scrape. 

I raised my rifle and waited. The entire time I was envisioning what this buck was going to look like. Would this be it? My opportunity to –finally- kill a noteworthy buck? I’m generally very slow to excite, but I began to get a little excited with anticipation. 

All I need is for him to step out

But to my EXTREME disappointment, what stepped out was not a buck. Rather, a giant boar. Frustrated that my hunt was over without a buck, I flipped off the safety just as the boar stopped to sniff the air, and I put a round right behind the eye. The boar did a front flip, and as if to really prove to me that my chances of killing a buck were gone, he flopped down DIRECTLY on the scrape. 

As I was busy dragging bacon back to the road, I couldn’t help but reflect on the whole weekend. I was grateful to still have my finger, it was amazing getting to spend time with some of my best friends, and I was lucky enough to not only take a deer, but also pigs. It was my first and only chance to hunt this year, and with the exception of a few hiccups, the weekend couldn’t have been more fun. I got to spend some much needed time in the woods, and even did something out of the tree stand that I’ve never done before. 

That’s right. I’ve never actually shot a pig from a tree stand before. 

What? Did you think I was talking about a different tree stand experience? 

The question “what in God’s name did I eat?” actually did bother me for a while. And it wasn’t until a week later that I solved the mystery. Out of sheer boredom, I flipped over my prescription bottle to read the back. 

That explains a lot.

Pig Hunting: Technician Style

It was once again raining. Ever since the beginning of June it'd been raining. And this night was no different. The roads were all practically flooded, and areas that weren't were deep with wash outs. It made checking on the deer a giant pain.

But by this point we no longer cared. It was mid-June and with the exception of one or two days, the rain hadn't let up. At all. So we were all pretty much used to being waterlogged. After checking the last deer one evening, I drove the truck around the backside of a big peanut field so that one of the other technicians could use the FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared) to look for any pigs.

They'd finally started showing up again. Right about the same time that the rain started. I'm assuming the nearby river bottom flooded enough that they got driven out of the swamps. That, and the rain kept things cool enough that seeing them wander around in the middle of the day wasn't unheard of. So when checking on the deer, we always carried rifles, and if it was at night, the FLIR and a spotlight.

Suddenly my buddy whispers "Pig...Pig...There's a pig out there"

I quickly stopped the truck, grabbed my 30-06, and took a rest on the hood of the truck. I couldn't hear anything my friend was saying from the cab. In my haste, I hadn't shut off the engine and the noise drowned out any whispering he was doing. But luckily I knew the routine. Wait for the spotlight, and shoot whatever is inside of it. Suddenly the spotlight shined, and I found my target in the scope.

I hesitated.

There's its butt...So that must be its shoulder. Wait...no...THERE'S its butt, so...God that's an ugly pig. What am I looking at??

It felt like it took me forever to figure out exactly what I was looking at, but I'm sure it only took a moment. It was a big pig. Big, square, and ugly enough that I was indeed confused for a second on which was the head end. I quickly put the crosshairs on the shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.

Simultaneously, my friend's AK-47 fired off a round. The spotlight jerked for a moment, and then found the pig again. It was running. I quickly chambered another round, and just as I went to squeeze the trigger again, the pig flipped, and went still.

After a couple of high-fives, we walked out into the field to take a look at the pig. Upon walking up, we realized it was bigger than we thought. MUCH bigger.

I've yet to kill one this size since. And after examining it for a moment, we realized it was my 30-06 that hit the animal. The bullet struck directly in the heart and the pig ran no more than 50 yards from where he was hit. Even if he hadn't gone down immediately, trailing him wouldn't have been difficult. Not because of all the blood, but the smell. He smelled like a dumpster.

The rounds I fired this year were some that my dad reloaded for me. They were 175 grain VLD's. I'll spare everyone the specs, but if you're interested in them, shoot me an email (see what I did there?).

The bullets certainly did their job this year. They penetrate a couple of inches before practically exploding, leaving just a core that exited even the pig shown above. And we shot quite a few this year. I'm guessing right around 60. Unfortunately it wasn't like last year (that number pushed 160), but I'll take what we can get.

A few weeks later we got a chance to do some late night spot and stalk by using the FLIR. We spotted out a group of pigs that were too far for the spotlight to hit, so we hoofed it to get closer to them. Once in range, I was able to use my friend as a rifle rest, and put down this big sow.

As a good gesture to the people who work on the plantation, we gutted and skinned the pig and left it hanging in the walk in cooler for everyone to enjoy. By that point in the summer, we still had more pig meat than we knew what to do with.

A little later in the summer, while out riding by myself, I came across a group of about 10 pigs in the middle of the road. It was still daylight, so I was able to stop the truck, and make two well placed shots on running pigs. Once I got up to them, I realized they were perfect eating size. To add, one of them was hit right in the head, so none of the meat had been wasted.

I took this opportunity to fully gut and skin this pig. We usually don't gut them, and just cut the meat from the bone, but I figured this was my best chance to have a whole, undamaged pig to eat. It must've been midnight before I finished with both the pigs, and as I closed the cooler door, I realized: I have no idea what to do with these now. I don't own a smoker, and we don't have a barbeque pit.

The next morning I sent a text to my brother-in-law over in Jacksonville. "Do you want a full pig for the smoker?"

And by 10 am I had the pig in a cooler under ice, and was driving the Jeep over to Jacksonville to smoke it. We were pleased to discover that the pig fit in the smoker like a glove.

After smoking it all day the following day, we gathered everyone we knew, and had an absolute feast. I'd never smoked a pig before, so it was a learning experience for me and definitely something I want to do again. Just thinking about it makes me hungry.

I'm well aware that using Infrared monoculars to aid in pig hunting takes a little bit of the sport out of it. But with how big of a nuisance they are, some of the "sporting" parts of pig hunting kinda go out the window. Plus, it's just plain cool. I'll definitely miss getting to use that technology on a daily basis. It was a big perk to my job. But I've got enough awesome memories and hunting stories from it to last me a lifetime.

It's just too bad hunting stories don't fill your belly. I already miss the barbeques.

A Walk in the Swamp

It’s a strange thing- to wander. To not really know where you’re going, or even care for that matter. To just…well…go. One foot in front of the other. It seems strange. Though when I think about it, it shouldn’t.

It seems too often that our lives are completely scheduled out. Work starts at this time. This is what I need to cook for dinner then. The meeting takes place there and then. So on, and so forth. Even on a vacation, things are planned out. It’s a rare, and sometimes never offered opportunity to simply go out and wander. No real plan, schedule, or anything. To just go. To literally live in the moment.

I thought about this as I was doing just that: wandering. Now granted, I didn’t just walk out my front door and zombie-step into oncoming traffic. Nor did I aimlessly drive my car around the bad side of town until I ran out of gas. I at least knew the general area I wanted to wander, and had an idea of what I was doing.

But I did take a moment to look around. I’d been walking for about an hour through this swamp. I was semi-actively looking for pigs with my 30-06 slung over one shoulder and my .45 on my hip. I didn’t, however, really know where I was going. I’d been slowly walking in the direction I thought was north, but I wasn’t too worried about where I was. All I knew I was that I still had some daylight to burn, work was done for the day, and I was wearing so much Deet that I would probably pee Deep Woods Off later that evening.

It was a nice walk though. Even through the heat, I truly enjoyed myself. I slowly weaved my way around large areas of flooded timber, occasionally ducked out of the way of a Golden Orb Weaver web, and kept my head on a swivel for pigs. I hardly noticed that my snake boots were trying to rub a blister to my bone, or that I would suck a mosquito up my nose from time to time. It was just a walk through the swamp with one slow step in front of another. It was pretty freeing to just be out there. As long as I got out of there before dark and didn’t die a shriveled husk of a wildlife technician after the bug spray wore off, I didn’t care how long I was out there or where I ended up.

As uncomfortable as my feet were, it was refreshing to have dry toes on a walk. My usual boots are a Vietnam style military jungle boot that has drains on the sides to let water out…and in. So I confidently walked through water several inches deep without worry, and my inner twelve-year-old even chuckled at the suspicious squishing sounds that the boots made in the mud. I also didn’t have to stare at the ground quite so intensely for snakes. Thus, freeing my eyes to search for pigs and consequently almost trip and die on cypress knees since I was no longer staring at the ground.

Before I really knew it, hours had passed and I had slowly wandered my way out of the swamp and back into the quail woods of the plantation. Lots of pig sign, piggy looking areas, and stump pigs (they’ll fool you every time), but no actual pigs. I suddenly realized where I was and just how far I’d walked. I guess something about not caring what time it was made time actually fly. I was miles from the truck. A few hundred yard walk through a healthy mixture of beauty-berry and blackberry bushes, and I stepped out onto an old road.

I still had no real place to be, and was in no hurry to get there. So with one slow step in front of another, I walked my way down the road and back to the truck. I picked and ate an inordinate amount of blackberries along the way, and thought about how lucky I am to have opportunities to just wander. To cut loose, not care, and go wherever my feet take me. At the end of the day, what’s more strange? To have everything from sun-up to sun-down planned out? Or to wander? Just remember,

Not all who wander are lost.

Contrary to popular belief, not –all- of my hunts are unsuccessful. I’ll leave ya’ll with a sneak peek of an upcoming report: