Mauser M03 vs Monster Pig

Finally the weather has cooled enough to make a morning hunt enjoyable. This morning in fact. We've been experiencing a warmer than usual start to Autumn, though with a lot more rain than we normally get this time of year. Consequently the farmlands are beautiful and green with lush grass sprouting up in places. The forest floor is soft and damp instead of dry and crunchy. I guess this is part of the reason why the big boar didn't notice me coming along down the 'Secret Valley' that's hidden at the back of a farm nearby. It's the most picturesque and pleasant part of the farm, nestled up against the real forest beyond and only discovered by me a couple of years ago. I thought I knew every part of the farm before walking over the low ridge that keeps it hidden. Since that first time I've visited regularly, each time thinking that this is the perfect setting to meet up with a deer or some pigs; it just looks so right. Who really wants to find what their looking for on a barren, rocky, scrabbly slope, littered with sheep skulls and ancient, desiccated scraps of timber?

I'd taken the route through the Secret Valley thirty or forty times without seeing anything hunt-able. Sure, I'd snuck up on some wombats, tossing pebbles at them from 10 metres to alert them to my presence. Silly things. How they survived the Aborigines is beyond me. They must taste pretty crap. I persisted with the Secret Valley simply because it was such a lovely stretch of semi-open woodland to visit and for that desire to meet the perfect animal in this perfect place. And so it was. Pity I'm not the perfect hunter.

The law here is that we're not allowed to travel with our firearms loaded and ready to shoot at an instant's notice. Fair enough. When I pulled over on the country road in the dark of the morning just before arriving at the farm I filled the Mauser's magazine with five 270 Winchester Norma spire points. I put the magazine on the passenger seat and drove around some paddocks the farmer had suggested I look at, but my spotlight didn't find any black lumps. It did find a few sets of foxes' eyes, including one junior fox who just sat there in the headlights at 40 metres looking back at me. Next time matey. The dawn light gradually pushed some of the darkness away and my Landcruiser and I found ourselves in the middle of a broad sloping paddock, from which the trail to the Secret Valley starts.



Before getting out of the car I twisted around to where my Mauser M03 was resting in its now unzipped rifle bag in the rear seat footwell and slipped a 'plus one' round into the chamber, to then close the bolt. It was still only half light when I lifted the rifle from under its centre point and noticed that the magazine was not installed. I soon corrected that, the 'Tung' noise of the sprung catch telling me it was properly home. Check that the rifle is un-cocked. Check again by testing that the bolt handle doesn't lift. All good. Ready to move.

I was soon easing my way through the fence wires and heading into the trees seen behind the Landcruiser. I curved my way up the ridge to the saddle above the car's front door. The sightlines under the canopy are quite good in places, though patches of impenetrable tea-tree scrub block the view on some slopes. It was 15 minutes and some undulations later that the view opened up to a clear field the length of a couple of tennis courts. Smack in the middle was the Monster Pig. He hadn't seen me. He hadn't smelled me. He hadn't heard me put my earmuffs on. If he had I don't think he would have cared. This guy was king of the forest and looked like he wouldn't give a rats if a couple of pig dogs turned up. Have 'em for breakfast he would. Was it 60 metres or 70 when I decided I was close enough? Can't be sure but either way I didn't feel like I needed to get closer, not for fear of missing but so I could run away like a little girl if he came at me. Scary Monster Pig!

I stood still in the beautiful Secret Valley and quietly cocked my beautiful Mauser M03, just like in this video. I had the Mauser up to my shoulder with the black monster centred in the Zeiss cross hair.

CLICK!

WTF?

Dud round??

I waited a few seconds and quietly opened the bolt halfway, to look gingerly into the chamber with the rifle at arm's length and my head pulled away. It was still a bit dark and even darker in the barrel opening; I couldn't see anything shiny and brass-like coming out with the bolt, or left behind in the chamber. Where the hell did that cartridge I put in get to? Still totally confused but reminded by my wide open eyes that there was a monster pig waiting for me over there, I quietly but positively cycled the bolt, watching as it stripped the top cartridge from the magazine and pushed it into the chamber. The action closed with that 'safe-as-houses' feeling you get with a Mauser and I lined the pig up again. He'd moved over to where he could root up a new thistle in the soft soil. Some dead woody scrub was now in between us but I figured it wouldn't matter, waited for a good wobble and fired. I got a BANG this time (yay!) but the wobble was a bit higher on his back than I would have liked.

The Monster Pig ran, thankfully away from me and towards the edge of the scrub about 15 metres from where he'd been digging. I couldn't be sure but it looked like he was running a bit funny. Or maybe that was just him getting his sprint started. I threw the bolt back and slammed a new cartridge home. 'We doan need no fancy-schmantsy straight pulls 'roun' here!' I fired again before he got to the scrub line and saw in the scope that it should have been a hit, probably in the rear quarters. Not a Texas-heart-shot; more into his back leg on the right side. Didn't slow him up though. Didn't make him squeal like a pig. Tough king pig! Perhaps I missed, both times?

Like a certified scaredy cat I checked along the edge of the scrub and listened for movement. I'd forgotten to remove my earmuffs so hadn't heard him running away. I could see his hoof marks in the short grass but no blood. It was then that I realised the 'plus one' round I'd put into the barrel must have slipped out and down through the empty magazine-well before I closed the bolt. Goose! After a while I decided to continue along the Secret Valley and circle around to the other side of the hill that the Monster Pig had run up. I'd rather find him there than have him find me in the thick stuff.

There was no sign of Mr Pig so I continued along my intended route, all the way down the creek-line until it exited the farm a few kilometres away. On the way back a couple of hours later I turned up into the Secret Valley, thinking that I would have a good look for the Monster, knowing he would be either long gone or long dead, hopefully not far from where he heard my shots. Like Daniel Boone I traced each hoof-print in the close cropped grass and then the forest floor. I took a few wrong turns as game trails forked away through the scrubby undergrowth, returning each time to the last good sighting of a disturbed leaf or fluffed up soil. I'd gone about 75 metres, including through some uncomfortably tight tea-tree scrub with no visibility either side, when I saw this!



What a relief! I hadn't been a shit shot today after all. I quickly took a photo in case it was all I would have to write about. A few more steps along the trail and I saw this.



Then this.



And that was it! I walked another two or three hundred metres, traversing along the woody slope in the direction the pig was taking. Nothing. I must have lost the trail so worked my way back to the photo above. I stood there and examined every leaf, stick and piece of bark. Off to the left and down the slope a bit I saw an indent in the forest litter. Then another. Daniel Boone meets The Mentalist deduced that he went thataways. In another 15 metres I'd lost him again. Back a bit, look harder. 'Ah, he went through this deeper bark strewn section here. But how did he get through that mess of branches? I'm not going to try that. I'll go through here, up a bit higher.' 20 metres further on and after some serious twisting and bending I kneeled and scanned through the clearer sight lines at waist height. I picked up a consistently coloured lump down near where I thought he'd headed. I locked on and looked carefully. That has to be him. I got closer and saw the Monster Pig, lying on his side. I worked through the last section of scrub with my Mauser ready, in case he was only snoozing. But no. He's dead.

The mix of shade and sunlight and the way he was lying made it difficult to take a good picture, but here's a couple to give you the idea. He's not the biggest Monster Pig of all time, but plenty big enough. The wide angle lens of my iPhone makes him look smaller than he really is. Really!



He's longer than a Mauser M03 140th Anniversary model with a standard 270 Win barrel, which is 112cm. I didn't try moving him into the shade for a better picture; I don't think I'd have been able to.



Mr and Mrs Farmer said 'Thanks' when they saw the pictures. One less big pig to mess up their paddocks. I said 'Thanks' too and promised to come back with my very accurate M03 in 243 Win next week, to get that young fox and his friends.