I followed up on that advice the same day while driving home, dropping in to the new property to introduce myself. That first visit was late last year. A couple of Sundays ago I was driving in the area with only binoculars in the car and pulled over on the side of the road, to study the paddocks as dusk fell. I picked up a pair of foxes half a kilometre away and kept an eye on them while scanning the rest of the view. It was exciting but not surprising when I found a pig at about 800 metres, rooting up the ground beneath a small stand of eucalypts.
Last Saturday I drove out there again, early enough to see the sunlight sneak down the hills in the background and then onto the frosty fields. The two foxes were still there, sniffing around, chasing each other and sneaking up on the heavily pregnant ewes. I didn't have clear permission to shoot on the property yet, so, instead of quickly lining them up I simply watched for an hour. I had them in the middle of the binocular's field of view, fascinated by the way they were standing on their back legs and batting their front paws together, when eight pigs walked into the scene. That was enough for me to get out of the Landcruiser and set sandbags up on the bonnet, but only to hold my binoculars steady while taking photos through them with my iPhone. I took a few stills and then tried for a video, but swiped too far and got a time-lapse.
Just watching these pigs was driving me nuts so I soon drove away and down to the homestead to confirm I was OK to walk up to them with a Mauser M03 in my hands. Nobody home. I drove back and the pigs were still there. Aargh! The property owner and I played phone tag for the rest of the day, which ended with me being good to go for Sunday morning.
I got there even earlier, when the dark was just starting to lift and settled into a comfortable position to watch the paddocks through the side window. It was a clear, frosty morning again and keeping warm was a challenge. A doona would've been good. Once again I watched the foxes, this time playing tug-of-war with a scrap of dried sheep skin. Sunlight had flooded the fields when, bang on time, the same eight pigs entered at stage left.
It must have a been a squirt of adrenaline that made my pulse and my breathing quicken, along with completely forgetting the cold. A session on Google Earth during the week had told me the pigs were 600 metres away so I didn't think they'd notice me getting my M03 in 270 Win out of the rifle box, or the quiet clicking of the Landcruiser's doors being shut. With spare ammunition, ear plugs and my phone in jacket pockets, I leaned the rifle against the fence and slipped over a nearby gate. My earmuffs were hanging on a cord over my chest and clunked against the icy metal. Bugger! But the pigs didn't care.
I had to walk for 200 metres straight towards them through sloshy mud and ice, then cut to the right through a gate and walked the same distance on a tangent, heading for the only tree that would provide cover for me to move in closer. It was the sideways movement they'd pick up I thought, so I tried to walk slowly and casually, as if I was a random bushwalker who didn't have a Mauser over his shoulder. It must have worked because I soon had the tree in the right position. I kept it between me and the large sow in the mob; the smaller pigs milling around her would be less likely to react if they detected my movement. I crept towards the tree, getting to the point where the whole mob was obscured by the trunk. I'd made it. The distance was now only 160 metres.
I took a position to the left of the tree, resting my front hand against the trunk, cradling the M03's forestock. I swung the cocking lever to the Fire position and looked for the sow. This shot was going to be interesting. It would be the first after removing a good dose of copper and powder fouling from the barrel, which had been disassembled for easier cleaning. It was bright, shiny and new in that bore. I'd put the rifle and Zeiss scope back together, then installed a different ASV+ ring on the elevation turret, ready to perform some click adjustments to suit a new batch of handloads made with Berger 150 grain VLD Hunting bullets. I was confident that I'd made the switch correctly from the Norma factory ammo I'd been using so far, based on records of test shots I'd made at the range. The first bullet should go exactly where the crosshair was pointing.
It did.
Bedlam followed. The sow was properly hit in the boiler room and bolted off to the right, but not quickly enough to keep up with her seven offspring. They were three-quarter grown and mighty fast. I fired three shots at the runners, but missed. Then I saw them cueing up to slip through their hole in the fence. That would have been the ideal time to shoot! Must remember for next time. I saved the last two shots for the sow, leaking oil badly but engine still running. The echoes died away and all was still. I looked to see if the foxes were sitting off to the left, spectating. But no.
Why shot the sow before her little ones?
ReplyDeleteHello there Unknown. Thanks for this question. Here in Australia pigs are an introduced species and are pests that have officially been declared as vermin. They represent a serious risk to our nation's bio-security, particularly if a foot and mouth disease breakout occurred. As such, farmers and hunters shoot as many as possible. Shooting the large breeding sows is a priority. In this case her 'little ones' we're not so little. On other occasions I have seen as many as 13 small pigs running around on their own, after their mother or mothers have been shot. When we see a group of pigs we always try for the big sow first, unless the idea is to get a small one for dinner.
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