California Pig Hunt
I have taken pigs in California using hounds. The last hunt was with a family that told me I could take a “really big pig.” The result was disappointing. I took a pig, shot at just a few inches, but he was just a small meat pig. The outfitter insisted that I take him. He said, “He could not pull his hounds off the pig.” I did not want to hunt with dogs again. Most people who hunt with dogs want to see the dogs work and are not interested in the actual hunt. That is fine, if you like dogs.
That’s when I met Rich Fletcher. Rich is a realtor. Like me, he is also a writer plus a guide in California. He told me he would help me do a fair chase pig hunt. I had not done that before and was interested.
Rich and I met early one morning at a parking lot in Fremont. We drove to an area above Lake Del Valle, near Livermore, California. We drove around and did several stands glassing for pigs. We spotted pigs, but held out for a large one. Late in the afternoon found Rich and me glassing a valley where he had seen pigs on an earlier trip. We spotted movement on the other side. We tried getting a better look but were unable. Rich told me that he would stay high on the hill and that I was to go down into the valley. He would direct me with hand signals to the area where the pigs were. For the next hour, I moved into the valley and up the far side. I knew that I was near the spot where we had seen the pigs. A quick glance at Rich confirmed that I was really close. Then, I heard the grunting noise that made me aware that my quarry was close. There were several pigs bedded down under a large oak tree. The hollow was dark from the shade and the late hour. I had a problem seeing the pigs clearly. As I moved closer, I removed my M-629 from its shoulder holster. The wind was blowing strong against my face. All was good. I moved within ten feet of the pigs and was still unable to make out their shape because of their dark color. It was late in the day.
While walking through the valley, I had decided to take a pig even if he wasn’t in the trophy class.
One pig in the group was light brown, and I could see him clearly. That was my one chance. With the .44 some five feet from my target, I squeezed the trigger. The pig grunted and didn’t move. I holstered my Smith and watched the other pigs run up the hill. They had no idea I was there. With a smile on my face, I glanced at my pig. To my surprise, he was standing up. As I reached for my pistol, he took off, ran about fifteen feet, and then fell head over heels.
I holstered my gun while he made a halfhearted attempt to get up. Then, he settled to the ground for the last time. To be honest, this was not the trophy pig I wanted, but he was a good pig and I felt pride in the way it took him.
Ron Machado