It was very cold in the treestand this morning.  I’m from northern Ohio, and while people from places even further north can sneer about the cold there, I know about ‘being cold in a treestand,’ so when I say it was very cold this morning, believe it.

I sat in the stand, and over two hours, quietly added more and more Hot-Hands to my active collection. One in each boot, one in each thigh pocket, one in each hip pocket, and one in each jacket pocket.

Regardless, I have a reputation to maintain as something of a Sasquatch, so I’ll just say ‘it was very cold,’ and move on. 🙂

I saw a hog around 8:30 a.m., running back and forth along a fence line downhill of me, and the round little porker kept running the same trail, along the fence, then up the hill next to me, then back down the hill, then along the fence again, for almost an hour.

Finally, a larger boar came down the hill, and the first hog hauled ashes out of there for parts without a mean old boar to argue with.  I glassed the boar, and while I’ve never shot a feral hog before, I thought I’d let it pass and wait for something bigger.  The boar followed the sow down the hill, across the fence from left to right, but this time they both kept moving instead of turning around to come back.

There was a father and son team a few hundred yards further down the trail from me, and having spoken to them in camp the night before, I knew they had never hunted big game , so I was happy to hear a shot from that direction.   Then I heard two more shots, and thought that would mean that they were finishing off the boar, but to my surprise, the boar came back along the fence with a wound on its neck, just above where the guide said to shoot a boar for a certain, quick kill.

I don’t like wounded animals, and this one wasn’t going down with a flesh wound, so I shot it in the proper spot and that was that.

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The hunt was with Hog Wild USA, near Macon, Georgia.

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