Wildlife biologist and outdoor writer Larry Weishuhn hunts wild hogs on the 44,000-acre Choctaw Hunting Lodge, near Pittsburg, Oklahoma, with wildlife and hunt manager Travis Benes.
Bringing his right hand’s index finger to his lips, Travis Benes cautioned quiet, then pointed with his left hand in the direction of the tall grass less than 20 yards away. I nodded, quietly set up my shooting sticks, rested my Ruger revolver in the proper direction and waited.
From behind the screen of tall bluestem grass came loud guttural grunts, then a high pitched squeal. The tops of the shoulder-high grass swayed, I could not tell whether the movement was coming toward us or retreating. In that instant I flashed back to a similar situation in western Africa when my Professional Hunter, our trackers and I had almost stepped accidentally on a bedded western savannah buffalo. There too, the grass had been tall and hiding him. The old bull jumped up, stood momentarily evaluating whether to charge the source of the disturbance or depart. I do not remember taking a breath for seemingly an eternity, while my 375 Ruger pointed to where I suspected the buffalo stood. Finally, we heard a rustle, then saw the grass move indicating the buffalo was quietly slipping away to fight another day.
Hunting wild hogs on the Choctaw Hunting Lodge, wildlife and hunt manager Travis Benes and I had been walking a remote two-track road on the 44,000-acre property, between two Tecomate planted food plots when Travis spotted a sow followed by a big black boar. They crossed the road in front of us and entered the protection of the tall clump of bluestem grass. At the time I had been inspecting tracks and had missed the duo.
Travis motioned for me to follow him. I did, shooting sticks in my left hand, Ruger 44 Mag Super Blackhawk topped with a Trijicon RMR sight and loaded with Hornady’s excellent 240 grain XTP loads in my right hand.
Ready and waiting, I heard more grunts and squeals. I cocked the single-action’s hammer and switched on the red dot sight, placing it where I thought the two would appear if they came in our direction. Over the top of the barrel I saw grass move. It hinted something was coming toward us, but then turned moving away. Just then I felt the slight breeze which had been in our face turn 180 degrees and was now coming from our back.
I looked at Travis, who was shrugging his shoulders, like me listening to the sounds of quickly departing hogs. “Sorry wind,” he said. I nodded in agreement. With the change in wind direction which would blow our scent directly towards the next food plot, we headed back toward our vehicle to return to camp for breakfast and to formulate another plan.
“I am continually amazed by wild hogs. They have a better sense of smell than even the wiliest of mature whitetail bucks. Good thing for those who like to hunt hogs, here on the Choctaw Hunting Lodge we seem to have an unlimited number of them, and a substantial area to pursue them. And, we have them in all sizes from monstrous, long-tusked boars to perfect eating size shoats. Our hunters can take whatever they prefer and do so throughout the year.” He continued, “Hogs are great to hunt on their own, as well as a perfect add-on to deer or turkey hunts, and for that matter a fishing excursion.”
I agreed. The morning before I had taken a nicely racked and tasty mature whitetail buck with my Ruger rifle for our “DSC’s Trailing the Hunter’s Moon” television show which appears weekly on the Pursuit Channel (my Choctaw deer hunt episode will air during the second half of 2019). With cape in the salt and delicious venison aging in the lodge’s cooler I had a couple of days of my scheduled whitetail hunt remaining. Hunting hogs seemed the perfect way to finish.
Over a most delicious lunch, “I’ve got some work I want to do here around the lodge this afternoon. How about I drop you off on the other side of the food plot where we were heading this morning. Then you can slowly hunt your way back toward the front gate. That should keep the wind in your face and the sun at your back. I’ll come get you if you shoot one, just call me, or you can call me just before you get to the gate. I’ve got a feeling you’ll see a bunch of hogs this afternoon.” Which to me sounded like an excellent plan.
A couple of hours later, Travis dropped Justin Wegner, my cameraman, and me about a half mile from the farthermost west food plot. “I’d just slowly follow the road and watch either side. Walking the road will be the quietest way. Good luck. Call me when you shoot.” I liked Travis’ confidence.
The whitetail rut was in the waning stage, but we had hardly walked 200 yards when a whitetail doe, tail held at half-mast ran across the road. Five bucks followed, younger and smaller antlered first, followed by increasingly older and much bigger antlered bucks. The fifth easily scored in the high 160s.
We continued and were almost in sight of the food plot when I heard, then saw a spotted, a black and white sow crossing the road. She was followed by four black sows all with pigs ranging in size from newborn to shoats weighing about 40lbs. I froze while they crossed our path, 50 yards distant. Once they were across the two track I moved forward to cut the distance and to get a better look. I hoped to shoot the first sow to cross the road. She was fat and without pigs.
I had taken eight steps when another black hog walked across the narrow path through the mixture of pines, oaks, underbrush and native grasses. It was a boar weighing approximately 80lbs, an ideal eating-hog. He stopped on the edge of the brush. I quickly set up shooting sticks, rested my revolver, cocked the hammer and placed the Trijicon’s red dot on the hog. The problem was his shoulder was hidden by tall grass.
“Urrrrrrkkk!” I deeply grunted hoping the boar would turn around out of curiosity and expose his vitals. He did. I gently pulled the trigger. The boar started to take a step but fell. I again cocked the hammer, sights on the hog but he did not again move.
After photos I called Travis.
That night, with the pork properly taken care of for my trip back to Texas, I asked Travis, “Did I hear you tell someone that called about fishing at Choctaw y’all had some true hawg sized bass?” His smile told me what I would be doing the ‘morrow!
