The stalk had been long and tiring, across two rocky ridges. The greater kudu bull had proven once again, why his kind is known as “the gray ghosts of Africa”. I was bone tired, weary and thirsty, but thrilled to be in Africa again. When we finally conceded, we were not going to be able to get a shot, and we were at least three miles from the “bukky”. Gray of dusk quickly turned to black of night.

“Mind where you place your feet,” warned the PH, “This area is lousy with cobras! Do be careful not to step in any holes either.” His torch went dark before his words had sunk in. “Not to worry, the moon will be up in about 30 minutes.”

We, the PH, two trackers and I stumbled forward, navigating by the stars through solid inky darkness. I was wearing knee-high “snake” boots. I wondered their worth, however, if we were to encounter a nocturnal cobra, it could easily strike me between the eyes.

We walked abreast, two feet apart, mostly feeling our way forward.

“YEEE!!!!” screamed the PH as he was propelled into the sky. As he went airborne, I heard grunts and squeals before feeling something brush my left leg. I kicked sideways and nearly knocked one of the trackers to the ground. He screamed. I screamed. Then just ahead I could hear something running away through the grass. Having landed with a thud, his flashlight shined. My PH let out a rather bluish string of select words ending in “bloody pig!” He began laughing, realizing only pride was injured.

“Should have known there were pig holes in this area because of all the wart hogs we saw when we came through here following the kudu. Its rather like walking through a mine field. Bloody things sleep in aardvark and porcupine holes. They back into them with only their head exposed. I stepped on one’s head and she booted me skyward.” He hesitated, “Least the bloody torch now shines!”

The remaining two and a half miles were uneventful. Just as we reached our ride back to camp, a nearly full moon made its appearance.

Over breakfast the following morning, the PH asks, “Serrr, would you mind terribly dispatching a wart hog this morning for the field staff? They have expressed an interest in wild pork, and after last night I would take sincere pleasure in seeing you shoot one of those bloody warties!”

We headed to the bush. I remembered my first wart hog taken years earlier in the Eastern Cape of South Africa with my 44 Mag Ruger Super Blackhawk Hunter, shooting Hornady’s 240 grain XTP. That one had fallen to a rather long stalk. We had seen several run across a dry pan, their antenna like tails hiked high into the air, typical of wart hogs. I wanted one badly. Wart hogs, to me, represented “True Africa”! Alas, today wart hogs can be found in limited numbers in the South Texas Brush Country.

“Big boar, right side of two track, three hundred yards out, just to the left of the tallest camel thorn! Let us put him in the pan and add the salt!”. I grabbed my Ruger Number 1, 300 Win Mag, shoved in a 180 grain Hornady, then followed my PH and tracker. Cautious, my PH carried my shooting sticks. We moved quickly into the wind, sun on our backs. Soon we were within 150 yards. I knew I could take the long-tusker from there, but I decided to cut the distance a bit more. Moving cautiously forward, I watched the solitary boar continue to feed, oblivious of our presence.

“50 yards,” whispered the PH. Cautious set up the sticks. I waited until the old boar turned broadside, then placed the Trijicon’s crosshairs on his shoulder and gently pulled the trigger. The old boar went down in his tracks. I immediately reloaded and got back on target, looking for any movement but there was none!

Moments later at the boar’s side I accepted a congratulatory hand from my PH. Reaching for Cautious’ hand it seemed he was licking his lips in anticipation of the feast that lay ahead. Both upper tusks were massive and long, easily eight inches. Bottom tusks were both intact and razor sharp. “Excellent! Bloody nice boar.” complimented my PH. “The staff will be most thankful for the meat.” He continued, “A bit gamey for me, I much prefer to eat a half-grown pig.” Having had both old boar and young pig in the past, I agreed.

A couple of years later, again in Namibia, hunting with Omujeve Safaris for Cape buffalo, we decided to take an afternoon “off” from buffalo and see what plains game we might be able to find. Once again, the staff was asking for a wart hog.

We drove many miles, saw a considerable number of elephants, sable, roan and other species found in the Zambezi Strip (formerly the Caprivi). We attempted several stalks, including three on wart hogs, approaching down wind. But before we could get within reasonable range, the wind switched and blew at our backs.

Next morning, I placed both my Ruger 375 Guide rifle, loaded alternately with Hornady’s 300 grain DGX (Dangerous Game Expandable) and 300 grain DGS (Dangerous Game Solid) and my Ruger American 30–06 loaded with Hornady’s 180 grain Superformance in the back of the 
 “bukky”.

We had hardly gotten out of sight of camp when Cautious spotted a distant wart hog. Sun on our backs and wind in our face we were soon within 100 yards. There as the tracker set up the sticks, I rested the Ruger American and settled crosshairs on his shoulder. I gently pulled the trigger. The old boar dropped, and the staff ate well that night.

During the past 20 years I have been to Africa numerous times. I am thinking it is time to return. Something tells me the staff is probably hungry for one more wart hog!

Photo credit: Larry Weishuhn Outdoors