Top_Heavy's World

The anticipation was easily seen in our entire group. Breakfast was light and simple, I did have an extra mug of Miltons wonderful tea, and we were off. I needed my heaviest coat as the air was particularly chilly. We took the shortest route to the area where we left the eland herd. To our amazement, the group never crossed the roads, that meant they had circled back around us or we were very close to catching them last night. It was going to be a long trek back to where we left the tracks, so we decided to check the Leopard baits hung for another hunter in camp.
The baits were all impala carcasses. They were hung from a mostly horizontal branch of a tree; high enough nothing on the ground could get at them, but close enough to the branch so a leopard could lean over to feast from his secure perch. None of the 3 baits had been visited by a large cat, so we used grass clumps to "broom" away the tracks of the small animals attracted by the smell. Caracle, wild cat, mongoose, honey badger, all types and manner of little beasts had been around the bodies, but no loepard. We left the baits and worked towards another large burn area that had grown up a little more than the others.
We walked in the same manner as the day before, single file with the older tracker in the lead, the young tracker behind him, Allan, with me bringing up the rear. We were going to look for tracks in the burn and along the river on the far side. Allan had a hunch, and that was good enough for me. We hadn't been walking a full 10 minutes, when I thought I saw a bull eland about a half mile off, in a clump of brush on the edge of the burn. Allan thought it was best if we waited here as the old tracker hurried to look for spore. He returned a short while later and claimed I must have seen the rhino that was in that clump. I still do not believe I saw a rhino, I believe I saw the eland and the tracker saw a rhino and was so distracted from that moment on, he quit looking for eland tracks. None the less, our parade marched on. The cold morning turned into a very hot midday. The mirage made it hard to use my binocs and we quickly ran out of water and 7up. If we were this thirsty, imagine how the animals were feeling... Allan knew of a small pond that still had water in it, on the upper end of the burn. We worked our way through the last clumps of tall grass before the burned area around the dam of the pond. I was just stepping into the open as we all noticed movement coming out of the bowl of the pond. The movement turned out to be a huge boar warthog.
The gray skin was magnificant, pure gray like the crayon in my son's Crayola box. A perfect shade of gray, no brown or tan... true gray. The ivory tusks, atleat 10" each, stuck out and curved up to accent that double "wart" face. The mane was thick and black, and as I threw the gun to my shoulder the mane stood on end and the tail stuck straight up. The tiny tuft of hair on the tip of the tail still sticks in my mind, sort of suspended in mid air. I knew this was a shooter boar, I neaded no guidance from Allan on this one. I was standing in the wide open, no shooting sticks or support, and the boar was over 90 yards away. The quartering angle made it very difficult, I had to shoot over the left tusk, below the eye, just missing the jaw bone, to get into the shoulder tight enough to get into the vitals. 6" back and I shoot him in the guts, a couple of inches low and the 300 grain Trophy Bonded Bear Claw bullet would remove the pearly white tusk. Someone moved... the boar reacted by a quick move of his head as he tried one last time to locate us. That tiny movement opened him up for me and I squeezed the trigger. The recoil in this position was hefty, I lost sight of the hog for a few moments and when I did relocate it, it was running all out. The mane was still sticking straight up, the long hair flowing back and the tail was up and back. I chambered another shell, the scope was still only on 3X, the lowest setting on my Leupold scope, so the 50 yard shot should have been simple. The pig was dodging rocks, grass clumps, small bushes and the upright mane distracted me. The shot went high, I misjudged the body size in that thick hair. At the shot the boar turned right at me. I was being charged by a warthog! Ruarck, Capstick, the other big names of African lore had nothing on me, I was being charged! I was going to stop this with a heroic shot at close range and be able to tell the tale over cocktails and at parties. The girls would gasp with the manly pose I would strike as I replayed the shot. Men would want to be me, jealous of my abilty to stand in the face of a charge. I looked over my shoulder, quickly I saw what I needed, a branch about 8' off the ground. I would jump up and grab the branch, pulling my legs up if needed. Now I had a back up plan if needed and I could set my mind on task. The massive boar was bearing down on me, coming right at me. I closed the chamber on the final shell in my gun, the safety already in the fire position. I could see the head of the beast in the scope as it closed the distance. 10 yards now, as fast and wild as an animal can be... Allan doesn't have a gun, I might save my PH while stopping this charge. The story in my mind moved faster than the boar did. 7 yards now, I have to be steady... Squeeze, this is the stuff legends talk about... BOOM. The Remington emitted smoke and fire, a dragon spitting death at it's pray... OH SHIT, I MISSED! I shot high, the angle at 4 yards was steep and I didnt lead at all. I turned tail and ran like a girl! The breath of the pig, bearing down on my legs, looking to cut my achiles tendons... I could feel him, sense him about to cut me down, about to slice me and leave me bleeding in the hot African sun. I was jumping for my safety branch, the last hope I had of life, this charge now taking on the severity of a full blown elephant charge... I was going to
I looked over my shoulder as I was pulling my legs up. Allan and the trackers were standing in the same positions as when the hog came over the dike. No one had even twitched, they were frozen in time. The massive boar was laying dead... the instant I turned to run, it finally saw me and being afraid of me, it turned to flee and fell over dead. The sheepish look on my face finally broke the ice. The guys started laughing and soon they were holding their stomachs and slapping each other on the back. Tears were actually coming down Allan's cheaks. I failed to see the humor... at least until the embarassment wore off. I recreated the high stepping gate I ran with, lifting my ankles high as though the razor sharp tusks were about to cut them. I did leave out the sounds, the almost scream that I didn't realize I was emitting while I was running. The trackers kept immitating what they said I sounded like... it sounded like a strange bird or a 5 year old girl whom just lost her candy to her older brother... OK, I admit it, the hero thing didn't work out to well for me on this hunt, but it was better for me than the monster warthog. My bullet placement had been perfect. The shot entered the shoulder just infront of the leg, through the entire body and out the off side rear hip, a total pass through. There was a cut in the mane where my second bullet went high and no sign of bullet number 3. I was laughing and joking with the guys before we were done taking pictures, I still laugh about it today.