I spent a chunk of time looking for blood, then following what looked like a scurrying-type path and general small-grid searching. I would have liked to have spent about 10 times the amount I did, but there were places where it was so thick that a hog could be 10 feet from me and I wouldn't see it; the unrealistic part of me was hoping it would be in one of the open areas. After a while, I realized it was futile.
I was surprised that there were a couple of dead hogs in the form of old scattered bones - I know locals often shoot and leave lie since they don't care about hogs (I strongly disagree with this), but there are other interpretations. I grabbed an old lower jaw bone off the ground and told Rick that it was all that was left of my hog.
With a mix of new people coming in, I moved my stuff around once back in the lodge and had the usual down-time. Then it was time to head out for the last night of hunting.
I was dropped off on the Zombie Hog Stand. It was another gorgeous blue-bird day - cool with a biting breeze; I was dressed well for it.
As I sat down and got situated, I began to have a confidence crisis due to my miss the previous evening. Part of me was almost hoping not to see anything. I tend to overthink everything; I swear my brain needs a good therapist more than anything. I have definitely been overthinking my shooting recently. And while I had shot hogs at this stand more than once, the distance felt oddly long.
For most of the afternoon, absolutely nothing was moving. It was a nice afternoon and I was just enjoying the afternoon.
As it started to get dark, movement on the left turned into a boar walking out to the corn. What to do??? With my setup, I was rock-solid and I did have enough light. But shooting while a bit unsure of myself??? I put the cross hairs on the pig's head, then backed off, on, off, on, off.
I was not in the right frame of mind. At some point indecision becomes a decision. I settled for a picture.
(and yes, I realize this isn't a clean head shot, but gimme a break - lining up the rifle and camera while not dropping either is a bit challenging)
Ethically this felt like 100% the right thing to do; I was at peace with this as darkness claimed the situation.
I was going home with a good chunk of hog meat (room in the freezer at home remains a question).
Some deer came in a chased off the hog which ended my 2026 hunt. Back in the truck, Claude hadn't seen any pigs. Denis had seen a bunch, but was holding out for a big boar.
Back in the lodge, Rich and Rich were in camp from Ohio. They seemed pretty nice, but I only had a chance to talk to them for a short time before Rick and I went to Denis' house for dinner. It was fun having all of us there to BS and talk about the week (and just about everything else in life). Denis got a bit distracted and the ribeyes were, ummm, extra, extra well-done. We all made the best of it.
As I was getting ready to go to sleep, I remembered Rick had not cut my shirt tail. This may come back to bite me at some point in the future. Karma is a bitch.
_____________________
I was awake early and ready to be home. A quick shower and I was out the door. One of the Rich's was sleeping on the couch so I tried to be extra quiet as I scooted out.
The interior of the Maverick had the lingering smell of smoke from my hunting clothes. And it wasn't a good smoke smell - a serious cleaning and deodorizing was going to be needed for my camo.
I was glad to be on the road. I had the roads to myself for several hours. Bridges and roads appeared to have been pretreated for snow even if the forecast had changed to make freezing precipitation unlikely.
I was listening to River Man by Ben McGrath for most of the ride home. It was an OK book, but definitely not as good as the review I had previously read about it. I didn't find Dick Conant (who it is about) as even remotely compelling. And while McGrath is a good writer, the tone of the book was like that of someone who had worked in New York for far too long and had only recently discovered that there exists people, places and things in flyover country. As a journalist, McGrath didn't call out as even potential-BS some of what was shared in the book. I can't believe he hasn't talked to enough people to see this? I've certainly met my share of characters on some of my epic road trips enough to nod my head at the main-character syndrome half-truths (or sometimes less than half). The book may factually represent what McGrath saw and heard, but should have been a bit more careful in bleeding reality out of it.
As the book ended, I did reflect a bit more on Dick Conant. Society is very quick to celebrate eccentric people who throw off the shackles of work-a-day life and travel the world in a canoe. But we don't often acknowledge that the higher likelihood is eventual tragedy like what almost certainly happened to Conant.
He had saved [100,000 straightened] nails and wasted life. - Donald Hall
And yet (there is always an "and yet"), whether we are talking about Dick Conant, Hall's Washington Woodward, myself, or Ben McGrath, I'm not sure it is fair to call a life wasted if it is/was lived deliberately.
I continued motoring on. The Saturday traffic was highly tolerable all day. I was home before 2:00.
S/O and I took care of the pigs shortly after I got home. Loins were packaged for the grill, all eight quarters will be dynamite on the smoker, and there was enough good trimmings for eight burgers.
Until next year, I'll have some reflection to do after this year's hunt. Two pigs with one shot. A miss. Maybe the first time I've let a pig walk...
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