G'Morning, y'all! Unca I'd sling a 30 caliber carbine over my shoulder for the feral pigs(4 legged variety) . I have seen what they can do to a Pinto(car) when pissed off. That was in the swamps of Louisiana...
Well... now I am just gonna haveta tell of an adventure starring Your Humble Obdn't &c.
First off... this is the oink. My gored arm and finger are behind him in this pic, and the knife at my hip is the one in the story...
The Hawgfight At High Noon
© Walt C. Snedeker
And now... for the hawg hunt story that very nearly din' git writ..
This one wuz dang close!
Ole Hatchet-Puss Charlie an' Your Humble Obdn't &tc were up in the Low Country of South Carolina. Low Country is real-estate talk fer swamp. Right near the ocean. Even the creeks have tides, and they are fresh water. TINS
We were on an ole railroad bed from the Civil War era. There were no tracks or nuthin', but it was a straight-as-a-string berm wide enough for a dirt road that went right through the swamp
Charlie dropped me off (I had a folding chair and my honkin' huge black powder rifle -- it is .58 cal and shoots 555 grain bullets). Note that a 30.06 shoots
150 grain bullets, folks.
This is a BIG gun. Hawg gun.
So I sits there on my foldin' chair inna 100 degree sunshine (the onliest way to find shade would be to lift yer foot an look under it). Been there about 30 minutes, when I saw a deer about 200 feet away, munching on the grass in the middle of the railroad dirt road thingy. It was NOT deer season.
Bored, I figgered I'd go a-sneakin' to see how close I could get. Now, the funny part is, there ain't no cover on toppa an ole railroad track, as you might imagine. And as far as you could see, there was a big ditch on either side of the berm, full of black, icky water. Can't you just picture the pore bastids a hunnerd and fifty years ago in the blazin' sun, diggin' that by hand? YIKES.
Waal, Pilgrims... Ah got about 75 feet away, and I noticed that on the far side of the deer, there were two big oinks.
So I keeps on a-sneakin', trying to get a shot (damn' deer wuz inna way). Finally, the deer noticed this haggard-lookin' sweaty thing a-sneakin', takes a good look...
...and bolts away, right over the top of the oinks. Oh dear. The oinks run offa the berm and into the thick swamp. So I sits right down there amongst the chiggers and waits.
For a half-hour. That is all my patience is good for to do anything. I creaks up to a standin' and creakin' position, and turns around to go back to my chair.
AW JEEZ!!
Right there
by my chair, is a big, BIG oink! He had circled around me inna jungle, and came up right where I had been a-sittin' and a-sweatin'! He goes all stiff, lookin' at me... and I kin see he is about to do a Jesse Owens. So I brings up my cannon, and cuts loose with a wing shot. Damn' thing knocked me on my arse as usual, but I see Porky go down, squealin'. YAY!
Then he gits up a-runnin'. BOO!
I throw down my gun (black powder, d'ysee, no good fer two shots) and start runnin' after the hawg. It had tumbled down offa the berm, run through the black water, and was climbing (somewhat awkwardly) the slope on the other side.
So, with the knife that The Fabled PC had given me fer Christmas in my hand, I went chargin' after him through the icky. I could see that I'd hit him inna head, but the bullet had bounced off (he turned to look as I fired), traveled under his hide, and broke his front leg. Reached out and grabbed his hind leg.
BAD MOVE!!!!!!!
REALLY bad move. I am serial, here.
That damn' hawg spun totally around in a tenth of a second and charged. He hit me inna chest (remember: I wuz down a steep slope from him). Down goes Unca Waltie, sliding into the stank until my head went under the black water. Drank some.
Peeyoo! . That sucks, so I heaved my head up, and there was the oink... standing on my chest, one inch from my face, and
greatly annoyed!
With my left hand, I grabbed his ear, with my right, I made a slash with my skinnin' knife. Made a six-inch gash across his forehead, and he didn't even bleed. Dang. Tried again, and made him bleed from a five inch cut to his jowl. About this time, he nailed me inna left forearm with his tusk. Twice. Owdang, Ow!!
I could see he wuz gonna do fer me, so I stabbed with the knife right into the bullethole in his head. He squealed and took off... with my knife. I wuz a dead man if'n I lost that sucker, so... I spun my legs around and down, and got up outa the yukky black goo. My expensive varilux glasses were somewhere in the water... screw it -- after Porky!!
(An aside here: Yeah, I know... stoopit. And crazy.)
Chargin' up the slope after piggy with my knife, I caught up with him inna thick brambles (ow oo dang ow oo). He turned and charged. I only have one good leg (my left knee is completely homemade and sets off airport alarms). But I stood on the bad leg and timed my kick with t’other one. Got him right onna knife. We both went down, with my left leg under his neck, my left arm around his head (that's when he nearly took my left hand ring finger off with his razor tusk), and my right leg over his back.
I grabbed my knife outa the skull, and began whackin' everything that looked like Porky. After several minutes, to quote that guy from "
Romancing The Stone", he "just died in my arms".
I lay there pantin', well, actually wheezin'... I wuz completely outa pants. I was totally covered in guts and blood -- both mine
and Porky's. I had two large holes in my forearm, and my ring finger was sliced half off. Porky, meanwhile had donated at least a fair half-gallon of gore onto me. TINS.
Charlie, who'd heard the ruckus from 200 yards away comes runnin' up... he takes one look and says:
"Jesus, Walt!! You look like something from "Apocalypse Now" -- Don't get in my truck!!!"
Ya gotta appreciate a guy like that.
On the good side, he found my glasses.
better start carrying to the mailbox. 
