by Jimmie "Toad" Turner
Warning! If the nature of a carnivorous
predator {a hunter} is offensive to you, read no further. This material contains
graphic content!
Chapter 1 BEFORE THE HUNT!
You can blame this hunt on Sylvester "Rambo" Stallone. When Rambo was
hiding & surviving from the local bad sheriff, he dropped from a wooded
perch & killed a wild hog with his survival knife. AWESOME! I would suppose
that most hunters that hunt from a tree have had a hog, deer, ETC, travel
directly under them, as I have had happen many times. I have wondered what it
would be like if, instead of my gun or bow, I could drop down as my early
ancestors did & wrestle my quarry to life's end, aided with only a knife or
club. For sure an early Toad {me} would never have been as fat as I am.
For the record, "wild hog" is a technically incorrect term, as they
aren't native to America. They are "feral hogs." Either farm stock
that escaped or hunting stock let loose by early Americans. At any rate, these
hogs have reverted to their natural wild state, both physically & mentally.
They are known to be vicious when cornered. A sow with pigs will go to great
lengths to protect her young. The males, "boars," often have developed
razor sharp tusks & have a protective "breast" plate. They are
leaner than domestic stock, typically bigger in the front & slimmer in the
rear. Their meat has a distinctive flavor that I prefer much over farm stock. In
fact, I favor it over other meats, IE beef, deer, Etc.
While their eyesight is somewhat poor, they have a sense of smell superior to
anything else I know of. Even though some think a hog stupid & dirty,
they're very smart & relatively clean animal in the wild, except for their
love for mud to stay cool. Though they look slow & cumbersome, they're
anything but that. Wild hogs are very prolific & very destructive to the
landscape, & to agricultural produce. In Texas, they are now considered a
devastating pest by some land owners.
I have previously hunted & harvested wild hog with traditional archery gear,
modern firearms, & with a muzzleloader. However, this will be my first trip
hunting with dogs & carrying only a knife, to make my kill.
This actually got started when surfing the Web, I came across Affordable Hog
Hunts, in Savoy, Texas. http://www.affordablehoghunts.com/
I started a dialogue with owner Forrest "Willy" Morris. I was
intrigued with hunting with dogs, for hogs, & that Savoy was only a little
over five hours from my Fayetteville, AR. home. He became intrigued with the
possibility of guiding a disabled hunter.
I have been crippled, from the waist down, from Polio, at age four. I have
degenerative arthritis, possibly activated as a result from falling from a
collapsed tree stand in '87. I fell 14' & fractured four vertebrae, getting
{& staying} one inch shorter. I have angina, from some minor heart blockage.
I also have had Parkinson's Disease since 1990, at age forty. For that I've had
eight surgeries, including five brain surgeries. I can walk a short distance
with one, sometimes two, canes. I used to be above average strong in my arms
& back. The only thing functioning above average now is my elbows & fork
prowess. Due to atrophy, laziness, & procrastination, I'm now a very big
shadow of the man that once was, & am now about 250 lbs at 5'7". I have
rigidity & balance problems as well.
Willy has been hunting hogs, with dogs, about eight years & guiding hunters
about four years of that, but he has never had a physically challenged hunter,
until me. We have talked at length on the phone & through emails, & I've
found him to be empathetic, & understanding to my situation.
However, I've found either you "get it," or you don't. I look at this
hunt as a challenge & adventure. My anti-hunting friends shudder at the
thought. When I hunted with a gun or bow, they thought it unfair. Now, one even
called it murder. True, the dogs are SUPPOSED to have the hog cornered, &
somewhat immobile.
All I have to do is slip up on the hog & quickly stab the hog, in the heart
lung area, then retreat. Yeah right! I suspect I'll sneak up, on two canes, drop
to the ground & crawl the last four or five feet, stab {no problem}, &
watch the flurry at point blank range. My biggest worry is floundering around
with a 5.5" blade, sharp enough you can literally shave with.
My biggest fear, the dogs. Somewhere around ages 5-6 I wandered into a neighbors
garage to take a leak. That's when I became introduced to a German Shepard on a
short {but not short enough} chain. It took four or five grown men, drawn from a
family reunion next door by screams & growls, to separate us. Over the days
following my stitches & body wounds healed. However, my memory as a dog
biscuit remains fresh almost half a century later. By the way, I do not blame
the dog, as it was his nature & I was the intruder.
Having been both cut & shot, I believe the animal being harvested goes into
shock & expires before feeling pain. I've shot deer with a sharp
broad-headed arrow, that went back to feeding & fell over dead. As for hogs
& dogs, they have been predator & prey since the beginning. Who am I to
question God & nature?
Am I scared? Yes! Will the fear stop me? I hope not. All I know is that PD is
draining my life away. I can do only a fraction of what I could, even two years
ago. I've lost a lot of "can do," but much worse is the loss of
"want to." I feel exhilarated with anticipation.
As for my nature, I am driven to hunt, harvest, & eat, as I believe God
intended. I don't know why I hate liver, yet love steak, but I do. I can no more
stop who & what I am, than the German Sheppard, that once attacked me. I'm
proud to be a hunter, & I thank Willy Morris for giving me a moment to live
& relive. I don't dislike anti-hunters. In fact I respect their right to an
opinion, as I have my own opinions.
The hunt is Sept 14th & 15th. My good friend, Wade Reed, will go & hunt
with a bow. My son, Jim, & I will use a knife. I'll finish this story, in
progress, after the hog hunt. I don't expect some to understand the deed, but I
hope in sharing this, you can at least somewhat understand the need.
Chapter 2 The Hunt
We arrived at the motel at 10:30 pm, Fri. 13th. Although tired we were as pumped
up as children waiting Christmas morning. Sleep became allusive, as different
questions & scenarios popped up on the computer in my head. Would they find
a hog I could get to with my disabilities? Would I, could I, do my part of what
was expected? Will he feed the dogs first? Is the guide on the up & up? What
if the boar is 400 lbs +, with razor sharp, extended tusks? Is my life &
health insurance paid up?
With no answered questions & three hours, max, of sleep, I got up to shower
& a continental breakfast. Just after seven Willy showed up. He was in a
Dodge pick up, but could have, maybe should have, riding up on a horse. Willy is
a cross between Gus McRae {Lonesome Dove}, & Tell Sackett {Louis LaMour}.
Slender yet muscular, what I grew up to know as "wiry." Complete with
a full mustache & worn, but functional, cowboy hat. Willy is pure country,
& proud of it.
We went to a field, where we met with five of Willy's wranglers & the dogs.
Willy explained that the extra help was to enhance my success & insure my
safety, as much as possible. I imagined a bunch of people carrying body bags,
& occasionally someone picking up a chunk of me & yelling, "gotta
hand over here."
I watched as seven men & a pack of dogs drifted out of site towards the
woods, at field's edge. Our instructions were clear. J.R. would drive the four
wheeler; I was sidesaddle on the back rack. We would lag behind until the dogs
got on a hog. Then we would advance. If I could get to the hog, it was my kill.
If not, Jim or Wade would take over. Wade had left behind his bow, & had
committed to the knife also.
We were to not approach the hog until the "catch" dog was loosed. When
the catch dog latched onto the hog with his teeth, the other dogs followed suit.
As the hog was momentarily occupied, the hunter would slip in & thrust the
knife from behind the shoulder, heading towards the nose. Without withdrawing
the knife, the hunter was to saw, pump, & thrust, until the hog was dead. If
the knife pulled out it could be dangerous to the dogs, & the blood smell
may incite the hog into a frenzy. The hunter must kill the hog quick, before a
fight broke out, with either a dog, or hog, being killed uncontrollably. Three
weeks earlier a 360 lb hog had killed a dog, with a flick of it's head,
brandishing dagger like tusks.
For the next hour & a half, J.R. & I talked of hunting past, present,
& future. Suddenly, a piercing yelp trumpeted, & the adrenaline pump was
turned on. If I hadn't instinctively grabbed the rack, I would have been left in
the dust, as J.R. machine gunned through the gears. We had to be going 250 mph
across the harvested cornfield. Suddenly, Willy raised his hand & yelled,
"WHOA!" So he could hear the dogs. When Willy yelled, J.R. locked 'em
up, & the four wheeler died.
As J.R. tried to find neutral with some hung up gears, he was thrashing &
bucking, as if he was being electrocuted & couldn't let go. I felt like a
Toad in a blender, when ole "ratchet gear" finally got it going.
Suddenly, we entered seven-foot high corn & weeds, with ZERO visibility.
Unbeknownst to me, Wade's fanny pack had come open, while running, & he had
lost the video recorder. As he was scrambling back for it we past him with a two
foot clearance, SWISH!, & he was swallowed in the corn. SWISH! There went
Jim Allen! Then the ride came to a slamming stop, when the fence appeared. Like
a trained pole vaultor, me & my cane leaped the five-stranded bob-wire
fence. {Actually, I struggled like the broken down man I am, but boy did it
happen, FAST!} By now I can hear Willy yelling for me! The wranglers were
busting brush like blockers clearing the way for a running back. The hog is
squealing! The dogs are going wild! EVERYBODY IS YELLING HURRY! Jim & Wade
show up with the camera. But until I got to within seven yards of that dry creek
bottom, I didn't know if that hog was a 400lb killer, or the 130lb "meat
hog" that I found.
Willy was yelling at the top of his lungs, {at five feet away}. "Get on 'im.
Get on 'im.} As I fell upon the hog, I plunged the knife to the handle. I
pumped, sawed, & thrust, all while straddling the hog. It expired within 15
seconds. Just like that, it was over. It was suggested later that I crushed that
hog to death, & that it died with the mental picture of my butt advancing
like a meteor, falling from the sky.
Pictures & video done, my heart slowly receded from my throat. I had dealt
with my fear of the dogs & hog, & killed a hog with my knife. No small
feat for a crippled man. Best of all, I was surrounded by my close friend, my
new friends, & my son. Inwardly I wept, as I turned my head.
Chapter 3 After the Hunt
Willy says he doesn't sell hog hunts. He sells adrenaline rushes. That is true.
However, let me tell you what he gives you.
First there is the camaraderie. There's nothing quite like sharing a
"rocking chair moment" with someone whom thinks like you do. Someone
who knows the price you paid, & that it was enough, & worth it. Someone
who's silently judging you, & when they give you the slight nod, it is
enough. You are accepted by your peers, as an equal.
Second, there's the thrill. It's like the first time I had sex. Some of it {the
experience} was more than I expected. Some of it was different than I expected.
It was better than I expected. Most of all, it was definitely quicker than I
expected. Finally, when it was over, it was all I had hoped for.
Then there's the meat. Wild hog is my favorite meat.
Jim Allen & Wade had more exciting hunts than I. Wade got a 160lb boar &
Jim a 200-lb sow. Both boys looked like they were beat with rose bushes from
crawling thru the brush, brambles, & thickets. However, that's their story,
& I'll let them tell it.
I had a fantastic time. I made new friends. I bonded closer with a friend &
a son. I have brought home the bacon. To my satisfaction, I'm a man. A broken
down physically, yet still at heart a hunter, a man.
Jimmie "Toad" Turner 09-16-02