Mornin' ALL,
In looking for an update to a story I'm doing on Argentina (surviving the SHTF years), I came across Northeast Shooters. I've been reading threads in several of the forums... then noticed the "hunting and fishing" one.
By way of introduction, I guess, I thought I'd share a few of my stories. Hope you enjoy.
CM Sackett
________________________________________________________
[FONT=&]...It was too damn hot to be in HERE! But, here I was. And the stifling blanket of what only God Himself could call 'air', mixed with the steaming wound-scent of my adversary was only one of the things that didn't exactly thrill me about the moment.
I was on my hands and knees, about 30 yards into a laurel thicket choked even further with honeysuckle and brambles. On any other occasion, I might have noticed that it was one of the best hog tunnels I'd ever seen. It was indeed good ground. But at the moment, all I noticed about the place, besides the absolute lack of clean breathing, was the screamin' of my dogs... the thunderous crash of brush... then, the sudden quiet... and the realization that there was no way in Hades I could back out. I was stuck!
The boar we'd chased in here wasn't the biggest I'd ever seen, maybe 250-275lbs. But he was the first hog that ever put a chill down my back. From the first time our eyes met, after the Catahoulas had bayed him in that draw, a primal warning bell went off in me that I hadn't felt in years... and never with a critter. Even now, when I think back over it, I find it hard to believe what I KNEW in that instant.
This animal not only wanted to kill every one of us, it's as if he had planned the whole affair, and had just been waiting for the moment and the players to come together.
Shouda Known!
The hunt had gone pretty much like they're suppose to. Came to an area I'd found the week before, ate up with sign. Put the trackin' dogs out on that first clean, crisp, deep track down along the creek. And then sat back listenin' with pleasure as they worked out the trail.
Didn't seem to take no time a'tall for my hounds to catch up with him. And for a time he led us on a grand chase (never ceases to amaze me how fast and far those buggers can cover ground on these mountains!). Couple of times it sounded like they had him bayed up good. But then he'd break out and take off higher up the mountain and deeper into the thickets. And to be honest, I was too caught up in the hunt to pay much attention to an odd 'empty' feeling that was growing somewhere down inside me.
After 4 hours of what men call 'time' and 6 miles of eternity (what else do you call ground that goes from Hell, to worse?), my hounds had put the lid on him three times. I'd a swore there was no way out for him. But each time he would simply melt into the shadows of an overhang or deadfall... and disappear. He knew every inch of ground and every trick in the book.
And for all his mass and menace, he never once marked a dog, even when my best catch woman I wouldn't want for a mother put the clamp on his snout. He simply shook her 110 lbs. of quiet fury off like so much water. And with the tender flesh hanging in pulsing bloody shards, looked straight at me. It was almost as if he was measuring each animal's stamina, temperament and mettle... including mine. Not for weaknesses, but for where and when and how.
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In looking for an update to a story I'm doing on Argentina (surviving the SHTF years), I came across Northeast Shooters. I've been reading threads in several of the forums... then noticed the "hunting and fishing" one.
By way of introduction, I guess, I thought I'd share a few of my stories. Hope you enjoy.
CM Sackett
________________________________________________________
[FONT=&]...It was too damn hot to be in HERE! But, here I was. And the stifling blanket of what only God Himself could call 'air', mixed with the steaming wound-scent of my adversary was only one of the things that didn't exactly thrill me about the moment.
I was on my hands and knees, about 30 yards into a laurel thicket choked even further with honeysuckle and brambles. On any other occasion, I might have noticed that it was one of the best hog tunnels I'd ever seen. It was indeed good ground. But at the moment, all I noticed about the place, besides the absolute lack of clean breathing, was the screamin' of my dogs... the thunderous crash of brush... then, the sudden quiet... and the realization that there was no way in Hades I could back out. I was stuck!
The boar we'd chased in here wasn't the biggest I'd ever seen, maybe 250-275lbs. But he was the first hog that ever put a chill down my back. From the first time our eyes met, after the Catahoulas had bayed him in that draw, a primal warning bell went off in me that I hadn't felt in years... and never with a critter. Even now, when I think back over it, I find it hard to believe what I KNEW in that instant.
This animal not only wanted to kill every one of us, it's as if he had planned the whole affair, and had just been waiting for the moment and the players to come together.
Shouda Known!
The hunt had gone pretty much like they're suppose to. Came to an area I'd found the week before, ate up with sign. Put the trackin' dogs out on that first clean, crisp, deep track down along the creek. And then sat back listenin' with pleasure as they worked out the trail.
Didn't seem to take no time a'tall for my hounds to catch up with him. And for a time he led us on a grand chase (never ceases to amaze me how fast and far those buggers can cover ground on these mountains!). Couple of times it sounded like they had him bayed up good. But then he'd break out and take off higher up the mountain and deeper into the thickets. And to be honest, I was too caught up in the hunt to pay much attention to an odd 'empty' feeling that was growing somewhere down inside me.
After 4 hours of what men call 'time' and 6 miles of eternity (what else do you call ground that goes from Hell, to worse?), my hounds had put the lid on him three times. I'd a swore there was no way out for him. But each time he would simply melt into the shadows of an overhang or deadfall... and disappear. He knew every inch of ground and every trick in the book.
And for all his mass and menace, he never once marked a dog, even when my best catch woman I wouldn't want for a mother put the clamp on his snout. He simply shook her 110 lbs. of quiet fury off like so much water. And with the tender flesh hanging in pulsing bloody shards, looked straight at me. It was almost as if he was measuring each animal's stamina, temperament and mettle... including mine. Not for weaknesses, but for where and when and how.
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