Henrique's Hog Hunt

Drawing from the mighty hunter himself

My nephew Henrique came visiting from Brazil to spend a month during one of the nicest summers I can recall here in Traverse City, but his mind was in something much beyond summer and the blue waters of the West Arm of Grand Traverse Bay.

As the old saying goes, "you can take the boy out of the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the boy," and as soon as Henrique arrived the only things in his mind were hunting and shooting, and maybe a bit of fishing.

As you may or may not know, Brazil has some of the most draconian (and ineffective) guns laws in the world, so prior to his trip to Michigan the only things that Henrique had shot were an old and very loose air rifle and some rounds from a just as old and maybe as loose 410 shotgun.

So, as soon as he arrived at my home he was at the backyard shooting my Crosman 3357 .177" CO2 revolver. I tried to introduce him to other air guns, but he was just in love with the Python lookalike. Some days later I introduced him to Sporting Clays at Cedar Rod & Gun Club, and on the following Tuesday he discovered the world of Trap shooting, and after dropping my daughter and grandson at the Grand Rapids airport it was time to explore Cabela's.

But all these activities could not quench Henrique's thirst for hunting. The problem was that we were (or at the time of this writing are) right in the middle of summer, not the most convenient time of the year for the Sport of Kings, and I had to find a solution or either he would go crazy or worse yet, drive me crazy. The only practical and affordable solution was a hog hunt, and after searching the internet I settled for Super G Ranch, in Morley, MI, about two hours from my home.

Before going on with the story I would like to make a few comments: I really believe in fair chase hunting, but like many other hunters, and probably many of you, I've hunted preserve birds before and hunted in large high fenced properties in South Africa, and found both to have a place in the modern world of hunting. And one of most certain places is in introducing new hunters to the sport, especially when a young aspiring hunter is visiting from a far way place out of normal hunting season.

So we are back to Friday a week or so ago, waking up at 4:30 AM (one must really be a very nice uncle to do such a thing!), getting dressed (in my case, as Henrique slept with his clothes on) and getting on the road (my huntsmobile was already loaded with all the gear.) After a pancake breakfast at McDonalds we arrived at Super G Ranch just after 7:30 AM and Les, the owner, took us to a 540 acres high fenced hunting area about a mile from his home.

As we drove inside the inclosure and parked the huntsmobile under a nice shade tree, three or four pigs came to us as to be fed, and we just ignored them, even a very large hog that slowly moved away.

Henrique geared up, which consisted of a brand new Ka-Bar knife on his belt and my 1949 vintage Winchester Model 70 in 270 WCF. I carried a range finder and my Ruger SP101 357 Magnum, the later more for psychological comfort than real need.

The plan was to walk around the 540 acres until we saw a hog and then approach to a reasonable shooting distance, a classic stalking by any other name, and we started down a two track that pretty much bisected the enclosure. After three or four hundred yards I noticed some movement just off the two track, and we approached carefully and saw two whitetail does. We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time and they bolted into the undergrowth.

Shortly after we came upon a very large cow, most likely pregnant, and shooed her away, before crossing a creek. From there it was uphill, and the temperature started climbing with us.

After another half a mile or so, Henrique spotted some animals. It was a group of four or five very large pigs busily making a meal of whatever they had found. The rangefinder read 130 yards, and we decided to approach and check for hogs. As we closed the distance it became clear that there were only sows. We talked a bit and Henrique said he really wanted a hog.

We abandoned the sows and continued our journey into the "wilderness." After sometime heading west we came across a little marsh and had to cross another (or maybe the same) stream, and then came across some rams. And although the rams would make a nicer wall hanging trophy than a hog, I rather eat porc than mutton (but I will rather eat lamb than porc), so we let them be. They also didn't seem to mind us being around, another reason to ignore the rams.

We started heading south and had to cross yet another stream, and once again uphill we found several rather small pigs, and even with the higher temperatures decided that they were not what we were looking for. But after turning east into the woods to sort of close the loop, I noticed movement far ahead. It was a sounder of maybe ten or twelve animals, and they were foraging leisurely heading for the stream.

We moved at an angle to cut their path and when the sounder crossed the two track that we had originally walked on, two hogs, a black and a red, started fighting. It was nice to see their battle while the large sows moved around, apparently ignoring the would be suitors.

While the hogs filled the woods with their squeals and grunts we approach to forty yards, I told Henrique to kneel, and he selected the black hog, sending a 130 grain Remington Core-Lokt just behind the left shoulder. The sounder broke out towards the marsh, and the black hog arched in the opposite direction, not traveling more than ten yards before collapsing.

Henrique wanted to finish the hog with his new Ka-Bar, but I refused to let the accident-prone young men to risk an injury, and told him to put another bullet into the back of his head.

Les' daughter came retrieve the hog with a front-wheel loader and we walked back to the hunstmobile. We met Les at the barn to skin and quarter the 260 pound hog, and some good conversation, prior to starting back home.

Tomorrow I will smoke one of the hams in my Big Green Egg and bring it to Cedar Rod & Gun Club for Henrique's farewell party prior to his return to Brazil on Friday.

Lost Bird

Is there a Golden BB?

Today I braved the summer heat and shot a couple rounds of sporting clays at Cedar Rod & Gun Club at the heart of Leelanau Peninsula, and not far from my home and closer yet to Neverland.

In the first round Dave, Jim and I must have set the club record for fastest round ever, as we completed the 10-station 50-bird course in no more than 30 minutes. The reason for the frantic pace was that Jim had to attend a golf outing. In my mind, and as Dave reminded me Mark Twain said this first, golf is just a perfect way to spoil a good walk. But enough of that!

But during the slower second round, now in a five man squad (Kevin, Dan, Dave, Rick and the author, not necessarily in this order), I found between stations 8 and 9 a couple Midis that reminded all of us that unless you hit the target with the center of your pattern, luck can play all sorts of games with the shotgunner.

First I found a target that had a nice BB hole through the rind that either joins or separate, depending on your point of view, the center and the rim (or should it be the brim) of the clay pigeon. I think that one or two millimeters either towards the center or the edge would have resulted in a broken target, as the material is thicker. But as luck wanted, this was a lost bird for the shooter.

Looking around for just just a couple more seconds I found another lost bird, this time hit by three pellets, as you will be able to see in the photo below.

Apparently three are also not enough!

Clearly I have no idea which gun, gauge, load or chokes were used, of even if the two birds were shot by the same shooter or in the same day, but this weird findings serves to remember us about the uncertainties and art, rather than science, of shotgunning.

And while this is inconsequential for the weekend shotgunner, what could this have cost a competitor? But the really serious aspect of this is to the hunter, for there is little worse than wounding a bird and not putting the effort to retrieve it. And a bird hit by one or a few pellets from the edge of a pattern could be a lost bird, just like these unfortunate clay pigeons.

I don't know what the answer is, except to keep your eyes on the bird after you shoot and if you believe that you could have hit it, even by a single BB, gloden or otherwise, to go after it!

The Fruits of Neverland II

The sweet fruit of their labor

 

I will continue to tell about my latest "safari" in South Africa, but wanted to take a small brake to talk a little about Neverland, my own little piece of paradise in Leelanau county, Michigan.

 

Last Saturday, after shooting sporting clays at Cedar Rod & Gun Club - not particularly well mind you, and having lunch with my wife at the Rare Bird in Traverse City, I met Del at Neverland to set up a feeder for deer season. Of course setting up the feeder took a lot more work than planned since the brutal storm that hit northern Michigan on Sunday August 2nd caused a bit of havoc at Neverland, with many broken and uprooted trees, and we had to cut a new trail through the debris.

 

The bright side from the destruction is that the "Bridge over the Mann Creek" is intact, although surrounded with deadfall, and that all the downed trees should create space for new growth that will create fresh habitat for ruffed grouse while also increase the area where deer can feed. Eventually we would have to do similar work with a chainsaw!

 

Anyhow, after we were done with the feeder we paid a visit to the thousands of workers that toil daily in my domains. Of the three colonies where they live, each with a queen duly appointed and sanctioned by me, two are doing absolutely great, and we are concerned that the third will likely not make it through next winter. This is hard, but there is little we can do about it.

While examining the healthy colonies, we were able to savour a sample of the sweet fruits from the labor of my workers. One of the colonies was overflowing with honey and honeycombs, and in order to put the cover back on Del had to scrape the excess, and we would not allow that to go to waste. As one hand scraped the excess the other would bring light wild honey to mouth.

And everything went really well until due to either lack of attention or a bit of gluttony I did not notice that there was a bee stuck to a honeycomb and upon chewing on it I got stung in the tong.

I tell you, the honey was so pure and sweet, with a very light champagne color, that the sting didn't hurt that much, but eventually I had to stick my tongue out so Del could scrape the stinger away. The end result is that I could not comfortably close my mouth for a couple hours, but that isn't really a problem either.

And before I forget, Del - the experienced beekeeper - got stung a good dozen times or so. He had protective gear, but being an experienced beekeeper, he refused to wear it! Sorry, but I had to say it, as he is saying we will not a honey harvest if I continue to eat the bees (just like an old bear.)

My New Hat

My New Hat

June is here and finally the cold and snowy winter is just present in our memory and while the dog days of summer don't arrive we can enjoy some nice time at the shotgun range, at least when I am not traveling on business, which is not very often.

Anyhow, yesterday my son Daniel and I drove to Cedar Rod & Gun Club (www.crgc.org) to shoot some Trap. Any form of shotgunning is always my preferred form of relaxation after a working day, and it is always more enjoyable if Daniel can come along, even if does not accept my coaching.

Driving from Old Mission Peninsula to Leelanau is always enjoyable, and I particular enjoy the country views once we leave M-72 and get 651 towards Cedar. The gentle rolling hills where farming and old growth forest intertwine always hide a deer or a flock of turkeys, keeping the distant fall hunting season alive in our hearts.

When we got to the club shooting was already underway and Daniel and I got engaged in some small talk with other members which soon turned to some new gun appreciation, as someone always has a new gun.

On our first round I started at station 5 and missed my seventh and eighth shots, which were taken at station 1, finishing with a score of 23. The Eighth Ammendment of the US Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual punishment, and while missing while shooting flying, be it birds or clay pigeons, is not unusual for me, it is always cruel to miss two birds in a row!

On the second round we only had four shooters in the squad which makes for a little faster pace, while I'd rather have a slower one. Anyhow, I was just "in the zone" and could focus the bird that was slightly affected by a rising air current with eagle eyes, despite being a middle aged grandfather. The Caesar Guerini Summit Limited was throwing the Remington Gun Club one ounce load of No. 8's exactly where they were supposed to go.

My last five shots were taken from station 3 and by the 21st or 22nd shot I had to start some yoga breath control in order to keep my concentration and avoid thinking about a possible twenty five straight, which is a clear receipt for disaster. The last shot was a straight-away bird, which is a harder shot for me, since I've always been a Skeet Shooter.

Anyhow, yesterday I had my first twenty five straight at Trap, and after everyone congratualted me they asked for my hat following a very old tradition, which may go as fas back as the OLD HATS pigeon club in England. Unusually I did not have one, so I bought a brand new CRGC hat, distributed ammunition to the other five shooters present, stuffed the had with a handfull of clay pigeons to give it some weight and threw it up.

The picture clearly shows what being hit by ten rounds of twelve gage ammo does. It turns a brandnew hat into an honorable Old Hat and a true trophy in seconds.

I just would like to thank all present to have allowed me to throw the hat in the air, rather than have to wear it when they shot it!