The safety on my crossbow eluded my right index finger just as artfully as did the fountain of youth with Ponce de Leon 500 years ago.  I had the perfect sight picture of a big Eurasian crossbreed boar.  He had tusk about 3 ½ to 4 inches long, an unpleasant gleam in his eye, and bad hair.  Over the past few weeks I’d seen this hog on my deer lease and I wanted to issue an invitation in the form of a 20” bolt from my crossbow for him to join several other animals I keep on my office walls. 

To that end I’d started baiting a spot that he’d worked over like a John Deere chisel plow exhibition.  I put up a popup blind thirty yards northeast of the baiting site next to a bush with big thorns, and covered my blind with its branches.  He wouldn’t get real curious with all those thorns hanging from as many places as I could put them.  In fact, it took five minutes just to get in the blind without needing a blood transfusion. 

I baited every day for two weeks.  A trail camera provided me with the times of his raids on my corn.  Toward the end of the two weeks he became very comfortable with my setup. 

After two weeks I was comfortable with the set up and I’d observed he was more and more at ease coming to my corn as well.  “Sir Plumpness” had dinner about 15 minutes before the end of shooting light most evenings.  Here in Texas you can shoot after dark the only problem is that you have to be able to see what you’re shooting at.  I could put up lights but that would take another couple of weeks getting him used to it and I needed to introduce him to my taxidermist as soon as possible so no lights yet.  Over the years I’ve learned never to say never.  Now I just say “not yet.” 

On the day I intended to take the hog I put some “Hog Gone Wild” kinda stuff on the corn, even if he didn’t like it or he didn’t come in it smelled good.  Wonder if it would taste good on pancakes?  

I got to the blind around 5:30 and gingerly let myself in.  I looked around for uninvited guest, finding none I sat down and unloaded my backpack.  The evening was one of those that made you want to follow Jeremiah Johnson into the mountains.  The air was sweet with the perfume of freshly mown hay which made all the spring flowers green with envy.  A soft breeze stroked your skin in much the same way as would a butterfly landing on your nose or ear. 

I wasn’t the only one taking in the evening air.  From my vantage point I noticed a pair of Cardinals working hard on something unseen just beyond the tree line.  The male, adorned in his finest, would pick up a twig and show it to the female, if she approved he would scamper into the air and race the wind back to their own little part of the planet.  After placing the twig in a strategic location he would return to his mate and again try finding that one piece of their future that only he could acquire and only she could approve.  This went on for an hour or so, they just stopped long enough to pick up corn take out for dinner. 

I noticed a red fox squirrel with Tourette’s syndrome enjoyed fine dining as well.  He would find a perch about ten feet off the ground then moving to it he would loss control of his affliction.  After discussing the parentage of every creature on the entire lease at the top of his lungs, he would keep a low profile until he was sure his future wasn’t in any kind of jeopardy.  He would then sprint down the tree pick up a kernel of corn and be gone in a second.  No finer performance was ever given by any speedster or Chinese fire drill.  He repeated these maneuvers over and over again. 

The time seems to crawl when you want something to happen.  This evening wasn’t any different, every thirty seconds, it seems, I would look at my watch.  Finally there wasn’t only about 20 minutes of shooting light left.  In a blink of an eye all the sound stopped.  I instinctively looked to the path the giant Eurasian boar usually came from.  There he was, big, proud, and hungry.  He just stood there checking the wind for the slightest hint of danger. 

After he was sure he was the most dangerous animal in the woods he grunted and sauntered over to the corn buffet that I’d provided.  Even the Tourette’s squirrel didn’t move or make a sound.  It’s amazing how fear quiets almost every ailment.

I brought up the Wildcat crossbow and set it down ever so gently and quietly on my shooting sticks.  I had adjusted the sticks to my height so when the bow was resting on the sticks I could look through the red dot scope.  A crossbow red dot scope has three dots in the aperture. I have mine set for 20, 30, and 40 yards. 

My trusty little range finder put my next wall mount at 31 yards.  I placed the 30 yard red dot on the chest of this escapee from mother Russia and reached ever so carefully and slowly for the safety of my bow.  Why in the world, you ask, am I using a crossbow to hunt 350lb hogs?  Glad you asked.  Many of you know how much I love the hunting laws in Texas, if you don’t you’ve never read any of my work. 

Texas has determined that a hunter can use a crossbow during archery season.  To put it simply, using a crossbow gives me another month or so to hunt white tail deer.  Throw me in that briar patch.  God, I love Texas. 

So to get a little practice with my brand new Wildcat crossbow I decided to try and harvest a monster hog with it. 

When you know if you make one sound you will lose your shot, finding a safety on a crossbow is a monumental task.  I’m known for a lot of things and one is I don’t have the patience of Job so this safety thing was wearing pretty thin at least in my mind. I was about to move the bow when my finger finally found the safety, moving it forward with my index finger, I could feel my muscles tighten and my senses come alive.

Like most people I was taught to squeeze the trigger of a weapon.  Over the years I’ve learned that isn’t always what you want to do but in most cases squeezing is best.  The reason I bring this up is that the trigger pull on my crossbow is measured in metric tons not pounds.  A harder trigger pull would be hard to find but more importantly why would you even look.  The trigger pull is so strong on this bow my index finger was quivering from the exertion and my mind was screaming pull the damn thing. 

About the middle of the second round in the fight my mind was having with itself the bow went off.  It was surreal to see the orange of the luminox clearly with a backdrop of Russian hog while one side of my brain was saying pull the damn thing.  Then as quickly as the lighted nock appeared it disappeared.  The old boar let out a squeal and headed for parts unknown.  As he left my luminox reappeared but this time it was stuck in the ground. 

I extricated myself from the blind form hell and walked over to see if I’d hit the hog.  When I picked up my bolt the vanes were covered in blood.  Why do they call them bolts instead of arrows?  Anyway, the blood trail was easy to follow and the hog didn’t go but about 70 yards. 

Bringing down a 315lb hog with a bow, yea I’d say I’ve come to love Wildcats, very much.  

By Miscellaneous Authors

This section is for articles published by a host of amateur authors. Some of these authors are former staff members but many of them are just regular people that had an article in their heart they wanted published. Here at TalkHunting, we believe everyone has a message and we try to accomodate that when possible.