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ARTICLES AND TIPS
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"GOLFING FOR PORK"
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by Razor Dobbs – OUTDOORSALIVE.COM
(656 words)
I crash onward through the seemingly endless entanglement of south Texas
thorn scrub toward the huge fight ahead. Thorns scratch at my clothes,
hands and face. The saber punishment, which would be a deterrent on any
other type of escapade, is an instigator of excitement, like a
motivational speaker via Mother Nature’s acupuncture. The pain barometer
tells me I’m alive and feeling everything.
Briefly my hair is caught in a twist of black brush and I pull it free. I
hear a laugh from behind me, it’s Paul our OUTDOORSALIVE.COM videographer.
He’s got the video camera tucked at his side like a football, plowing
behind me through hell’s maze. I’m sure he’s somehow keeping the camera
steady and rolling like he has many times before.
The dogs wail and circle a black mass that’s under a canopy of cat claw
and mesquite twenty yards ahead. As we close in to 10 yards the black
mass takes the shape of a boar - a huge black boar. The boar charges one
of the yellow dogs, swiping his tusks using them like the horns of a
rodeo bull. The dog cuts left and the boar cuts right and black beast
makes his escape.
We make a quarter-mile semi-circle when the dogs bay the boar again and
clamor the beast with ear ringing barks. The boar looks confused,
spinning in circles like a tusk and meat
tornado breaking branches like matchsticks. He stops, as if to catch his
breath, then begins to chomp his jaws together as if sizing up his
adversaries. The chatter of his gnashing tusk shoots me a full dose of
adrenalin and it kills my exhaustion. My eyes now so wide it feels they
will bleed or pop out of socket.
I knock an arrow to my bow string and push through the scrub until I find
an open shot just six yards from the boar. I can feel the thorns pulling
and tearing at my skin but I’m feeling no pain. The boar charges at the
white dog then breaks into a mad spin wheeling his tusks like butterfly
knives. The yellow dog nips at his rump and he twist back in a fraction
of a second slashing and grunting. I pull the arrow back to the corner of
my mouth. The boar suddenly freezes like a statue. Through a football
sized opening through the brush, I pick a spot just at the crease of the
boars shoulder then release. The pink fletched arrow vanishes in the
darkness of the beast. Upon impact the boar lets out a loud grunt and
runs directly at four of the dogs scattering them like chickens.
As the blood spills profusely from the apparent double lung arrow hit the
boar cuts back and charges me dead on.There is no time to draw the Glock
10mm handgun holstered on my hip.
I bend at the knees and put my hands out like a defensive back preparing
to zig when he zags. With the boar is less than 3 feet away and closing,
I bail to the right behind a narrow oak tree. Jesse, my guide, grabs Paul
by the shoulders and throws him to the side just in time to escape the
tusks of the arrowed beast.
The boar vanishes into the heavy south Texas vegetation with the dogs hot
on his tail. “He’s dead on his feet,” I yell to Paul. We push through
60 yards of blood stained vegetation where we find the dead boar piled up.
At the truck, over a round of water, I look at my thorn littered pants
along with the scratches on my face and hands. The allure of it all
rejuvenates me. I’m ready to hunt for another hog, then maybe another and
another.
I smile as I pull a thorn from my thigh. “This beats the hell out of
golf,” I say to Paul.
“What’s golf?” Paul replies.
THE END
-RAZOR DOBBS
Razor Dobbs
razor@outdooralive.com
PO BOX 90551
San Antonio, Texas 78209
cell: (210) 385-5020
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