Wild
Boar Morning Hunting Report:
December 27, 2000
Wild boar bow hunting
huntress Cindy Owsley (La Harpe, IL - e-mail: cowsley@hotmail.com)
bagged a sow wild hog with a bow during a morning of wild boar
bowhunting on December 27, 2000 in the sugar cane fields of Glades
county.
The below
January 18, 2001 wild boar bowhunting testimonial contains a story
written by Cindy Owsley.
Florida
Wild Boar Bow Hunting Testimonial: January 18, 2001
From: CINDY
OWSLEY <cowsley@hotmail.com>
To: <fish@ronsguideservice.com>
Subject: owsley pig hunt
Date: Thursday, January 18, 2001 5:14 PM
An Intimidating
New Challenge
The Final Chapter of the Piney Woods Rooter
By Cindy Owsley
My first
thought was "I could shoot that." My next was that I
must
have developed the "killer instinct" that my friend
advised I needed. I
had to laugh at myself. The 10-point buck was a watercolor painting
on the
wall of my parents' home. Perhaps I was ready to go pig hunting
after all.
It almost goes without saying that I got lost leaving Orlando.
The
2½ hour trip south took me a good 4 hours. The terrain
became more scenic
as I neared Lakeport, a rural hunting/fishing resort area. In
this case,
scenic definitely didn't include any hills. Rather it's pancake
flat with a
few scattered trees and a sprinkling of crossbred cattle.
After checking carefully for the fire ants for which Florida is
renown, I pitched my tent under a tree draped with Spanish moss;
then set
two alarms so that I'd make certain to meet Cap'n Ron at 5 bells.
The
precaution turned out to be unnecessary. I was so keyed up that
I barely
slept.
When I admitted to my mother earlier in the day that I was nervous
about missing, she'd asked, "Does it really matter if you
don't get a pig?"
My answer was immediate, "Well, it didn't start out that
way, but - yes."
The truth of it was that I'd been practicing with my new bow for
months. Plus, a friend had periodically left symbols of encouragement.
I'd
found a pig sticker under the receiver of my phone, songs about
pigs on my
voice mail, pig figurines nestled in the clutter of my desktop
and a
stringer of pig silhouettes draped across my cubicle. To my complete
amusement, Angie Jacob had even donned a pink piggie nose!
Yes, it mattered whether I got a pig. I felt as though I had
something to prove to myself and I didn't want to disappoint my
friends
either.
After triple checking my confirmation when no one showed up at
the
designated time, I relaxed and enjoyed the camaraderie of the
outdoorsmen
as they filtered in. I was obviously a bit of a novelty, but I
have my own
share of stories and was quickly accepted into their ranks.
Cap'n Ron noted that I would be the first woman to shoot a hog
with a
bow with his guide service. He handed me a disposable camera and
instructed
me to have the guys take lots of pictures. As nearly as I could
tell,
women generally came with men and the few exceptions had mostly
been for
fishing trips.
I think I had met everyone in the place by the time the guides
arrived
- so there was sort of a collective finger pointed at the truck.
Cap'n Ron
introduced me to Scott Lucas and Patrick McDuffie who continued
the process
by saying, "This here's Fred... Mike... and Jip..."
I chuckled to myself as I
wondered if I should shake their hands, I mean, paws.
If there's a better way to describe Scott and Patrick than good
ol'
southern boys, it escapes me. Both of them were young enough to
be my sons.
Scott was born in Alabama, grew up in Pennsylvania and landed
in Florida,
literally, by accident. He summed up a self-described long story
by
saying, "I stuck around here. I don't mind the warm weather
none at all."
He'd hunted all his life and had worked as a full time guide for
the last
three or four years.
Patrick was "born and raised right here." When asked
if he worked as a
guide part time, his southern upbringing was unmistakable, "Yes,
I do. Yes,
ma'am." I wondered when he started hunting and it was obvious
that I may as
well have asked him when he learned to walk. Scott bailed him
out by
answering, "About two."
Scott, the proud papa, seized the opportunity to talk about his
own
child. "My son got caught by one." He related in a matter
of fact tone how
the boy, two-year-old style, had managed to climb out of the truck
at
exactly the wrong time and place "He hit him in the side.
Put a little
puncture wound in him. It scared him. It didn't hurt him."
When asked about injuries, Patrick drew a 6" long imaginary
line on
his thigh where he'd been slashed. I honestly don't remember if
he
succinctly characterized his injury the same as he did nearly
all of his
people injured by hog stories - but it's likely that the description
was
typical. Alcohol-related.
The dogs didn't fare as well with the hogs. Perhaps the most
dramatic example was the one who was eviscerated. The young men
dealt with
it the best they knew how - by simply stuffing the guts back in
and
stitching up the wound. It worked. The dog was hunting again in
a month.
Oddly enough, the hogs weren't the biggest threat to the dogs
-
three had been shot. They showed me the scar across Fred's back
and related
how Jip had got it with an arrow. Another dog had been shot with
a .44 in
the head - and remarkably - lived.
I asked about the dogs and their training. Scott said they were
curs. He denied spending a lot of time on training. "They
got it or they
ain't. If they ain't, they usually get lead poison." He proudly
described
Mike, the catch dog. "Once that dog hits 'em it's like a
train wreck. It's
all over."
Apparently the hogs, which they call piney woods rooters, are
thought to be descendents of pigs which escaped from the Spaniards.
They
are not managed game so there is no season on them. Patrick related
that
the hogs and coons did $2000 damage a night to the owner's crops.
The field we hunted was laid out in a square with a canal on one
side
and an access lane on the perimeter. I would guess it to be roughly
the
size of a city block. Scott released the bay dogs on the southeast
corner
and Patrick and I took the truck to the north side of the field.
It wasn't long before we heard dogs and Scott radioed to ask if
Patrick could tell where they were. "That ain't us,"
was his response.
Then, he explained to me, "I been huntin' those dogs so long
I can tell
those barks."
When I mentioned that I'd never seen sugar cane, Patrick cut off
a
chunk and instructed me to chew it and spit out the pith. It was
neat to
sample sugar on the hoof. The plants, which towered over 8' tall,
reminded
me of a cross between horseweeds and Indian grass - on steroids.
At first
glance it was impossible to tell that the field had been planted
in rows.
No wonder Scott had been out of breath when he radioed the first
time.
We heard more barking and Scott guessed that the hog would exit
on the
west. When the truck turned the corner, Patrick nodded, "There's
yer'
hog." It really surprised me because it looked just like
the 3-D target in
my yard. It was hard to imagine that this was the real thing.
I'd tell you I remember exactly how the hunt transpired, but the
truth
is - I don't. Everything happened so fast. There was a blur of
excitement
and the frenzy of high-powered dogs. The glistening jet-black
hog retreated
to a muddy ditch overgrown in palmetto. It wasn't long before
a dog was
firmly attached to each ear. They seemed to be engaging in a tug
of war
with the animal's head.
Then Scott got down there and literally caught that hog by the
hind
legs and threw it up into the lane. I was absolutely in awe. I
had no idea
that anyone could catch a wild hog! I was even more amazed when
I realized
that the only weapon that either guide carried was a pocketknife.
I had a perfect shot - and I flat out missed. Mike was unleashed
and
the train wrecked again. I had another perfect shot. This time
the arrow
penetrated both lungs slightly above the heart and the sow dropped
within
20 yards. The hunt was over within an hour. Scott guessed the
piney woods
rooter was three years old and weighed 125#; then quipped that
it was
"bigger in the rough with a 150# of dog on it."
The guys assured me that it wasn't unusual for hunters to miss.
Some
"threw everything they had at it - and still didn't get it."
Patrick shook
his head as he recalled the time he knew he was in trouble when
a client
handed him a gun and asked him to show him "how to run it".
We went back for the requisite photos. They hung that razorback
in an
Australian pine tree; then gutted and skinned it with a pocketknife.
Patrick mused that he "wished he had a nickel for every hog
that's been on
these posts" - then pointed to the concrete-hard surface
below and stated
that it was just roots/blood.
I'm almost certain I got bonus points for having the sow butchered.
Patrick related, "My daddy said I had to eat everything I
shot. I ate my
share of blackbirds and squirrels. A lot of people don't want
the meat.
They say, 'Ya'all can do anything you want with it.' Sometimes
they don't
even come back for pictures."
Scott told about a big boar he'd caught in the cane. "They
were
arguin' about who was goin' in." He related how he had advised
them, "
Shoot it!" Then warned, "I'm fixin' to stick this with
my knife if you
don't shoot it!"
Apparently the guy wanted to kill it in an open field. Scott set
him
straight. "It didn't come out in an open field." He
shook his head, "You
can drag a 100# hog out. You aren't gonna' drag no 200# hog out?
Let me
rephrase. I'm not gonna' drag one out."
Patrick remembered a couple on their honeymoon. She was going
to hunt
and wanted to get on it after he caught it. Patrick noted, "I
thought it
was a knife - it was like a ice pick. It looked like a sewing
machine the
way she killed that hog. I told him, 'Boy, you shoulda' went huntin'
with
her BEFORE you married her.'"
For better or worse, that's the only hunting story I remember
them
telling about a woman. And, as I think back to why I found it
intimidating
to go bow hunting, I realize that I was never really scared of
the pig. I
was scared of venturing into a man's world. I was scared of failure.
I was
scared of not being accepted.
My fears were unfounded. I really enjoyed learning to shoot the
bow.
Plus, I've made a lot of new friends and, almost without exception,
have
found men extremely supportive of my goal.
Never in a million years, would I have guessed I'd go wild boar
hunting in Florida. However, I'm open to adventure and that's
where one of
my little side trails led. It was great fun - much, much better
than lying
around on the sofa of life.
Cindy Owsley
(La Harpe, IL - e-mail: cowsley@hotmail.com)
Florida
Wild Boar Bow Hunting Testimonial: January 4, 2001
From: CINDY
OWSLEY <cowsley@hotmail.com>
To: <fish@ronsguideservice.com>
Subject: Re: draft article
Date: Thursday, January 04, 2001 5:42 AM
>Cindy,
>
>Everything
looks and sounds "GREAT".
Thanks. Be sure to let me know if the guys have any corrections.
A lot was
happening in a short period and it's easy to get things mixed
up.
>
>Need to
correct Scott's last name, it is spelled Lucas.
Ooops. I'll definitely fix that!
>
>I would
appreciate a final draft when you complete it.
I'll be happy to send one. I usually leave the articles alone
for a period
of time and then go back to make revisions... so it may be awhile.
>If you don't mind I will
post it on my web site along with the picture you
sent and the ones I am waiting for.
I'm flattered. Not a problem at all.
Actually part of the reason I write is that I want to encourage
people to
get outside and enjoy the outdoors. I think there are too many
people in
the U.S. glued to their television. Plus, I kinda' get a kick
opening doors
for other women to try things and not be nervous about it.
When I started cycling over ten years ago, you didn't see many
women doing
the distance things like RAGBRAI (a week long bike trip across
Iowa). Now
it's fairly equal.
I started rock climbing a few years ago. There are not many women
in that
sport... and most of the ones you see are not over 25.
As I'm fond of telling the guys at Big River Outdoors - if you
can get
women involved, you can get kids. And if you can get kids, you
can ensure
that there is a future in outdoor activities. If we don't do this,
there
will be no appreciation for nature and it will be destroyed.
So much for my philosophy anyway.
I don't know if I told you that the reason I didn't go with the
other
guide (that was recommended to me) was that I didn't get the feeling
that he
thought a woman could hunt hogs. I didn't feel that way at all
when I talked
with you... and I certainly was comfortable with Scott and Patrick.
Plus
your web site is good about showing women and kids...
>
>Scott and
Pat said they enjoyed hunting with you
Well, I *really* had fun! And thought they must have... they had
the chance
to "take their money and run" after the hunt was over...
but they went out
of their way to make sure I had ice and the locker set up and
they stuck
around quite awhile sharing their stories.
Frankly, I started this project just for the experience of watching
the
hunt and writing the story... so I would have been disappointed
with just
getting a pig and not learning about some of Patrick/Scott's experiences....
Plus, I could *never* have written a story!
>and that you did a good
job
with your bow in putting the hog away.
I was pretty embarrassed that I missed my first shot. I had practiced
so
much in the months since I decided to go. But my guide friend
in Alaska says
that is a WHINEEEEEE!
I'm still laughing that I asked Patrick what happened (when I
missed) and
he said he turned his head about then and didn't see it. Which
could be, but
he is *soooo* polite that it occurred to me that he might not
want to tell
me that I flat-out missed.
Scott was up front. "I think you shot under it." Buck
fever, I think.
;>)
Would you like a (I don't know what you call it) testimonial/reference
letter? I'll be happy to write one for you. Or do you just want
to post the
article instead?
>
>Sorry I
couldn't go with you that morning.
>Not a problem. I was in good hands.
Cindy Owsley
(La Harpe, IL - e-mail: cowsley@hotmail.com)
Click
on any of the below links for more information on our Florida
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