Matho’s blog: Pig ambush!

Four of us went down to the plum trees. The Viking owns them, and he’d seen four black pigs under them as the sun set on Christmas day. We went armed: my .308, the Viking’s .222, Anne’s .223 and Jeepster’s hefty, bipodded .308 in his right hand and handy .223 pump in his left.

We stood around the old yards quietly chatting as we watched the neighbour’s abandoned orchard for signs of movement. Soon enough, four black humps trotted through the old trees, hung around where they found some fruit, then finally made their way over to the Viking’s patch. To our delight, when they emerged from the creek, they were seven.

We all took cover and waited as they came into the yard, barely 15 metres away. I was on the left and waited as they headed right.

I watched three jog straight by and begin to disappear…

I wished some bugger would shoot! We were all being too polite. After you, sir. No, no, I insist, you first…

Finally Jeepster let rip with his .308 and the Viking and I chimed in. Poor Anne; turned out I’d put myself in front of her, thanks to the way the pigs had come in. All she could do was watch and curse me.

Pigs ran everywhere. The three that wanted to go right past came back. Another little boar doubled back on himself twice, circled a water tank and copped a bullet in the shoulder when he re-appeared.

I emptied my four-round magazine. I don’t know how many the Viking fired. Jeepster had discarded the .308 after its one shot and picked up the pump-action, blazing away as fast as he could.

We threw so much lead around so quickly that pigs couldn’t die fast enough – most got hit numerous times.

It was over in seconds and five pigs lay stone dead. Two little tackers had escaped. Lots of bullets for not much tally, but you can’t say it wasn’t emphatic! And the Viking was pleased. We filled a bucket with plums and went home.

A few days later Anne and I went back. We arrived a little late and, as we crept very slowly into the yards, a mob of pigs came in behind us. I almost didn’t notice. I glanced back and saw what I nearly dismissed as another pile of black-rusty metal, just the same as the other piles of discarded implements and car bodies there. But then a pig’s ear moved.

We froze but the lead sow knew something was amiss and led the mob back over the rise. We followed quietly, found them and got a shot each before they escaped.

I missed, but Anne nailed a boar in the chest as it quartered away.

There are plenty around. We’ll have to try another ambush…


Mick Matheson




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Mick Matheson

Mick grew up with guns and journalism, and has included both in his career. A life-long hunter, he has long-distant military experience and holds licence categories A, B and H. In the glory days of print media, he edited six national magazines in total, and has written about, photographed and filmed firearms and hunting for more than 15 years.