I didn't have to get-up early for today's walk. The swamps had proved useless a few days before, with not so much as a track. The station owner's nephew had been up from "Down South", and had knocked over a "big mob" of pigs with his mates and their rifles. Apparently, most had been taken at Tick Spring, so the thought of the successful riflemen getting eaten alive, as I had been in the past, raised a smirk upon my face – I no longer care how many or how big are the wild pigs at Tick Spring; anyone keen enough can have 'em, as my blood is apparently too-highly regarded! Anyway, the swamps had been flogged, and there were no pigs. So today's walk was going to be along a creek, starting where it stops, and walking upstream toward where it magically appears out of the ground at the base of some ancient, rugged cliffs, amid a tangle of rainforest caused by the protection from the sun afforded there. I didn't have to get-up early, because the whole point of hunting pigs along a creek is to sneak like an Indian during the heat of the day, looking, listening, and smelling (as in, sniffing) for any clue that might indicate a happily-snoozing swine. So, at 8 o'clock, I drove off, stopped at the shop to fill the esky with ice, and then went to pick-up a colleague from work, another teacher who isn't a hunter at all, but wanted to see what it was all about. It took about an hour-and-a-half to drive out of town and get to the walk-in point near where the water goes underground in the shallow, sandy creek. I strung the recurve, and had a couple of practice shots with a blunt-tipped arrow into the sand bank pushed-up by the grader when the tracks were re-done after the wet season. Then I fished-out a water bottle from the esky while coaching Tim on how to half-shoot the 80-pounder as best he could into the sand bank – he hit it, even though only coming to half-draw, and I pondered my chances of successfully asking my Little Missus for permission to buy a bow more suitable for introducing others to it (two chances: Buckley's and none!). We set-off through the savannah, me starting to demonstrate how to avoid stepping on noisy leaves. Popping down into the creek, we were still able to view the ute where we'd left it. I took-off my thongs (I think you Americans call them "flip-flops", with "thongs" being something else entirely), and attached them to the straps on my pack. I knew the water didn't start (or was it "end"?) for another hundred yards or so, and hence was quite startled when the crackly-dry pandanus palms exploded with fleeing pigs just up ahead. Nuts! The bloody wind had done a swirl, and the pigs shouldn't have been so close in the first place! They should've been closer to the water, but I suppose nobody told them that. Standing on tippy-toes to look over the bank, I could see about fifteen swine racing-off into the Never-Never, justifiably terrified at my smell (or was it Tim's?). But, just eighteen yards away, a boar that had been snoozing on his lonesome, away from his harem and his pesky offspring, was still laying there, ears pricked-up, but too stubborn to run without good cause (after-all, it's the ladies that are prone to panic). He was broadside to me, but the hell of it was that I could only see him when I stretched right out on my tippy-toes. I tried to grow some more, so that I could get a shot that cleared the sheer bank; but alas, I could not (I would've had to anchor six inches above my noggin). If only Fred Bear was there, he would've been able to come to three-quarter draw, and wallop him, just like he did to that mountain sheep. Meanwhile, while I was trying to figure-out a new way of shooting, or of attaching a periscope to my bow-quiver, the boar thought better of it, and departed. Just after this, four little sucker pigs were seen, cutely-snorting along wondering where all the adults had gone. I'd shot a couple like these in the past, but still felt guilty about it, so I told Tim that we'd rush up the bank, chase and catch one or two, take a photo, and release the blighter or blighters to grow-up into dirty-great boars with bad attitudes – okay, to just grow into dirty-great boars with the typically timid attitude that leads to a long and happy life for them. Catching suckers should be easy, but these ones outran us, and had soon vanished into the pandanus – it's sad when you discover you're getting slightly older. We resumed our sneakiness, especially when the first muddy wallows came into view. To avoid a heap of dry pandanus fronds that had fallen into the creek, I skirted up and around via a cattle pad, and got quite a fright when I heard a faint rustle and looked down at my toes just in time to see a little grey reptilian tail slithering into the leaves – phew! Nearing what we call "Pandanus Plaza", I slowed down as much as I could, and then slowed down some more. I started to go up the bank again, but stopped and reversed as I could hear some kind of snort or growl, just faintly. I silently waded through the ankle deep water, signalling to Tim to hang back for a bit, while I tried to slip-up to whatever was making the noise. Boy, I sure stalked well! I dodged dry pandanus, never made a splash, and soon found the source of my suspicion – it was just a few wallabies. They were about sixteen yards away, and unaware of my presence. There were maybe half-a-dozen, and I watched them watering, continually looking up and around to check for danger – you know you're doing well if you can put one past these wary fellows. We don't shoot our natives in Australia, only the invasive, introduced feral species (like pigs). Suddenly I blushed, as I realised I had unwittingly intruded upon an intimate moment, as there was more to a larger buck wallaby than I'd first seen – there was a smaller doe underneath him, and he vigorously began to follow the reproductive creed of Genesis with her, despite the audience of his peers and family members. I backed-away quietly, leaving them to it without disturbing them. We went up the bank, and cautiously skirted the pandanus, checking for any stray pigs that might be there – there were none, just the wallabies oblivious to our presence on the other side. Then some cattle walked down the creek, and frightened the wallabies away. I wished the cattle were buffalo, as they were in prime position for an arrow, and totally unaware of us. But, they remained cattle, and then spooked themselves and ran away when they cut our scent. Walking further, a suspicious aroma caught my attention, and it took ten minutes to cover the next thirty yards, peering anew down into the creek with every step (sometimes we walk the bank, sometimes the bed, depending on obstructions, and which is the quietest). But the pigs that caused the aroma weren't in the creek; they were on the other side, out in some scraggly timber for shade, and they got up and trotted across the creek, continuing out into the savannah beyond, after having caught our scent on that errant breeze (the rotten thing was swirling). We kept sneaking, and I suddenly caught a glimpse of a boar sprawled-out in the creek, under a large pandanus on the bank above. I dropped my pack, told Tim to hang back, and crawled further on the burning-hot sand. I was aiming for a little shrub that would put me a nice eighteen yards from him, taking it slowly so as not to crunch any leaves. That dodgy breeze swirled again, and he "whoof"-ed away, a fine specimen living to be a pig for another day (or more, quite likely). I went back, eagerly putting on my thongs (as by this stage my feet were well-done steaks) and my pack. I was telling Tim that it was actually a rather decent boar that we'd beheld, when another boar decided to blow-out of the pandanus where the first one was – that's just not sporting; he should've departed when the first one did, instead of making a fool of me! Not much further along, a mob of wallabies bolted away as we edged along. At this point, we were sufficiently far, and the day was sufficiently warm, for me to think about turning and hiking back to the ute. Just as I was thinking this, and having a drink, I spied a boar through the scrub on the other side, surveying the creek where the wallabies had fled from. I ducked down, and dropped into the creek, heading straight to where I'd seen him last. Peering up and over the bank, I could see nothing. I turned to give Tim an inquiring look, and he was able to point me in the right direction from his vantage point. I crept along more, up the bank, taking it very slowly. I looked at every log and stick, but found no pigs. Tim was obviously wrong, and the pig had obviously gone away. I could see most of the creek, except for just a little bit beneath me, just five yards away. It was from this invisible section that I heard a little splash. I waited, listening more. I spied a wallaby on the other side, and he hopped away, so I thought that it was either him or a cane toad. I took another silent step, and the boar exploded in a spray of water and mud from under the bank that I was atop. He ran up the other side of the creek, and stopped at thirty yards when he saw Tim. Tim was scared of the boar, and the boar was scared of Tim. I gallantly sent an arrow straight over his back (I didn't want this boar, as he was the wrong colour phase – hey, this'd be a great place to insert one of those American "Not" jokes!) and the boar dashed away, wiser for his experience. On the walk back to the ute, we were going to pass peacefully through a mob of Brahman cattle at a lick-block, but had to make a detour due to the presence of a young Micky-bull, a wild, clean-skin short-horn beast already developing a bad attitude, and solid enough to do damage; the type that the station owner shoots if he gets a chance (his cattle, his prerogative), as they lead the others astray, and are beyond mustering. He was throwing his head around, kicking-up dust, and steadily advancing. We gave him a respectful berth. Back at the ute, it was time for a cool drink before heading back into town. It had been another great morning to be alive and wandering about in the bush, and Tim had not only enjoyed himself, but had gained an insight into the realm of the hunter.

like they say, the enjoyment is in the hunting not the killing. good stuff. i always thought that i was the only one who cops the swirly breeze when out hunting? lol

Great story mate! Thanks for sharing! Sounds like you had a pretty cool hunt!    
I can't wait to get over there and chance those hogs around!  :D

Great story.But what is a wallabies and pandanus.  

Thanks, lads. That darn wind, eh, Clint! Wallabies are little kangaroos. Pandanus is a palm that has fronds quite low to the ground, similar, I think, to what the Floridians call Palmetto.

great read Ben! felt like i was sneaking though the soft sand and dry leaves myself. hunt up the Cape can't come quick enough      
thanks mate

nicely told.  Thanks for sharing.

Great story Ben.  Sounds like a perfect day for a non-hunter to be afield with a true sportsman.  Just maybe you have awakened something primal within his soul?

Good writing Ben. Hope you find a boar with the right color phase soon again.

Well told! Congrats on the great hunt  

Thank you for the story Ben!

   

F-Manny

Nice story!

Good thing wallabies are an introduced species over here