It's about 1600 and we're within one half miserable mile where my shot pierced the ear of that big, fat, heavy, nasty hog we're packing out and sure will power is keeping me on my feet. Bee says to me I've never seen you so broke off, to which my reply was not to go telling anyone. I have a reputation to uphold in our field of work and this is the 2nd time I was going down in my 27 career years; yes, I knew I was going down on this hunt but on my terms,really. Wolf was out in front of us while Bee was keeping me company and I had to stop several times to make it across the draw. Wolf waited for us while we came to a rest at the foot of the last great ascent up the ridge to the rig. I was all done sweating and the wind was bitter cold -and dry. Running through my mind were memories working in the wilderness with my crew; I tell them that everything out here will either wick the moisture out of your body,rob you of body heat or burn you,suck your blood,give you a rash,punch a hole in you and break you or kill you. Bee gave me some ICY Hot he said it would help me for the last push-I sort of resisted that; then in a flash I accepted the offer. We didn't sit too long, the sun was setting fast and the elements were getting worse for me by the moment. I had emptied out my camber and magazine and was compelled to use my Weatherby as a freaking walking stick
So up that steeper than a monkeys forehead slope we went. I was stopping for a breather every twenty-five steps or so, my heart rate was too quick, my breathing labored and the darn shakes were coming on -as were the cramps. My God, with every step I was closer to the objective and it was darn near dark thirty. We finally topped the ridge and could make out where the rig was parked. I felt a surge of adrenaline spike through me cause I knew I would make it out on my feet. When we finally got there it seemed like forever for me to get to the watered down Gatorade,peanuts and candy bar. Wolf and Bee loaded their packs while I struggled to load mine. The rig was warming up during the loading process and it sure was a wee bit o heaven during the drive back to San Berdoo. I've been on a few more hog hunts since then and what did not kill the coyote made the coyote's spirit stronger. I love to hunt hogs to this day and I have not hunted any other country tougher than the one we did that day. Thanks to those who read this story. Fact is stranger then fiction.