I’m new to this type of hunting, but it can’t be that hard, I think.

by David Hart

Deep in the backwoods of a sprawling Georgia pine plantation Willie, two of his friends and three guests stand next to a trio of trucks. We are waiting anxiously for a pack of Plott hounds to strike the fresh scent of hogs. If everything falls into place, the hounds will chase a pig and then corner it and Willie will release the catch dogs, pit bulls bred just for hog hunting. Two months prior to this hunt, I sat in a tripod stand overlooking a feeder deep in the Texas mesquite, a rifle resting across my lap. Hog and deer tracks blanketed the ground under the feeder. Shooting a pig over bait should be a slam-dunk, I figured, but after three days of guarding the corn that lay on the ground, I saw nothing more than a few squirrels, a couple of small whitetails and a covey of quail.

Some hog hunters, like Willie and his friends, do things a little different. Instead of waiting for the pigs to come to them, they take the hunt to the pigs. These three men each own a pack of Plott hounds to track and corner the pigs and a couple of pit bulls that serve as catch-dogs. Willie explains that the pit bulls grab a hog by the ear, tail or back leg, whatever body part they can get their teeth into, and clamp down until their jaws are pried loose. When they do catch a pig, it's up to Willie or someone else in the group to put a swift end to the fight.

I'm new to this type of hunting, but it can't be that hard, I think. The small field where we are parked looks as if it's been churned with a plow, the bare earth stamped with hog tracks. Earlier, Willie points out more fresh rootings, places in crop fields and pastures where hogs have turned the earth in search of grubs and other morsels of food. No wonder farmers and wildlife agencies have declared war on these animals. They destroy crops, devour quail and turkey eggs and breed faster than rabbits. Hogs are considered little more than a nuisance and typically have no limits, no closed season and few rules that regulate the hunting method. For guys like Willie, however, hogs are nothing more than a heaven-sent gift, the perfect combination of tough and smart and a pretty good way to fill a freezer with pork, to boot. They are abundant enough to offer a good chance of success, but crafty enough to give the dogs a run for their money.

"The bigger mature boars will lose the dogs most of the time and the younger ones will get away about half the time," explains our guide, who is nothing more than a local who jumps at any excuse to turn his dogs loose. He doesn't talk much and I avoid asking him too many questions. I have no idea what he does when he isn't hog hunting, if he's married or has kids. I don't even know his last name and Willie doesn't offer. Still, I wonder how my host became addicted to hogs and dogs.

He gave up deer hunting years ago, Willie explains, after a friend took him on a hog hunt. One good chase and he was hooked for life. Of course, he doesn't mind killing a few pigs now and then; the revolver and eight-inch dagger strapped on his hip are proof that he's happy to help thin out the local hogs when the opportunity arises. These hunters prefer their hog hunting to be a bit more personal than those who use a rifle.

"I love hearing the dogs work and watching them do their job when the catch one," he says. "It's pretty exciting."

The dogs aren't bullet-proof, not even the pit bulls. Each one is fitted with a thick canvas vest and a wide leather collar to protect them from the slashing tusks of an angry pig. The vests may protect the vitals, but it's clear these dogs have been in some pretty rough scrapes. The faces of the pit bulls are decorated with pink scars. Willie keeps a sewing kit and some antibiotics for some quick field patching, something he's done on numerous occasions, he says. The dogs don't seem to care too much about the inevitable cuts. They just love to hunt.

So far, however, these dogs can't catch a whiff of pig. For three hours, we drive over the plantation's rutted trails and gravel roads, turn the dogs loose near fresh rootings and wait for the bawl of hounds hot on the trail of running pigs. Finally, we cut fresh tracks in the soft dirt of a logging road. Willie and his friends grab a quartet of hounds and point them to the tracks. That's all it takes and the dogs let out a chorus of rolling bawls as they tear through the south Georgia pines. Willie offers a slight smile, the most emotion he's shown all day. Instead of hustling through the thick trees after the hounds, the six of us lean against the trucks and follow the chase with our ears. Eventually, the bawls turn to a frantic chop, a sure sign the hog has stopped running and is surrounded by the Plotts. Our guides open another dog crate and turn loose three pit bulls that disappear into the trees toward the action.

Willie and his friends beckon us to follow as they sprint through the woods toward the frantic barking. We reach the brawl to find two pit bulls clamped to the hog's ears and another holding on to a back leg. Willie kneels on the squealing hog's neck, pulls out his knife, looks up at his three guests and says, "Who wants this one?"

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