MeatMissile
WKR
I have two buddies that never hunted growing up. I had tried to get them to go, but they had no interest. Finally, after watching enough episodes of MeatEater, they informed me they would be going hunting with me. They were shocked when I told them, “No”.
At least not for my deer or elk hunt in the coming months that I had already scouted and prepped for. I needed to see how they operate first and try to shorten the learning curve. So, I found a place that had really cheap hog “hunts”, along with other exotics. I knew this was going to be a canned harvest and the land owner goes so far as to reiterate several times that it’s not really a hunt, it’s a harvest. However, when you look up the operation there are all sorts of YouTube videos of people acting like they are hunting, so my buddies were stoked.
We go on this road trip to end all road trips. I figured we didn’t need to get to the ranch right away since it was a canned hunt. So, we decided to have some fun. We plotted stops along the way, so of course we hit up a “gentleman’s club.” I ended up picking up a chick at the strip club who was on a blind date (!) with some idiot. The next night in another town, we got drunk and made a couple hundred bucks with a guitar and hair band ballads. It was great.
The morning of the “hunt”, we meet in the parking lot of this run-down motel we were staying at. These two dudes got camo everything. Camo underwear, camo guns, you name it. I’m in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a backwards baseball cap.
We get to the ranch, get signed in, and jump in a side by side. My sense of direction is pretty good and I’m realizing we are riding around in a confusing circle. Not to mention the smell of rotting apples and pig shit.
Our “guide” stops and whispers that he “seent em.” My buddies get out, hunkered down and looking all predatory, whispering eagerly. It was like Death in the High Grass or something like that. You could almost hear the bongo drums.
Right as Cletus Jethro Karamojo Brown sets up the safari shooting sticks, I yell out “You’re not gonna shoot a pink one, are you?” We all started laughing so hard, we were crying. It took at least 5 minutes to get our shit together. The pigs didn’t care. They were chowing down on rotten apples.
The meat was horrible.
At least not for my deer or elk hunt in the coming months that I had already scouted and prepped for. I needed to see how they operate first and try to shorten the learning curve. So, I found a place that had really cheap hog “hunts”, along with other exotics. I knew this was going to be a canned harvest and the land owner goes so far as to reiterate several times that it’s not really a hunt, it’s a harvest. However, when you look up the operation there are all sorts of YouTube videos of people acting like they are hunting, so my buddies were stoked.
We go on this road trip to end all road trips. I figured we didn’t need to get to the ranch right away since it was a canned hunt. So, we decided to have some fun. We plotted stops along the way, so of course we hit up a “gentleman’s club.” I ended up picking up a chick at the strip club who was on a blind date (!) with some idiot. The next night in another town, we got drunk and made a couple hundred bucks with a guitar and hair band ballads. It was great.
The morning of the “hunt”, we meet in the parking lot of this run-down motel we were staying at. These two dudes got camo everything. Camo underwear, camo guns, you name it. I’m in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a backwards baseball cap.
We get to the ranch, get signed in, and jump in a side by side. My sense of direction is pretty good and I’m realizing we are riding around in a confusing circle. Not to mention the smell of rotting apples and pig shit.
Our “guide” stops and whispers that he “seent em.” My buddies get out, hunkered down and looking all predatory, whispering eagerly. It was like Death in the High Grass or something like that. You could almost hear the bongo drums.
Right as Cletus Jethro Karamojo Brown sets up the safari shooting sticks, I yell out “You’re not gonna shoot a pink one, are you?” We all started laughing so hard, we were crying. It took at least 5 minutes to get our shit together. The pigs didn’t care. They were chowing down on rotten apples.
The meat was horrible.
