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 I had been anticipating it for months; it was all I could talk about with my friends. I was going bow hunting for a hog in Florida. I had been practicing shooting everyday, aiming back towards the ribs on the target to get used to avoiding the thick gristly plate on a hogs shoulder. My husband, father, and some friends had warned me of this protective shield on a boar hog, that some arrows have trouble penetrating. I wasn't worried though, I was ready. As my husband drove me the 3 hours to the airport in Memphis, I envisioned myself making the perfect shot. I told him to get the freezer ready because I was bringing pork home. Upon arriving in Fort Meyers Florida, I met with a couple of other hunters who would be going on the boar hunt with me; we were picked up and driven out into the Florida countryside. I had never dreamed of Florida looking like this before. It was pasture land and thick underbrush, groves of evergreen trees and types of fauna I had never seen. It reminded me of a denser southern Texas hunt. We saw hogs as we drove into the ranch. The driver said their were wild hogs everywhere out there, but not to get our hopes up too much because only about 50% of the hunters get one, I would find out later why. We shot our bows and prepared for the next morning, I took my time screwing the broadheads onto my arrows and setting everything out so I could get up and go in the morning. I had trouble sleeping that night, I was so excited, I had been hog hunting before but with a gun, and with my dad. Those boars were 75 yards away, here I would be sitting alone in a tree stand waiting for the boar to come in closer than 30 yards. Eventually I slept, rising easily when the subtle knock came on my door. I was up dressed and ready to go in ten minutes. We loaded up into the trucks and headed out to the field. Seeing the thick brush in the dark made me nervous. Horror stories of boars charging and slashing hunter's legs swept through my mind. I got out of the truck and was pointed to my stand, I was on my own. I found my stand and climbed in, expecting to see hogs as soon as it was light. As I waited I heard the ranch wake up and come alive, Osceola turkeys were gobbling, birds were singing, and there were many sounds and songs I had never heard before. As it grew light, I listened. I turned to look at every rustle in the leaves. Could I hear something walking? Was that a hog grunting? Right next to me I heard rustling in the brush, I got ready to see my first hog when a squirrel came bounding out. I guess squirrels in Florida are just as big a pain as they are in Missouri. I waited again, staring hard, trying to see through the palmed plants. I had a clearing in front of me that would provide my 30 yard shot. I sat and imagined hogs walking right into the opening and standing broadside. Suddenly movement flashed in the corner of my eye. A sow and her piglets jogged into the clearing. They ran and circled and nosed the ground, as they made their way towards the spot I had picked to shoot. Of course I could not shoot a sow with piglets, but if a boar came wandering in behind her I was ready. No sooner did I get that thought out than two boars came into the clearing. My heart was racing as I waited for them to turn their heads. They moved along, feeding as they went, and when they both had heads down, I drew back my bow. As I aimed, none of my practice came back to me, I pulled the trigger for a perfect shot, if it was a deer. I cringed as I saw my arrow go right into the hog's shoulder, right into the thick shoulder plate that I was so ready to shoot around. As the pigs ran off I could tell I had poor penetration. I sat scolding myself as I waited for the guide to come and help me look for my hog. The horror stories kept me from crawling into the underbrush where my boar had run. When the guide arrived I got down and we began to look. It took a little bit of looking before we found any blood, it lead us to a trail that ran under the underbrush. My gun wielding guide did not hesitate to get on his hands and knees and begin crawling down the trail. He was out of site before I got up the nerve to follow him. I asked what would happen if we crawled up on a crippled hog, he said, he hoped he could get a shot off in time. Yeah, me too. The blood trail wound through the palmettos, my heart dropping when it thinned, and pounding when it flowed well. After about 100 yards we found my arrow. It was blood covered for about the first six inches, then nothing, my hopes of finding my trophy began to fade. We had a good trail for another 200 yards then a place where the hog had laid down. Blood was everywhere, then nowhere. The trail stopped there. We never even found another speck. It was beginning to get hot in the midday and the guide told me that we weren't going to find the hog. "They're tough critters" he said "Only get about 50%" I had heard that before, but it didn't make me feel any better. I hated the thought of returning empty handed and even worse that I had wounded an animal. My poor shot placement would leave a crippled hog. As we drove out I was told the hog would probably live, by the looks of my arrow and placement I had described. That still didn't help. The plane ride home was full of the replay of the shot over and over in my head. Wishing I could do it again and aim farther back. I had learned a bow hunting lesson that all bow hunters eventually learn. It is the reason I practice everyday, and go over mentally where to aim. It is why I am going to make sure I don't rush my shots this fall. I want to be ready for deer season so I can make that clean kill.
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