When Pheasant Hunting Turned Into an Unexpected Wild Boar Encounter

An unexpected trophy was taken on a hunt by two friends, even though both could fairly be counted among inexperienced city hunters. For more than an hour they walked through thickets of barberry, sea buckthorn, and oleaster. Bad luck dogged their every step.

The pheasants kept rising too far off or behind the bushes, and one bright, handsome cock burst out from under their feet with a cry and flew straight at one of the companions. Neither could shoot, and the cock veered safely aside between two bushes.

How the dog scented the game

The hunting dog barked angrily beside an enormous, dense barberry bush, signalling that something was hidden inside.

- There's probably a badger in there; she'll flush it out right now!

one of the companions shouted. They reloaded their guns with buckshot cartridges and took up positions on either side of the bush. The dog's owner called out:

- Go on! Get it!!

The dog hurled itself forward, barking.

The huge tusker boar

There was a crash, and suddenly, instead of a badger, a huge tusker boar burst straight out at one of the hunters, clacking its tusks and spraying foam. For a single instant the black monster froze in place.

The hunter's mouth went unpleasantly dry, and, as he later admitted, to this day he cannot recall how his gun came to fire. His hands raised it of their own accord, the stock settled against his shoulder exactly where it should, his finger squeezed the trigger, and the shot rang out. The whole thing was done almost unconsciously. What stayed with him forever was the way the boar grunted and lunged aside, pursued by the hunting dog.

The crashing through the bushes and the frenzied barking receded quickly, then everything fell silent. The hunters set off along the trail. A hundred and fifty metres on lay the boar, showing no sign of life. The dog had sunk its teeth into it in a death grip, growling viciously and trembling all over.

The companions stood before their unexpected trophy and had no idea what to do with it — the boar weighed at least eight poods.

The old shepherd

Luckily for them, a shepherd rode up on a low, shaggy little horse. The old man wore a padded robe belted with a towel, and on his head sat a fox-fur malakhai.

- Oh my, what a pig!

And the Kazakh spat with disgust straight onto the hunting trophy. In his deep conviction, the boar was an unclean animal.

- Grandfather, haul the boar to the ranger's post for us!

the hunters asked the shepherd.

- What are you saying, comrade? The law forbids it. Call the driver with the truck! How did you get it? — The dog flushed it out of the bushes. We never expected a boar in there; we thought it was a badger! — What are you saying, comrade! A pig leaves tracks. How did you not see them? Are you blind, or what? Ay, ay, ay...

And the old man shook his head reproachfully. He clearly had a low opinion of the two men's tracking skills. But money proved stronger than religious scruples, and the old man agreed to drag the boar to the game ranger's cordon, where the inexperienced hunters had decided to stay. The shepherd climbed down from his horse, untied the lasso, and handed it to the companions: he did not want to dirty his own hands on a pig.

The hunters tied one end of the lasso firmly around the boar's snout and the other to the saddle. The old man tugged the little horse by the rein. It jerked, hunched, and with difficulty began dragging the carcass behind it.

The conversation with the game ranger

The game ranger was not the least bit surprised by the amazing luck of the city hunters, even though they had seen a boar for the first time in their lives and had bagged it so easily they hadn't even had time to be frightened. They tumbled over one another recounting every tiny detail, while he listened only out of politeness, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

He had more than forty boars to his name, and this unexpected trophy was remarkable only to novices. The moment they fell quiet, the ranger lifted a small-bore rifle from a nail on the wall and stepped toward the door.

- Where are you going? — I'll be back soon!

came his voice already from the entryway. The ranger returned after dark and dropped a bundle of four dead foxes by the porch.

Following the boar's trail

It turned out he had hidden in a bush a kilometre from the cordon, right beside the drag mark left by the boar's carcass. Before long the first fox appeared from behind the hill. Nose lowered to the ground, it ran along the drag trail.

Wherever the shepherd had led the horse around a bush or a large stone, the fox cut the corner straight and then picked up the trail again exactly. A bullet from the small-bore rifle smacked into the fox's forehead, and it dropped as if scythed down. The ranger ran a hundred metres farther along the trail and hid again.

The second fox, and all the rest, met bullets rather than the boar's carcass. Darkness kept the ranger from increasing his tally: that year there were more foxes in the mountains than hares. In the evening everyone happily dined on fried boar liver.