After work, I geared-up and collected my mate - the shopkeeper - and his .270. I carried my muzzleloader, a CVA .54" Mountain Rifle. I was hoping to stalk him in to a pig feeding on Saturday's scrub bull carcass - if we were lucky. I just had my muzzleloader along for the ride, because I like carrying it and one never knows what might happen.
We snuck along the creek toward the carcass. At one stage I had to shout at some feral water buffalo to move them out of the way. Nearing the carcass, all we could see were a couple of adult dingoes and their two pups. But we were hoping a pig might be on the carcass, or wallowing in the nearby creek, so we held fire on these pests that decimate the kangaroo and bush turkey populations.
There was no pig. We checked for tracks. Just dog tracks. We checked the carcass - eaten-out, but just by dogs and kites.
We continued walking to the end of the creek, where the water stopped. We were busy conferring about another waterhole to the north that would be dry at this time of the year, but earlier would draw game. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I bespied "two-bala donkey-donkey" (a pair of donkeys) feeding toward the water. I grabbed my muzzleloader, kicked off my thongs, crossed the dry creek - capping as I went - and crouched low to stalk closer. I made it to about fifty metres when one of them sensed something. I froze, keeping a big tree between the two of us so that he couldn't see what was troubling him. The other donkey continued to feed unconcerned, and eventually paused broadside, allowing me to place one of my wrinkled (bad quality - low heat) home-cast roundballs (from my first try) right through his lungs. Within moments he was down, and the other one took-off into the hills.
We went up and admired the old jack. Blood was everywhere, and I began tidying him up for the photo, while my shopkeeper mate decided to try to follow the other donkey and cull him with his .270.
While I was positioning and cleaning the donkey, I heard two shots ring-out, and presumed he'd killed the donkey. Then I heard him yell: "Ben, come over here! Pig!"
Now, pigs are as rare as hen's teeth in my part of the world. I've only shot a handful in two years here, all of them big boars - lone animals. So, I automatically presumed that my mate was excited to have shot - or be about to shoot - a good, lone boar. Hence, I simply grabbed the camera and ran through the bush in his direction. When I got there, he motioned toward a whole mob of pigs milling about in the grass some distance away, and told me to run back and get my rifle. So I did.
I ran through the bush, and then stalked low to some timber between the pigs and me. I think they were about fifty metres away when, kneeling, I steadied the rifle against the side of a tree, singled-out the biggest, and let the smoke out. He was hard hit, and bobbing around as they do when they're about to fall over. And that's when my mate started to shoot. He shot my dying pig with his .270, and shot another as well. He ran up as I was reloading, and told me I should try for the last adult pig left that had retreated some distance away, and was standing around looking confused. So, off I went, got to about fifty again, lined her up, and let the smoke go at her. The roundball - a perfect home-cast jobbie this time - went straight through her lungs and she was down in seconds.
The photo is a bit not-so-good, but it's still a good memory. Being a bowhunter as well, I don't claim animals that end-up with a bullet hole, so that first pig I hit doesn't count to me as a muzzleloader kill.
Interestingly, my mate was lining-up on the donkey when he saw a dingo attacking a pig. He shot the pig, missed the dingo, and yelled for me. As I ran over, he saw the rest of the mob.
It was a great way to end a very hot day - we had the hottest temperature in all of the Northern Territory today, at 41C. In all, my mate shot three pigs with his .270 - something he hasn't done much of, and I shot a pig and a donkey with my muzzleloader. I've killed plenty of pigs with smokeless rifles and bows, but this was my first with the smoke and roundball, and it was fun!
As usual, my load was 100 grains of Alliant Black MZ.
Hope you enjoyed the read and the pictures!
We snuck along the creek toward the carcass. At one stage I had to shout at some feral water buffalo to move them out of the way. Nearing the carcass, all we could see were a couple of adult dingoes and their two pups. But we were hoping a pig might be on the carcass, or wallowing in the nearby creek, so we held fire on these pests that decimate the kangaroo and bush turkey populations.
There was no pig. We checked for tracks. Just dog tracks. We checked the carcass - eaten-out, but just by dogs and kites.
We continued walking to the end of the creek, where the water stopped. We were busy conferring about another waterhole to the north that would be dry at this time of the year, but earlier would draw game. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I bespied "two-bala donkey-donkey" (a pair of donkeys) feeding toward the water. I grabbed my muzzleloader, kicked off my thongs, crossed the dry creek - capping as I went - and crouched low to stalk closer. I made it to about fifty metres when one of them sensed something. I froze, keeping a big tree between the two of us so that he couldn't see what was troubling him. The other donkey continued to feed unconcerned, and eventually paused broadside, allowing me to place one of my wrinkled (bad quality - low heat) home-cast roundballs (from my first try) right through his lungs. Within moments he was down, and the other one took-off into the hills.
We went up and admired the old jack. Blood was everywhere, and I began tidying him up for the photo, while my shopkeeper mate decided to try to follow the other donkey and cull him with his .270.
While I was positioning and cleaning the donkey, I heard two shots ring-out, and presumed he'd killed the donkey. Then I heard him yell: "Ben, come over here! Pig!"
Now, pigs are as rare as hen's teeth in my part of the world. I've only shot a handful in two years here, all of them big boars - lone animals. So, I automatically presumed that my mate was excited to have shot - or be about to shoot - a good, lone boar. Hence, I simply grabbed the camera and ran through the bush in his direction. When I got there, he motioned toward a whole mob of pigs milling about in the grass some distance away, and told me to run back and get my rifle. So I did.
I ran through the bush, and then stalked low to some timber between the pigs and me. I think they were about fifty metres away when, kneeling, I steadied the rifle against the side of a tree, singled-out the biggest, and let the smoke out. He was hard hit, and bobbing around as they do when they're about to fall over. And that's when my mate started to shoot. He shot my dying pig with his .270, and shot another as well. He ran up as I was reloading, and told me I should try for the last adult pig left that had retreated some distance away, and was standing around looking confused. So, off I went, got to about fifty again, lined her up, and let the smoke go at her. The roundball - a perfect home-cast jobbie this time - went straight through her lungs and she was down in seconds.
The photo is a bit not-so-good, but it's still a good memory. Being a bowhunter as well, I don't claim animals that end-up with a bullet hole, so that first pig I hit doesn't count to me as a muzzleloader kill.
Interestingly, my mate was lining-up on the donkey when he saw a dingo attacking a pig. He shot the pig, missed the dingo, and yelled for me. As I ran over, he saw the rest of the mob.
It was a great way to end a very hot day - we had the hottest temperature in all of the Northern Territory today, at 41C. In all, my mate shot three pigs with his .270 - something he hasn't done much of, and I shot a pig and a donkey with my muzzleloader. I've killed plenty of pigs with smokeless rifles and bows, but this was my first with the smoke and roundball, and it was fun!
As usual, my load was 100 grains of Alliant Black MZ.
Hope you enjoyed the read and the pictures!
