I have always loved warthogs. It was the first African game animal that beckoned me toward the Dark Continent. I don't know what it is about those butt-ugly critters that attracts me, but I had often said I'd go to Africa for nothing more than a warthog safari, if I ever got the chance. I did in September 2002. My lifelong hunting and fishing partner, Gary Sitton, invited me to join him on our first hunting trip to South Africa. With visions of warthogs dancing in my head, I signed on. We would be bowhunting from blinds and treestands near water holes.
We planned to hunt in late August (late winter/early spring there), before the rainy season began. This is typically a great time to hunt South Africa because the leaves are still off the trees, offering better visibility. Plus, it is quite dry, guaranteeing lots of activity around water holes. Like any newcomer to South African hunting, I was astounded at the quantity and variety of wildlife. I never knew what sightings a shift at a water hole blind would produce. I saw kudu, gemsbok, impala, hartebeest, blue wildebeest, waterbuck, zebra, eland, baboons, monkeys and guinea fowl by the hundreds -- and female warthogs with little pigs. Naturally, it was a good boar that I was after, and for reasons known only to them, they just didn't show up at the water holes I was occupying. Even though a really big boar (the uglier the better) was at the top of my wish list, I had little time for distress, with scads of other game coming and going, some of which I took. But that's another story or two. When the female warthogs with piglets came in to drink, their routine was most entertaining. You see, warthogs always travel as if they are in a hurry and running late to get somewhere. You never see them doddling along unless you catch them feeding unaware. They are almost always on the trot.Unlike other animals that approach the water holes with utmost stealth, slinking in behind the cover of trees and bushes, warthogs seem to make up their minds that they are thirsty and that’s that. They trot in quickly, kneel on their front legs to drink, stand up and stretch and then walk right into the middle of the water hole and lie down long enough to cool their undercarriage. And while lying there, the look on their eyes is that of is sheer hog ecstasy. After lying in the water for a few seconds, they walk out and stop and shake themselves, then pause to choose their direction of exit, and off they go as quickly as they came. I just loved watching them. They tickled me, and I often had to restrain myself to keep from laughing out loud at the homely hogs. Even the piglets were "coyote ugly." The saying, "a face that only a mother could love," must have been coined with warthogs in mind. Near-sighted mothers at that!
After a week or so of being conditioned to seeing females and young, two boars came rushing in to the water hole from the left of our blind. I didn't even see them coming. Thankfully, Gerhard, my professional hunter, saw them and alerted me. They parked perfectly, shoulder to shoulder, at the edge of the water, perhaps 15 yards from us. "Shoot the second one," Gerhard whispered.
I could see the head and right shoulder of the second boar. The nearest one obscured the rest of his body. Had I shot the near hog, I would likely have wounded the second with the same arrow, so Gerhard's call was exactly right. I settled my top sight pin on the second hog's shoulder and watched the arrow zip through him. At the snap of my string, the closest hog bolted ahead, right through the middle of the water hole as he exited at warp speed. My hog made a short run, bounced off a tree and gave up the ghost. I couldn't believe it. I had taken my first warthog boar! And was he ever ugly. In that regard, he met all my expectations. While not a giant in terms of tusks, he was certainly a fine representative specimen, which I have already made a space for on my office wall.
Later in the hunt, I was searching for a good mature eland bull. We had just pulled away from a wonderful lunch on the banks of the Limpopo River when I spotted a big warthog boar on the top of the riverbank. At 50 yards, there was no opportunity for a shot with my bow because he had also seen us and was hiding in a small gnarly thorn bush, waiting to see our next move before he bolted for parts unknown.
I grabbed my .416 Remington Magnum and found a little opening in the bush that exposed the point of the hog's shoulder. I touched the trigger and he hit the ground like a sack of wet cement. What happened next was one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
Many giraffes also occupied the ranch on which I was hunting. A three-strand electric fence had been erected to keep them from accidentally touching a power line overhead. Apparently one such accident had occurred, killing the giraffe, thus the electric fence. In addition, there was a four-strand barbed wire fence along the riverbank, which had been erected by the government to keep animals from spreading hoof and mouth disease between South Africa and Botswana. The problem was that the government fence didn't stop anything from going anywhere. Warthogs went under it, elephants went through it and everything else either stepped or jumped over it. Alas, bureaucracies are the same everywhere.
The hog was beyond both the government fence and the giraffe hot-wires. Gerhard and the trackers quickly made their way to the warthog and whooped with elation. This one was Mr. Warthog. They grabbed him by the tusks and pulled him under the government fence. The bottom wire on the giraffe fence was only about 3 inches off the ground, and since I had on rubber-soled boots I simply stepped on the wire and held it to the ground as they attempted to drag the warthog over it.
The hog was about halfway across that hot wire when a jolt of electricity hit him and it appeared for a split second that he'd simply come back to life. I heard the snap when the juice hit the pig, and he leapt to his feet, scattering trackers and my P.H. like quail.
For that millisecond before everyone realized that the hog was still amply deceased, it was quite a show, which ended in howls of laughter. Once the hog was safely through fences and hot wires, I admired him up close. What a splendid specimen he was, with great tusks and four glorious warts (females only have two). This was my dream warthog, to be sure -- far too wonderful to display only in part, so I decided on a full body mount. There were two remaining issues with which to grapple: (1) Where to display the beast, and (2) How to break the news to my bride that it would be in our living room.
By the time the mount is complete, the negotiations between the missus and me should be winding down. Her lawyers and mine will undoubtedly work out all the details and life will return to "almost" normal.
Editor’s Note: The author booked his hunt with professional hunter Johan Schoonbee. For more information, write Johan Schoonbee Safaris, P.O. Box, Alldays, 0909, Republic of South Africa ; call (from the U.S.) 011-27-1476-71462; or e-mail johan@johanschoonbeesafaris.com.
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