Running on Empty

[Mike P]

I never did like running through swampy places with a loaded rifle. When I was barely twenty-two years old I did a lot of running in swampy places with a loaded rifle. I was young and the rifle didn’t seem so heavy. And I had incentive to run well. I was running for my life. Someone wanted to kill me.

And now I found myself running again some thirty-eight years later, running through a wet place with a rifle. The damn thing felt like it weighed a ton. And now, I was not running so well. But one thing was the same. I had tremendous incentive to run. Something was trying to kill me.

In both cases those trying to kill me were justified in what they were doing. After all, I was trying to kill them. And I dare say neither liked the idea any more then I liked the idea of them doing the same to me. I got lucky when I was young. I came home from a far away land where I ran with my rifle. I came home without a scratch. Some four decades later my luck ran out. I didn’t run fast enough. The thing trying to kill me caught me. And were it not for a Florida cur and a Rhodesian ridgeback, I am pretty sure it would have succeeded.

Spot and stalks had grown old. That had been done successfully more times then I could remember. And hunting from a stand had become even worse. It had become borderline boring. We all needed the adrenalin high from the chase. We needed to confront the beast face to face. Never mind the fact that there were never less then three or four dogs separating us from the beast, lunging at him with white canine teeth flashing. The mere proximity of such a beast being so close with those large sabers for tusks was the proof of our manhood! This was the way we chose to hunt the boar. And this was also the way the boar chose to hunt me.

He was big. When I first saw him I thought for sure he was over four hundred pounds. And he was as black as a moonless night in February. He had his back to a deep pool in the middle of the cypress swamp. He knew this was the way to keep the two dogs in front of him. They would lunge forward at him but he would give no ground. He would counter attack slashing at his tormentors with his tusks and actually gain ground only to slowly surrender it back to the dogs as he placed his hind quarters once again to the deep pool and the sanctuary it provided. This was by no means a stalemate. The boar had the upper hand in this contest and it was only a matter of time until he would catch one of the dogs. I realized this and made the mistake. I was so blinded by the thought of one of the dogs getting severely injured that I made the error in judgment. I moved toward the boar too quickly. And I moved too close.

I have read stories told by people who became injured due to some event or another. Many say they could see it all happening in slow motion right before their eyes. That didn’t happen to me. What happened to me happened in less time then it took to type these last three words. The dogs lunged; the big black boar counter attacked and caught the ridgeback just above the right leg and below the neck. With just the slightest movement of his massive neck he flipper her aside and she was airborne. But this time he didn’t slowly retreat to the deep pool to his rear. He didn’t break stride and came forward. He came right at me.

The flight instinct in man is strong. It never occurred to me to stand my ground and fire my rifle. I was not going to fire my rifle at this boar during this chase, it wasn’t my turn. I was just there for back up. Doc was going to kill this boar with his hand gun, the large python with the red dot scope on top. I don’t know if this fact had any meaning in my decision not to stand my ground. The rifle never came up. Instead, I gave full control to the flight instinct and pivoted directly away from the charging boar and ran.

As I said before, this all happened in an instant. But just for a moment I was twenty-two again. I was running with my rifle and I was engulfed again with the same terror I felt those many years ago. And then he hit me and I was on the ground. There was mass confusion. I was yelling at the top of my lungs and kicking my feet at the black mass above me. The boar was matching my screams with shrill shrieks of his own. The two dogs were also contributing to the chorus with guttural growls and barking and the entire combination was deafening.

And in a few seconds it was over. I remember just looking up at the sky and seeing the clouds. I could hear the shrieks of the boar and the barking of the dogs but it grew less and less intense as they moved away from where I lay. I heard the roar of the python and then all became quite. I just laid there looking at the clouds. I didn’t feel any pain. In fact, I didn’t feel anything.

I saw Doc’s face as it replaced the cloud I was staring up at. I heard him say “Don’t move; let me have a look at you.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just looked at him as his eyes moved across me as I lay there. I saw relief in his eyes as he said “Your ok, you’re bleeding but it is nothing I can’t handle. Christ, I thought that son of a bitch was going to kill you!”

I felt the pain when he lifted me up to my feet. The boar had caught me in the right butt cheek and my camo pants were ripped enough that I could see the wound just before Doc put his white tee shirt up against it and applied the pressure. There was blood everywhere and I assumed it was not all mine. I knew the female ridgeback must have been bleeding profusely after catching that tusk above the leg and thought surely some of this belonged to her. But when I asked the question Doc told me what I was seeing was indeed mostly my own.

Of course Doc lied to me when he told me I was ok. I was anything but ok. But he knew what to say. I also had a hunch that all was not ok when he never would remove his hand from my backside and I could feel he was exerting a lot of pressure to the wound. It took forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. He never left my side. His hand never ceased the pressure.

The boar opened me up with surgical precision. It took sixty-eight sutures to close the L shaped flap the tusk created as he swung up and out with his head. I lost enough blood that they gave me two units. I objected strenuously to the transfusion and was just certain I would receive some tainted blood as the news of just such happenings were on the evening news every night with horror stories about diseases contracted during the process. Doc told them I was “not thinking correctly” and insisted on the transfusions and told them he would take full responsibility as my attending physician.

We still hunt pigs together. The story of the big black boar running me down is told every year at camp and the others laugh and make fun of me. The fact that my wound location was on my right ass cheek naturally adds to the humor they all find. I laugh right along with them and the story seems to grow from year to year as camp stories have a tendency to do.

And every year on the first morning of the hunt as I come out of the shower, I display my right butt cheek for the three of them to see. No one laughs. It is reality check time. They see the scar and realize that what we are about to hunt should not be taken lightly.

I don’t go into the swamps anymore following the dogs. I know I’m running on empty.

[Wayne B]

Mike.. you blow me away with all of your stories. Which is probably the intended purpose . At first I thought this might be happening in a far away place where we all know you have been before. Much has been discussed on this board about the world's events past and present. Both our countries have a committment to the rest of the world. And I don't really want to get into a right or wrong debate. But I will say this. My grandfathers fought in the world wars, my dad was army through and through and fought in Korea. As kids we were hauld all across Canada serviving on base after base. I've always had a problem with younger guys at work that trash the committment that our predessorrs have made. Would I want my own kids to do what so many have done? I'd be extremely proud, but I'd still be terrified the whole time they were over there. Eveybody still needs to support the men and women that have chosen to do what they do

[Crunch]

Mike,

I've enjoyed everything of yours that I've ead so far. I wish that I had even a small portion of your gift for language.

ATB,

crunch

[awshucks]

Another great story, Mike! You know, I've come to believe over the years, when your number is up......it's up. The idea, however, is not to draw out of the deck any more than you have to, lol.

[saxman]

I have to let the goose bumps go away first---------------
OK,WOW Mike.
That story hit home for me as to what could have happened.
I was charged by a much smaller boar but he was just as pissed off.
I fired my cap lock 50 cal ML at him and quickly climbed a tree with nothing wounded but my pride.I missed and so did he.I think I learned the most from the encounter.

Great story as always.

[Camper]

You certainly have a gift for writing!
Thank you!!!

[flbuckmaster]

I have to deal with these creatures each time I go hunting here in Florida. Thats why I hunt from the back of a kawasaki mule. even then I dont always feel safe.

jay

[chris4570]

Great story. Very talented writer.

What happened to the ridgeback?