Here, Piggy, Piggy, Piggy: Part II

By Joe Berk

Reading good buddy Airborne Mike’s javelina story brought back memories. I’ve been chasing pigs for more than 50 years and I only ever got three.  Two were captured simultaneously via film (the two you see above); the other was nailed in Arizona and brought home for consumption.  Yeah, I’m a Jewish kid who ate pork.  Don’t tell anyone.

I’d been on javelina hunting trips numerous times when I lived in west Texas, and on every one of those trips, we never even saw a javelina (we could have just as easily described those expeditions as T-rex hunts, because we saw about as many of them).  Good buddy Jose commented on Mike’s previous post that javelina make for good eating, but I’ve never had the pleasure and if offered, I’d politely decline.  Although they definitely look piggish, javelina are actually not in the pig family.  I’m told they are rodents.  No thanks.  I’ll forego rat tacos.


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About that Mama Javelina and baby photo you see above:  All those javelina hunting expeditions when we didn’t see a single javelina?  Well, we stayed on an Arizona guest ranch one year (not hunting anything except good times) and there were javelinas out the gazoo.  We heard them snorting and grunting up a storm outside our cabin one night, so I went outside with my manual focus Minolta 35mm film camera and took a bunch of flash photos, moving the focus ring a little bit each time because I couldn’t see to focus in the dark.  I got lucky with one of them.  I didn’t know there was a baby javelina in the mix until I got the prints.  The mama and her baby were only about six feet away  (I was using the Minolta’s standard 50mm lens).  A guy who saw that photo told me I was lucky Mother Javelina didn’t go after me.

I’ve been on three wild pig hunts (not javelina, but actual wild pigs).  On the first one, we spent three days rooting around in northern California and we didn’t see a single pig.   Our guide pointed out what he claimed was pig poop, but hell, it could have been any kind of poop.  What do I know from pig poop?

On a second northern California wild pig expedition, we were skunked again.  Not one pig and not one pig sighting.  Not even pig poop this time. All I came home with was the worst case of poison oak I ever had.  The itching was intense raised to an exponent, and nothing seemed to work except consuming large amounts of Budweiser, which I did for the three days it took to get over it.  After that episode, I stayed away from hunting pigs for the next 30 years.  Then, I got the bug again.

My pig and I, taken near Kingman, Arizona. That rifle (a maple-stocked SuperGrade Model 70 Winchester in .30 06) will shoot quarter inch groups at 100 yards.

About five years ago good buddy Paul and I hunted wild pig in Arizona and we both scored.   Our guide told me mine weighed about 130 pounds; Paul’s was a monster at well over 200 pounds.  I got an education on that trip. The butcher asked us about the cuts we wanted, but I really had no idea (it was my Jewish ignorance about all things of the porcine persuasion).  I let the butcher recommend what to do.  When we reached the end of the list, I realized we hadn’t added bacon to the list and I asked about it.  “There’s no bacon on wild boar,” he patiently explained while looking at the top of my head (I think maybe he was looking for a yarmulke, or maybe where I had my horns removed).  “Bacon is belly fat, and wild pigs don’t have any.”  Hmmm.  Whaddaya know.

That butcher’s guidance about wild pigs lacking fat had further implications.   The meat had absolutely no flavor.  Zip.  Nada.  Zilch.  No fat, no flavor.  I made a lot of chili with that meat over the next year (cumin, red chili flakes, and Anaheim chiles bring their own flavors).  But one of the “cuts” was sausage and that was good because it included a little fat.  I found a recipe for and made a wild mushroom and pork sausage barley casserole.  It was outstanding, so much so it has me thinking about going pig hunting again.


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Loaded for bear…

Good buddy Jason, a Ruger No. 1 in .338 Win Mag, and a 400-lb, 7-ft Alaskan black bear.

As the title of this blog implies and in this case, my good buddy Jason was literally loaded for bear. For several years I had owned a Ruger No. 1 single-shot rifle in .338 Win Mag.  That’s a monster of a magnum.  I had never fired the rifle and I sold it to Jason. He told me he was going on a bear hunt in Alaska (something I’ve always wanted to do), and I was happy to the see the rifle go to a good home. Most recently, Jason sent the photo you see above and a recap of his hunt to me to share here on the ExNotes blog. Here you go, folks!


It all started in 2016 when I purchased my first Ruger No. 1 in 338 Win Mag from Joe.  I’ve always wanted a Ruger No. 1, but I already had a Winchester Model 70 in 338 Win Mag. I planned to go on a bear hunt in 2018, so what I did was sell my Winchester Model 70 to my best friend, who went on the bear hunt, too. I would be using my Ruger No. 1. So this is a story about me and my new rifle and our quest for a big Southeast Alaskan black bear. It was a guided hunt through Alaskan Coastal Outfitters.

Our base camp was on a boat and in the evening we would take a skiff and cruise around all the little islands and bays looking for the right bear. We saw lots of bears (a lot of sows with cubs). We also saw a lot of boars. On Day 4 of our hunt we saw a really nice bear. We got as close as we could without spooking him. My guide told me to get out of the boat and he held the boat still for me. Then, as I was pulling my leg over the side of the boat I got hooked on to the edge of the boat and I fell face down in 8 inches of water.

The bear ran off and my beautiful Ruger No.1 was laying in 8 inches of salt water, so we raced back to the boat, took the rifle apart, and cleaned it up so it was like new.

The next day we went out again and this time I was extra cautious not to fall in when we came across the bear you see in the picture. He was about 300 yards from the skiff when we spotted him. We got as close as we could without spooking him, which was about 140 yards, and my guide kept on asking me if I could make the shot. I always answered “yes, no problem.” I lay down and rested my rifle on my pack. Wouldn’t you know it, I had to lay down in a little creek so I got wet again. We lay there for what seemed to be an eternity. My guide made sure it was a boar and not a sow. Finally, he gave me the OK.

Just then, the bear turned so he had his back to me (so I couldn’t shoot). It gave me an opportunity to situate my follow-up shot. I decided the quickest way to get a follow-up shot (if I needed one) was to shoot with the next round in my hand.

The bear finally turned broadside and I dropped the hammer. I hit him just behind the shoulder and he dropped. My guide backed me up with a 375 H&H rifle, but he didn’t need to fire it. The bear went down, and when we reached him, we saw he was the monster he appeared to be from a distance. The bear measured 7 feet and weighed about 400 lbs.


Jason, that’s an awesome story and a magnificent photograph.  I was sorry to see that rifle go, but it obviously went to a good home and you sure put it to good use.  You know, it takes a real sportsman to do what you did…going after bear with a single-shot rifle.   Congratulations on a successful hunt, and thanks much for sharing your adventure with us here on the ExhaustNotes blog!


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