Miroslav Bojcun - Warthog Trophy

Miroslav Bojcun's trophies
Animal:

Note: Right around three in the afternoon, we noticed a herd of warthogs. They were approaching slowly, observing the situation. Dirk peeked out and looked at me. I shook my head. I was not interested. To kill time, I was observing the herd. Then I realized it could have been our last chance to catch something. I slowly moved and reached for my bow which was all ready with a set arrow. The quiver with more arrows was right next it. Dirk stopped to read and automatically pulled a rangefinder out of his shirt pocket. There was no need for words. He understood I must have changed my mind and that I’d like to try to catch a warthog. He measured the distance and showed two fingers, followed by a closed fist. Twenty-five meters. I will have to shoot between the pins. I looked at the sight and in my head I went over which ones where the right ones. It was the yellow and the red ones. I stood up carefully and I was getting ready to shoot. I reached for the bow so that the handle would not cut through my life line. I snapped the release to the bowstring and stared at the hog. It was motionless, turned just right. It was scenting; as if it knew I was watching it. I wasn’t watching the time, but it felt like it was taking hours. Dirk had explained to me that I should never look at the animals directly, because they will feel my gaze. I don’t know if it is true and if they really have that kind of power. I carefully drew the bow. My gaze was still fixed on the warthog. Even though only seconds had passed, it seemed like the drawing took forever. At an archery competition, the shot and the draw take approximately twenty seconds. It probably took the same amount of time in the hide, but to me it felt like at least ten minutes had gone by. The peep on the bowstring reached the right position in front of the eye. I adjusted the level on the sight, and I placed one of warthog’s front blades between two pins (twenty and thirty). Time stopped for a split of a second. The moment the release let go of the bowstring’s eyelet, the warthog moved forward. I am not sure if he could have heard something or it was just a coincidence. The speed of an arrow equipped with a hunting point, with a total weight of approximately five hundred grains, has a speed of about two hundred kilometers per hour. It had to fly twenty-five meters in half a second. Even this little time was enough for the warthog to move by thirty centimeters, so the shot went through him somewhere far behind its blade. The adrenalin had fizzled out and everything was now happening in normal speed. The herd of warthogs dispersed and the clearing was now empty. All that was left at the spot where the warthog had been standing just before the shot, was a black-wing arrow stuck in the ground.Dirk, an experienced hunter, didn’t lift an eyebrow. He just checked his “Made in Czechoslovakia” rifle. He radioed for a pick up and we started packing up. We still had not said a single word. After a while, we heard a truck coming from a distance. That’s when Dirk asked me: “What happened?” “I don’t know… It suddenly moved,” I said. “I told you you shouldn’t gaze at him like that. Let’s go!” he said and the conversation was over. Trackers with dogs were just checking my arrow. The sun leaned toward the horizon. I looked at my watch. It was past five. We didn’t have much time left. It will be dark before we know it. The sun does not set gradually in Africa. Someone up there just turns it off. Single file, we were walking to the bush to look for the caught animal. The dogs went first, but we did not hear any barking. They were followed by two trackers, then Dirk with his unlocked weapon, and finally me with my bow and arrow, ready, if necessary, to shoot the animal again. We kept on going without making a sound, in complete silence. The trackers were checking for traces of blood. The wound was not big and I could tell Dirk was skeptical. We walked for about an hour from the hide, which could have been roughly two kilometers. This was a real hunt. The dusk was quickly turning into dark. Spiders were all over the place and animals were starting to come out of their hiding places. This was their time, not ours. When we returned to Bakstaan, Dirk told me that it was not uncommon to see leopards in this area. However, his biggest concern right now was the wounded hog. He later explained to me that it could get very aggressive and dangerous. It can find a hiding place under a tree or a shrub and when we are very close, it can attack with lightning speed. It is uncertain whether we would even have enough time to react and shoot. We were brought back from our dark and pessimistic thoughts by the barking dogs. It was the first good sign. These tiny tracking dogs looked like sweet household pets, but they were sharp and perfectly trained. The tracker leading the group yelled something toward us. Dirk straightened up, and he finally smiled after a long time. The caught warthog was right before us. That was it for hunting for that day. I couldn’t wait to be back at the camp. I was first planning to jump in the pool, but once we got out of the truck, I was happy I even managed to take a shower. When I was done, Dirk was already waiting for me at the bar with a can of homemade beer. It was delicious.

Read more about Warthog hunting
Region: Africa

Baakstan