A Sportsman's Outrage: Canned Hunting and its Effects

On January 1 I had the opportunity to start the new year off a wild boar "hunt" through a stroke of good fortune (or so I thought). This hunt was something that I had delighted in thinking about since I had first learned about it. I particular enjoy hunting boar as they afford the hunter not only a wealth of meat, but also an element of excitement when hunted on the ground. Their affectionate nickname in the United States is "the poor man's rhino" and for good reason! Wild boar are particularly tenacious in certain conditions and can stand their own against both man and dog. Because of this, I was particularly excited for this hunt. My hunt was to be conducted on a ranch in Oklahoma and was for a management pig under 150 lbs. I intended to harvest the pig with my Mission Eliminator bow and practiced continually to ready myself for the hunt. In fact, I even practiced out to 50 yards with broadheads so that I might be competent if such a shot provided itself. That, my friends, was not the problem.

I have struggled with whether or not I should write about this experience as it has the potential to harm someone's livelihood and well-being. That is not something that I take lightly. However, my conscious as a hunter compels me to write the truth and to be as ethical as possible. I hesitate to divulge the name of this "ranch", but will relate you my experience out of necessity. I struck out on this "hunt" with family friends and greatly enjoyed the drive to the location with them. Upon arrival at the "ranch" I was greeted by the owner in an odd, but comical fashion and brought to his residence to go over rules for the hunt and to sign a waiver. Notably, within the rules was the prohibition of alcohol while hunting. This was something that I was totally in agreement with. Weapons and alcohol at no point should mix. What did strike me as odd was that there was a limitation of two arrows per hunter (or likewise two bullets). This, according to the owner, was done so that the hunter would be forced to pick his shots and would not wantonly slay game. Fair enough, I'll bite, I thought. After the briefing we accompanied the owner to the hunting location where another hunter had downed a pig and was in the process of recovery. At this point I experienced my first concerns about the hunt. Before taking the wheel of a Blazer and driving us to the location the owner proceeded to fetch a beer from his fridge and offer the same to myself and the other hunters. I don't drink and didn't appreciate the fact that he was doing so while driving and while in possession of a loaded revolver on his hip. After we got to the location we happened upon two hunters who led us to their downed quarry. We came upon two pigs. One was stone dead, while the other, perfectly healthy, would not leave the scene. If this pig had been aggressive I might have understood, but it was not. Soon, my peers (I shudder to call them companions) began pelting the pig with large rocks. The pig would not leave! It simply laid down and wouldn't move. Finally, after a severe thrashing, the pig moved off about 20 yards. Then, the owner of the operation offered some insight. The pigs, he said, were litter-mates and he had released then together into the pen at the same time. WHAT? Released?

After the pig was recovered we decided to scout the area for our upcoming hunt. According to our host we were never to leave the marked trails while on his property. I thought this was a hunt? The "hunting" area, in totality was less than 80 acres, high-fenced, with a central trail and six feeders. It was also overflowing with pigs. Was this really hunting? I could corner and kick a pig to death on 80 acres----where was the challenge? Upon returning to the lodge we were brought to quarantine pens where new stock was vaccinated and wormed before being released into the hunting area. Two other "hunters" who frequented this location accompanied us and offer suggestions for "hunting" in this area between spewing indecent vulgarities to one another and the owner. One showed us with pride a large pig in a pen (over 700 lbs) that he was going to shoot next week once it was released. My head exploded! I lacked for words! I told him straight out that the pig was a Hampshire, a domestic breed of pig that I had shown as a youth within the FFA organization. This had little effect. I was utterly sick at this point. What were these irreverent buffoons doing to my beloved sport?!

That evening the people within camp gathered at the locations cleaning facility where the owner and several other hunters proceeded to attempt to find the meaning of life by guzzling beer and searching in the bottom of a bottle of moonshine. I was without hope for this endeavor. What had happened to the rules? This is a solid lesson for life as well. Rules, as important as they are, are worth less than nothing if they are not beholden by the creator and enforced with due measure. I retired to the cabin and watched Alton Brown's "Good Eats"---the only relatively enjoyable point of the whole miserable experience. When morning came we were once again escorted to the "hunting" area and once inside had pigs within 30 yards that were completely at ease with our presence. One of the other hunters yelled at them. The herd, close to fifteen pigs, never even batted an eye. I told him frankly, "These pigs are tame!". He would have none of it.

Even by the broadest definition of the word, this could not be called hunting.

1) The pigs were farm bred, or captured, and then released.
2) The enclosure was ridiculously small.
3) The "hunters" were only to remain on the single beaten trail and were not allowed to stalk on still-hunter anywhere else.
4) The pigs were in no way wild and would not shun man. In fact, I was told that the pigs would come to the sound of an approaching ATV.
5) The proprietor did not obey his own rules and drank to the point that his speech was slurred and incoherent.

I will never allow someone to impugn the most noble sport known to man by calling this contemptible act hunting. Fair chase hunting of wild animals in large-sized natural environs is the only ethical pursuit that a man can partake in. Anything other than this is simply killing. There is no challenge. There is no fair chase. There is no difficulty. There is no sport! Not only does this destroy the character of the hunter, but it also demolishes our public image. Do you want to see morons slaying domestic pigs in small pens and declaring themselves hunters? I didn't think so. Nor do I! Nor does anyone else! For our sport's sake, please keep it fair chase! If you are considering booking a hunt on any private ranch, go there and check it out before you sign up for anything! If you don't, you may regret it! Whatever you do, keep it ethical!