- Joined
- Apr 13, 2013
- Messages
- 9,435
- Reaction score
- 33,082
- Location
- Delaware, USA
- Media
- 97
- Articles
- 5
- Member of
- Atglen Sportsmen's Club, NRA, SCI
- Hunted
- RSA, DE, NJ, PA, KS, TX, ME
Here's the story. Last day/night in camp, leaving next morning around 10:00 a.m. Everything is packed including my hunting boots except for one rifle and some cold weather gear, goose down jacket, camo pants, long johns and headgear, basically all ready to launch for the airport. PH says, let's go out on the truck and get some springhares for the trackers. I grab the .17 Fireball, my hunting partner grabs his 17HMR. It's COLD. We're riding around for a couple hours whacking springhares when Holy Shit Batman, there's a nice warthog. PH says "Take him, take him, take him". He's about 75 yards away staring at the spotlight. I level the rifle, catch him in the scope, zoom to ten power and put the tip of the green triangle of the Trijicon below his eyeball and pull the trigger. THAWUMP, he is down hard. We jumped a fence and he' laying there dead. PH says put another in him, one never knows. Not arguing with him, I oblige. Second PH while loading him on the truck says, "Man, you got me working to the last minute". Turned out to be a successful not, a pile of springhares and one warthog.
