Despite being a bit on the warm side for early November, the afternoon was gorgeous...and the honking flights of southbound geese reminded me that winter is, indeed, coming. So, putting aside several dozen chores that were begging for attention, I grabbed a rifle and headed out for the evening.
Well, not ANY rifle. This is a NEW toy; one that hadn't even been afield before that afternoon...a Winchester M70 Featherweight Super Grade chambered in the time honored 7x57. I know, I know...I'm a Luddite for going hunting with ANYTHING but a 6.5 SomethingorOther. Well, ***spoiler alert***, I was a Luddite LONG before the 6.5 bore was rediscovered!
Long story short: a big black boar wandered in from the south and, since every step he took brought him closer to me, I let him come. Along with Luddism, age has taught me something approaching patience (plus shorter shooting distance minimizes my ability to find new and creative ways to botch a shot!). When he crossed inside of my imaginary "100 yard" line, I sent a 130 grain CEB Raptor downrange; he dropped like a sack of feed.
When I got to him, I experienced ground-shrink in reverse; I'd known he was a grown boar, but he turned out to be larger than I'd thought. Not that it mattered, as NOBODY with functioning olfactories would consider touching this bruiser (much less butcher him). Let's just say that he was FRAGRANT.