I've had a couple of large sounders here on the place that are now about 95% nocturnal...which is causing me to change my own tactics.
With the game cams giving me a broad hint about when they might arrive, I've taken to hiding at night and watching for them with both my faithful old Swarovskis and an old AN/PVS-4 Starlight Scope. Once they arrive, I'd try to stalk up on them for a little "up close & personal" meeting. I've been carrying a good smooth-working 870 sporting a Streamlight TLR-1 on the forend, and there's a 1911 with enough magazines on my belt to repel boarders should things get western.
When the hogs arrived a little before 8:00 last night, I moved west about 75 yards to take best advantage of the wind and then started the stalk towards the pigs with only the half moon occasionally peeking from the scuddy overcast for light. I'd made it to within about thirty yards of the hogs, and still behind cover (or so I thought) when I heard the bunch leave the area heading southeast. Not exactly sure how I got busted, but there you go...sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.
I gathered my kit and began the hike back to the house, figuring that a positively obscene Scotch was in my future. I was within 50 yards of the house pasture gate when I heard gentle rusting in the thick catclaw just off the road. I swung toward the sound; and what I'd at first figured to be either armadillo or skunk was beginning to sound like a BIG durned armadillo...and I brought the 870 up to my shoulder. When the rustling got right in front of me, I flipped the switch on the Streamlight...and lit up a 3/4 grown shoat eight yards away and just at the edge of the catclaw. Other dark lumps were arrayed behind him. For a half-second, everything froze...
In a blink, the hog started to swap ends but the big, rifled slug caught him halfway through his turn and dropped him, kicking and squealing. I cycled another round into the chamber and swung the muzzle to cover the other hogs, but they weren't having any...and they crashed back the way they'd come. I put another round into the now feebly kicking hog to make sure he was down to stay and thumbed replacement shells into the magazine tube.
Well, it wasn't the original plan...but I'll take it. Now, about that Scotch...
Right where I left him last night.