Well, we've been looking for the Candy Striped Boar for a few nights now and last night...we found him. What a night! Ugh.
Around 4 AM, we were awoken by what sounded like trees being uprooted, limbs cracking all sorts of hellish destruction. Think of a pack of King Kongs running through the brush. Jumping out of my tent, I saw that Victoria and Runt were already out, Victoria grabbing her gear and Runt running back and forth through the campsite trying to decide which direction the sound was coming from. Just as Victoria was loading her rifle, out of the shadows charged the mad-eyed monster, knocking her on her ass. It's eyes and tusks gleamed in the moonlight as it charged towards Powell's tent (where he was cowering inside, I imagine).
|Runt in the Carnage|
In a flash, Runt was on the beast. Leaping onto it's brightly colored back and grabbing hold of it's mighty tusks! What happened next seems like a dream. A really bad dream but a dream nonetheless. The forest erupted with wildlife, animals charged into the clearing bewildered and running for their lives. Runt was riding the monster like a monkey on a Brahma bull and the porker was thrashing about, crushing our tents, impaling frightened animals on it's boar-blades...blood was flying everywhere! Victoria was trying to get a clear shot with her rifle, a tranquilizer dart at the ready, I was hoping it was a strong one, but Runt was on that thing like snot on a beard. It was a blur of fur, teeth, midget and hooves!
WHAM! In a split second the great pig ran headlong into a tree, tossing Runt off into the brush, head over heels. Thrashing it's head back and forth it loosed itself from the huge oak, it's tusks buried deep in the wood. In a flash, it turned towards Powell, who was out of the tent in his skivvies and trying to climb a tree like a squirrel on acid. POW!! Steelheads rifle cracked and the dart found it's mark, a beautiful shot, deep in the left pork butt. The wild pig-creature oinked in agony and did a back flip, landing on it's legs and staring at me, it's breath whooofing out of it's shiny snout like a steam engine. Then.... just like that, its eyes crossed, its legs shook and the thing dropped to the torn forest floor like a ton of Christmas hams.
|Powell's sketch of the beast, covered in Runt-blood|
Daylight was beginning to show it's faint light as we gathered around the monster. Runt crawled from the brush into what was left of our campsite. Carcasses of dead animals littered the clearing and our tents were in shreds. Thinking fast, Powell grabbed his sketchbook and captured the thing on paper. We had no idea how long the tranquilizer would last so we had to act fast. I took some hair samples from its gorgeous coat and was about to draw some blood when the thing leapt up and knocked me ass over tea kettle. It shook itself like a dog after a bath, glared at us and ran headfirst into the underbrush...and into the annals of history.
It was about 6 AM but I was ready for a drink...a stiff one.