1 Comment
Asylum offers dispatches from the farthest reaches of Planet Earth.

Simply by Googling "Wild Boar Hunting Florida" I came across these trip details: "Wild boar hunting with dogs that chase, battle and bay up a wild hog is the most exciting hunting adventure a hunter will ever experience in his lifetime. The mere fact of being in close contact with a fierce animal that is charging and attacking the hunting dogs, guides and even the hunter is something that can't be described."

So I pointed my rental car toward the Florida Everglades already knowing what this will entail. I assumed it would be just like Ernest Hemingway elephant hunting in Africa (if Ernest Hemingway happened to have a rusty car on blocks in his front yard and played banjo in a jug band).

Click on the gallery below to see what Harmon Leon discovered when he went boar hunting with rednecks in the Florida Everglades.

Wild Boar Hunting in the Florida Everglades

    To be prompt for my 7am wild boar hunting rendezvous, I drove rapidly two and a half hours from Miami, careening down several small roads, past Lake Okeechobee and into the pocket of extreme conservatism -- that which is Central Florida. There, the sawgrass grows high and the air smells like a mix of gators and escape prison convicts. In fact, I even pass a sign that reads: State Prisoners Working.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    I veer off onto a dirt road leading to a rusty gate that reads "No Trespassing." Undoing the latch as instructed, I expect to hear mild strains of banjo music (2 of 3 banjo jokes), continuing towards the Little Lake Lodge hunting camp where a lone trailer sits on the edge off a small lake (this must be the little lake) with a large alligator nestles on its shore.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    Parking my rental car next to a large truck with plates that reads Fast Gun, I'm greeting by Cliff-the Crocodile Dundee Of Boar Hunting, adorned with cowboy hat, and paunchy belly, who's loading up a large, red swamp buggy, while the sound of barking hunting dogs permeates the morning air.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    Grabbing a spotted hound dog named Heavy, we venture back to the swamp buggy, where patiently waiting for the hunt to commence stands a large man with a bushy mustache and a large woman who are also dressed in their wild boar hunting costumes. Both wear matching head-to-toe camouflage fatigues, (the wild boars will never see them coming), looking like extras in the Schwarzenegger movie Commando. "You're going to see a girl kill a hog!" the man portion of the combo boasts with a broad smile.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    As we get into a swamp buggy and drive through the bumpy brush, passing patches of saw grass and swamp cabbage, I question the camouflage clothes. Even if the wild boars can't detect us as humans, surely they would see a large, red swamp buggy coming at them at 35 mph.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    Suddenly, there's mad hound dog barking. "He's found a hog right there!" Cliff turns to the group. "Ok which one of you is ready?"

    The camouflaged girl sets down her Mountain Dew and loads her rifle.

    "She won the Miss Annie Oakley award for her high school," brags camouflage dad at her shooting proclivities.

    Suddenly a hog with long tusks frantically runs out of the brush with the dog close behind.

    Still seated, Miss Annie Oakley fires one shot. BAM! She hits the hog in the back.

    "He's going down." And then, "That hog's dead."

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    Cliff turns to me and asks, "Do you want to shoot?" Camouflaged dad and Miss Annie Oakley's faces light up.

    Ok, so this is the part where, once again, I'm supposed to say the witty, "I prefer to shoot photos not guns," and then everyone laughs. But somehow I don't. With only mere, minor peer pressure I suddenly find myself holding a 30/30 Winchester and given a brief instructional on how to shoot things as I'm told to get on the hog.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    I fire a shot, purposely not getting on the hog, in fact rooting for the hog to get away so we never see him again and I don't have to shoot anymore. The hogs run into the brush. Cliff jumps off the swamp buggy chasing after it. He disappears into the brush as well. The dog barking grows louder.

    Cliff runs back. "Good shot. You broke its leg."

    What?! How can that be a good shot? I wasn't even pointing the gun at the beast.

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    We get back on the swamp buggy. Heavy has the hog trapped, still biting at its head, as we park the vehicle almost directly over it.

    "Shoot it right in the head!"

    Even with my eyes closed, I end up unintentionally shooting the hog execution style in the back of the head. There wasn't even a chance in hell I could possibly miss being I'm right directly above it.

    "That's a good shot."

    Harmon Leon, Asylum

    This has become more like Dick Cheney hunting from the window of his Cadillac. Venturing off the swamp buggy, we stand there, as the hog lies dead in a puddle of blood still kicking its legs like they were powered by a motor.

    "His last thoughts were run, run, run," Cliff jests, as the former hog occasionally growls even after death; drool froths out the side of its mouth. Do I no longer know the difference between good and evil? Is my excuse, "I was only following orders?!

    Harmon Leon, Asylum