jaycobkelsey
New member
So I may not be the best writer in the world, or even the best storyteller, but I'll do my best. In 2020 my wife and I lost our jobs (like so many people) and our camper we were living out of, so we moved our tent setup deep into the mountains of the Cohutta Wilderness for a total of 6 months, surviving off of ramen, canned chili, and whatever the land provided. It was both the best and worst time of our life; we learned a lot, suffered through, had moments of triumph and great defeat, and overall had an overwhelmingly rewarding and formative experience surviving the woods of North Georgia. Can't tell the whole story here, as it would basically be book length; I decided to focus on me and my wife's wild pig adventure.
We were camped out on an unnamed pond made by a crude dam somewhere in the north along the Tennessee border. Squirrels abounded and we were able to put plenty into soup, and the fish my wife caught were a great supplement, but after two months in the wilds of the Cohutta we were aching for red, fatty meat– we could feel the malnutrition setting in. I had lost 20 pounds over those two months, and could feel it in my mind as well as body. My wife fared just as badly – the wilderness was taking its toll. Thankfully I had more than my 10/22 – I had taken both my beautiful Henry All Weather in 44 Magnum with us, just in case larger game became available. There were plenty of bear in the area – I had several close encounters with them moseying along near our camp –but didn't feel comfortable with the idea. Too much meat for us to handle with only salt for preservation, plus the legal aspect of poaching a bear did not sit well. I set out to find signs of other game in the ridges and valleys around our secluded pond.
After several days, I found signs of wild hog. A print here, scat there, burrowing and trenches as they tear up the ground looking for food – I knew they must be close. Some of the signs were very fresh, and seemed to indicate they were moving towards our camp. Nonetheless, I could not find them to save my life. This continued for about a week, trying to track the elusive pigs.
Finally, our luck came through – as I was out tracking, I heard my wife's whistle – two quick toots, a signal for me to return to camp. I quickly and cautiously made my way back through the ravine leading down to our tent, where I found my wife signaling to be quiet. A finger to her lips with one hand, a pointed finger off to my left with the other. My eyes followed her gesture, where a small, lone hog stood not 50 yards away, eyeing us with trepidation. Come to find out later, it got separated from the group, which had moved to the other side of the pond; our tent stood between her and the shortest path to its sounder. I took a knee, stabilizing my Henry, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. Right behind the ear- a perfect shot. The hog flopped over and started kicking in place to no avail. We waited until it stopped moving, no more than three minutes (though it felt like an eternity), and started towards the creature. It took both of us to haul the animal through the brambles to camp so we could process it.
As I gutted the animal, my wife tended to the fire to prepare our meal. Making a pyramid frame, we suspended the carcass over the coals and draped tinfoil over it to channel smoke over the back. After two hours on the burning embers, we were able to peel the backstrap right off the bone. I swear, it was the best meal we had ever had – I remember the taste to this day. Delectable. After eating until our stomachs were filled to the brim, we salted the shoulders for use the next day. It fed us for a full three days until it started going bad, but to not waste the animal, we used the small dried leftovers to go fishing. Surprisingly effective.
I'm not sure how to end this story, to be honest, as there is so much more to tell. The adventures we shared in the mountains of North Georgia were unforgettable, we learned so much, and it forged our marriage in the struggles we faced together. Our time in the woods was great – and terrible. We suffered through, and eventually emerged from the wilds to begin a new life post-COVID. As difficult as it was, we still look back fondly at the time we roughed it out, made it through, and came back stronger in our relationship than ever.
We were camped out on an unnamed pond made by a crude dam somewhere in the north along the Tennessee border. Squirrels abounded and we were able to put plenty into soup, and the fish my wife caught were a great supplement, but after two months in the wilds of the Cohutta we were aching for red, fatty meat– we could feel the malnutrition setting in. I had lost 20 pounds over those two months, and could feel it in my mind as well as body. My wife fared just as badly – the wilderness was taking its toll. Thankfully I had more than my 10/22 – I had taken both my beautiful Henry All Weather in 44 Magnum with us, just in case larger game became available. There were plenty of bear in the area – I had several close encounters with them moseying along near our camp –but didn't feel comfortable with the idea. Too much meat for us to handle with only salt for preservation, plus the legal aspect of poaching a bear did not sit well. I set out to find signs of other game in the ridges and valleys around our secluded pond.
After several days, I found signs of wild hog. A print here, scat there, burrowing and trenches as they tear up the ground looking for food – I knew they must be close. Some of the signs were very fresh, and seemed to indicate they were moving towards our camp. Nonetheless, I could not find them to save my life. This continued for about a week, trying to track the elusive pigs.
Finally, our luck came through – as I was out tracking, I heard my wife's whistle – two quick toots, a signal for me to return to camp. I quickly and cautiously made my way back through the ravine leading down to our tent, where I found my wife signaling to be quiet. A finger to her lips with one hand, a pointed finger off to my left with the other. My eyes followed her gesture, where a small, lone hog stood not 50 yards away, eyeing us with trepidation. Come to find out later, it got separated from the group, which had moved to the other side of the pond; our tent stood between her and the shortest path to its sounder. I took a knee, stabilizing my Henry, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. Right behind the ear- a perfect shot. The hog flopped over and started kicking in place to no avail. We waited until it stopped moving, no more than three minutes (though it felt like an eternity), and started towards the creature. It took both of us to haul the animal through the brambles to camp so we could process it.
As I gutted the animal, my wife tended to the fire to prepare our meal. Making a pyramid frame, we suspended the carcass over the coals and draped tinfoil over it to channel smoke over the back. After two hours on the burning embers, we were able to peel the backstrap right off the bone. I swear, it was the best meal we had ever had – I remember the taste to this day. Delectable. After eating until our stomachs were filled to the brim, we salted the shoulders for use the next day. It fed us for a full three days until it started going bad, but to not waste the animal, we used the small dried leftovers to go fishing. Surprisingly effective.
I'm not sure how to end this story, to be honest, as there is so much more to tell. The adventures we shared in the mountains of North Georgia were unforgettable, we learned so much, and it forged our marriage in the struggles we faced together. Our time in the woods was great – and terrible. We suffered through, and eventually emerged from the wilds to begin a new life post-COVID. As difficult as it was, we still look back fondly at the time we roughed it out, made it through, and came back stronger in our relationship than ever.
