Texas Hog Hunt

 This spring we loaded up the trucks and headed down to Texas for a long weekend of hog hunting. Me, my brother, my brother in law, my cousin, and a few close friends. The air buzzed with anticipation as we rolled across dusty backroads toward the ranch, bows ready, rifles cleaned and coolers empty, ready to be filled.

The land was rough, rugged, and perfect. By sunrise the next morning, we were scattered across the brush, watching trails and listening for movement. It didn’t take long. Within the first couple of hours, shots echoed across the property. One by one, we started stacking pigs. Everyone got at least one, and a couple of the guys dropped two or three. The adrenaline, the camaraderie, the stories at the tailgate, it was everything we hoped for.

That evening we picked one of the bigger hogs and cut the backstraps out. The next day we grilled them over open flame, seasoned just right, and they were incredible. Tender, smoky, and rich with that wild flavor you can't fake. We sat around the fire that night, full bellied and grinning, already making plans for the next trip.

None of us wanted to leave. And all of us knew we would be back soon.