By Gus Plank
Many years ago while at work a mate, Hatchy, came up to me all excited about ordering a brand new rifle. The rifle was a Browning in the popular .270 calibre. It was the early eighties and the first model of the new A-Bolt series.
It took a couple of months to arrive, but when it did, unfortunately he did not have the money to pay for it. He asked if I wanted to buy it. It took me ten seconds to think about and say yes. It was good timing actually as I was thinking about getting a larger caliber for some time; my old .22-250 had served me well but was getting a little worn down.
After picking the rifle up I dropped it off to the local gunsmith to adjust the trigger and put a Weaver 3-9 variable on to finish it off.
Over the many years of owning this rifle I can honestly say it has never looked like letting me down. It certainly does not mind what you throw at it. It’s been bashed, thrown around and occasionally dropped but still shoots as well as it did when it was first purchased. It’s defiantly reliable. I’ve taken countless ferals with this rifle along with several top trophies.
Just recently, when I was hunting my regular block, I could not believe how much pig sign there was; the whole place was ripped up. I suppose it is understandable with the two consecutive seasons being so good. So I decided to head to a favourite low hill where I usually sit and glass. It was not long before I picked up two does a couple of gullies over. I thought I would have a closer look, strolling down a fence line bypassing a large flat which was covered in saffron thistle. After crawling to the lip of the gully and peering over, I was pleasantly surprised to see a good mob of deer, numbering at least 15. Amongst them was a couple of half-decent bucks, but I decided not to take any, preferring to let them go and let them grow. After watching them for a good half an hour I retraced my steps. Nearing the flat, I stopped in my tracks after spotting a mob of pigs busily turning over the ground in the middle of the saffron thistles.
I immediately sat down and as
I was bringing the .270 up to my knees I picked out the biggest pig and let the .270 do its work. The young boar dropping instantly with the rest of the mob beating a hasty retreat to the nearest hole in the fence line. A large sow also bit the dust before she made the fence.
As there was so much pig sign around, I parked the cruiser at my usual spot the following weekend. The light wind was blowing favorably from the southeast as
I made my way along the fence, which was boarded on the western side with heavy scrub.
I made my way up a slight incline noticing the tip of an antler just over the top of the hill. I crouched down and moved a little close, peeking over I found a large bodied fallow looking directly at me, and his antlers looked to have good length and were quite even. As he was looking at me I could not see his palms but in that instant I decided to take him. The offhand shot with the Browning taking him in the chest, dropping him immediately.
Walking over to the fallen buck I was more than happy to find a good solid set of antlers from a mature deer. He also sported a nice cape, so I decided to save it. As it was still reasonably early when I finished caping him out, I decided to leave the head and cape under a tree and continue to the other side of the property.
There was no shortage of fresh pig sign over the rest of the property: with so much sign I was more than confident of success. After an hour of searching and finding neither hide nor hair, I reluctantly started heading back to the truck. I was moving across the side of a hill when I spotted something down in the corner of a paddock and. bringing the binoculars up I was happy to see a large pig rooting around a small patch of bracken fern. At first I thought it must have been a large sow as there were several small black shapes around it. I was about 100 yards off it when I brought the binoculars up again a mild panic hit as it looked like a good boar with the smaller black shapes turning out to be crows.
I immediately put the legs of the bipod out, as I’m sure if I got any closer the crows would surely give the game away. Through the Weaver scope he looked like a really good boar. He had his head down ripping up the tussock facing me at about forty five degrees. I did not want to wait for a better shot in case the crows spotted me.
At the sound of the shot he dropped in his tracks. I was over the moon when I saw him up close. He was a cracker of a boar! The factory-loaded 130 grain Power Points sure hit hard. After wandering back to
pick up the fallow head,
I headed back to the truck more that happy with the mornings effort.
The old Browning has served me well for many years and I’m more than confident it will do so for many years to come.
0 Comments