Thread: .338 Winchester Magnum Demolisher

This was in April 2019.
As for several years now, I go hunting in the same field, which I take as my hunting school. I say school because in it I am learning the beautiful art of stalking. And by the way I take the opportunity for some nights to make the waits. So it was that a week before Easter, I loaded everything in the car and headed out to the countryside in the town of Chamáico, La Pampa. After traveling about 530 km I arrived at the field where the owner was already waiting for me, cooking a good care of wild boar meat, later other hunters arrived, friends too, and between mate and mate, then the cheeses and cold cuts came and the lunchtime and since we were already at the dance we continued dancing. Between chatter and chat, the hunter friends who frequent almost every week gave me indications of some wild boars that entered the cornfield, from a neighboring mountain to that place. Ready I said to myself, he entered that mountain tomorrow to look for traces that lead to a wild boar. After such a huge lunch, I retired for a restorative nap. At six o'clock in the afternoon, well rested, take a good chair, binoculars, a couple of cigars, and without the rifle, look for a good place to try to see where the wild boars that entered the corn came from and returned. Being already located, and delighting a good cigar, I see something coming out of the corn and returning to the mountain, unmistakable, the stride of the wild boar, the sun had not yet set, which indicated to me that this good man was leaving early for dinner. He already had a good indication of where to enter the mountain the next day and if he was unlucky in stalking in the afternoon, he would wait for him when he entered or left the cornfield.
On Monday, after some mates and talking with other hunters, I went to the mountains, arrived at my paradise, very closed, but not impossible to travel. I was inside the mountain without being able to find anything until around noon, time to return for lunch, as always, with cold cuts and cheese, and then barbecue. After the after-meal, it was time to say goodbye to the hunter friends who were leaving. I was staying until Thursday. I had the field at my disposal for three days. But that Monday afternoon he was not going to deliver to the mountains again, he was going to wait for the wild boar that entered the cornfield early. Four in the afternoon I looked for a perfect location, the wind, tall grasses behind which I could locate myself and from where at any moment I had perfect visibility of the route that supposedly towards the wild boar to enter the mountain, the only thing I had against in That place was that the wild boar when crossing through a bite or short fire was going to be impossible to shoot it because it had cattle. Among me I wished that the wild boar would not pass through that place, but the footprints and what I had seen told me otherwise. Herding the cattle was not in my repertoire, so the only Shot I had was when I was about to enter the cornfield or when I was leaving.
Six thirty, he left the mountain and does not change his course, the cows served as a shield, I positioned myself on my knees and waited for him to be about to enter the cornfield, a shot of no more than 15 meters, and it was spectacular, he felt the bolzaso, and the animal retraces its steps and heads towards the mountain again, but after 20 meters it fell. I got up to go in search of him, and there was my great surprise, inside the cornfield I see a black lump, the soul left my body, I forgot about the wild boar that was a hunter, I went a few steps into the cornfield and I found myself with the ungrateful surprise of a calf lying on the floor in agony. I left everything in the place and went in search of the manager, and I told him about the accident, we returned to the place where the poor calf was still dying and with a shot to the head ended his agony. And on checking the animal we found that the bullet had penetrated its neck. Drawing conclusions, I came to determine that the .338 250-grain bullet passed through the wild boar and that because the poor calf was eating the bullet it pierced its neck, otherwise it was not eating or touching it. To make the story shorter, I highlight the boar and the manager the calf. On Tuesday I loaded everything in the car and I went to the town to look for the owner because he had left the field on Sunday afternoon and explain what happened, and tell him that I was going back to my town and deposited what I It cost the animal that had killed him, a 250 kg calf, and my great surprise was my friend's response, "Ferloni stop fucking around, I went back to the field and continued hunting, that as long as you were a child nothing has happened to you, you are nothing, the animal is eaten, apart friend, the fault is not yours is the one in charge, because he knows well that the calves cannot be inside the corn because they can die pastured "

"Ferloni stop fucking around, go back to the field and keep on hunting, as long as nothing has happened to you, you are nothing, the animal eats, apart friend, the fault is not yours, it is the one in charge, because you know well that the calves cannot be inside the corn because they can die stuck "

Correction: where you read mountain, you have to read forest