Mauser M03 Blog: Hunting with a Mauser M03

Last winter my Mauser M03 and I met up with a sow and seven offspring one cold and sunny morning on a beautiful farm. Click here to open that story in a new window.

Last Thursday, late on a sunny autumn afternoon I was taking my first walk for the season through the same area. I drove quietly through the farm and parked in a sheltered hollow just short of the last gate, which would let me into a paddock that was surrounded by forest on three sides. It had a ridge line running diagonally through the middle, with soft, green pasture falling away to the tree-lines. Just the way the piggies like it. I've been told that mobs of thirty have been seen here. It's about as good a paddock for stalking up on pigs as a fella is likely to find.

The sun was still an hour away from setting as I slipped through the gate and started up to the ridge. My plan was to walk calmly back and forth along the reverse slope, to keep a stealthy watch on all of the forest edges, until dark. That plan quickly went out the window when I tripped over five medium size pigs in the lush grass, no more than 50 metres inside the gate I'd just closed. I was on a march to get up the hill and had my head and eyes scanning to starboard as I came over a crest, which is why I didn't see them at 60 degrees to port when they were only 15 metres away. Still, I saw them before they saw me! I think it was my hands moving up with my earmuffs that attracted the attention of one of them a couple of seconds later. It let out a grunt and started running. Three others were quick to catch up and by the time I had my M03 unslung, cocked and shouldered, they were tightly bunched and 50 metres away, moving fast. How the bullet I fired at the middle one missed all of them is a mystery. The fifth pig was a little bigger and slower off the mark and I switched my concentration to it as I ripped the bolt back and ran a new round into the chamber. My mistake this time was that I tracked the pig with the crosshair rather than running through to its leading edge. Missed again! And then they were gone. :-| No amount of quiet walking along the ridge line was going to bring them back, nor any others that might have been in the area, so I enjoyed the view and the sunset and thought about my poor, out-of-practice shooting efforts. Next time!

Next time was the next day and I felt unreasonably disappointed when the five pigs were not in the same spot. I had my earmuffs on already this time and my Mauser in my hands. Hmmm. Grrrr. I'd seen nothing by the time it was too dark to see anything and upon reaching the car, decided to exit the farm by driving through the gate, over the ridge and out via another two paddocks. I'd wave the spotlight around a bit and still be home for dinner. Those five pigs must have been sitting in the shadows of the forest, watching and waiting for me to walk out of the paddock, because there they were, in the Landcruiser's headlights when I drove over the first crest. I'm convinced these pigs are leftover from the seven piglets I fired at last winter; they reacted so quickly to being disturbed. I didn't even bother trying to set up for a shot. But then the last one, the bigger and slower one, couldn't find the hole in the fence and started running backwards and forwards. I jumped out, set the light, opened the rear passenger door, grabbed my Mauser and poked the barrel through the open window of the open front door, just in time to find Dumbo in the scope, squeezing under the mesh. That's twice they've got away! This calls for special measures!

I gave the pigs and me a rest on Saturday and cooked up a plan for another meeting on Sunday morning. How is it that when the boys and girls at the Bureau of Meteorology say, 'Possible showers from midday or late afternoon', I have the windscreen wipers on full tilt as I'm driving up to the farm, while it's still inky dark? Big, slow, fat raindrops were slipping down the back of my neck when I opened the farm's front gate. I gave a thought to heading back home for a warm breakfast in a warm bed but checked the weather radar on my iPhone first. With a bit of luck the worst of the showers would soon end as a long hole in the radar reflection moved over the top of me. Nice one! By the time I'd driven along the muddy track, past many curious cows and up to my unlucky paddock, there was just enough light in the sky to see the clearer patch in the clouds, as promised by the radar, right overhead. It felt a bit funny to be assessing the weather by looking up at the sky. Ha! I'd already put my raincoat on, back at the first gate, and was about to walk away from the car when I decided to take a chance. It would make me overheat and was noisy, so even though the light was growing quickly I took the time to unlock the car, un-shoulder my Mauser and lay it carefully on the backseat, then move my spare ammo, earplugs, earmuffs and phone from coat pockets to jacket pockets. It took a couple of minutes but it was worth it. Apart from drips from trees (lots of those) there was no more rain to bother me that morning in that unlucky paddock. Maybe my luck was changing?

Or maybe not. I walked all around the paddock and then up and along the ridge line, back and forth. Slowly back and forth. Nothing. There was smoke from a nearby hazard reduction burn wafting in, making it hard to see the tree-lines clearly, not to mention making it hard to breath while going uphill. Then a thick fog joined in, reducing visibility to less than 40 metres. Really?! What else?! The sun came up over distant hills and looked like armageddon through the thick haze, which was now glowing red. Just like 'Nam, man! I got off the ridge and went for a long, straight walk along the adjacent and flatter paddocks, to where I found those eight pigs last winter. And, … nothing. The fog had lifted, sooner than I thought it would, so I headed back up to the ridge line. It took 160 fast and strong steps to get up, via the steepest route. I didn't count my heart-rate but it was surely illegal for my age. That daily bike riding must be helping. A family of magpies in front of me let the whole bloody neighbourhood know that a recovering human was approaching, so I stood for a while to see if they'd get used to me and let up. Nope. And then I saw him; a big, solitary pig, nosing around in the bark under a tall gum tree, about 60 metres away along the ridge. I was bringing my rifle off my shoulder when he decided to see what those stupid magpies were going on about. Did they really need to let the whole bloody neighbourhood know that a top boar was approaching! He decided he didn't like the look of my shape and immediately took off on a trot. I was pleased that he hadn't bolted at top speed and moved forward at my own trot, to a tree I'd use for a firing rest. Despite my elf-like progress, my boots crunched on the sticks underneath and he quickened his pace in response. Then I lost him behind some bushes. I took the chance to move forward to the next tree, 15 metres further on, to reduce the distance that was opening up between us and to improve my sight lines. I quickly took a rest on the trunk and cocked the M03's action. The boar reappeared and was about to run down a slope that would have taken him at full speed out onto one of those green pastures I mentioned, but changed his mind and went straight away from me, still up on the ridge. I now had a clear line of sight for a 150 metre shot. The Zeiss scope was on 4 times magnification so the cross hair was quite steady when it swayed over his big rear end. Texas Heart Shot. Bang! Whock! Got him!

His front legs were still working and pulled him in a scramble down the slope he really should have taken in the first place. He flopped into a shallow erosion channel above the paddock's water dam. I'd already reloaded, but took a moment to pick up the ejected 270 Winchester case at the base of the tree. It's a Norma one, after all! And I reuse them. A short while later I'd moved closer and a second shot from my Mauser put his attempts to escape to an end. Instantly. These Berger 150 grain VLD Hunting projectiles work really well. They open up so quickly and dump their energy so effectively that well placed shots are like a light switch.

I didn't want to leave him in the channel above the dam. I brought the Landcruiser up, got my work-gloves and then nearly blew a gasket while dragging him to a clearer spot. Stuff this! I'll use the 'Cruiser to drag him. I had to go slowly in first gear low range, to avoid snapping the light cord I had. I untied him in the middle of the open pasture, overlooked by the ridge I'd walked along for most of the wet, smoky, foggy, hazy but ultimately lucky morning. I'll climb back up that ridge in a few days and sneak into position, to see if Dumbo and his mates have found him. Chances are.