Into perspective
It was a warm summer afternoon in the hills of Central West NSW. I had climbed two-thirds up the last rise towards the summit with my long heavy-barrelled Remington 700 chambered in .270 Dakota, hoping to put in some shots at mountain pigs. I was thinking of the previous day, when I had shot two goats on the opposite face of a hill across a wide gully in which a creek flowed through the middle.
Suddenly there was an explosion of pigs just in front of me. They had been resting, well-camouflaged underneath a low tree and I had unknowingly disturbed them, on my way up the incline. My thoughts returned to the present and soon I had a round chambered with the rifle aiming at a fleeing pig and the scope on 12x. I fired. And missed.
A second round
