I was awoken from the land of nod by my mate Neil’s alarm clock across the hallway. I quickly gathered up my clothes while sorting out my hunting gear. Ten minutes later, I was drinking coffee in my slippers hoping tomorrow morning my son, Matt, would wash some mugs.
Having packed the Toyota the night before, it was just a matter of moving the shotguns from the gun safe, topping up the icebox and grabbing the dogs, so it didn’t take long before we hit the highway.
On the drive, Matt described the area we would be walking as a large almost impenetrable jungle dotted with wetlands. It would be hard going and hot, a bit like riding a pushbike in a sauna, but the good news was it held a fair number of quality pigs.
Matt hadn’t been joking about the wild, tangled mass of vegetation as the instant the three bailing
