The weather was freezing, maybe 3 degrees Celsius with a strong southerly bringing biting wind chill which necessitated multiple layers. For two hours we watched a mob of fourteen pigs wander in and out of sight along a thickly timbered wind break and adjacent windrow of dozered trees. There was one dominant boar, a sow that was in season and two slightly smaller boars. Well, this big guy had his tusks full protecting his gal. Every time she was approached by either of the smaller boars she would let out squeals of hate. This would bring Mr Big charging in with tusks gnashing to the rear or shoulder, driving the smaller bloke off. Then the other fellow would see the chance to make good on his testosterone driven intentions if the sow had not run too far from the mob. On this went, over and over, sometimes in full view and sometimes not. A long shot was out of the question with the wind gusting at up to 15 metres per second. A stalk was a high risk manoeuvre with 14 sets of eyes to be seen by and the mob moving from thick understory to clear ploughed paddock and back. We had to choose our time perfectly. Right before dusk, with a combination of patience, judging the wind and moving to the right location I set Matt onto the final minutes of the hunt.