Nearly one year ago -- as I write this -- my good friend, DJ, and I, were standing at our intended “take-out” point on the Verde River. A wet winter storm system had left our planned Verde River canoe float to hunt for javelina and deer in shambles. A surge of water left the Verde River (which had been flowing at around 1,500 cubic-feet-second) a chocolate brown torrent of now nearly 70,000 cfs of water, swallowing the entire desert landscape floodplain. We were just happy we didn’t get caught in that water surge mid-way into our multi-day float. Now, we were onto backup plans that didn’t involve our long-anticipated float.

Our next plan left us bouncing my Toyota Landcruiser on a slow crawl up a rocky volcanic road. Sharp jagged rocks and boulders, threatening damage to the undercarriage, left us moving slower than we could walk most of the time. We were chasing an arbitrary location on the map which we deemed to have good deer hunting. Turns out we made a pretty decent call. In a few days of deer hunting, we had seen and been close to several wiley coues deer bucks. In hunting with traditional archery equipment, we considered these small victories as great successes. This mountaintop, protected by miles of rocky road, also appeared to be a sanctuary for old alligator juniper trees. A tree so coveted for its value as fuel wood and artistic material, the old alligator juniper can be a rare sight in the road-laden areas of Arizona. However, within a few square miles of where we were, stood dozens of individually unique old growth alligator juniper trees -- each so different, the untrained eye could mistake some for different species at times. While some may grow tall and broad, casting a comfortable canopy; others may grow in gnarled sideways stumps, rigored by the weathering of time. I only find densities like this in the most remote of areas and hard to access by car. What a treat to stumble upon these sanctuaries! 

After having had our fun chasing deer, we really wanted to fill our javelina tags with our few remaining days off. Our current juniper sanctuary mountaintop was too high in elevation for javelina so we picked up camp and moved to the foothills of the agua fria river. Upon settling into our warmer desert camp, we dined on fried deer tacos next to the fire, hoping our next “shot in the dark” plan for javelina would pan out like our deer hunt.

We took a casual morning coffee in the lightening hour and a quick hike led us to our intended basin across the road. Approaching the first small vantage point, -- where we intended to sit and watch below -- we began discussing our plan. As our voices disturbed the silence of the still morning, we were interrupted by rustling and “whoofing” of javelina in the crossthorn brush just below our ridgetop. Here we stood, no more than 400 yards from camp -- at our random guess for a javelina spot -- and we have a herd of javelina rustling in the brush inside of 30 yards. What a great plan that one turned out to be! Both of us quickly tried to set ourselves up around the brush with some shooting lanes. Hoping the scattering javelina would run in front of one of us in the midst of their confusion, or maybe we could “whoof” one back into us during their scatter. We could both hear javelina running in the brush, likely unsure of what was happening above them. Then, I see DJ draw his bow, aimed down into the crossthorn. Through a narrow lane, he weaved a wood arrow. Though I could not see his shot from my position, every sound I heard affirmed to me we already had a dead javelina. I then commenced to “whoof” back at the javelina in the brush, hoping to coax one out into one of my lanes. Not quite so much luck. I then saw them move downhill and out of the brush. I try to leap-frog ahead of them down the hill. Moving a little too quickly, I come face to face with a few of them at close range. Unprepared, they quickly figure me out and turn for another direction. I decide to call it off and turn back to help with DJ’s javelina. Being as close to camp as we were, in short order, we have his javelina processed and in coolers at camp. 

After foiling yet another few of my attempts on javelina, we found ourselves on the final evening of our hunt with little light left and headed in the direction of camp. Much of the basin was already in the shadow of the setting sun and, almost simultaneously, we both see a herd of javelina feeding across the ridge just across the gully from us. After verifying which way they were headed and planning a stalk, I quickly set off to get ahead of them. In a matter of minutes, I was in my socks, sneaking from one prickly pear to the next, waiting for the herd to start feeding up to where I thought they would go. I quickly caught sight of a few and positioned myself where I hoped to get a shot under 15 yards. As I positioned myself, a javelina posed itself to step out from a prickly pear clump and present me with a nice shot. I draw, anchor and -- in my excitement -- send the arrow clean over its shoulders audibly skipping in the rocks behind. This action sends the herd into a classic state of confusion. I quickly nock another arrow and soon, I have javelina literally bouncing around me in circles, hackles raised. I would come to full draw on one javelina and, just as soon as I was settled, it would bound away. I would spin around towards another javelina which simultaneously revealed itself, come to full draw and have the same scenario unfold once again. DJ, on the other side of the wash, reveled in the enjoyment of watching me though his binoculars, looking like the fumbling ringleader losing control over his javelina circus. I was sure I would be able to pull off a shot once more but soon the javelina re-grouped and headed out of town. On our hike back to camp, we found solace in the comic relief offered through my unsuccessful attempt to tag a javelina. In a comfortably cool desert night, we shared in the grilling of the heart from DJ’s javelina over a bed of mesquite. We rambled on in anticipation of future adventures.