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Hippopotamus - photo by JoAnn Sturman
by Scott Sturman
Javelinas or peccaries, when fully grown are three to four feet long, weigh from forty-five to ninety pounds, and swarm over the Sonoran Desert of southern Arizona. While flying low level, we often saw groups of twenty or thirty of them stampeding through the arroyos. It was great fun to give them chase, as they did their best to avoid the Huey’s rotor wash.
Captain Robbie Long attended high school in Louisiana with Terry Bradshaw, the Hall of Fame quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and was a couple of years senior to me. One summer afternoon I was flying copilot with him near the Mexican border when we spotted an unusually large herd of javelinas. Captain Long sprung into action. “I'm takin' us down. Let's give these pigs a little exercise today. We've been chasing them for years, and no one has tried to catch one. Do you think it could be done?”
“They’re nasty fellows–strong, fast, and with tusks like sickles. Still, I bet if we could separate a small one from the herd, we’d have a chance. There's a tarp in the baggage compartment in the tail section. If it’s too tired to put up a fight, I might be able to tackle it and wrap the tarp around it before it gets too frisky.”
Robbie herded the javelinas for miles up and down the sand filled washes. As they began to fatigue in the intense August heat, Robbie culled a small pig from the group. He flew a few feet above the ground for another mile or so, then trapped it in a box canyon where it attempted to hide under a mesquite bush. He landed the chopper a few yards away, and I jumped out of the cockpit and snatched the tarp from the baggage compartment. Robbie kept enough pitch in the spinning rotors to stir up a minor dust storm. The sand and dirt made it difficult to see and added to the confusion. I tackled the javelina before he could react and quickly wrapped in the tarp. I carried the trophy back to the helicopter, threw him in the pitch black baggage compartment, ripped away the tarp, and slammed the door shut.
Captain Long grinned ear to ear and was about as effusive as a Southern gets. In Louisiana, where they catch huge cat fish by hand, it must not get any better than an escapade like this. “Y'all did good! I can't wait to show our prize to the boys back at the base. You take the controls and get us home real fast.”
Javelinas or peccaries, when fully grown are three to four feet long, weigh from forty-five to ninety pounds, and swarm over the Sonoran Desert of southern Arizona. While flying low level, we often saw groups of twenty or thirty of them stampeding through the arroyos. It was great fun to give them chase, as they did their best to avoid the Huey’s rotor wash.
Captain Robbie Long attended high school in Louisiana with Terry Bradshaw, the Hall of Fame quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and was a couple of years senior to me. One summer afternoon I was flying copilot with him near the Mexican border when we spotted an unusually large herd of javelinas. Captain Long sprung into action. “I'm takin' us down. Let's give these pigs a little exercise today. We've been chasing them for years, and no one has tried to catch one. Do you think it could be done?”
“They’re nasty fellows–strong, fast, and with tusks like sickles. Still, I bet if we could separate a small one from the herd, we’d have a chance. There's a tarp in the baggage compartment in the tail section. If it’s too tired to put up a fight, I might be able to tackle it and wrap the tarp around it before it gets too frisky.”
Robbie herded the javelinas for miles up and down the sand filled washes. As they began to fatigue in the intense August heat, Robbie culled a small pig from the group. He flew a few feet above the ground for another mile or so, then trapped it in a box canyon where it attempted to hide under a mesquite bush. He landed the chopper a few yards away, and I jumped out of the cockpit and snatched the tarp from the baggage compartment. Robbie kept enough pitch in the spinning rotors to stir up a minor dust storm. The sand and dirt made it difficult to see and added to the confusion. I tackled the javelina before he could react and quickly wrapped in the tarp. I carried the trophy back to the helicopter, threw him in the pitch black baggage compartment, ripped away the tarp, and slammed the door shut.
Captain Long grinned ear to ear and was about as effusive as a Southern gets. In Louisiana, where they catch huge cat fish by hand, it must not get any better than an escapade like this. “Y'all did good! I can't wait to show our prize to the boys back at the base. You take the controls and get us home real fast.”
The thirty minute low level flight back to base with the saguaros whizzing by the cockpit, and the thermometer registering 115 degrees, was a rough ride. When in radio contact, we called flight operations, “Beaver Control, this is Beaver 58. Send someone to the commissary for tomatoes, lettuce, bread, and mayo. We're bringin' home the bacon for BLT's!”
“Beaver 58, I did not copy your last transmission.”
“Never mind. We have a little surprise for you, and it's already gift wrapped. ETA 1510.”
After landing Captain Long and I wondered how we were going to get an angry javelina out of the baggage compartment. We slowly opened the baggage door expecting a charge but nothing happened. I peered into the darkness, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I spotted the pig flat on its back drenched in vomit. Javelinas stink anyway, but this smell redefined stench. The return flight had made the javelina airsick and listless. Once seeing the poor creature, the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches didn’t seem like such a good idea. After several hours reviving it, we we released the reluctant passenger in the desert.
“Beaver 58, I did not copy your last transmission.”
“Never mind. We have a little surprise for you, and it's already gift wrapped. ETA 1510.”
After landing Captain Long and I wondered how we were going to get an angry javelina out of the baggage compartment. We slowly opened the baggage door expecting a charge but nothing happened. I peered into the darkness, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I spotted the pig flat on its back drenched in vomit. Javelinas stink anyway, but this smell redefined stench. The return flight had made the javelina airsick and listless. Once seeing the poor creature, the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches didn’t seem like such a good idea. After several hours reviving it, we we released the reluctant passenger in the desert.
Catching a wild javelina made Robbie and me a legend in the detachment. Up to the day we left the unit, we were known as the guys who brought home the bacon.
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