This time of year has been known to set me off in a panic. Just when I should be mellowing out after a long season, my inner conscious of a locomotive goes crashing into my thoughts without attempting to even pump the brakes. “Hey dipshit, it ain’t over until you say it’s over.”

We’ve always had it out for each other. To be honest, he’s really always had it out for me. I consider myself a nice guy, but him… man he can really cut.

Not wanting to raise the beast’s temper any further, I give in. I figure I have enough sessions of therapy coming my way, pissing off my inner self will only add to it.

OK so what to hunt? Coyote in the eastern plains of Colorado? Meh, might be fun, but I’ve done it before and it’s lacking in adventure. Besides Mother Nature has decided it wants to rescind on our temperate winter and instead puke a bunch of the white stuff on us this weekend.

It’s February and I’m over the cold. Even more so I’m over complaining about the cold and doing nothing about it. I want to be in my Speedos and flip-flops chasing aggressive animals through the thorn infested deserts of the south.

Mexico is kinda dicey right now, what with them having these small tiffs over drugs or something of the sorts. So that’s out.

Texas? Not feeling the love there either. I’m told it’s easier to find a patch of clothing on a Playboy bunny than it is to find a piece of public land to hunt there. True or not, I think I’ve found a better option.

Time to pack the bow and mosey my way on down to New Mexico. It’s just the newer version of Mexico right? What could go wrong!

I figured it’s long time that I did my patriotic duty and help eradicate a non-indigenous species of the south. Calm down bleeding heart liberals, I’m talking about feral pigs.

After a bit of online research and talking with the Fish and Game, I’m setting my eyes on the Capitan Mountains. If that fails to produce, on to Roswell for a little alien glassing and pig hunting in the Pecos River.

The work schedule is cleared and the gear is packed. Wish me luck. If you New Mexicans see a pale looking fella running threw the cactus in a well-fitted Speedo with a pair of Kenetrek flip-flops, give a wave and try to hold of on calling the mental health clinic. I assure you this is all a well-formulated plan!

//Fred

Keep and eye out for the report on this haphazardly planned expedition. In the meanwhile here are some great resources I’ve found to plan the hunt.