Desert is not wasteland. Desert is a space of light where cactus gardens grow on the expansive slopes and the horizon flows into the sky. Deeply incised gulches wander amid stands of juniper and around solid pillows of granite. Raptors soar with proficiency and grace, their eyes searching for elusive cottontails hidden in the shade. Soil is bleached, cracked, and hard, having swallowed millennia of the sun’s rays. An infinite number of stars blanket the darkness of the night sky.
In early January, we converged in the high desert south of Prescott, Arizona. My hunting partner, Karl Van Calcar, and I, coming from other states (Colorado and California respectively), had never before pursued javelina. We’d spent weeks virtually scouting the area in advance of our hunt, reviewing biological survey reports and hunter harvest statistics, reading on-line forums, and examining aerial photography and topographic maps in an effort to identify productive hunting grounds. A boulder-strewn dirt road was the last leg of my 12-hour journey. Although weary from the long drive, my excitement grew with each mile as we delved deeper into the desert landscape en route to camp.

Typical central Arizona javelina scrub brush country.

First Dance

Javelina were living up to their namesake as the desert ghost. By mid-morning on the second day of the hunt, we’d cut little fresh sign and had yet to lay eyes on a javelina. We were beginning to think that perhaps we were in the wrong spot. We studied topographic maps of the hunt zone, discussed our options, and decided that if by the end of the day we had not found javelina we’d pull tent stakes and shift to a new area with the potential of more productive hunting.
We had quietly set up along the edge of a promising looking basin and settled in among the rocks to methodically glass the slopes of the basin. Sweeping slowly back and forth, we canvassed off the terrain examining every rounded boulder, cover of brush, and shade of juniper in search of javelina. Once convinced that nothing was within view, we’d drop through the basin and climb to the next ridge to start the tedious task of picking apart everything within view.

A lightweight teepee with a woodstove made for a comfortable camp for the author and his friend.

We slowly stalked our way across a broad basin, around cactus, and through thorny brush and then climbed to the top of a prominent rock-covered peak that rose a couple of hundred feet above the valley floor. This high vantage point provided sweeping views of the surrounding slopes, gardens of prickly pear, and shallow washes with scattered juniper. From there, we could glass thousands of acres of land. As we prepared to settle in for another long session of glassing, there was a sudden flash of movement a dozen yards away and the unmistakable sound of startled animals. A group of five or six javelina were just out of sight beyond the rise, still hidden among the century cactus and short scrub oak. My arrow instinctively found the string and I fumbled to pull out my call. After a short standstill during which neither man nor javelina moved, I got the nod from Karl to start calling.
I blared a deafening sequence of javelina distress calls. As loudly as possible, I broadcast “RAAWOW… RAAWOW…RAAWOW…” followed by a short pause then made a low sounding “WHOOF…WHOOF…” with my throat. Suddenly javelina came charging in from all directions with the bristles on their backs standing at attention, rhythmically popping their teeth, and whoofing noisily. Javelina walked back and forth in front of us for nearly a minute as I continued to blare through the call. A mature javelina stood in the shade at 12 yards quartering toward me with his body practically obstructed by brush. Figuring that our situation would not last much longer I set my shoulders, came to anchor, and sighted down the arrow shaft. I was at anchor for a full five seconds as I shifted my aim and settled into the shot. Seeing that my shot was well composed I gave myself the mental “all clear.” The arrow sailed cleanly through the brush and made a hard crunching sound upon impact. Then the javelina sprung downslope in a death charge. A momentary glimpse of arrow showed that plenty of the shaft had penetrated through the chest. Other javelina were still nearby when we decided to stop calling and regroup.
Although the hit looked and sounded good, the quartering forward angle of the shot was less than ideal, so we decided to wait an hour and a half before picking up the trail. We busied ourselves recounting the episode, marveling at how well the calls worked, eating lunch, and glassing the hillsides. When we finally took up the trail, we found limited sign to support our tracking effort. The rocky ground held little in the way of tracks and what blood could be found consisted of small, sparse droplets. Soon, the sign played out.

Glassing from a vantage point is the smartest way to find javelina.

We marked the last blood and fanned out in all directions in hope of picking up the trail. I found a small droplet of blood several yards beyond the last marker indicating that the animal had abruptly cut back, throwing us off the trail. With renewed efforts we continued to follow the sparse trail down the canyon until we discovered the blood-covered nock end of the arrow in a clump of brush. From there the sign became clear, with abundant blood smeared on branches and onto the ground. We soon found the animal piled up downslope from where it was shot. The well-placed arrow had entered at the crease of the arm pit, punctured a lung, cut through liver, and hit the far hind leg, shattering the bone at the hip. The broadhead and foreshaft of the arrow remained embedded inside the body. It was a beautiful mature sow weighing about 50 pounds. I stood over the animal, astonished that we’d successfully harvested a javelina on our inaugural outing with no prior familiarity of the area and no past experience hunting this species.

An Encore

The next morning was particularly cold when we emerged from the warmth of Karl’s teepee. His lightweight 8-person teepee is fitted with a collapsible titanium stove. A small morning fire quickly heats up the interior to a comfortable temperature, making breakfast and morning preparations much more pleasant. This setup has proven itself indispensable on several occasions when elk hunting in the mountains during cold or wet weather. I felt a bit groggy from the previous night’s celebration as we climbed the hill behind camp. The first rays of sunlight struck the ridge top as we eased our way onto an overlook with a view into the first basin. Seeing no game, we hiked to the next ridge to survey the succeeding basin.
We found a perch among the rocks that offered sweeping views that spanned miles. Our eyes were beginning to fatigue from glassing over the extensive terrain when Karl, in a calm voice, declared that he spotted javelina. There, over a mile away, across the canyon at the end of a large flat, were six or seven small dark grey specks. They appeared no bigger than fleas at that long range. It wasn’t until the specks moved that we could confirm they were indeed a herd (properly known as a “squadron”) of javelina. We mapped out the stalk, taking note of identifiable landmarks, and set out in pursuit. We hiked downslope through brush, dropping several hundred feet, crossed a dry creek bed, and then scaled out of the drainage onto the edge of an ancient alluvial fan. We eventually relocated the herd, which had begun to meander east along the hill.
We continued our approach, being mindful of the wind and proceeded quietly. At 200 yards out, we decided to make a silent final approach by dropping our boots and crept along only in our socks. The desert will teach you to walk softly. We soon learned that stalking barefoot through a desert presents unique challenges as we suppressed whimpers as cactus thorns pierced the soles of our tender feet. We were forced to pause dozens of times to remove the thorns during the two-hour stalk.

Karl with his first javelina.

It was approaching noon as we closed in on the herd, which we’d last seen feeding through low thorn bushes and prickly pear cactus. A javelina appeared not 20 yards away and walked into the shallow draw just out of sight. I caught Karl’s attention and communicated with hand signals as he readied for a shot. The javelina were grunting and feeding calmly on the other side of the bush. The sun warmed the hill, causing a reliable updraft of wind that safely lifted our scent away. After some time, the javelina moved out of sight and we continued stalking. The herd was in the shadows of a cluster of large juniper trees surrounded by a garden of prickly pear and brush.
Karl approached within 12 yards of a pile of bedded pigs. Others milled around as Karl patiently stood frozen for what seemed an eternity while he waited for a javelina to present a shot opportunity. For no apparent reason, the herd suddenly scattered all around, stood still at attention, and listened carefully to identify the source of potential danger. The herd was concealed by brush, and Karl remained still without a chance for a shot. The animals seemed convinced of their safety a few minutes later and began slowly returning to their bed underneath the juniper when they abruptly scattered a second time. Knowing that time was of the essence, Karl signaled to start calling.
As I blasted out a series of loud distress calls, a large javelina charged toward me and two more ran along the trail to Karl’s right. Back and forth the herd charged in search of the predator that was attacking a member of their herd until a mature javelina stood on the trail directly facing Karl just four yards away. I continued to blast distress calls, hoping to distract the animal. The moment that the javelina turned broadside, Karl instinctively drew back and released, sending the arrow through both lungs. Blood flew into the air as the javelina turned in circles snapping its sharp yellow tusks before making a brief charge and collapsing among the junipers a dozen yards away.
Having successfully tagged out we thanked the desert for its gifts, and Karl carried the javelina out using a homemade game hauler that he devised using a strip of caribou hide and cam straps.

Tips from a Novice
Javelina Hunter

At first glance the arid desert of north-central Arizona may seem harsh and unforgiving, but closer observation will reveal it to be teeming with wildlife. Deer, rabbit, quail, hawk, coyote, and javelina all call the desert home. These sturdy animals are well adapted to the desert environment. Javelina, or collared peccary, have earned their nickname as the desert ghost for their remarkable ability to totally disappear into the stark desert landscape. Their medium body size, gray fur and elusive nature make them difficult animals to find.
Javelina have small hooves. That, along with the hard rocky ground of the desert landscape, conceals the tracks of wild game. Finer grained loose sediments found at the base of a wash or drainage often provide the best opportunity to encounter fresh tracks. Their track is like a deer, but smaller and more rounded. The space between prints of a feeding or walking javelina will be 8”-12”. Their stool is the same size and consistency of a medium size dog’s and may contain small stones as a result of their habit of rooting for tubers.

These fresh javelina tracks are a good indication that they are in the near vicinity.

Javelina are infamous for their strong musky odor from musk associated with a scent gland located under the skin above the tail on their back. They have pronounced long, yellow tusks used for defense. As with most wild game, areas away from roads receive less pressure on animals and generally provide better hunting. Javelina survive by eating a variety of forbs, bulbs, tubers, and grasses. Prickly pear cactus is a mainstay of their diet and will show a series of U-shaped bite marks where javelina have chewed on the cactus pads. Hunters are advised to focus on areas with a combination of prickly pear cactus and cover. Javelina are most active in the mornings and evenings when they can be seen out feeding but tend to bed down midday.
The most productive methods of hunting javelina is familiar to most western bowhunters. Glassing from a high vantage point or spot and stalk are the two most common ways to hunt javelina. The desert will teach you to walk softly when making your final approach. Ubiquitous thorn bushes and cactus spines merit foot protection while stalking. Although not ideal, a frontal shot through the center of the chest is acceptable at these medium-sized, small-boned animals.
Javelina make a variety of vocalizations from low grunts while feeding to a loud whoof when alerted to danger. Calling is both an exciting and effective method of hunting. I used a J-13 Javelina Call from Arizona Game Calls. The call is meant to sound like a trapped, injured, or fighting javelina. Loud calls within close range of a herd will cause javelina to make short repeated charges. Between each charge, they’ll pause and try to identify the source of the call. Calls can be purchased at www.AllPredatorCall.com and will come with a highly informative well written booklet Javelina Hunting – Information, Tips & Techniques for Successful Hunting Trophy Javelina by A. P. Jones.

Equipment Notes

The author hunted with a Morrison ILF nicknamed the MILF fitted with Hoyt Quatro recurve limbs, Gold Tip kinetic carbon shaft arrows, and Muzzy Stinger broadheads. Karl shot his Thunderhorn longbow with homemade ash shafts and Woodsman broadheads.