The Ultimate Driven Boar Hunt: A Wild Ride with Lasarotta

The Buzz of the First Dawn

It was very dark, in a way, when I woke up at nearly 4:00 AM, and so I felt that little spark of eagerness surge through the cool air. My trip had been a bit of a whirlwind of last-minute prep and excitement, so I could hardly wait to hit the road for Croatia. I packed my trusty Blaser R93 .30-06, which was basically snug in its case, and I felt pretty ready for what I thought might be an incredible boar-chasing outing with Lasarotta.

I drove under a grey sky that seemed a bit endless, and I was slightly tired until I finally met Bogdan, who was apparently our local host. He hardly spoke a word, yet his calm vibe made me feel fairly confident, so I just relaxed during the hour-and-a-half ride. In fact, we arrived at a lodge in Petrova Gora, surrounded by old-growth woods that seemed to hold some kind of hidden heartbeat.

I tried to sleep there, but I was too distracted by the quiet, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the notion that something wild was lurking outside. The forest, in some respects, felt alive even before sunrise. Eventually, that annoying alarm went off, so I stumbled through a quick meal before we all crammed into a meeting space to hear Bogdan’s plan for the morning.

There was this unique electricity in the air, so I could almost sense the trees waiting for us. We got split into smaller squads, each group stationed at a peg, and I found myself standing at Peg 4, scanning a cluster of thick timber ahead. A thin fog hovered among the branches, so everything had that nice crisp chill that signals a thrilling day in the woods.

My rifle felt just right in my hands, and I noticed the beaters’ whistles in the distance, so something deep inside me started racing. The moment was clearly around the corner.

Kicking Off the Action

The forest felt alive with the crunch of dried leaves, the faint barking of hounds, and the occasional shuffle of something large brushing past branches. I steadied my view on those young trees, which were a bit dense and tough to see through, so I swapped out the scope by popping off the quick-release saddle mounts. I was extremely happy I’d double-checked the open sights back home, which gave me just a little extra self-assurance.

I placed three Federal Power-Shok 180-grain rounds into the magazine, popped one into the chamber, and leaned against a tree that seemed sturdy. My earlier hours at the Bisley range often felt worth it now, so I mentally counted on that muscle memory as I looked out into the shadows. The silence was so thick, I could practically hear my heartbeat.

Suddenly, the hounds barked louder, so my pulse soared. Then, out of the corner of my gaze, two roe deer appeared, trotting gracefully through the brush. That sight was a bit surreal, so I momentarily forgot I was on a boar hunt. After they vanished, a single shot echoed somewhere left of me, and I hoped the shooter had done well.

I scanned the woods again, so my focus jumped from branch to branch, searching for any big shape. I heard a crunching sound from the ridge, and in that case, I knew it had to be something heavy. My breath caught, and sure enough, a dark, bulky figure crept into view—my first boar.

I didn’t wait. The rifle came up, so I snapped off the safety, and I felt adrenaline lighting up my veins. The boar’s strong physique rustled the dry leaves, and I really zoned in on that shape. Everything else seemed to vanish.

A Split-Second Choice

There was nearly no chance to reconsider, so I planted the stock against my shoulder, took a breath, and pressed the trigger. The gunshot shattered the forest quiet, so the boar gave a twitch but didn’t drop. My practiced hand whipped the bolt, and I fired again, very sure I wanted a clean finish. That second shot sent the boar staggering, so I knew I’d connected well.

I automatically readied another round, still waiting in case it had more fight left. But there was only stillness, so I was left standing there with my nerves buzzing. Something crashed to my left, and I heard a hound’s sharp bark, so I laughed under my breath at the thought that even the dogs were in a mood for a scuffle. The hunting horn signaled the end of the drive, and the weariness of that tension weighed on me.

Mark’s voice crackled over the radio, “Anyone have luck?” I basically said, “I just got one.” I found it a bit surreal as I approached the boar and saw how huge it really was. Those tusks were large and impressive, so I realized this was an amazing find.

A Tricky Turn

Still savoring that first victory, I headed on to the second drive. This new patch of ground felt more challenging, so I couldn’t help but wonder if I was in over my head. The cover was almost thicker, and there was no comfortable trunk to lean on, so I was left feeling pretty exposed. Shots echoed again, from the left, from the right, so my body tensed as I imagined hogs rushing in.

The hounds got closer, so I strained to catch the first glimpse of movement. I spotted a boar, big and moving unbelievably fast, so I brought the rifle up in a hurry. My shot sailed wide, which was a little deflating, and the boar vanished like a whisper.

I tried to keep calm, though a surge of frustration was boiling up. Another boar charged right at me, so I squeezed the trigger again, but the shot missed. My second attempt also didn’t land, so the boar disappeared as if it had never been there.

By the time that drive ended, my mood felt sour. I was pretty stunned that I’d missed more than once, so it stung. There was a strange comfort in realizing that chasing boar can be tricky, and it reminded me that it’s not about being perfect but rather continuing to push and learn.

Searching for Redemption

The sun came up the next morning, so we gathered for coffee and quick conversation. I was still disappointed about the day before, so I tried to shake it off. People around the table told their own tales of misfires and near misses, so I felt less alone in some respects. We were there to enjoy the thrill of this hunt, so that was what kept me going.

Heading out again, I promised myself I’d keep my cool this time. The new territory looked appealing, so we saw towering beech groves, with leaves shining in the morning sun. My heart felt calmer, though it still pounded with leftover adrenaline.

My peg was placed in a decent clearing, so I readied my rifle, waiting for new excitement. The beaters sounded like they were on the move, so the forest sounded like it was humming with activity. Shots erupted off to each side, and I knew we were in the thick of it. Then I caught that telltale thumping of hooves cutting through the brush.

A large boar barreled into my view, so I reacted without thinking. My first shot connected, but it only slowed the animal. So I fired once more, and then one final time. The boar stumbled and toppled, so I exhaled as relief washed over me. The adrenaline raced away, and I stood there for a moment, feeling a bit stunned that I’d redeemed myself. The boar was heavy, so I was proud that I’d proven my determination was intact.

Final Drive with a Twist

The day wore on, so the group settled into a warm camaraderie. There was one more drive ahead, and that seemed like the last big test. We lined up along some forestry tracks, which could be perfect for long-distance shots. I discovered a peg near two intersecting paths, so I checked my rifle once more.

Suddenly a fox trotted out, so it ignored me entirely and went off into the dense stand of trees. I let it go, feeling that my focus was strictly on boar. A moment later, two hogs shot across the trail in a blur, so I had no chance to aim. They darted past me before I had a second to squeeze the trigger.

I waited tensely, until another boar came charging from the opposite direction. My rifle snapped up, and I fired several times, so it dashed away with startling speed. I couldn’t see if my shots landed, but eventually we followed the trail and found an 80 kg sow lying still in the brush, so it turned out I’d made contact after all. That was a reminder that wild swine have a way of surprising you at every turn.

We gathered by a fire after that drive, so we reflected on the day’s catches and mishaps. The boar with the enormous tusks was admired, and the group took pride in the tales told around the flames. Later, dinner was a bit of a celebration, so we indulged in the moment and remembered that every shot we took had its own lesson.

The Last Push and the Quiet Finish

Morning broke on the final day, so a mellow hush seemed to rest over the woods. Everyone felt more contemplative, in that case, because it was the last chance to roam these forests. I was placed somewhere new, a patch of towering old timber, so the atmosphere felt like stepping back in time.

I sank into a steady stance, really letting myself take in the hush of those tall trunks. The beaters started calling, so that faint echo built until I saw several hogs rushing through the undergrowth. I raised my rifle, and the shots flew, more or less landing where I intended. The boar slowed, then fell, so I walked over with my heart thudding.

I stared at the heavy shape on the ground, so I realized this entire trip was about so much more than the final harvest. I felt a strange contentment, possibly from the combination of bruised pride, new lessons, and that bond I’d formed with the forest itself. We took a few snapshots, shook hands, and then loaded up the vehicles.

As we left, I couldn’t stop thinking about the gentle hum of those ancient trees. That sense of wonder would stick with me far beyond this final drive.