Top 3 Destination Boar Hunts

Hawaii
Though I grew up in California, my interest in boar hunting actually began on a hike in Hawaii. I had made way down a steep decent into the valley seen above. To my surprise, there was a little agricultural hamlet below...taro farmers mostly. But most fascinating to me was what I saw in an open garage of one of the homes in the village.

Mounted to the walls was close to 30 different boar heads of varying size, colors and degrees of 'tuskiness'. My first instinct was to turn tail and run, thinking I had just stumbled onto the set of a real life Saw movie. But my flight response was quickly tempered when an unassuming gentleman rounded the corner of the garage, and seeing the bewildered look on my face, smiled and began to explain all I ever wanted to know about hunting pigs on the Big Island.

I was hooked, but in all of times I've been back to Hawaii, I've yet to go hunting. I'm hoping to correct this.

Corscica

Courtesy D1V1D @ Flikr

My wife and I were planning an epic foodie's vacation to the South of France last year, when I stumbled upon this gem of an island. Now I've not been here, but I flew over it on my way to the Middle East a while back. It's a meditteranean island with a uniquely hybridized culture - blending both French and Italian influences. It also happens to be the most mountainous island in the sea, and a food lovers paradise. Of particular note is one ingredient that holds an impotant role in the island's history.

Yep. Wild boar. The island is chock full of them and local eateries have attained international acclaim for their use of the island's pork. The charcutterie is told to be varied and uniquely wonderful - due to a diet rich in berries, acorns and chestnuts. I am a certified salmi'oholic so this alone is enough to put the island on my list of must dos. But add in the prospect of a morning pig hunt at nearly 6,000 feet, followed by an afternoon with bare toes on a sandy beach on the mediterranean, and an evening meal at a bistro on an old cobblestone alley - well you get my point.

Coorg

Courtesy of Bikash R Das

Years ago I took a trip down the Southern Ghat mountains in India. After a fews days of driving I settled into my destination, a coffee plantation just outside the mountain town of Ammathi. I was greated warmly by my host and unpacked my luggage in a small home that he refered to as his ain.

My host offered to take me on a walk around the property and I jumped at the chance to stretch my legs after the long drive. In short order we were pressing our way through a grove of coffee plants, their branches sagging under the weight of bright red berries ready to be picked. The canopy above was formed by bettlenut, pepper vines and bananas. The sounds and smells of the plantation tantalized my senses as my host regailed me with stories about free ranging elephants and king cobras.  In fact, National Geographic had been to the plantation just the week before to film a documentary on the infamous snakes.

But it wasn't until dinner that I became truly enthralled by this mountain region called Coorg. As my host explained, the people of the region were a class of warrior-hunters. His home was clad in pelts from leapords and tigers from his grandfather's generation. Knives with distinctly curved blades and handles made from elephant tusk formed the centerpiece at the table. It seemed everywhere I looked, my eyes fell on an item that held ancestral importance to my host, and the stories flowed freely.

Over time the hunting gave way to coffee and pepper farming and animals like the majestic tiger were no longer hunted,. With numbers so few, the tigers were rarely seen or heard, like whispers in the night. But the hunter's spirit remained in the people of Coorg, and one prey still remained for pursuit, and for the table.

That night we feasted on a meal of wild boar that I have never had eclipsed. It was marvelous. The pork itself reminded me of carnitas and it was accompanied with a simple meal of rice and chapati (much like tortillas). But oh the sauce! It was based on a native citrus plant that went unnamed, and accented with local chili peppers, bark from the cinnamon tree not 20 feet away and coriander that grew prolifically around a stream we visited earlier in the day.

I don't exagerate when I say that I am still haunted by that meal, and I hope to some day go back and contribute my own stories to that very special place.