Then, listening quietly, we patiently wait. As the moon rose higher, the night drifted deeper, and a marine layer of clouds masked the sunset and started to shield the moonlight. It was getting more difficult to see the beach and the tree line.


As it approached midnight, we heard the rustling of leaves on the shore. Then, the sound became louder. It was evident that something, or perhaps a group, was heading out of the jungle toward the shoreline… but no voices. Just hard deliberate thrashing.


I’m thinking…heck with this… it’s time to leave. Then, before I could say cut the lines, we saw the outline of three feral pigs burst out of the tree line and sprint toward the bananas. Two jumped on the bunch to the far left, the other on the center left. It all happened in seconds, and it was ferocious. Our two left rods bent, and the pigs started to flee down the beach with their bananas.


Now the secret to pig fishing, as we learned from our trusty mate, is to not let them dig in. If the pig digs in, sticking all four hooves into the sand to become an immovable boulder, it won’t budge. Equally, don’t let them reach the tree line. However, get them to the water, and you’ve got the church roast covered. Amen.


My buddies quickly pulled the two other lines in to get them out of the way. A fight ensued and went strong, fast and furious.


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