Free-Ranging Pigs Not so Free for the Taking

By | July 06, 2022
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PHOTO BY MAX SAELING FOR UNSPLASH

Why You Can’t (Easily) Dine on California’s Delicious Wild Swine

California has a free-range pig problem. An estimated 200,000 to 400,000 feral swine are tearing up farms, vineyards and public parks—plus the occasional soccer field and backyard—in 56 of the state’s 58 counties. A new California state bill sponsored by Senator Bill Dodd (D-Napa) seeks to make it easier to hunt these “hogs gone wild,” but it faces opposition from the very hunting groups it purports to help.

In Marin, Sonoma and Napa counties, there seem to be more would-be hunters than there are huntable pigs. Everyone loves free pork, it turns out. Ron Castrillo, head of Sonoma Trappers, a business that “deals with” pests from squirrels to raccoons, also happily disposes of wild hogs. He’ll take care of your problem pigs, no charge. Most landowners prefer to bring in a few buddies for a private hunt.

“If you want clean and green, delicious lean meat, hunt wild boar,” says Castrillo.

Taylor Boetticher, co-owner of Fatted Calf charcuterie, agrees: “It’s great stuff—the quintessential pasture-raised pig. It doesn’t get any more-free range than feral!”

But Fatted Calf doesn’t sell any California-sourced wild boar products. And you can’t order it in a restaurant around here, either. You can only eat a wild California pig if you hunt it yourself or know a hunter or trapper kind enough to slip you some sausage—for free.

Blame Monterey

America’s porcine troublemakers are a nonnative, invasive subspecies of Sus scrofa resulting from crossbreeding between escaped domestic pigs, imported centuries ago by the first European settlers, and some European wild boars brought in for sport hunting in the 1920s by a single Monterey County resident, George Gordon Moore, who also cut them loose in North Carolina. The European wild boar has longer hair, smaller ears, taller shoulders with shorter hindquarters and, for the males, longer tusks than domestic pigs, but the latter’s body type will quickly adapt to the wild in similar ways even without crossbreeding.

There are as many as 9 million feral swine roaming 39 states: California is in fourth place, trailing Texas, Florida and Georgia—for now. The population has exploded like a “feral swine bomb,” a phrase first attributed to Dale Nolte, manager of the National Feral Swine Damage Management Program at the U.S. Department of Agriculture. (Check out USDA’s slick “Feral Swine in America” series on YouTube, covering several states.)

What’s the problem with wild pigs? They reproduce faster than any other large mammal. Almost like rabbits, in fact, having up to two litters of five to seven piglets per year, starting at around 8 months old. Two or more sows and their young from multiple litters will travel together in a group called a sounder; older boars tend to travel alone. Wild pigs have poor eyesight but good hearing and an amazing sense of smell (of course). They also face very little predator pressure—coyotes and mountain lions will attempt only the younger piglets.

Rick Petkus, who’s lived in Napa’s Wild Horse Valley for 30 years amidst a couple of large vineyards, used to see wild pigs often, but thinks the 2017 fire pushed many of them out. “They love cover crops, fava beans. But I’ve also seen a pig eating grapes,” he says. Petkus and his wife woke up several years ago to a ruckus in their front yard. A large sow was circling the oak tree in distress. In the oak’s branches was a mountain lion with a small piglet in its jaws. Petkus chased them both away and ended up cooking the piglet like a suckling. He’s run into many while hiking, and he hunts them when he can get access to private land to do so.

Because they’re omnivores, pigs not only enjoy snacking on just about any farmed crop, they’ll tear up pasture, fields and vineyards with their powerful snouts in search of roots, grubs and the water they need to regulate their body temperatures.

“A couple pigs in the night can clear half an acre,” says Tommy Otey, farm manager for Front Porch Farm in Healdsburg and Acorn Ranch in Yorkville (Mendocino County). Painstakingly imported (from Italy) pigs were at one time raised on Acorn Ranch, but the entire herd was eventually sold to other ranches and farms. The area is now “crawling with feral pigs,” according to Otey.

For ranchers who closely manage their stocking density to their acreage, losing a couple hundred square feet of pasture can be significant, plus the risk of erosion. Less frequently, wild boars will kill chickens, lambs and other young livestock, and all pigs will feed on carcasses. They don’t just destroy property. Their destructive habits wreak havoc on soil fertility, on the habitat of native plants and animals, and also make it harder to protect endangered and threatened species.

Pigs are also shockingly smart—University of Pennsylvania researchers have taught domestic pigs to play video games by manipulating joysticks with their snouts. California’s wild hogs may be even wilier. They’ve learned to do their foraging at night, tunnel under fences, avoid many types of traps and to relocate, fast, when hunted.

A Pork in the Road

Classified as a game mammal by California in 1957, wild pigs are managed by the California Department of Fish and Wildlife (CDFW). Hunters must have a valid hunting license ($52 annually for residents) and purchase a wild pig tag ($25 for residents). If they’re successful, they tag the carcass and fill out the CDFW’s online form with information about the pig. They can hunt on private land only with permission of the landowner, and on public land as part of a state-sanctioned organized pig hunt, such as is held annually at Lake Sonoma (bow and arrow only) and at Lake Berryessa.

Pig hunting tags are a significant source of revenue for the state: almost 54,000 were sold during the 2020—21 wild pig season, raising $874,000. But only 3,950 tags representing successful hunts were returned, 72 fewer than the previous year. Sonoma County accounted for 95 of them, Napa 29 and Marin just 3, while Monterey porked out at 1,118 and Mendocino had 195.

Landowners can shoot or trap problem pigs themselves with a depredation permit, no hunting license needed, and only monthly reporting required. If they catch one in the act of destroying their property, they’re allowed to kill it without a permit and file a depredation incident report later.

Public parks also deal with feral swine through depredation permits and hired guns. Kyle Seever, his father and brother all trap and hunt wild pigs for a living in the North Bay, working mostly for state agencies. “I get phone calls from landowners, but they don’t want to talk to me very long when they hear what I charge,” he says. “Their workers can usually handle it—up to a point.” Seever estimates he eliminates 800 to 1,000 pigs on average every year, in areas including Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, Salt Point State Park and the Jenner headlands.

Still, humans aren’t even close to defusing the swine bomb. Which is why Senator Dodd, a hunter and a member of the Congressional Sportsmen’s Caucus, introduced SB 856 in January. The bill would replace tags with a wild pig “validation” ($15 for residents, $50 for nonresidents) that would allow hunters to take any number of wild pigs; it would also eliminate the need for a depredation permit for landowners and allow them to authorize whoever they want to kill pigs on their land on their behalf.

There is widespread support for those provisions, although they would mean significant lost revenue for CDFW and probably the end of its helpful data collection. What hunters’ groups don’t like are the bill’s proposed prohibitions against “contained pig hunting preserves”—which are big business in California— and criminalizing the “knowing release of any swine to live in a wild or feral state upon public or private land.” Several people interviewed for this story complained that many private hunting outfits were importing European wild boars, “the bigger and uglier the better, so that Joe Blow can get the trophy pig he wants,” as one put it off the record. “And what we really don’t need are any more wild boars.”

SB 856 also seeks to reclassify feral pigs as “exotic game animals,” so they can be managed separately from other game mammals such as deer. The bill’s opponents say that would be unnecessarily confusing since feral hogs are anything but exotic. In fact, it’s their very piggyness that makes it so hard to eat them.

How the Sausage Gets (Legally) Made

Legally, hunters can eat what they kill, and they can give it to friends and family. Ranchers can slaughter their own animals and do the same. The problem comes when you want to sell game meat or even donate it to a nonprofit. Then the government gets involved, for food safety reasons. Most game meat like venison, elk, duck, bear and rabbit exists in a gray area; some states allow state-inspected carcasses to be butchered and donated or sold (such as turned into jerky or served in a restaurant), but some require USDA inspection. What you see on a restaurant menu is most likely the oxymoronic “farm-raised wild game.”

But when it comes to pigs, the USDA claims jurisdiction over swine of all kinds, whether domestic or feral. Pigs can carry quite a few serious diseases, in particular the bacteria that cause brucellosis and trichinosis, which can infect humans who handle or consume raw pork. The carcasses also need to have been properly and safely eviscerated (for example, not nicking the bowel and contaminating the meat withe. coli) and kept cold. Government-enforced food safety standards exist for good reason.

Which means that for Fatted Calf to make sausage from a California wild boar, that pig had to be trapped and transported alive to a USDA-certified facility, where it would be inspected, slaughtered and then inspected again. David Evans of Marin Sun Farms owns the last USDA-certified slaughterhouse in the Bay Area, and since he closed that Petaluma facility’s doors to non—Marin Sun Farms animals in late 2019, North Bay ranchers have had to truck their hogs (and cattle) hours away, to Orland or Modesto. Although two mobile slaughterhouses have been launched to fill the gap, neither is yet taking regular pigs, let alone wild ones.

So, when you see wild boar for sale in California, it’s most likely coming from Texas. Fatted Calf, the Thomas Keller Restaurant Group and Bear Republic Brewing in Healdsburg and Rohnert Park are all buying from Broken Arrow Ranch, a fascinating Texas outfit that hunts wild game on private property and pays a state inspector to join them in the field to stamp deer and antelope carcasses. For pigs, it pays trappers to take animals alive and transport them to a small local USDA-certified slaughterhouse, where they have a scheduled day every two weeks. Then Broken Arrow’s own butchers hang the carcasses, break the meat down into cuts or grind it into sausage, and ship it all over the country, both wholesale and retail.

Broken Arrow’s second-generation owner Chris Hughes explains that they’re picky about their pigs: “We’re looking for the highest-quality meat,” meaning younger, smaller animals, which allows Broken Arrow to command more of a price margin. There are similar companies in Texas that trap and transport wild pigs to USDA slaughterhouses and ship all over the country— supplying Sierra Meats, which sells to Penngrove’s Bud’s Custom Meats, for example—but they’re interested more in volume. Harvesting wild pork for resale is logistically very complex business, involving trappers, the right kind of slaughterhouse and skilled butchers. It’s not a solution to the pig problem.

“We’re nowhere near in front of that curve, especially as fast as these guys reproduce,” says Hughes. “There is this issue of just processing capacity. There are not that many places left that can process these pigs.”

Chris’s father, Mike Hughes, started Hunters for the Hungry, a nonprofit that works with deer hunters around the country to donate their excess venison. The Congressional Sportsmen’s Caucus has a page on its website advocating for such game donation programs. However, you can’t just drop off a deer carcass at a soup kitchen; you still need to pay for an inspection and someone skilled has to cut or grind the meat up. “Cut and wrap” butchering services can easily cost $1 to $2 per pound in the Bay Area, which really adds up on a 75- to 150-pound hog carcass.

Mike is now working on a new version, Wild Boar for the Hungry, that would raise the money to pay for the red tape and labor involved in donating wild pork to hunger organizations. Unfortunately, due to that lack of slaughterhouse access, it won’t be operating in Northern California.

Bringing Home the Bacon

The regulations around what to do with all that free, tasty wild pork are frustrating to many. A depredation permit requires that “every reasonable attempt to utilize” the animal must be made. Carcasses are supposed to only be left in the field “for reasons of high air temp, disease, parasites or conditions which preclude use of carcass.” Worried about liability, the state agencies who hire trappers like Kyle Seever no longer allow him to give the carcasses away to a waiting list of eager volunteer eaters. He buries some pigs but takes nearly all of them to the rendering plant to be turned into glue and other products.

Seever also hunts pigs for his own consumption on private land he’s been given access to, with the help of his “hog dogs,” and has Willowside Meats in Santa Rosa butcher it for him. He prefers the smaller, younger animals. Unlike on farms, bigger, older wild males are obviously not castrated, and the meat can have what’s known as ‘boar taint’ from their freely-coursing hormones. You’ll know it as soon as you start cooking it: It reeks of ammonia and “tastes like a male goat smells when it’s in heat—just super musky,” as Fatted Calf ‘s Boetticher puts it.

Roger Praplan—the chef at La Gare, a French restaurant in Santa Rosa, and a culinary arts instructor at Santa Rosa Junior College—is also an avid hunter. He’s prepared wild pork, as well as wild venison, salmon, halibut and abalone for the hunters and their friends, charging not for the meat but for the side dishes and a plating fee. He’s also brought his own tagged deer and wild pigs into class to teach students how to butcher them.

For most of them, it’s the first time they’ve ever seen a whole animal. “People forage at the grocery store rather than out in the woods. They don’t know where their food comes from,” Praplan sighs. “Within just a few generations, we’ve totally lost track of where our food is grown, slaughtered and processed.”

Praplan says he would be willing personally to butcher animals donated by hunters, or with his classes, and donate the sausage to local missions—”I don’t like to see waste, and there are a lot of hungry people out there”—but he can’t risk it.

Reaping What We Sow

To recap: California currently has a couple hundred thousand wild pigs busily reproducing, tearing up habitat, consuming scarce natural resources and causing enormous destruction. Hunters and trappers would love to eliminate more of them than the tiny percentage they currently do, but are hamstrung (sorry) by licensing and reporting red tape, restrictions on private land and difficulty utilizing all that free pork.

“The fact that the state manages them as a game species instead of as a pest is kind of criminal,” says Front Porch Farm’s Otey. “They should be incentivizing landowners to get rid of them. They’re such an invasive species, there should even be a bounty.”

And perhaps some sort of amendment to the Bill Emerson Good Samaritan Food Donation Act, which protects people involved in the donation and distribution of food and grocery products from civil and criminal liability, when “certain criteria” are met. Among those criteria: The food must already meet other federal standards, such as USDA inspection.

Senator Dodd’s SB 856, alas, contains no language about making it easier to donate wild pork. Asked about this aspect, Dodd’s press secretary, Paul Payne, hedges that the bill is going through the normal legislative process, and “we could still take amendments on it.”

But changing the USDA’s requirements would require a national effort—a very hard sell. Until then, if you want to taste the most free-ranging of California’s pork, you’ll have to make friends with a hunter.

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