I just had a brilliant morning. I hiked-in to check a bait early, and was disappointed to find it hit but with nothing on it. It looked to be dog-hit, and eagle-hit, but not pig-hit yet. Perhaps tomorrow... Anyway, I hiked further along, and bespied that donkey movement ahead through the scrub. Stalking closer, I decided that I wanted mainly to shoot a big Jack or nothing. Through the binocular and the scope, I couldn't see any Jacks, and so began a game of cat-and-mouse, to see how close I could get, and to see how many times I could have them dead-to-rights, and to see if I could capture some photographs. I spent a couple of hours closely following them, keeping them within easy shooting range and taking photos. Finally, I decided to let them be, but first I made sure my Ruger No.1 .300H&H was empty, and I did some target practice on them without them knowing it, lining them up and then clicking an imaginary Woodleigh after them. Just as they grazed over the hill, and as I turned to leave, a movement over my shoulder caught my eye, and a great-old-battle-Jack came streaking-in intent on doing my little herd mischief. My noble restraint had lasted long-enough, and as he took a pause at about a-hundred-and-ten metres, I zipped a 180 grain Woodleigh PPSN through him, destroying both lungs and hitting his spine, collapsing him on the spot. The bullet exited out the off-side shoulder. He was well-scarred, an old fighter. After the photos and a drink, I was packing-up when I heard a trumpeting bray, and my original mob plus another mob came toward me, but never saw me. However, they didn't come too close, as they knew that a nasty noise had originated from my whereabouts; so they snuck-off avoiding me, but without seeing me. I snapped another few photos, and pondered my way back. I hope you enjoy the live photos, which I am very pleased with!