OK...Kind of embarrassing.....
In about 1980, I was living in Oregon and the guys I worked with talked me into a spike tag.
2 days before the hunt, I broke off a piece of cartilage in my knee and had to have surgery to remove it. This was pre orthoscope, so I had a pretty good wound and a full leg cast.
I decided to go on the hunt anyway.
The guys proped me into a huge stump, at the edge of a clearcut in the Cascades and went off on their own.
No radios, cell phones or any communication devices in them days either.
By 10 AM, I have seen nothing and am bored out of my mind and in pain. It is raining, foggy and visibility is 80 yards, maybe. I am drinking coffee, eating Codene and smoking cigarettes.......I damn sure was no longer hunting.
I start blowing John Philip Sousa parade marches on the elk call, pretending like it was a tuba.....I told you I was bored. I figured the guys would hear me and come get my ass out of there.
Anyway, I look up and 3 spike bulls are at 30 yards and closing.
By the time I recovered my senses and my rifle, one was at 22 feet.
I shot it between the eyes.
".....but by God, I never said a word to a pig!"