They are called poor man's grizzlies.

The scourge of the South.

They cause millions in crop loss and property damage every year.

You can shoot them from helicopters.

You can hunt them at night using a thermal-imaging scope.

You can chase them with dogs.

Even still, their numbers and range are growing.

States that have them, hate them.

States that don't, will do anything to keep them out.

For all intents and purposes, the wild hog is considered a pest in North America.

Like the cockroach or rat.

Perhaps if I lived with hogs, I'd think less of them.

But I don't, so I don't.

There's something enticingly primal about hunting big-toothed, long-haired, ill-tempered wild hogs in the thick, nasty places they've infested throughout the South.

It's hard to describe, but if you've done it, you know what I mean.

I was swimming in that visceral mood Saturday, Feb. 25, as I stood in a pine thicket on a cattle ranch in the east-central part of the Peach State.

The forearm of my R-25 semiautomatic rifle rested on a set of shooting sticks, while I palmed the pistol grip and listened.

Hounds were working a nearby swamp, searching for the hogs that had recently left large tracks in the adjacent dirt road.

The occasional howl allowed me to track their progress.

So did the chatter on my portable radio.

And the shooting.

BOOM. BOOM ... BOOM.

"Who was that?"

"That was Pat."

BOOM.

"Who was that?"

"Barry, this is Ed. You will be happy to know I just shot another big hog."

"P.J., P.J., P.J. Hog coming your way!"

Cracking sticks let me know the warning was true.

About 100 yards in front of me, a hulking shadow glided through the thicket of greenbriers and saplings.

I had no shot, but my heart raced just the same.

• • •

They say one man's junk is another man's gold.

Well, for the past 10 years, several friends and I have set out in late winter to spend our hard-earned gold to chase Rebel junk.

The last six years, we've hunted with Backwater Boar Hunts in Georgia.

Owner Anthony Oliver has been chasing hogs professionally for more than two decades.

And he's gotten good at it.

Georgia is one of the first places in the United States where hogs roamed wild.

According to Mississippi State University's website wildpiginfo.com, feral pigs were introduced here in the 1500s by Spanish explorers.

Over the next several hundred years, more were introduced both intentionally and unintentionally.

Natural reproduction further swelled their ranks.

At least 45 states have populations of wild hogs, extending as far north as Michigan and North Dakota.

But the wild hog's stronghold remains the South.

Georgia has them in every county.

I understand they are not native.

I understand they are destructive.

But they're darn fun to hunt.

They're tough.

They're mean.

They learn fast and adapt to hunting pressure.

And they grow big.

The first day of our hunt, Ed Williams, of Cochranville, shot a monstrous, 450-pound boar with thick, long tusks.

• • •

It became apparent that first day that hunting from stands over bait and natural food sources wasn't going to cut it.

It was too windy and too hot.

The hogs obviously were feeding at night.

So Oliver and his guides, Ron Templeton and Zan Helton, hauled in their packs of hog-hunting hounds to roust the pigs from their daytime hideouts.

Hogs love the thick stuff.

The thicker the better.

They get into places that would be nearly impossible for a man to get to without a chain saw.

But wherever a hog can go, so too can a dog.

And the hounds — mixed breeds of plott, varieties of curs and even some pit bull — used by Oliver, Templeton and Helton are specially trained to hunt for ham.

A good hog dog is a prized pet in the South.

Hog hunting isn't easy work for either man or beast.

Once chased, a hog eventually will head for cover.

And when it gets into a tight place, more than likely it's going to turn and fight.

If there's one thing a hog is built for, it's fighting.

They're short and stocky, with thick hides and sharp tusks.

The first time Helton loosed dogs on our hunt, one of them — a mixed-breed mutt named Little Man that Templeton found at the local animal shelter — got tusked in several places by a big boar.

None of the cuts was serious. All simply punctured the dog's already scar-riddled hide.

Back at camp, Helton cleaned and stapled Little Man's wounds, and the dog never flinched once.

"He'll be all right," Helton said. "In a couple days, he'll be ready to get back at it."

• • •

Two dogs ran past me in the pines where I was posted Feb. 25 after the hog moved through.

Over the radio, I learned the boys had killed three hogs the dogs ran out of the swamp.

Shortly after the dogs flew by, Oliver pulled up in his pickup, along with Templeton and my hunting buddy, J.R. Williams, of Cochranville.

"Get in," Oliver said. "The dogs are running a hog."

We traveled a short distance to a fallow field alongside a creek thicket.

Templeton's dog, Ratio — half plott hound, half blackmouth cur — apparently was chasing something through the woods there.

Templeton tracked the dog's movements on his handheld monitor, which followed the dog via the GPS system attached to its collar.

"There he is!" Oliver yelled when a black hog popped out of the thicket into the field some 200 yards away.

The pig made a U-turn and ran back in before I could get it in the scope.

A few second later, Ratio appeared, hot on the hog's trail.

All four of us were standing in a clearing as Templeton described the chase by watching his monitor.

"He's coming back," he said. "He's 154 yards away. Now 125. Get ready."

I was keeping an eye on the field the hog had appeared in earlier when, all of a sudden, the guys started hollering.

Over there! Over there! Get him!

I looked down the clearing to my left as the hog moved through the opening to get from one thicket to the next.

I picked up my shooting sticks and scooted about 15 yards toward the hog.

I set my rifle on the sticks and quickly found the hog in the scope.

BOOM.

My first shot didn't feel good, so I bore down for the second one.

Fortunately, since I was shooting a semi-automatic rifle, I didn't have to work an action before taking the next shot. I simply kept my cross hairs on the hog and squeezed the trigger again.

The second shot felt good, but I didn't see the hog react before it dove into the brush.

"You hit him," Williams said. "His back legs kicked out."

Oliver and Templeton released five hounds and led the dogs to the exact spot where the hog disappeared.

Within seconds, all hell broke loose.

Dogs were snarling.

The hog was squealing.

It sounded horrific.

We busted through briers and fallen treetops heading toward the melee, which subsided before we had covered the 82 yards that separated us and the dogs.

Oliver got to the scene first.

"Oh man, what a boar!" he yelled. "It's a big one! Good god, look at those teeth!"

Turns out my second shot was spot on, and the hog was dead by the time we reached it.

Indeed it was a formidable beast, with coarse black hair, a long snout and curved tusks.

Templeton estimated its weight at 280 pounds.

Cockroach or rat?

I don't think so.

P.J. Reilly is the Sunday News' outdoors writer. Email him at preilly@lnpnews.com.