We were in our hunting blind for 30 minutes when the first bolts of white and blue lightning cut across the South Texas night sky.
Like a pair of twins, my good friend and hunting partner, Darren Jones, and I immediately picked up our cellphones and opened our weather apps. A storm front was pushing up from the Gulf and heading northwest. On its current path, it would slide many miles to our right.
“We should be okay,” Jones said.
“Should,” was my response.
It was early June 2026, and I’d traveled to Texas to field test Marlin’s newest rifle at the time, the Marlin Mad Pig 1894 chambered in .357 Magnum and topped with a Nocpix BOLT-L35R thermal scope. Big assists came from my Dead Air Mojave 45 suppressor and Federal Premium HammerDown hunting rounds.
Jones and I had met more than a decade earlier on an industry hunt. After holding several marketing positions in the shooting sports industry, he now ran Feral Concepts, making rugged, functional hunting and fishing gear.
A month earlier, I’d told him about my need to field test the Marlin/Nocpix rig. He invited me down to hunt hogs at night, so I packed my Ford Explorer with way too much gear and made the long drive from Wisconsin to an area southeast of San Antonio.
Storm Clouds Over a South Texas Hog Hunt
That night, we settled into a raised blind overlooking two wide corridors cut through tangled mesquite, cedar and tall brush. A deer feeder stood 100 yards away in the corridor to our left. At dark, it began grinding and flinging golden kernels into the sendero—Spanish for trail or path.
It was still 90 degrees at 9 p.m. and plenty humid, though the approaching front generated some welcome breezes. I wedged open the blind’s wooden door and enjoyed the moving air.
Then more lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the twin senderos. The storm seemed to be getting closer.
Not that the weather bothered me much. I was doing one of my very favorite things: night hunting with thermals.
And I was home. My second home, that is—the great state of Texas. The Lone Star State offers awesome hunting, but it’s also where many of my closest friends live, people I’ve met, hunted with and truly gotten to know over the last decade-plus.
Marlin Mad Pig 1894: A Tactical Lever Gun Built for Hogs
The Marlin Mad Pig Customs Model 1894 lever action was developed in collaboration with Mad Pig Customs and Midwest Industries. Yes, it’s a lever—but it’s tactical, too.
The rifle’s foundation is the iconic Marlin 1894 lever action, featuring a cold-hammer-forged 16.1-inch barrel and a CNC-machined alloy-steel receiver. The rifle holds eight rounds of .357 Mag. and features a cross-bolt manual safety and Midwest Industries sights. At 34.5 inches long, the Marlin Mad Pig weighs just a bit more than seven pounds.
Upgraded and tactical components include the Mad Pig Customs grip panel inserts and very smooth-working lever, plus Mad Pig’s Enhanced Takedown Screw for easy, tool-free field stripping and an enhanced magazine follower.
Midwest Industries added the light but very strong aluminum stock, M-LOK handguard and sights.
Nocpix BOLT-L35R Thermal: Clear Images in Near-Total Darkness
The Nocpix BOLT-L35R thermal scope features a 384×288 thermal sensor, 12μm pixels and a NETD rating of ≤20 mK. The 35mm objective lens and 1024×768 AMOLED display provide very clear, sharp images.
The unit sported seven color palettes and 10-level image adjustments, as well as built-in photo, video, audio and recoil-activated recording. Integrated laser rangefinder, user-customizable ballistic calculator and Picture-in-Picture? Check!
The BOLT Series features a dual-battery system with a built-in 5000mAh rechargeable battery and a replaceable 18650 battery, delivering up to 12 hours of continuous operation. Thanks to the internal battery, I could swap the external battery on the move without losing my picture.
The BOLT got knocked around during my hunt, as happens on night excursions, but thanks to the unit’s high-strength aluminum-alloy body and one-piece integrated structure, the zero never shifted.
Dead Air Mojave 45: Running the Marlin Suppressed
Onto the end of the Marlin’s barrel, I direct-threaded Dead Air’s Mojave 45 suppressor. The suppressor incorporates Dead Air’s patent-pending Triskelion Gas Management System, which provides low back pressure and excellent sound reduction. The Mojave 45 is compatible with multiple hosts, including tilting-barrel and fixed-barrel systems.
The Mojave 45 knocked down the rifle’s muzzle blast nicely and noticeably reduced recoil.
Boar Time: The First Shot at 100 Yards
I was watching a deer standing in the sendero when I caught movement behind the feeder—a big boar! He moved away from the feeder and into the opening. I snapped off the Marlin’s safety.
The hog moved parallel to the feeder, 100 yards away. I’d zeroed the rifle and the HammerDown rounds at half that distance. I kept the thermal’s reticle on the hog, waiting for him to give me a shot. A minute later, he turned broadside, his nose pointing toward the feeder.
I squeezed the Marlin’s trigger, and the boar almost immediately jerked up and then ran into the underbrush. I thought I might have shot over his back. However, I had the Nocpix recording the sequence. I ran the video a couple of times, and Darren viewed it, too. We agreed I’d hit the boar, but higher up instead of in the heart/lung area I’d hoped for.
The shot didn’t make me happy, but I was impressed with the video quality of the Nocpix thermal, which showed the bullet strike at 100 yards in near-complete darkness.
As I told Darren , with my 50-yard zero, I figured the HammerDown’s 170-grain bonded hollow-point bullet would drop three or four inches at 100 yards. So, I’d held high.
Wrong! As the video showed, the bullet struck the big piggy right where I’d aimed.
“We’ll give it 20 minutes and take a look,” Darren said.
“If the bullet missed the top of his lungs,” I said, “he’s still running.”
“If,” Darren said.
One Wild Ride: Racing a South Texas Thunderstorm
Which was when the rain started—a scattering of large, heavy drops like shotgun pellets bouncing off the blind’s corrugated metal roof. No big deal, I figured. We were dry. But a cluster of swirling clouds and lightning seemed to be heading right at us, including those scary electric fingers of light reaching out horizontally.
Our weather apps told the story: The front was now aimed right at us.
We quickly packed up our gear, exited the blind and jumped into the very old Nissan SUV—aka the Brown Bomber—which the landowner let visitors like us use. Darren hit the gas, and we bounced along the ranch roads. All of a sudden, sheets of rain pelted us from the sides, the wind howled and thunder boomed right overhead.
We seemed to ride a wave of light and noise, rain smacking us in the face. The Nissan bottomed out more than once, my insides threatening to rearrange themselves. All I could do was hold on tight and hope like hell this decrepit vehicle didn’t die.
But we made it back to Darren’s pickup truck in under 10 minutes, wet, cold and grateful as we sat in the front seat and the storm continued to shake the vehicle. We dried off as best we could, laughing away the lightning-induced anxieties we’d felt just moments earlier.
Hey, this was night hunting. Stuff happens.
The Sauna: When South Texas Hog Hunting Turns Brutal
Another storm front moved through the area right at dinnertime the next day, and the radar revealed another night of lightning and rain. We stayed in.
The following night, Darren and I hunted a different property, sitting in a ground blind some 75 yards from a feeder. It had been 95 degrees that day, with a huge push of humidity from the Gulf. It still registered in the upper 80s when we hiked to the ground blind just before dark.
We sat and sweated in the smelly sauna and saw nothing in four hours. I drank three half-liter bottles of water, and it still wasn’t enough.
After midnight, with nothing moving—not even deer—we headed back to the vehicle. We sat in air-conditioned silence for 20 minutes to gather ourselves and drink more water before driving back to the Jones residence.
Daytime Recon: Finding the First Boar
The next afternoon found us back at our original hunting location in search of the boar I’d hit on Night No. 1.
It took less than 10 minutes to find him. He wasn’t 60 yards from where the HammerDown bullet struck him, though he’d found about the thickest tangle of tree trunks and pickery brush in which to expire.
As expected, various scavengers had chewed on him in several places, and flying and crawling bugs now swarmed over him, some of them as large as my thumb. The boar was good-sized, though—all of 180 pounds live weight, with an impressive set of cutters.
The Final Night: One More Chance at a Texas Hog
On my third and final night of hunting, Jones and I returned to our original elevated blind. The weather had broken, too. It was “only” in the mid-80s, the skies were clear and the humidity was way down.
Just before midnight, a boar appeared in the left sendero. He moved into the center of the opening, his nose pointing toward the feeder. I lined up the BOLT’s reticle on his head. I wanted to drop him where he stood...
I saw hogs crossing the far ends of the senderos several times, at least 400 yards away. Raccoons gobbled up corn beneath the feeder while a pair of whitetails stood off at a distance as if awaiting their turn.
Just before midnight, a boar appeared in the left sendero. He moved into the center of the opening, his nose pointing toward the feeder like he was thinking about it.
I lined up the BOLT’s reticle on his head. I wanted to drop him where he stood, not repeat the first night.
I squeezed the Marlin’s trigger, heard the “whack!” of a hit, and the pig ran.
Ran? What the hell?
I couldn’t find any blood on the ground, either.
Reviewing the video the next day, we saw that the boar had raised his head slightly just as I pulled the trigger. The shot that should’ve drilled him below the right ear struck lower, in the neck. No doubt he died soon afterward, but only after making it deep into the brush.
One Last Search for South Texas Hogs
At about 2 a.m., after more than an hour with nothing moving, Jones and I climbed into the old Nissan and drove around the ranch scanning for hogs. We spotted a big boar 500 yards away, crossing a huge field and heading away fast.
Jones spun the wheel and took a road that should’ve put us parallel to the boar. We topped a hill and scanned.
Nothing.
Either the boar had changed direction or plopped down out of sight.
We searched for another hour, spotting deer, raccoons and what looked like a coyote or fox slipping between the trees.
I didn’t want to leave, but my schedule had me back on the road to Wisco that afternoon. A few hours of sleep seemed like a good idea.
Still, I felt good about the hunt: a couple of hog opportunities, new gear put to the test, time spent with Jones and lots of that sporty Texas weather.
All good, and back soon.
