Feral pigs are an enormous threat to the environment and Queensland’s multi-billion dollar agricultural industry.

They tear up swathes of farmland, destroying crops and water sources and spreading disease. They are prolific breeders with one sow producing multiple litters, totalling 12 piglets in a single year. Estimates put pig numbers at more than 24 million – is it any wonder they inhabit 45 per cent of Australia.

Experts say they are even beginning to encroach upon populated areas – they will go wherever the food is and have moved into the fringes of regional cities such as Rockhampton. Anything to reduce their numbers is a good thing. That’s why the Australian Government launched the National Feral Pig Action Plan last year.

I’m more than happy to do my bit in the perennial war on these pests. At least once a year, I enlist my sons and we head to Queensland’s Channel Country.

This year we were fortunate to have access to a property southwest of Quilpie for a week living in the bush, hunting the channels….and father/son bonding.

This is where Outback Queensland meets New South Wales, meets South Australia, meets the NT, so called “channel country” for its rivulets which spider out across more than 150,000 square kilometres, fed by the mighty Georgina, Diamantina and Bulloo rivers.

No matter which direction you come from, after a good wet season like we have had this year the verdant vegetation and wildlife in the channels and waterholes make it a sight to behold…and ripe for feral pig infestations.

We arrived at our destination after 14 hours of car travel from Brisbane and more than 1800km on the Warrego Way.

The old homestead that we camp alongside was built around 1920 and abandoned in the 1974 floods when a monsoonal trough over northern Australia flooded nearly every river in Queensland and the capital.

This once grand, sprawling structure wrapped with wide verandahs is surrounded by the remnants of cattle yards, kitchen gardens and outbuildings. They are ghostly reminders of what a bustling operation it must have been in its heyday.

The area we have chosen for our hunt is extremely isolated. Safety is paramount as the nearest medical assistance is 150km away, so we have strict rules for everything we do and carry the necessary first aid equipment, plenty of water etc should any unexpected event arise.

One advantage for our expedition, is that my oldest son is a paramedic. We’re in good hands.

For me, the trip is more than just hunting and shooting – it’s about passing on skills you don’t learn from driving Xboxes and PlayStations.

Bush craft and survival skills, stalking game, four-wheel-driving and recovery, camp cooking and honing shooting skills in harsh outback environments and conditions…and, well, just having a Bundy and Coke around the campfire at night.

The paddock we shoot in is around 110,000 acres giving us a full 360-degree range for the larger calibres we were using.

After zeroing our rifles – I’m using a Ruger (.300WM & 7.62 x 39) and Marlin (45.70) – we headed into the channels to do some hunting.

This year we also had the help of my (wife’s) 10-month-old Bull Arab cross in training. I was told not to come home if anything happened to him. No scars. No scratches. (I can report that both the dog and I returned home unscathed).

We were about to head out when a pig wandered 100m from our camp. After a short chase and some puppy play, the dog’s instincts kicked in and he lugged his first 40kg pig.

To start this trip, we needed to do a reccy because there had been a lot of rain with roads damaged, gullies washed out. We set off in the Warrior side-by-side and soon ran into a decent mob, but they were deep on the southern end of the property, and they were big, fast and too hard to get.

We were all rigged up with the spotlight on the buggy and thermal to go out after dark. Overnight the mercury dropped to -2, making it too cold for pigs to be out and about at night.

There wasn’t a thing moving. We had to change our usual modus operandi, whether we would hunt in the 4WD, in the side-by-side or on foot. And we had a new member of our team – the dog.

Growing up around Mount Isa and over many years of hunting pigs, I know what signs to look for: Rub marks on trees, wallows, game trails, hair and mud on fences, (fresh) pig scat.

I also know that just because they were in one place last time, doesn’t mean they’ll be there again: You have to actively seek them out, day or night.

Due to the cold weather they were mainly on the move between 11am and 3pm. Day 2 had all the anticipation – maybe more – because we came up empty-handed on Day 1.

As the alarm clock buzzed we were blessed with a magnificent sunrise and the crisp, fresh air that only an outback morning can deliver.

I always tell my boys to switch off everything else and switch on to the environment. I’ve got hearing aids after 40 years of shooting but out in the bush I hear, and see, better than them.

My son claimed early bragging rights, spotting a dingo near the camp at 220m, on the move, and rolled him with the 300.

We set off after smashing brekky and it didn’t take long before we came across a mob of pigs. About 400m away we could see them in the scrub, and they weren’t going to come out, so we made a diagonal stalk, trying not to make any noises and ruin our chances.

I swear by the calibres that I use for pig hunting. I have stepped the kids up from air rifles, to .22s to a .357 magnum lever action, so they get comfortable with the bigger calibres.

We took to ground, waiting patiently, then two pigs came steaming right at us. Ten metres away they stopped and looked straight at us before their fate was sealed.

In all we rolled a dozen pigs, two dingoes and did the property owner a favour.

After months of planning, days of sharing the hunt with my sons and putting s--t on one another around the fire at night, it all seems to end so quickly.

And so the countdown begins til the next trip…