Five minutes before legal light ends, five or seven hogs show up. He’d told me they generally sound like an army approaching, especially when the woods are this dry. But these make almost no sound. I put the scope on nice one but then it faces away. Thomas is telling me to shoot, so I move right, to another hog. Thing is, they’re all black. As is the scope reticle. With so little light, I must judge where the pig’s shoulder is. I also have to center the reticle solely by the visible parts of the crosshairs. It’s not rocket science, but it’s apparently more than my brain can handle in the excitement of the moment. I fire, a cloud of dust rises by the feeder. “I believe you missed,” he says.