Pig Story.

I used to live in Hawaii. On Oahu, at the height of the Vietnam war.

Go-PigWeekends I would drive up to Dillingham Airfield to skydive. The crowd I jumped with was mostly military; guys on R&R who would ship out again on Monday and never come back. It was the days of the round parachute and we spent a lot of time being blown into the cane fields by the persistent trade winds. There was one civilian who placed himself at the leading edge of development of the high-performance square canopy. The experimental canopies he flew were full of promise but hopelessly unreliable and more often than not he wound up riding his reserve into the North Shore surf and feeling quite matter-of-fact about it.

A true Outlaw.

He was there every weekend until he never came again and we found out that he’d tapped into a new source of adrenaline. He was on the Big Island, fighting pigs. Not your usual huff-and-puff porkers, but wild boars; among the most vicious creatures on earth. A friend would chopper him in to the wilds of central Hawaii and he’d fight his way out, armed only with a knife.

And then he moved on to the Next Big Thing. The last I heard, he was sitting trance-like in front of his TV, watching game shows.

I know … it’s not much of a story. But it does provide the rationale for a great shirt.

Go Pig, or Go Home!

10 years ago

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