WARNER ROBINS, Ga. — At 2 o'clock in the morning recently, Staff Sgt. Mark Atkins found himself in his front yard--safely near the front door in case he had to dart inside--throwing rocks at the two wild hogs that were furiously rooting up his flower beds.
Atkins is used to abundant wildlife at his home on the Robins Air Force Base here in central Georgia, a 7,000-acre expanse buffered by woodlands that reach to the Ocmulgee River. It is common for raccoons and deer to appear in his yard, and a neighbor once spied a small black bear. But wild hogs, single-minded in their pursuit of grub worms among Atkins' four o'clocks, were an unsettling sight.
"I stayed as far away as I could," said Atkins, 38, whose encounters this summer with the hogs are the first in his 4 1/2 years on the base. "They were reluctant to go. They tend to move on to greener pastures and then come back later that night and make a big mess."
Atkins' lawn--which had won two "Yard of the Month" awards--is no longer competitive after a series of nighttime visits from the vandals. It looks as if someone ran through it with a plow. Atkins also thinks there is another reason to beware of the hogs, and has warned his neighbors who might venture out at night: The boars, which can weigh 300 pounds, have been known to charge people, wielding tusks that can be three inches long.
Wild hogs, or feral hogs, as they are called, are becoming an increasing nuisance, even a danger, in large parts of the South. Fertile and prone to large litters, with no natural predators, they are showing up in droves in marshes, swamplands and along creeks in Georgia, the Carolinas, the Florida panhandle and even central Florida --anyplace that makes a good spot to wallow and forage for food.
As housing developments are going up alongside wooded areas, hog encounters with people are becoming more frequent, and recent drought conditions have compounded the problem. The hogs, already nomadic, are ranging farther afield in their search for a meal and a mud bath, seeking out the watered lawns, manicured golf courses and irrigated farms of civilization.
In Chesterfield County, S.C., for the last couple of years, farmers found that hungry hogs had plucked seed corn right out of the rows, then came back to select from the replanted crop just as it was about to be harvested. Hunters were summoned to trap the hogs, even granted special permits to hunt at night, but made only a dent in their numbers, estimated to be in the hundreds.
