Missouri struggles to control feral hog problem

ST. LOUIS — With final puffs of steamy breath coming from its slightly tusked snout, the second boar collapsed at the edge of the trap, right next to the other.

Two fewer targets in Missouri’s fight against invasive feral hogs.

Felled by well-placed gunshots, together the two formed a hairy black heap of perhaps 400 pounds or more — animals that, before meeting their demise, were destructive outsiders among the surrounding patches of farmland and thick Ozark forests.

But the scene that unfolded recently on Jerry Richards’ farm in remote Washington County, about 80 miles southwest of St. Louis, represents an all-too-elusive payout for the property owners and government officials working to contain the introduced species.

In recent years, feral hogs have been a growing problem in Missouri, causing damage to property and farms, competing with native species and harboring diseases that could threaten domesticated pigs. But the on-the-ground fight to control them is an unforgiving scramble against their smarts, their prolific ability to multiply, and the people who introduce them to the state.

It’s hard enough to simply keep the population at bay, let alone dent it, explains Tom Meister, a wildlife damage biologist for the Missouri Department of Conservation and the lead coordinator of hog control efforts across an 18-county area that includes the St. Louis region.

Female hogs, or sows, can have three litters per year and start breeding at just 6 months old. “Studies show that you need to kill 80 percent of them just to maintain the population,” Meister said.

In Arkansas, the state Game and Fish Commission estimated the population of wild hogs, which are not native to Arkansas, was around 250,000 in 2017.

In Missouri, Meister said he believes the hog population is higher than ever, with the species largely found south of Interstate 44 and especially prevalent in southeast Missouri. And even though the Conservation Department reports that more than 9,300 feral hogs were killed in the state last year, it’s difficult to gauge whether control efforts are working.

The fight is spearheaded by individual landowners who partner with state officials and partner agencies, such as a team of about 20 hog-trapping specialists who work for the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

“These feral hogs have so many nasty diseases,” Meister added, rattling off brucellosis, pseudorabies and trichinosis as examples commonly carried by feral swine. “If they got to the domestic livestock, it’d be huge. And they don’t want that to happen, so that’s why they got involved.”

Officials can make strides through trapping — not hunting — the hogs, which are called a sounder in a group. The distinction is key.

“If you kill one or two, then that may break the sounder up, and then you’ve got two groups,” said Jeromy Boze, an Conservation Department wildlife crew leader and strike team member, explaining why the agency doesn’t want to allow or encourage hunting.

Trapping, though, faces its own challenges. Fail to catch a whole group, and even a couple of loose hogs can mean a continued problem.

“You’re hoping to catch the whole sounder. Because they breed like rabbits,” Boze said. “If you have one escape a trap, I’m not sure you’d ever get them in the same style trap again.”