When I first moved here—over 12 years ago now—I started hearing stories.
You know the ones.
The “back in the day” yarns, when pigs ruled the valleys, tore up paddocks, and scared the living daylights out of anyone with a vegetable garden.
Then came the hunters, loaded with dogs, rifles, and beer.
Apparently, they all but wiped the pigs out.
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I was horrified.
As a city girl with no concept of feral anything (except maybe pigeons), wild pigs hadn’t even made it onto my mental checklist when I bought this place.
Wombats, sure.
Kangaroos, of course.
But pigs?
Then came the photos.
Grainy, bloodied trophies.
Grinning blokes with arms slung over dead boars the size of small hatchbacks.
But the message was clear: “Don’t worry love, that’s all history.
"We haven’t seen pigs in years.”
And for a long time, that was true.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned out here, it’s that nature doesn’t stay tidy for long.
Like the wild dog population that’s boomed over the past decade, the pigs are back.
And they’re not sneaking in quietly.
From Bridge Creek to Whitfield, locals are spotting the signs—paddocks rooted up like someone ran a plough through them overnight, fences busted, dogs barking at shadows in the dark, and yeah, pigs.
Real, living, grunting wild pigs.
We recently caught fourteen of them on a trail cam.
Fourteen!
That’s not one rogue boar passing through.
That’s a proper group.
And that’s a problem.
An even bigger problem - is that people aren’t reporting it.
Yes, we all talk about the pigs and wild dogs.
The papers are full of stories.
Local Facebook groups are overflowing with sightings, photos, and damage.
But when the authorities look at the official records?
They see nothing to back up the claims.
So they assume it’s all hogwash….
And if it’s not reported, it’s not real—not to those holding the purse strings at least!
No reports mean no budget, no boots on the ground, and no coordinated response.
Just another problem swept under the bureaucratic rug.
Even something small—hearing a dog howl, seeing tracks, spotting a new wallow, or catching a glimpse on a trail cam—it all matters.
Report it.
Make the call.
Because otherwise, we’re all just shaking our heads, while the official line stays the same: “Looks like there’s no real problem out there.”
Let’s make sure the record reflects reality.
Because those pigs?
And those wild dogs?
They’re not going to report themselves.
They make a mess, no doubt about it—digging up paddocks, nudging through fences, and turning garden beds to compost.
Like wombats, they root and wallow—but in large groups, they do more, and faster.
I've heard of vege patches flattened overnight and water troughs knocked out of place.
It's the scale and frequency that set them apart.
I’m not trying to start a panic.
But I’m also not sugar-coating it.
Wild pigs can be dangerous.
Most of the time they’ll bolt the second they catch your scent (and let’s be honest, after a day in the garden, they’ll smell you coming).
But surprise one, or worse—come between a sow and her piglets—and you’re in trouble.
They’re fast and strong.
Big boars especially can do real damage.
And if they’re cornered or injured?
They’ll charge.
It’s rare—but it happens.
Check your place regularly—turned-over soil, wallows, broken fences, hoofprints, scat.
Look for signs, pay attention.
Fencing helps.
But pigs are strong and clever.
They’ll test for weaknesses.
Electric fencing can work—but only if it’s well-maintained and low enough to stop the little ones wriggling under.
Trail cams are your best mate.
That’s how I found out there were 14 pigs, not just two.
Talk to your neighbours.
If you’re seeing pigs, chances are someone else is too.
Coordinated efforts—especially for trapping or notifying authorities—work far better than going it alone.
And if you do encounter wild pigs:
• Don’t approach—especially if piglets are nearby.
• Back away slowly.
• Don’t run unless it charges.
• Keep dogs close—they escalate things quickly.
• Make noise when walking through tall grass or scrub.
• If charged: try to get up high (rocks, logs, vehicles) and use whatever you can to shield yourself.
It’s not about fear—it’s about awareness.
If we stay alert, keep our fences tight, and share what we know, we’ve got a chance to stay ahead of this before it starts costing time, money, and sleep.
And if you do see a pig wandering past your compost bin in broad daylight?
Maybe don’t name it and start feeding it kitchen scraps.
