Here's three from here, from way back, with the cartridges used to help remind me of their stories at the time.
The length of the grinder tusk sharpening edges shows how impressive they are, to me anyway.
The one with the .22 was taken with a Browning Buckmark .22LR pistol. I was sitting under a tree up in the hills and taking a break and had my eyes closed thinking about a nasty incident in my life at the time, and I heard a snap noise and 6 feet from me, this boar was standing there dead still staring at me.
Way more times than once a pistol has saved me from stories that could have had nasty endings.
It's just a matter of time spent outside I guess that adds this all up.
This is hard, rocky country in the Traprock and tusks get a hard time digging, so there are some smart, exceptional old boars here that have avoided the pig doggers.

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The one with the .300, this pig had killed dozens of sheep in the 18-19 drought in the neighbours and was hiding up in here, through a hole in the fence.
People had been after it for a year or more and it had a legend of stories pinned on it, It was this ghost that came out at night and killed stock. I came over a hill and saw it belting a nanny goat over repeatedly to kill and eat it, the scene was a harrowing one and it heard my ute. After what seemed like time dragging out in slow motion, I got the Ruger 77 Mk2 off the dash, ran around the ute and it was flat out at maybe 250m plus, I swung past in front of it and let fly and it got one in the back of the neck right where the spine joins the skull. Instant kill and absolutely a circus shot, complete arse.
It was so old, all its molars were rotten out from decay, and it must've been in agony. I have pics of it somewhere and it's the most frightening nasty looking monster I've ever shot.