Skip to comments.Free Republic Gun Club – Thursday – Hunting stories.
Posted on 08/21/2008 5:24:43 AM PDT by Pistolshot
Free Republic Gun Club Thursday Hunting stories.
A little off the wall topic today. Most of us who have hunted over the years have a lot of humorous and interesting stories about adventures we have had.
Time to share them.
One of mine and the one I tell most people is about the time I took a co-worker white-tail hunting in Texas. Now, most of you whitetail hunters out there can attest to how skiddish and supremely paranoid whitetails are. One twig break, and ZOOM, they are gone, and I mean GONE.
My co-worker, who had never been hunting before, was curious about what it was like and asked if he could tag along. I knew he was a good shooter from all the quail and dove we had taken the past season. That year there was a 2 buck/1 doe tag. Texas whitetails aren't very big and you need a couple to fill a freezer, and that year, they were in abundance. Which meant a LOT of meat IF you could get the shots.
We went to a lease area I knew of where the game was plenty and the hunting tough.
I leant my friend a Marlin 30-30 with a fixed 4X scope mounted to it. Driving onto the lease area I parked the truck in the middle of a cornfield that still had stalks. Mesquite was in abundance to the left and the right, and promised some good hunting. I wanted my friend to get the full affect of being in the woods alone hunting a game animal so we split up. I went north of the cornfield and would hunt that way, while he went south and hunted in that direction.
The cornfield was pretty long and it would take 5-10 minutes for me to get where the mesquite was thicker. As I walked along putting rounds into the rifle I heard the tell tale sound of shooting.
My first thought was
What the hell is he shooting at? So, I decided to walk back and see if there was trouble of some sort.
Rounding the end of the cornfield, I came upon something I had never seen before in all my years of up and down valleys hunting elk, mulies, blacktails, whitetails.
Two deer, horns locked in combat, dead on the ground.
I walked up to my friend and said What the heck happened?
I loaded the rifle as I walked like you told me, and when I rounded the corner of the cornfield they were there fighting. He said. So I shot both of them.
Is it always this easy?
I just unloaded the rifle sat down and cried. NEVER had I seen beginners luck like that.
Did you get a white tail that day?
Nope, we gutted and quartered those two and went home. I was shaking my head the whole way. In fact, I didn’t go out again that whole season.
At least you had the whole rest of the day to do something else.
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He handed me a medium-sized duck with an iridescent green and chestnut colored head, gray body and large feathers coming off the wings close to the body. I certainly had never seen a duck like it before, so I dug out my picture book of Waterfowl of the World and identified it as a falcated duck (Anas falcata).
The only problem was that this species of duck is native to eastern Asia and breeds in Siberia and China. WTF was it doing in South America, east of the Andes?
After I got back to the US, I contacted the US Fish and Wildlife Service, Ducks Unlimited's office in Memphis, and the Wildlife Department at Louisiana State University. No one really could conceive that this duck had flown across the Pacific and the Andes mountains and taken up residence in Buenos Aires province, Argentina. They all concluded that the bird had been raised in captivity from an egg and escaped. Nevertheless, it was the first report of a wild Falcated duck ever in Argentina.
In case anyone thinks this is just a BS hunting story, here's the actual duck mounted on the wall of my living room:
Ain't it the truth!
The daughter of a good friend went hunting for the first time with her fiance. She was carrying a .243, but had never fired anything larger than a .22. She fell asleep in the stand, and when she awoke a 10 point buck was in the middle of the greenfield. One shot brought down the prettiest 10 pointer I've ever seen.
Needless to say my friend has been howling with laughter about this for three years. Hunter's go their entire lives without bagging a trophy like that. It's enough to make a grown man cry!
Well, I have a few, but I'm sure that they pale in comparison to the experiences of many here.
May I leave out the story, and go right to the moral of? It's a great idea to put rope restraints in tree stands.
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
last year I only went out once, behind a buddies property, AAAAAALLLLLLLL day and went to regroup with said bud, when I saw a pretty doewatching me...I raised the shotgun and drew a bead before noticing the collar on her neck...
my friends wild 'pet' deer that he found as a babe and frequently comes by his place to visit...often times showing off her new kids and sometimes chasing his dogs around the yard and playing...
I took my friend John wild hog hunting near my home in NE Texas a couple of years ago where I knew the hogs had been rooting. We sat there for 30-40 minutes and I caught some movement in the edge of the field. 5 BIG hogs entered the field and began to feed so we set up for a double. Just as we were about to shoot 4 White Tail does came in from our left. The hogs saw them and went on high alert, (they had no idea we were in the same zip code), when they alerted the does spooked, that in turn spooked the hogs and in 2 seconds the field was empty and we were wondering what the heck just happend! We looked at each other in amazement and then laughted all the way back to the truck.
It’s larger than a teal. More the size of gadwall.
Around noon it began sleeting, and I settled myself under a rather large red cedar tree to get out of the elements.
As I sat there, cradling my shotgun across my lap, I fell sound asleep.
Now, I was wearing a triple x beaver hat, (much like a DI's hat, but dark blue in color) and when I awoke I saw small icicles on the brim of the hat.
Not realizing what it was that I was seeing, a mere 4-5" from my nose, I jumped up with a start.
Not more than tewnty feet away from me two bucks were standing.
When I jumped up they spooked and ran across my front from left to right.
I recovered in time to get the second buck with a shot to the right shoulder.
I'd rather be lucky than good anytime.
Way up North in Wisconsin, or Nort as they say, we drove to a place and settled down in some brush that split two empty corn fields. It was winter and it was about 25 degrees with no wind.
He sat down leaning against a tree to my left and behind me as I sat on my little stool with an arrow nocked and ready to draw. Just before dusk I noticed there were two bucks leading a group of doe's coming toward us diagonally across the field. I was still as a stone because the bucks were checking out the field.
Well just as one of the prize bucks, about 3 years old, was coming within about 45 yards, my brother-in-law yelled, “Oh Shite”. At that millisecond the bucks took off along with the rest of the group and I turned to him and saw a squirrel jump off of his shoulder on to the tree next to him in a panic.
The squirrel jumped on him thinking he was part of the tree. At first I was disappointed because I had an incredible chance to get a big one. Then I laughed at him when he said it scared the living crap out of him because he though the squirrel was going for his face.
We all met up a few hours latter and he brought us out to help carry his deer. We found one buck and two does within 15 feet of each other.
He shot a doe, the buck came running up to see what was going on and after the buck was shot another doe came running up to see what was going on.
I was still hunting a draw when I came upon a 'hunter' leaning against a tree. At first I thought he was asleep. Then I noticed the empty brandy bottle at his feet.
Here he was passed out drunk with a rifle in his hand, finger on the trigger, safety in the "OFF" position. I made sure I was behind him, and tried to gently wake him. No luck. Then I got more agressive and started to shout at him. Nothing.
So I took the rifle out of his hands and checked it. Sure as hell, there was a round in the chamber. It was a nice rifle, btw, a Weatherby in 7MM Mag.
Yea, I thought about it, but a stolen firearm is a Felony.
So I did the next best thing. I unloaded the rifle and put the cartridges right next to Sleeping Beauty. Then I put the barrel in the crook of a tree, grabbed the stock, and pulled really really hard.
I managed to bend the barrel nearly 45 degrees.
Then I gently laid the rifle in his lap and walked quietly away.
I would have paid good money to see the look on his face when he finally woke up.
My 17 year-old stepson and I were staying at my wife’s family property on Toledo Bend Reservoir, where we planned to hunt deer in the adjacent Sabine National Forest. The cabin has all of the amenities - fishing out the front door, and hunting out the back - not to mention running water, heat & a/c, kitchen and bath. It’s rustic, but a far cry from pitching a tent.
Not only is it rustic, but it’s buried as deep into the east Texas piney woods as possible. Any further and we’d be in Louisiana. We’d made the three and half-hour trip from College Station several times since July to stock the feeder with corn, which we hoped helped to hold deer in the area. The feeder is near the cabin on private property - feeders aren’t allowed on public lands. We’d spent hours before the season sighting in our rifles, readying our equipment and supplies, and purchasing both of the required hunting and public lands access permits. It’s not a cheap hobby, but we anticipate every hunting season like a three-year old anticipates Christmas - this time even more so, as it was our first time to hunt the national forest. We’d previously hunted a paid lease on private land without much success, so this year we thought we would try something new and different, with better hopes for a rewarding hunt.
The weather was warm and humid for November, but we were optimistic. Increasing our odds was a new moon, which meant the deer would likely move in the mornings & evenings, instead of foraging at night. We selected promising locations for our ladder stands. My stand was near a small rise, and The Boy’s stand overlooked a heavily traveled creek crossing. Both spots showed good sign of recent deer activity and had good transition - low growth areas opening onto areas clear from undergrowth. There was a good food source, as the ground was covered with acorns the size of my thumb from the towering oak trees competing with the even taller pines. Prospects appeared excellent for harvesting an East Texas Piney Woods Buck.
It was Saturday afternoon, around 3pm. Shooting light would be over by 5:30. It was time to get into the stands before the deer began to move. A hunter who lived nearby had knocked on the door that morning to, in a gentlemanly-like manner, let us know we would all be hunting in the same general area, and that he wanted to be sure we knew he would be hunting down a draw adjacent to where we had set up. He added that he’d seen a group of four does on the way in. We hoped the does would help to attract a buck.
We prepared to leave by donning our scent-free camouflage, specially washed only in baking soda and stored in plastic garbage bags so as to repel any odors. We had bathed thoroughly and sprayed ourselves with scent eliminator. We’d put out doe-in-heat scent that morning around the areas where we noticed activity, hoping to draw a buck within shooting range. We placed apples in our pockets for cover scent. We’d spent a lot of time and money preparing for this hunt, and didn’t want to ruin it with a buck spooked from picking up a stray man-smell. Finally we put on our fluorescent orange caps and vests (required in the national forest), loaded our rifles, and walked silently to our stands, eager, tense, and alert with the anticipation of seeing that first antler tip, gray-brown patch of hide, or silhouette through the evergreens.
We settled in and it wasn’t long before the other hunter we’d met moved through, dressed exactly as we were, silently picking his way through the brush. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and I observed the practiced way that he studied the ground for sign, took a few silent steps, stopped to slowly look around, and then repeated the process - an experienced, and likely successful, hunter. I waved my orange cap to him so he would note my location. He saw the movement immediately, and he returned the salute. He moved out of sight, and we returned to waiting, trying not to give away our position by swatting at the mosquitoes that floated around us in buzzing clouds or landed to remove a little afternoon snack from our veins.
It was about 4pm when I saw it - a flash of white deep in the woods to the southwest - exactly the location where I had anticipated the buck would appear. I readied my .308 Remington for a potential shot. Searching the scope for the deer, hoping for antlers, I instead saw something completely unexpected - a golf cart. It was, of all things, an all-white electric golf cart, complete with a windscreen, and three paunchy occupants - four if you count the golden retriever they had with them. One of the hunters was dressed in camouflage, the others wore white t-shirts. No fluorescent orange for these guys. I lowered my rifle as they approached my hunting area, picking their way around trees, stumps, and downed limbs. It was surreal - the electric golf cart made no sound other than snapping a twig now and then. They traversed my hunting area within 50 yards of my stand, then proceeded to the dirt access road about 200 yards away. They parked there for awhile, standing out like a huge white neon sign in the deep green of the pines - I suppose they thought they were hunting. I hoped they would leave via the access road since surely they had noted me in the stand dressed out in my hunter orange. But, no. A short time later, they slowly drove back, directly the way they had come - straight across my hunting area again, right over the game trail and the spot where I’d found a rub and carefully placed my doe scent earlier. Needless to say, I was incensed. If I hadn’t been so surprised, I might have been angry enough to disable their vehicle with a 180-grain round through its electric motor. They were close enough - I could have done it, and that silly thing would have forever remained in those woods as a monument to their stupidity. Besides, from the look of them it would have done them some good to do a little walking. If I’d had a cell phone with me, I would have called the game warden. It’s against the law to hunt from a vehicle or to drive off-road vehicles in the national forest. Unfortunately, my only recourse was to watch them slowly disappear back through the trees, our chances for a buck gone, at least for that afternoon.
Shortly after they were out of sight, I heard the sharp crack of a rifle - likely the other hunter we’d met, judging from the location. I figured the golf cart might have spooked a buck to him. Or, maybe he decided to put one through their motor. I almost hope next time I’m out there that I find that rusting golf cart, buried in pine needles, with a nice, neat hole through it.
We went back on the first day of deer season and hiked in about four miles and climbed down the steep sides of the canyon and set up just after dawn. My friend set up on a stand and I walked around the back side of the marsh and started driving his way. I was up to my knees in freezing muck before I went 10 steps. I was thrashing around trying to keep my boots from coming off when I heard him shoot.
I backed out of the marsh and went back the way I came and found him struggling to drag a big whitetail buck out of the swamp. It had run about a hundred yards before dropping. It was then that we realized why no one else hunted this area. We had to get a 150 lb deer out of the thick brushy swamp and up the shear canyon walls with no rope. It started sleeting after about an hour and it took us all day to inch our way up to the top dragging the deer. He finally went and got a farm tractor to drag it the rest of the way and we didn't get out of the woods until well after dark. Our parents were worried sick thinking that we'd been shot by some city hunter.
Many years ago I took a youth group into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains for a back packing trip. We were very high up, over 11,000 ft, on the Rainbow Trail, in a narrow valley camping. In the middle of the night, I was awakend with something wiping my face, I felt my face and it was covered with the nastiest smelling slime you could imagine. I opened my eyes and looked up over my head and in the moonlight was looking directly into the face of a fairly large black bear. The same one that had just been licking my face. I reached up beside my sleeping bag pillow and grabbed my .45LC and placed the barrel up against his nose and blew his brains out.
It took myself and 3 teenagers to drag the carcass out from in front of the tent, and needless to say, no one slept the rest of the night.
We fired in the air a couple of times and the shooting stopped. We decided to give up hunting and go bass fishing for the rest of the day.
What is with these mental midgets who do this SOUND SHOTS?
Only a pure nimrod, greenhorn, carpetbagging fool would do such a thing. Too bad you didnt track them down and bag them so that their genetics didnt spread.
It reminds me of an old joke.
A city hunter goes out during deer season and gets lucky. Suddenly he sees an old guy run out of the woods toward his kill. He yells at the old guy to leave his deer alone, but the guy keeps coming. The city man draws down on him and gives him one last warning to leave his deer alone. The old guy says, "Okay, you can keep him, but can I at least get my sadle and bridle back?"
Now, that is a fantastic story!
Kind of ironic when you think about it.
‘Shot-in-Freud’ Bwahahahahaha, one of the funniest puns I’ve ever read, adn in the context of the story, BRILLIANT!
We had a dufus come to our place of business and begin bragging about his hunting prowness, and how he had not gotten anything yet that season even though he had taken several sound shots. My wife tore him a new outtie hole, then ejected him from the office even though he was being tempted to spend several thousand dollars on goods.
Her basis was that anyone that stupid couldnt be trusted to have out products. He would have likely gotten half way into the project and then failed and probably would have tried to sue us anyway, being he was a daft liberal from Santa Fe, New Mexico. I supported her whole heartedly.
It was not long before that that some jerkwad had shot and killed her favorite saddle horse there in the pasture.
out products==our products
My BOOM, BOOM - BOOM story is how I learned to hunt pheasants in New Jersey without a dog. I started hunting later in life and a friend taught me how to zig zag a field to make a pheasant fly because it thinks you spotted it. This is really fairly simple. Walk through the field as if you knew exactly where the bird was, stop, stare at a an area, then change direction and do the same thing. Push the bird to a corner and as you force it into a smaller part of the field, it will eventually think you know where it is because you keep coming at it. It will eventually fly.
But there is a much easier way, especially useful in places like Flatbrook Wildlife Management Area in northern N.J. Walk aimlessly around the fields until you hear these sounds: “bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, BOOM, BA-BOOM, BOOM, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.”
This is the sound of two guys who can’t shoot their guns with a totally undisciplined dog. The dog puts a bird up about sixty yards away from them. They couldn’t hit it if it was tied to a stake, anyway.
Figure out which way they’re going and get there first. They’re like flushers on a driven hunt. When you hear, “bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM,” just wait until you hear wings above you and shoot. Dinner is served, and you’ll never have to clean dog puke off the floor of your truck. :)
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