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Let's hear a good hunting story!

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Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Tigger » 12 11, 2019 •  [Post 1]

After consulting with myself, I decided we don't have enough good hunting stories! So let's hear some. No need to all be elk related, but they sure can be. Tell us a good story to pass these cold winter days and nights (-20 here tonight).

For my 12th birthday, my dad got me a Buck 118 fixed blade knife. It was my first year deer hunting and I was so very proud of that knife. At 12, I never wore a belt. But for deer hunting, I wore one so I could have that knife on me. After a morning of hunting, I had to take a leak out in the woods. It was then time to go in for lunch. I walked from the woods, across about 1/2 mile of plowed field and just as I was getting back to my uncles farmstead, I saw that open belt swinging away....with no knife. I had forgotten to fasten my belt after taking a leak. My heart absolutely sank like only a 12 year olds can. I was devastated. So I started backtracking myself. Sometimes I was on hands and knees for long distances across that field. About 3/4 of the way back across that field, I found my knife. I might have kissed and hugged it. That was 37 years ago and it is still my favorite knife.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Swede » 12 11, 2019 •  [Post 2]

Once upon a time there were three fat little pigs, and one very tricky wolf. Mr. Wolf was starting to run low on pork when the archery swine season finally opened. He hunted for several days but the pigs seemed to sense where he was hiding out in the nearby forest. The wind too often shifted where they usually rooted around for truffles. Whenever Mr. Wolf was about to come to full draw on a pig, the pig scurried behind a bush or the wind changed and he was busted, and so too Wolf's first half of bow season was a bust.
Mr. Wolf Finally came by Swede's house and asked about this one wallow that was frequently used by the fattest of the porkers. He was advised to try a Millennium M100 tree stand, set it up at about 25 feet high in a solid tree, and get in early. After that he needed to just be patient and wait. The very next day Mr. Wolf was set up, and in his stand right at dawn. At about 9:00 AM Mr. Wolf heard the rustle of little hooves coming his way. Soon he heard some grunts and saw movement in the brush just off to his left. He slowly reached out and took his bow off the hanger and carefully stood while the little boar's head was behind a tree. It seemed like an eternity, but within minutes that pig was down at the wallow getting a drink. Mr. Wolf came to full draw on him and carefully set his top pin right behind the pig's shoulder. Slowly Wolf squeezed the trigger then suddenly the arrow was on its way.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Swede » 12 12, 2019 •  [Post 3]

It was about 1973, when one Sunday afternoon in early October, I decided to go out for an afternoon deer hunt. My family lived in a Forest Service housing area 60 miles from the nearest town large enough to be incorporated. "Church" was simply a one hour Sunday School gathering where we had attended. The afternoon was warm and dry. I took my old Chevy pickup and drove out a few miles and started hiking up through this very steep rock mountain.
I had to work my way back and forth to gain elevation as the bluffs were too much to climb over. I had ascended about 500 feet when it occurred to me that this was about the craziest Idea I had come up with lately. What am I doing in a place like this? Why did I not just stay home and enjoy the afternoon with my wife and three kids? Still, I kept going, thinking to myself, no self-respecting deer would be in a place like this.
Finally about 200 feet elevation farther up the mountain, it was time to start the real hunt. I turned and hiked over to a timbered draw to the east. It was not far. It too was steep, but it must have pitched up farther up, as it was not as bad as the bluff rocks I was in. The rock and bluff area had brought me around this basin that was off where I would start my "real" hunt.
On the warm bare south facing slope the diurnal winds were still steady upslope, so I knew that when I entered the timber I would see a totally undisturbed area. Nothing had seen, heard or scented me. Also no one has hunted here all season, I felt very sure. As I got close to the timber edge I found a good looking game trail. It would be perfect, but what would be there when I stepped inside "the office"?
When I walked ahead, the timber it opened up so I could see all around for about 100 yards. Down slope, near the bottom of what I could see, at about 80 yards, there was something. I studied it for awhile until one of two deer raised its head. Here between the stone ridges on this huge south facing slope were two nice buck deer, and neither had any idea I was in the country. I slowly raised my 6.5 Swede and fired. The unique crack of the Swede totally disrupted the tranquility on the mountain. The lead buck dropped, then got up and started heading downhill. Because of the timber and some brush he was out of sight in an instant. I had no opportunity for a follow-up shot.
I quickly made my way down to where the bucks had stood. They were both still close by. I suppose they were confused by what had happened. When I came into sight, they headed down and were starting to turn off to go around the slope. I fired again at the one that was trailing. He had been the farthest upslope and that was the relative position of this one. I was not positive which I had shot at first, but he seemed to be the most likely one. Beside he was a little closer and a little slower. With the second shot he was down for good. Close examination showed he was in fact the deer I had shot from the trail above. Why he did not stay down is still a mystery. I had hit a little far back, but he could not have gone far.
I was pleased as I had a straight downhill drag to get him to the road. I had just shot the largest Cascade Blacktail deer I have ever taken.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Tigger » 12 12, 2019 •  [Post 4]

I was hunting pheasants with my dog, a brittany in the mid 90s. It was snowing and we had probably 8 inches on the ground. We were in the willow swamp and she got birdy. She locked up on point, but I could tell something wasn't quite right. She moved of her own accord. Locked again. But her head would tilt a little hear and there as the wind brought the scent to her nose. If she is on a rooster, she would lock up like a statue. Something wasn't quite right. She moved again. Now we were at the edge of the willows looking across 100 yards of snow covered meadow at another part of the swamp. She wanted to go across. I followed. We got to the other side and this time she locked up solid. The bush exploded with the wings of 5 pheasants, two of which were roosters. She retrieved them both and I went over to inspect where they had been. To my astonishment, there were no tracks in the snow. I looked across the meadow....a direct line downwind. My dog had smelled them from over 100 yards. She has been gone a long time now but I sure miss Cody. Something about that dog sure captured my heart!
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 12, 2019 •  [Post 5]

I tried to start a thread like this on another forum, just one full of good hunting stories. Hopefully this one takes off better than mine did.

Your pheasant story brings back all kinds of memories of hunting over my lab Chloe. She is still with us, but has been retired a couple years now. She's stone deaf from years of wing shooting. I think she likes it more that way, can't here my wife telling her to get off the couch :)

I'll start with her last hunt. It was 3 years ago, hunting the Palouse for pheasant and quail near Colfax, WA. It had snowed 3 or 4 days prior, but the day before we arrived it blew hard, drifting lots of snow. It then warmed, and froze. When we hit the field Saturday morning, the snow was frozen not quite solid enough to hold her up. It was a brutal hunt. Birds were flushing wild a hundred yards or more out in front of us. Spent and dejected with 1 quail to show, we circled up to the edge of the winter wheat field to get out of the snow and hoof it back to the truck. As we were walking along the fence line and snow bank, she got birdy. She held for a moment and took off at a run up the fence line. The wind was swirling up over the edge, and was inconsistent at best, but it was enough to bring faint scent trails up to her. It became obvious that the birds were over the edge and running through the brush ahead of us. She would stop and point for 5-10 seconds before losing the scent and moving up the fenceline to find it again. We covered close to 150 yards of fence line doing this over about 3 or 4 minutes.

Finally, we came to a break in the brush and she pointed solid. I ran up in time for 3 roosters to flush at the long edge of my range. I dropped one rooster, but I watched as he hit the ground running on the frozen snow and was over the edge into the next draw in an instant. My heart sank. On that ice with the bad wind, chances were slim we'd find that bird. Without missing a beat, Chloe was through the fence, over the snow drift and to the spot where the bird had landed. Nose to the ground like a Blue Tick, she took off at a slow trot, tail going crazy in excited circles behind her. By the time I got to the spot, she was 100 yards down into the draw, and all I could see was a glimpse of her here and there through the sage brush. I hustled towards her and when I was about 20 yards off she came to a solid statue of a point at a snow covered sage brush. The bird couldn't stand it and tried to run, and she was all over him. I looked back at the serpentine trail she had made coming down and realized she had trailed that bird on ice for more than 150 yards. It was about the proudest I'd ever been of her. She pulled out all the strings on her last hunt.

That night in the hotel room, she was so sore and feet/legs so tore up from ice that she didn't sleep. I had to lift her into the truck the next morning and head home a day early as it was clear she wasn't hunting. She still has the drive though, 3 years later. We stumbled onto a local covey of quail the other day while walking near home, and I got to watch that tail do it's wild birdy circles all over again. Made my heart thump and my eyes tear up just a little.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Swede » 12 12, 2019 •  [Post 6]

I thought for sure I wound see a 7mm in the pictures. Great stories guys.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 7]

Swede wrote:I thought for sure I wound see a 7mm in the pictures. Great stories guys.


I'll work up one or two of those too :)
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 8]

I was 15 years old. I had killed my first buck 2 years earlier in Wyoming (story for another time). Dad and I were in the beginning phases of transitioning into archery hunting, but I wasn't willing to give up the rifle yet. So dad and I went over to our normal haunt in the Methow Valley of Washington State, and he perused the woods looking for grouse and trying to maybe push a buck or two past me. I was being allowed to hunt solo this year for the first time. Dad knew I was familiar enough with the terrain to get around safely and was confident in my ethics and decision making skills to let me loose to hunt deer as I saw fit. There really isn't a better feeling as a young man to be turned loose in the woods with a deer tag in your pocket, the excitement was tangible.

Opening morning found me sitting "The Saddle". Dad had hunted this location for many years and killed many deer out of it. It was the head of a long drainage that got a lot of pressure in it's lower end. Most deer that came up the drainage moving away from hunters would come through this saddle. It had about a 150 yard long opening, but often the shots were quick as animals were on the move. First light came and went and I sat eager with anticipation at every shot that rang out in the still morning air. However, by 10:30 a.m. I hadn't seen an animal. It was sunny and warm now, and I was getting sleepy, so I decided I'd better get up and get moving back towards camp. There wouldn't be any deer out and about right now anyway, right? I stood, stretched and put my backpack on. I'd taken approximately 3 steps when all hell broke loose 75 yards away, just over the edge of my line of sight. 20 deer with a couple of nice bucks got up and ran up hill through the timber away from me. They had bedded in the small timber patch below me, who knows how long ago. I was completely unprepared but I ran up the trail to try and get a clear view of where they had gone. Alas, they were long gone before I could get to where they'd been. I was standing there kicking the dirt, disgruntled about the whole thing when I looked back down into the clearing I'd been sitting it. There stood a BEAUTIFUL 3 pt buck, not 20 yards from the tree I'd been leaning against all morning. He was staring right at me and before I could take a knee to shoot, he whirled and was gone in a flash into the timber.

Now I was really frustrated. How could I have sat here all morning and seen nothing, and miss 2 great opportunities inside 2 minutes of each other? Completely dejected, I walked on the trail I was standing on into the edge of the timber and just stood there for a few minutes trying to figure out what my next move was going to be. I had a myriad of thoughts running through my 15 year old brain at that point, but they all shut down as I caught movement below me, coming from my right. I stood stalk still as a little 2x3 came sauntering out of the brush not 15 yards downhill of me. Autopilot kicked in, as did the slow motion. Instinctively I raised my Dad's 7mm magnum, found the shoulder of the buck as he slowly walked along, head down, and fired. He lurched forward a couple of steps and them promptly tipped over and started rolling down the hill. I don't even remember crossing the ground between him and I, but suddenly I was there, next to him as he took his last breaths. I had been through this with my first buck a couple years before, and decided the best thing to do was to make sure he had the quickest death possible so I placed the muzzle of my Dad's rifle near his ear, and squeezed the trigger, ending his movement for good, and any pain he might be feeling.

I hooped and hollered for a moment, and then buck fever and the adrenaline began to wear off. Suddenly I was overcome by emotions and the realization of the fact that I'd just killed this animal. I had somewhat experienced this a couple years before, but not to this extent. I felt real grief for taking his life. I sat quietly for a couple of minutes working through the emotions and thoughts in my head. I thought back to the moment that he had stepped out in the open and how I didn't even have to think about what to do, where to aim, or when to shoot. It came instinctively. At that moment I knew I was hunter and I was doing what I was supposed to do. I grew up a lot in that moment. I accepted that it was ok to feel sad for taking the life of an animal, it's a big deal, but that I had done it right and I could feel good about that. Now it was my obligation to make sure and finish the process.

This was when a whole nother reality came crashing down on me. I had just killed a deer, and I was by myself, miles from camp! I had only field dressed one deer and that was with substantial help from my Dad. I had the small field dressing handbook that they gave out at my hunters ed class though, and over the course of the next hour, I meticulously field dressed that deer. When I rolled everything out and the last bits pulled through the cut i'd made in the pelvis, a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I distinctly remember taking a break, drinking water, and eating a snickers bar before commencing the next major hurtle of my adventure. Dragging this deer out.

There was a closed road a couple hundred yards downhill of me, and I knew that road would get me to the main road where I could walk back to camp. It would be a long walk, but I had accepted that for what it was. Getting the deer down to the road was easy, but now I had a mile plus to go to get to the gate. Leaving the deer there and going to get Dad for help never crossed my mind. I was dragging this deer out. I knew this road did a big loop and that I could save myself several hundred yards if I just drug him cross country to where the road looped back. Well this was a terrible idea. I ended up in a hell hole of downfall, brush, thorns and little ditches that I had to drag the deer up and down through, over and over. It took me 2 hours to navigate through that 500 yards and back to the road. At this point it was a straight downhill shot to the gate, about 3/4 of a mile. When I was about 500 yards from the gate, 3 guys past me going uphill. They had killed a buck up there that morning as well, and were on their way to retrieve it. . One of them told me about a trail that would cut some distance off and get me right to their trailer. There was snacks and water there and I was to help myself. When they got back, he would give me a ride back to camp. I pulled what little energy I had left and pulled hard, getting my deer to their camp. I collapsed against the tire of the trailer and downed a couple bottles of water and some granola bars. I was exhausted, but I felt very accomplished.

about 20 minutes later, the 3 guys came down with the buck they'd killed, a goofy 3 point with a hollow horn that had a big hole in the end. The guy helped me throw my deer into the bed of his truck and off we went, driving the couple miles up the road to our camp. I'll never forget pulling into camp. Dad was sitting in a lawn chair, eating a hotdog and listening to a football game on the radio. The guy that gave me a ride jumped out and told my Dad how impressed he was that I had killed, dressed, and drug that deer all the way out by myself. I could see that Dad was proud in the moment, and also a little sad that he'd missed out on it. We all shook hands and the guy hopped in his truck and headed back to camp. We took a few pictures in camp of my buck and then strung him up and got him skinned. That night I experienced the satisfaction that comes with sitting around the campfire eating a huge meal with a deer hanging behind me in the tree, and reliving the hunt, over and over.

Like I said earlier, that hunt grew me up a lot, in a very short period of time. I came to grips with the realities of the hunt and killing animals, and I also buckled down and accomplished what was at the time the most physically difficult hurdle I'd had to work through. It was definitely a pinnacle moment in my young life.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Tigger » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 9]

That is a hard story to follow!

I was 13. Hunting deer for the 2nd year. It was cold. How cold? It was -5 with a little wind. This is in west central Minnesota. I am sitting where a series of ditches and fence rows come close to each other between two 40 acre hardwoods that are a half mile apart. I am shivering. About 8:30, I look up and see a big doe with 2 fawns cutting across the field to my left. Buck fever decides to make a grand entry and I am shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Buck fever on top of shivering does not cancel each other out and make you steady! But I carefully thumbed back the hammer on that H&R 20 ga single shot and...

I had practiced with that gun and at 75 yards (where the deer were) I was about two feet to the right and about 8 - 10 inches low. Yeah, really. I still give my dad grief about sending me out with that piece of junk! there were no rear sights, so no adjustment was possible. But it was consistent! What more could you ask for?

I told myself I have to steady myself. I took a deep breath and willed myself to be steady. It worked! I put the bead on the sweet spot behind the leg and moved up 10 inches and back 2 feet and got ready to pull the trigger when a little voice in my head said, "Hey Dean, you do realize you are aiming exactly at that doe's tail, right?". I quickly did the math again and told that little voice to shut up, that is where the gun shoots! I pulled the trigger and they all take off. No sign of a hit. So I walk over to where they started along a fenceline and would you believe it? Blood! And lots of it! But I can see all the way to the woods they were headed towards and ...there, just outside the woods stood the 2 fawns looking back. Now why would they be looking back? OHMYGOSH, she must have fallen down. I started following the blood trail. And there she laid, in a deadfurrow not 30 yards ahead of me! My hands at this time are so cold that I cannot move them. I stick them in my mouth to warm them up. I get enough movement in them to try and shoot her again. Why you ask? She is of course laying there dead, but I don't really know what to do, so I shoot at her again. and miss. again. and miss again. I think I shot at her like 3 times and the last time I saw another hit. By this time it dawns on me that she is dead. Excited? Wow, was I excited. Cold? My hands were in trouble. I stuck them inside my pants (good for my hands, yes, but that is really not the most recommended place to warm cold hands). I couldn't warm up, so I walked back to the house to get help.

On a side note, when we went out to get her, a huge 12 point buck my cousin later shot came running down that fence row and would have run right by me had I been still on my stand....but this was a couple of hours later. Still, my 13 year old mind kept thinking, what if....?

I was pretty proud of my first deer. It is still, to this day the biggest doe we have ever shot on the property weighing in at a whopping 191 field dressed pounds. It was huge!
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 10]

That is a huge doe! Wow! It's funny to, my Dad always taught me that if it is still standing I should still be shooting. Maybe I missed the part about putting 2 or 3 more in it after it's down for good measure :lol: Just kidding, I know how amped up a kid can get, I just revisited all those memories this morning! We used to use signal shots as a way of getting a hold of each other. 3 shots in rapid succession meant we had an animal down, come help. The very first elk I ever shot I was not far from camp where my Dad and brother were. I dropped this spike and started running back to camp. Literally, running. I stopped on the ridge a couple hundred yards above camp and fired 3 shots into the ground just for good measure. When I got to camp a few minutes later and told them the good news, my dad asked if that was me that fired the 3 shot volley. I replied of course it was! He said he discounted it immediately because there was no way a person could work a bolt and fire 3 shots that quickly! His opinion was that the 3rd shot was fired before the first brass hit the ground. Boy excitement makes you do funny things!!!
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Swede » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 11]

Great stories guys. I still remember hunting the Methow when I lived near Twin Lakes. I suppose it is still excellent hunting.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 13, 2019 •  [Post 12]

Swede wrote:Great stories guys. I still remember hunting the Methow when I lived near Twin Lakes. I suppose it is still excellent hunting.


Unfortunately Swede, its quite dismal these days. That herd has been hammered by bad winters, fires, and a booming predator population. We don't hunt there anymore. Not only do we have better success elsewhere, but I wouldn't feel good about taking bucks out of that country these days.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Swede » 12 14, 2019 •  [Post 13]

I have not been back in the Methow since the late 1980s. A friend still calls me from Twisp and complains there is not enough snow. He sells snow plows and wants everyone to buy one.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 14, 2019 •  [Post 14]

He'll get his chance I'm sure. This weather pattern should bring them some.

Photos added to my above story!
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby WapitiTalk1 » 12 14, 2019 •  [Post 15]

These are great, keep em coming :mrgreen: :D
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Indian Summer » 12 15, 2019 •  [Post 16]

I was takin’ a trip out to LA. Toolin’ along in my Chevrolet. Tokin on a number and diggin’ on the radio. Just when I crossed the Mississippi line I heard that highway startin’ to whine, and I knew that left tire was about to blow. :D

I have soooo many hunting stories I don’t know where to begin!
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Lefty » 12 16, 2019 •  [Post 17]

WapitiTalk1 wrote:These are great, keep em coming :mrgreen: :D
8-)

I havent had time to write or respond lately. So here it is 3:00 AM and Im wide awake,,,, I think
A short trapping story. October 1985, North Western Minnesota, I was driving a 2 wheel drive Ranger pickup and had driven out a section line road that ended at the Canadian border. 3/4 mile to the east was the Canadian border station.
As I had driven out the section road, a covey of Hungarian partridge were on the end of a field. I slipped out my Ruger 10/22, lined up the heads of two partridge, slowly squeezing the trigger , and dropped the pair.
Nice little rifle double. The road was soft from recent rains., the road was actually getting spooky to drive on and soon it was apparent turning back around likely get stuck I would spend a lot of time digging my self out. I parked just at the the US Canadian border , then walked to the boarder station. crossed a small ditch, then visited with the boarder control agents, gaining permission to cross the ditch to enter Canada. Then walking down to the US border agents asking the same question.
At my truck, I stepped on the gas, throwing mud in the air, crossing the grassy swale, then up onto the black top on the Canadian side. Leaving a trail of mud,waving to the Canadians as I drove past the boarder station.
A short distance later at the US Customs life was a bit different. there had been a shift change, with all new agents.

A flunky agent asked me the general questions about re-entry. When asked how long I was in Canada my response was "Two minutes". Then seeing the gun case in the drivers side.
Evidently my response triggered him, he immediately called for help.Border agents surrounded me,.. that whole tough guy ,.. hand on their waist , intimidation stance. On agent picking up the dead partridge and flipping i back into the bed of the truck
They just stood around not saying a thing. While it did seem like a long- loong time.
A fellow walked down from an upstairs office , with t he whole appearance he wanted in on the action. I explained my short trip, I hadn't been snotty or disrespectful. But the muddy track would lead right back to the US side.

The fellow with a little more authority sent the original agent who stopped me to check my story with the Canadian border agents, while he called the shift manager from the US side.
The rest of the agents had settled down after I pointed out my trail of mud from my truck and as far as they could see on the road
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby saddlesore » 12 16, 2019 •  [Post 18]

It is hard for me to type a big long story.So here is a short one. My 2nd year deer hunting in north central PA many many years ago.I was probably about 13. My uncle had loaned me a 32-20 Remington pump.That old model had a helix type magazine tube and when you pumped a round in, it rotated.

It was darn cold and my father sat me under a big pine tree and told me not to move until he came back for me. After about an hour, and being frozen stiff a big clump of snow fell out of the tree and landed on the rifle covering the action and receiver end of the magazine tube.

I was able to brush a lot of snow off, but could not get it all out. I brought the rifle up to my face and tried to blow the snow off. I got my lips too close and the lower lip froze to the side of the gun. Like that kid in the Christmas movie and him getting his tongue stuck to the flag pole.

It took me several minutest o figure out that I had to pull my lip loose and the longer I waited, the more froze to the gun.

I worked my courage up and gave that gun a good jerk. What I didn't anticipate was part of my lip would stay with the gun. The next sound I made probably spooked any deer around for a mile and then the blood came. Amazing how much you can bleed from part of your lip missing.

Since I didn't know here I was and my father told me to stay there, I waited until he came for me.I had used up two big handkerchiefs and most of the toilet paper I had by the time he showed up.
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby Lefty » 12 17, 2019 •  [Post 19]

The end of this year‘s elk hunting story ,we had a great archery hunt even though we didn’t pack an elk out of the woods except a deer. we had some fantastic interactions with elk moose and bears and some of those interactions were a wee bit close . I really did expect to put the elk in the freezer during the archery season but was OK that we hadn’t with the muzzleloader hunt coming . December I decided to go up and finally take care of my elk. my rifle was sighted in.

The glass to mountainside turned around drove up the Forest Service Rd. my transmission wasn’t working . I had to call home For a truck and trailer to come up and get me. Saturday with my father-in-law‘s pick up I went up to get my four wheeler camping gear other hunting supplies and my ATV

I did expect to put horns on the wall during archery season. It was OK with the great hunts and no horn I was really disappointed that we didn’t put elk in the freezer
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Lefty
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Re: Let's hear a good hunting story!

Postby 7mmfan » 12 30, 2019 •  [Post 20]

I was reminiscing with my Dad and brother over Christmas about past hunts, and the one that always gets brought up is my infamous chapstick hunt.

We were hunting in Wyoming, must have been 2007 or so, I was in my early 20's. We had lost access to a huge ranch that we always had permission to hunt when the landowner leased to an outfitter over the summer. We were left scrounging up little pockets of public hand to hunt, boo hoo! This was way before OnXmaps and other mapping systems so we were doing it old fashioned way, with a Thomas Guide and a little local knowledge from our family that lives in the area. We found a piece of public land that was a couple miles long, it started really skinny for the first mile, like a 1/4 mile wide, and then opened up into a pretty big area further back. It was far enough from the road that few people ventured back in there. We hunted this spot a couple of days, and missed some good opportunities. We left it alone until the 2nd to last day of our trip. We had a good ol' fashioned Northern Wyoming blizzard blow through and the deer were pouring into the coulees on this piece of ground. We couldn't get on them that night, but the next morning, our last morning, we made a game plan.

Right at first light, we were in position to glass these coulees and find bucks to go after. There were deer all over, but no bucks at this point. All of sudden, a dozen shots ring out on the neighboring property and I see 4 nice bucks bound over the fence and run a couple of draws over, well onto public. I took off on a serpentine route to get in position on them, leaving my brother to keep an eye on them. It took me about 25 minutes to get close, and I slowed to a crawl. I had just scanned the horizon in front of me, and was looking down at my next couple steps when I hear hoof beats in the snow in front of me. Here come the bucks walking straight to me, not 40 yards away. They had been just over the lay of the land and out of sight. They saw me and stopped, just staring.

Now these were nice bucks. Two of them were solid 4 pts, 1 was a really nice 4 pt with eye guards, and the 4th was a heavy old 4 pt with several little kickers. I remember his white face and big sagging belly vividly to this day. I had some experience killing at this point in my hunting career, but buck fever had always been a problem. It came on full force this day. I was trying my hardest to hold steady on the old buck that was broadside not more than 40 yards away, and I just couldn't do it. I frantically tried to rest on the top of my pack, but it was to low. Finally he turned to walk away and mustered something that faintly resembled a whistle. He turned back the way they do, and I fired. All 4 bucks took off like rockets, and I fired another shot at the big buck as he crossed the hillside in front me. He stopped at the top of the ridge 150 yards away or so and I could clearly see where my shot had creased his neck, just a haircut with a spec of blood, far from fatal.

I sat there on my knees in the snow shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline, and absolutely could not believe that I had messed that up. I was beside myself. As I sat there wondering what to do next, a 4x3 with eye guards, came bounding over the hill from where the 4 bucks had just gone and stood on the hillside in front me about 75 yards away. I instantly fired freehand at him, missing clean. He stood there. I got down on my pack, got real serious, and squeezed off another shot. Clean miss. He stood there. Now I was desperate. I reached into my pocket for another shell, and feverishly tried to load it. I fumbled with it for what seemed like forever, unable to get it to drop into the magazine. I finally looked to see what the problem was, only to realize I was trying to load my chapstick. I threw it on the ground, grabbed a shell from my pocket, and loaded it without issue. Unbelievably, the buck was still standing there. He was looking down the draw away from me, seemingly unaware of my presence. I had shot out all of my buck fever at this point, and calmly took aim and fired, dropping him in his tracks.

I sat up, looking at that buck, and then looked down at my chapstick lying in the snow and busted out laughing hysterically. I could not believe the absolute cluster that had just ensued. I shook my head as I walked up to my buck and patted him and said a quick thanks. I felt like that buck was a gift, and an enormous learning lesson given to me by some greater power. It was the last time that buck fever got ahold of me like that.

Wyoming 2007.jpg
Wyoming 2007.jpg (35.37 KiB) Viewed 4572 times


Now the work started. I walked to the top of the ridge and waved over at my Dad and brother. Something was odd though, they were standing together down in the field in the bottom. I pulled up my binos and they had a deer lying there! Apparently in the midst of my onslaught, a small buck had spooked over the ridge and ran right past my brother, who made a flawless running shot at about 200 yards, dropping him in his tracks. If there was ever a case of polar opposites, my brother and I are that when it comes to shooting. He is cool and collected, making miraculous shots with little effort. I'm getting better.

Mike started dragging his buck out, and dad came over to help me. It was now that the realization of how much work was in front of us sank in. This was WAY before we knew anything about gutless processing, and packing animals out. We drug everything out whole. Anyone who has hunted Eastern Wyoming or Montana knows what that ground is like when it snows and starts to thaw. The gumbo comes out in force. We drug that buck up and over 4 different ridges, through gumbo and slop and mud, for nearly 2 miles. We finally got to the truck about 4 hours later, completely spent.
I hunt therefore I am. I fish therefore I lie.
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7mmfan
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