Flatbow
Well-Known Member
Man, too many to choose just one.
Have to think on it for a minute while enjoying a your story's
Have to think on it for a minute while enjoying a your story's
What is your Best Hunting Story?
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Not my best but heres one of my biggest moose
I've hunted moose for the last 10 years. I got my first moose at 11 and then got a few more with my dad and step brother. This year my dad bought a house and
was busy moving in to it so he couldn't follow hunting.
The first day, my friend, my gf and I went up a river where I scouted another big bull a week before season. By 7:30 am we spotted him and he disappeared in the brush to be seen 2 hours later. We saw him come out on the other side of the willows and decided that was our time to put a stock on him but he managed to disappear into the thick brush (I'm not sure if he was as big as this one but he was close). We climbed back on the hill and waited to see if he would stand up or move to an area we would see him. After 6 hours of no luck we went up river and scouted from another vantage point. Just a cow. We went back to where we saw the other bull and waited until dark. Boated down the river and drove back to camp.
The next day we got up at 5:30 am and were on our way up the river when the sun was coming up. We glassed all up and down the river and by 1pm we were getting anxious because our hunting area was closing at midnight. We decided to go to another river we knew there were moose on where no one hunted. We soon learned why no one hunted there. Big rocks, or 2 inches of water was really your only choice after the first 15 miles. We stopped in a few glassing spots and saw nothing. I thought we are not far enough up the river. We made it this far whats a little more going to hurt. Getting stuck and hitting rocks was a regular occurrence but coming around one bend I spotted two bulls. We pulled off the side of the river and watched them for about 5 minutes before we decided to try and get them.
By now it was 5:30pm, we were 32 miles up a shallow river, and saw two bulls 1 mile up a hill. I told my friend it looked like a long walk, remembering my dad telling me that shooting moose far from the river is a workout, my friend said we'll worry about it later. We climbed the hill in to a view spot and when we finally got up there the wind was in our favor. We spotted the lower bull and wanted to see where the one higher was. We thought the one higher on the hill was bigger. After looking at the lower moose in my scope I told my friend we have to get this one. Got a range on him 550 yards. We wanted to get closer but had thick brush between us and him. We had to walk through it. After what seemed an eternity we cleared the brush to an opening and knew we're within 200 yards of the bull we just have to find him. We walked up and down side to side. I had a feeling he was lower so I signaled my friend to come with me and we walked down. After 5 minutes of looking all over he stood up 40 feet away. Bang, Bang. Hes down.
Then the work began. He took 3 trips and probably weighs close to 2000 pounds. If you read this, I probably will shoot a moose far off the river again.
70 inches and made Boone and Crockett
I've hunted moose for the last 10 years. I got my first moose at 11 and then got a few more with my dad and step brother. This year my dad bought a house and
The first day, my friend, my gf and I went up a river where I scouted another big bull a week before season. By 7:30 am we spotted him and he disappeared in the brush to be seen 2 hours later. We saw him come out on the other side of the willows and decided that was our time to put a stock on him but he managed to disappear into the thick brush (I'm not sure if he was as big as this one but he was close). We climbed back on the hill and waited to see if he would stand up or move to an area we would see him. After 6 hours of no luck we went up river and scouted from another vantage point. Just a cow. We went back to where we saw the other bull and waited until dark. Boated down the river and drove back to camp.
The next day we got up at 5:30 am and were on our way up the river when the sun was coming up. We glassed all up and down the river and by 1pm we were getting anxious because our hunting area was closing at midnight. We decided to go to another river we knew there were moose on where no one hunted. We soon learned why no one hunted there. Big rocks, or 2 inches of water was really your only choice after the first 15 miles. We stopped in a few glassing spots and saw nothing. I thought we are not far enough up the river. We made it this far whats a little more going to hurt. Getting stuck and hitting rocks was a regular occurrence but coming around one bend I spotted two bulls. We pulled off the side of the river and watched them for about 5 minutes before we decided to try and get them.
By now it was 5:30pm, we were 32 miles up a shallow river, and saw two bulls 1 mile up a hill. I told my friend it looked like a long walk, remembering my dad telling me that shooting moose far from the river is a workout, my friend said we'll worry about it later. We climbed the hill in to a view spot and when we finally got up there the wind was in our favor. We spotted the lower bull and wanted to see where the one higher was. We thought the one higher on the hill was bigger. After looking at the lower moose in my scope I told my friend we have to get this one. Got a range on him 550 yards. We wanted to get closer but had thick brush between us and him. We had to walk through it. After what seemed an eternity we cleared the brush to an opening and knew we're within 200 yards of the bull we just have to find him. We walked up and down side to side. I had a feeling he was lower so I signaled my friend to come with me and we walked down. After 5 minutes of looking all over he stood up 40 feet away. Bang, Bang. Hes down.
Then the work began. He took 3 trips and probably weighs close to 2000 pounds. If you read this, I probably will shoot a moose far off the river again.
70 inches and made Boone and Crockett
These have been some fantastic stories. Hope more of you guys and gals will tell more. It's good for the heart to remember these treasured hunts.
DuckHunt
Well-Known Member
One cold winter morning in South Carolina. One of those days where the muddy ground spewed upward with ice and crunched as you walked across the land. The path led to a small round opening in the woods. Grassy spots along the ground.
I crossed to the opposite side and climbed up into a pine tree. Using the branches as my ladder, I found a comfortable spot about 12-15 up and settled in. Did I mention it was cold? I had on my usual hunting clothes, blue jeans and a slightly heavy jacket. The jacket would have made a wonderful life jacket. Made of nylon with diamond stitching. I like that jacket!
I was only fourteen years old and was using a borrowed rifle. An old Remington 30-06 model 7400. I had never even shot the rifle, but I sure was ready to. After about 30 minutes I fired up one of my Marlboro cigarettes. The wind was blowing to the woods behind me. Suddenly, I heard a "crunch" as something stepped on some icy ground. I put the cigarette out and started watching. A few more "crunches", with a long pause between each, I finally saw something that absolutely pushed my heart into my throat – Horns! They were extending out past a small cedar tree on my left. The rack on that deer was HUGE. I could not even see its nose – just horns.
That deer walked right out in front on me, in that opening that was only about 15 yards wide and, maybe, 25 yards in length. Did I mention that buck was a Monster? Did I mention I was only 14? Did I mention was new to deer hunting? Did I mention my heart was in my throat?
I raised that rifle and, with iron sights only, thought to myself, "That limb in front on me will make the bullet miss." I leaned back against the tree and watched that buck walk right up to the tree I was in. I decided that I was going to shoot now, no limbs in the way. I started raising the gun and leaned forward for the shot. Then, that jacket i loved so much peeled the bark on that tree. That buck took one leap and was gone. In an instant he was gone.
After my stepfather and his friend "ribbed' me pretty hard – because of the tracks they saw from that deer, they sent another friend in there two weeks later. He got that Monster. A massive 10 point buck that, at that time, registered as a State record.
That was in 1976. It would be 1996 before I even had another shot at an 8 point buck. I have him on the wall. Not another shot at one since…until 3 years ago. Suffice it to say that I still only have the one mount on the wall. That is another story though...
I crossed to the opposite side and climbed up into a pine tree. Using the branches as my ladder, I found a comfortable spot about 12-15 up and settled in. Did I mention it was cold? I had on my usual hunting clothes, blue jeans and a slightly heavy jacket. The jacket would have made a wonderful life jacket. Made of nylon with diamond stitching. I like that jacket!
I was only fourteen years old and was using a borrowed rifle. An old Remington 30-06 model 7400. I had never even shot the rifle, but I sure was ready to. After about 30 minutes I fired up one of my Marlboro cigarettes. The wind was blowing to the woods behind me. Suddenly, I heard a "crunch" as something stepped on some icy ground. I put the cigarette out and started watching. A few more "crunches", with a long pause between each, I finally saw something that absolutely pushed my heart into my throat – Horns! They were extending out past a small cedar tree on my left. The rack on that deer was HUGE. I could not even see its nose – just horns.
That deer walked right out in front on me, in that opening that was only about 15 yards wide and, maybe, 25 yards in length. Did I mention that buck was a Monster? Did I mention I was only 14? Did I mention was new to deer hunting? Did I mention my heart was in my throat?
I raised that rifle and, with iron sights only, thought to myself, "That limb in front on me will make the bullet miss." I leaned back against the tree and watched that buck walk right up to the tree I was in. I decided that I was going to shoot now, no limbs in the way. I started raising the gun and leaned forward for the shot. Then, that jacket i loved so much peeled the bark on that tree. That buck took one leap and was gone. In an instant he was gone.
After my stepfather and his friend "ribbed' me pretty hard – because of the tracks they saw from that deer, they sent another friend in there two weeks later. He got that Monster. A massive 10 point buck that, at that time, registered as a State record.
That was in 1976. It would be 1996 before I even had another shot at an 8 point buck. I have him on the wall. Not another shot at one since…until 3 years ago. Suffice it to say that I still only have the one mount on the wall. That is another story though...
boulderchild
Well-Known Member
I grew up listening to stories from my grandpa and uncles of hunting in CO when they were younger. Everything from elk to pronghorn and grouse. Most of them were too old or not interested any more by the time I was big enough to go so I never got the chance.
Flash forward I was in my 30's and a friend had taken me deep hunting on public land a few times but I still had not seen a shooter buck. He invited me to come out to his family's newly acquired lease which they were all excited about. The area had been public land and is where they had all grown up hunting but hadn't been able to hunt for the last 15 years or so since a timber company had come in and started leasing the area.
He put me on a spot just to the north of the lease so that I wasn't technically on the lease as I wasn't a paying member which I was cool with. My wife and I had hiked in and hunted from the ground the first day. The second day she was cold and wanted to go home but agreed to one last outing.
We hiked in and I set up on the top of the hill and she was going to go a little further into a creek bed where we had all seen rubs earlier in the day.
This is where the story gets ridiculous. I had never used a climbing stand before. I got the stand out and made enough noise getting in the tree I was sure they could have herd it a mile away back at camp. When I got in the tree I dropped my radio on the ground which started blasting static every few seconds. I pulled my stuff up which banged on the tree the whole way up. At this point I had pretty much given up but needed a break so I had decided to sit down for a minute before climbing back down. I had gotten my rifle set up and started to hear my wife calling me on the radio to see if I was OK after the noise.
As I was turning around to sit down I herd a bunch of noise headed my direction which I assumed was either my wife or another hunter. I was wrong, it was a 7 point buck which was the biggest I had ever seen.
I tried to be quiet while I turned around and got my gun. My friend who invited me out had sighted the gun in for me the day before because I couldn't get off work. So at this point I had never shot a 300wm before, never been in a tree stand before and had the biggest buck I had ever seen walking toward me so I figured why not. I pulled the trigger and he dropped.
If you thought this was the end you would be wrong. I was so excited I almost fell out of my tree stand on the way down. When I got on the ground to radio my wife she was walking up to me. She had herd a pack of coyotes between us and thought that's what I was shooting at since she couldn't get me on the radio. With neither of us having shot a deer before we tried to carry it out without field dressing it. After that failed I drug it about 300 yards to a logging road and had her go get the side by side. After getting back to camp I was the only one to get a deer for the weekend but since it was my first deer everyone was pretty excited.
Moral of this tragedy of errors is that the rut is a good time to try deer hunting if you've never been before because you can screw everything up and still have a chance
Flash forward I was in my 30's and a friend had taken me deep hunting on public land a few times but I still had not seen a shooter buck. He invited me to come out to his family's newly acquired lease which they were all excited about. The area had been public land and is where they had all grown up hunting but hadn't been able to hunt for the last 15 years or so since a timber company had come in and started leasing the area.
He put me on a spot just to the north of the lease so that I wasn't technically on the lease as I wasn't a paying member which I was cool with. My wife and I had hiked in and hunted from the ground the first day. The second day she was cold and wanted to go home but agreed to one last outing.
We hiked in and I set up on the top of the hill and she was going to go a little further into a creek bed where we had all seen rubs earlier in the day.
This is where the story gets ridiculous. I had never used a climbing stand before. I got the stand out and made enough noise getting in the tree I was sure they could have herd it a mile away back at camp. When I got in the tree I dropped my radio on the ground which started blasting static every few seconds. I pulled my stuff up which banged on the tree the whole way up. At this point I had pretty much given up but needed a break so I had decided to sit down for a minute before climbing back down. I had gotten my rifle set up and started to hear my wife calling me on the radio to see if I was OK after the noise.
As I was turning around to sit down I herd a bunch of noise headed my direction which I assumed was either my wife or another hunter. I was wrong, it was a 7 point buck which was the biggest I had ever seen.
I tried to be quiet while I turned around and got my gun. My friend who invited me out had sighted the gun in for me the day before because I couldn't get off work. So at this point I had never shot a 300wm before, never been in a tree stand before and had the biggest buck I had ever seen walking toward me so I figured why not. I pulled the trigger and he dropped.
If you thought this was the end you would be wrong. I was so excited I almost fell out of my tree stand on the way down. When I got on the ground to radio my wife she was walking up to me. She had herd a pack of coyotes between us and thought that's what I was shooting at since she couldn't get me on the radio. With neither of us having shot a deer before we tried to carry it out without field dressing it. After that failed I drug it about 300 yards to a logging road and had her go get the side by side. After getting back to camp I was the only one to get a deer for the weekend but since it was my first deer everyone was pretty excited.
Moral of this tragedy of errors is that the rut is a good time to try deer hunting if you've never been before because you can screw everything up and still have a chance
memtb
Well-Known Member
Dbevens12,
Thanks for sharing your experiences and…….Welcome from North Central Wyoming. memtb
What unit are you in up there? That's a nice bull!!
I really have 2. The first was when I was in my early 20's. I buddy and I, went bowhunting for whitetail. Around mid-day I was really tired from partying the night before so went to sleep for a nap at the base of big oak tree. When my buddy showed up, I was snoring away with a buck eating just feet from me. Pic included.
The second was much later in life. I was on a Aoudad sheep hunt in Tx and had bagged a nice one. Meeting up with my buddy I asked if he saw anything and he shared he saw a large wild white goat. We talked to the ranch owner and was told there were some running around feral and if I wanted one it could be mine for x dollars. I agreed and we went out to hunt it. We hunted for 2 days and never saw one. The morning of the 3rd day it was raining so we were both sitting in a blind where he first saw it. I told him, I thought he was screwing with me so that we would not have to go right home. About that time the goat walked out over the top of a mountain. It looked like it was heading down to a deer feeder at the base of mountain, so I just let him walk and keep getting closer. Suddenly he stopped, turned around, and started heading back up. My buddy noted I better pull the trigger or he would be gone over the top in a minute or 2. I aimed right between his should blades as he was walking up hill dead away from me and pulled the trigger. My trusty 300WM dropped him like a rock. Climbing the slide of the mountain and finding him we discovered it I hit right on my aim point. It was 640 yds true horizontal distance, uphill at about a 60 degree angle, in the rain. My buddy noted it was not the best shot he had ever seen but darn close to it.
Since then there have been numerous other great hunts. Almost every hunt is memorable. I find the most interesting are the ones with some unexpected situation or happening. A friend went on a moose hunt in Canada for his honeymoon. He shot one and his wife went with the guide in the first canoe to take back a load of meat and her. He was supposed to wait. He decided what the heck and loaded the canoe with another load of meat, rack, and his gear. In 4 feet of water he flipped it. Finally getting everything back in and making it camp soaked almost getting hypothermia, he stipped next to a big fire and propped his hunting boots near it with his camera to dry. Long story short, he melted his camera, soaked his gun, lost equipment, shrunk his boots to where they did not fit (leather), and had a less than happy guide and wife. At least the moose was a good one. When he tells it he just laughs and says it was his best hunt ever.
The second was much later in life. I was on a Aoudad sheep hunt in Tx and had bagged a nice one. Meeting up with my buddy I asked if he saw anything and he shared he saw a large wild white goat. We talked to the ranch owner and was told there were some running around feral and if I wanted one it could be mine for x dollars. I agreed and we went out to hunt it. We hunted for 2 days and never saw one. The morning of the 3rd day it was raining so we were both sitting in a blind where he first saw it. I told him, I thought he was screwing with me so that we would not have to go right home. About that time the goat walked out over the top of a mountain. It looked like it was heading down to a deer feeder at the base of mountain, so I just let him walk and keep getting closer. Suddenly he stopped, turned around, and started heading back up. My buddy noted I better pull the trigger or he would be gone over the top in a minute or 2. I aimed right between his should blades as he was walking up hill dead away from me and pulled the trigger. My trusty 300WM dropped him like a rock. Climbing the slide of the mountain and finding him we discovered it I hit right on my aim point. It was 640 yds true horizontal distance, uphill at about a 60 degree angle, in the rain. My buddy noted it was not the best shot he had ever seen but darn close to it.
Since then there have been numerous other great hunts. Almost every hunt is memorable. I find the most interesting are the ones with some unexpected situation or happening. A friend went on a moose hunt in Canada for his honeymoon. He shot one and his wife went with the guide in the first canoe to take back a load of meat and her. He was supposed to wait. He decided what the heck and loaded the canoe with another load of meat, rack, and his gear. In 4 feet of water he flipped it. Finally getting everything back in and making it camp soaked almost getting hypothermia, he stipped next to a big fire and propped his hunting boots near it with his camera to dry. Long story short, he melted his camera, soaked his gun, lost equipment, shrunk his boots to where they did not fit (leather), and had a less than happy guide and wife. At least the moose was a good one. When he tells it he just laughs and says it was his best hunt ever.
Attachments
This one is unforgettable.
I was hunting a special unit in Colorado that had required a bunch of preference points to draw. Early backpack scouting trips showed us several 6 point bulls in velvet, a good promise for the upcoming season. The first few days of the hunt produced no sightings of bulls, but I had elk encounters pretty much nose to nose. The following description is a clip out of an account I wrote not long after the hunt, so I could remember it.
Dawn found me deep into the cleft behind the cool ridge where I had found the elk two days before. I worked farther into the dark timber, four miles from camp, hurrying across the hot openings, and slowing in the thick stuff. The sun was starting to get high when I heard the bugle. Elk! And there was a bull. Now if I could only catch up to them. I searched the woods ahead with binoculars but could see nothing. Advancing around the curve of the hill toward a small drainage, I could hear the faint trickle of an ice-rimmed streamlet. They might be headed there, or just leaving.
Then as I entered a small clearing with a scattering of tiny lodgepoles, I saw a flicker of movement. They were coming my way! No time to find cover. I knelt where I was, partly in the sun partly in the shade. I snatched my orange hat off, placing it on the ground. I could only hope the intensity of my blaze orange vest wouldn't attract too much attention. A minute passed. There, a cow elk coming to my right, a calf, another cow, then a cow to my left, and another, and another, and calves! The breeze was directly in my face. Could this possibly work? The closest cow finally turned away from me at a distance of a few feet. Now I could no longer see five of the elk in the clearing with me. They were behind me! I could move only incrementally, painfully slowly to keep track. I already had my rifle up, waiting. Where was the bull? I knew that as soon as one animal crossed my scent stream the jig was up. I had cows and calves at distances varying from 5 to 30 yards, and more coming. I was about to explode with adrenaline and stress.
Then finally an antler appeared above a screen of lodgepole saplings. He was coming to the left, sheltered by large tree trunks and small trees. He stopped behind a big tree trunk. More waiting! My .338 spoke as soon as his shoulder cleared the last trunk, 13 paces away. He lunged, wobbled, tried to jump, then somersaulted down the hill and lay still, one antler dug into the ground. The cows milled around, confused, until I stood up amongst them, then they bolted. He wasn't the monster we had come for, in fact, I fondly refer to him as my "four by stub". One antler was broken off short and rubbed round, the other was missing points. That bull had been a scrapper. It is the smallest, least impressive rack I have ever collected, but my favorite because it brings back the adrenaline rush of that hunt every time I handle it. At 8 miles from the trailhead, the pack out was also memorable.
I was hunting a special unit in Colorado that had required a bunch of preference points to draw. Early backpack scouting trips showed us several 6 point bulls in velvet, a good promise for the upcoming season. The first few days of the hunt produced no sightings of bulls, but I had elk encounters pretty much nose to nose. The following description is a clip out of an account I wrote not long after the hunt, so I could remember it.
Dawn found me deep into the cleft behind the cool ridge where I had found the elk two days before. I worked farther into the dark timber, four miles from camp, hurrying across the hot openings, and slowing in the thick stuff. The sun was starting to get high when I heard the bugle. Elk! And there was a bull. Now if I could only catch up to them. I searched the woods ahead with binoculars but could see nothing. Advancing around the curve of the hill toward a small drainage, I could hear the faint trickle of an ice-rimmed streamlet. They might be headed there, or just leaving.
Then as I entered a small clearing with a scattering of tiny lodgepoles, I saw a flicker of movement. They were coming my way! No time to find cover. I knelt where I was, partly in the sun partly in the shade. I snatched my orange hat off, placing it on the ground. I could only hope the intensity of my blaze orange vest wouldn't attract too much attention. A minute passed. There, a cow elk coming to my right, a calf, another cow, then a cow to my left, and another, and another, and calves! The breeze was directly in my face. Could this possibly work? The closest cow finally turned away from me at a distance of a few feet. Now I could no longer see five of the elk in the clearing with me. They were behind me! I could move only incrementally, painfully slowly to keep track. I already had my rifle up, waiting. Where was the bull? I knew that as soon as one animal crossed my scent stream the jig was up. I had cows and calves at distances varying from 5 to 30 yards, and more coming. I was about to explode with adrenaline and stress.
Then finally an antler appeared above a screen of lodgepole saplings. He was coming to the left, sheltered by large tree trunks and small trees. He stopped behind a big tree trunk. More waiting! My .338 spoke as soon as his shoulder cleared the last trunk, 13 paces away. He lunged, wobbled, tried to jump, then somersaulted down the hill and lay still, one antler dug into the ground. The cows milled around, confused, until I stood up amongst them, then they bolted. He wasn't the monster we had come for, in fact, I fondly refer to him as my "four by stub". One antler was broken off short and rubbed round, the other was missing points. That bull had been a scrapper. It is the smallest, least impressive rack I have ever collected, but my favorite because it brings back the adrenaline rush of that hunt every time I handle it. At 8 miles from the trailhead, the pack out was also memorable.
