Crack Checker... I was an aircraft inspector at an airline until my retirement. I was pretty good at finding cracks in stuff! You were thinking something dirty, weren't you?!
My (ex) father-in-law and I were in Montana hunting pronghorns. He says, you're pretty good at spotting these things, how about you find me a real nice one to shoot? I says, sure! So we go out to spot & stalk. I see one maybe 600 yards out, so we sneak in a bit closer, since I don't think he can make more than about a 200 yard shot at most, him using that same 7mm mag and scope (I had by this time painted an alignment stripe on it so he could easily see if it had moved). So we get up fairly close, laying down, me using binos and him using his scope (I tried really hard to break him of that nasty habit but never could, he just refused to carry binos, even though most of his hunting was done from a vehicle!). So looking this goat over I says, I think we should pass on this one, he's not that good. In reply I hear "boom" as he lets a round go from his cannon. He hits the goat... right in the lower jaw, removing it completely! Ah, rats! says I. Mr. GWH never bothers to fire another shot while this this dazed and confused goat takes off. My 270 is back in the vehicle. Me: choot 'em! GWH: total silence. Doesn't even rack another round into the chamber! Me: !#$%&!
So I hoof it back to the vehicle as quickly as my gimpy foot allows (motorcycle accident) and retrieve ExCaliber (the only rifle I own with a name, because anyone can pick it up and kill something with it) and the chase is on. I can barely see the goat by now as he heads out over hill and dale, so back we go to the truck again. By this time he's saying, Ah, we'll never see him again, let's just go find another one. I say: No way! You tagged him, he's yours! We are not going to let that animal bleed or starve to death! So the chase was on!
I followed him using whatever roads the local ranchers had cut as best I could. I finally got to within a few hundred yards of him. He had run out of gas and was actually trying to graze! I felt horrible but not my (already former, in my mind) hunting partner. I get out (alone, he stayed in the truck) and try a shot I am purely guessing at, since the longest range I'd ever actually shot this rifle was 200 yards! I knew the "abouts" from a computer program I had (Baltec, if anyone is actually old enough to remember back that far!) and it was pretty close but I only had it charted on my scope to 400 yards and right now I'm guessing this poor animal is out there at least 500 yards. So I lay down with my bipod and take a poke. No idea where the bullet hit but it was close enough to make him move a few yards... farther out, of course. I try another one and this time I see the splash way too short. I try another and get close enough to make him trot away. Back to the truck and off again! Clearly I need to get closer to him. GWH is still trying to talk me into letting the animal go and "let nature take it's course." I say, nature didn't have a thing to do with this! I was really kind of mad by this time and the more he talked, the madder I got. Grrrr.
So I get us up to within maybe 300 yards and I'm thinking this is perfect! I get out and start my sneak, hoping he doesn't move. I'm within 200 yards now and open the bipod and find a good spot. I don't even get him in the scope and he starts to run! WTH? I look back and here's the GWH standing on the ridgeline watching me! Arrrgh! I turn back and now our wounded warrior is out there, maybe 400 yards. I settle down and take a poke... right over his back! !##$%$&!! He takes off again and runs another couple hundred yards and stops. I take another poke and don't see a splash but he runs a bit farther. What else can go wrong? I'm ready to cry! I guess at a hold over since he's now about 700 yards out and hail Mary another shot. He stands there for a second then flops over. Doesn't kick or anything, DRT. The hunting gods have smiled upon my 130 Partition and put it right between his ribs, just a bit behind his shoulder! Its finally over!
Anyone want to take a bet as to who dressed the animal out and but him in the back of the truck... alone? No? No one? Well, good guess, because the GWH sat in the truck with the heater on, talking to his daughter (my now-ex witch) about his hard headed son-in-law while I did the work. I was not in least surprised but to be honest, I wasn't really in the mood for company anyway. And that was the last time I hunted with him, although... his daughter did manage a perfect shot on a walking deer at 200 yards with her .243 a few days later. He had never even considered letting his wife or daughters go hunting with him before. I was as proud of her as her mother was, since she was with us too! And bought a tag herself, deciding that she could do it. And she did, too. I think it rocked the GWH's world a bit, and for that I felt much better about the longest shot I had ever even tried on animal. I paced that shot off, by the way, at just over 700 yards, give a few either way!
The End (finally!)
Cheers,
crkckr