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What’s your spookiest hunting experience?
- Thread starter marksman1941
- Start date
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I'll bet your off vines for life
BTW, in the first story, what was that snake wrapped around?
Congrats! Too bad about the trip
But worth it.
It appeared to have been a short stub of dead branch, from what was broken off where he was. I was honestly too shook up to pay much attention to it.
epags
Well-Known Member
OK, my last Alaskan story (unless I can remember another one). Still in the military, still a real neophite hunter. Same 30-06 my father-in-law gave me. This time some commerical ammo (probably 180 gr silver tip as I remember).
My (just as ignorant) neighbor and I decide to go hunting brown bears. We pack up my camper and drive into the outback.
In the morning we find the entire mountan is covered in heavy fog (clouds? What do we know or care) As we are slowly walking in the fog, I see a silhouette of what appears to be a bear standing on its hind legs looking towards us.
Ever see a mount of a brownie? rifles 6 ft high and two big paws just waiting for you? What was I thinking. Obviously not much as I slowly approach looking through the rifle scope. **** thing started to look really big.
Then the fog begins to clear and in front of me on a boulder is this 8 inch marmot.
Say what?
As I have matured as a hunter, I often wonder what the outcome would have been if it had turned out to be an Alaskan brownie?????
My (just as ignorant) neighbor and I decide to go hunting brown bears. We pack up my camper and drive into the outback.
In the morning we find the entire mountan is covered in heavy fog (clouds? What do we know or care) As we are slowly walking in the fog, I see a silhouette of what appears to be a bear standing on its hind legs looking towards us.
Ever see a mount of a brownie? rifles 6 ft high and two big paws just waiting for you? What was I thinking. Obviously not much as I slowly approach looking through the rifle scope. **** thing started to look really big.
Then the fog begins to clear and in front of me on a boulder is this 8 inch marmot.
Say what?
As I have matured as a hunter, I often wonder what the outcome would have been if it had turned out to be an Alaskan brownie?????
Don't blame you a bit. I could only imagine it may have been some critter the snake was about to dine on.
adk hunter
Well-Known Member
You might have to had a 30-06 pulled out of your back side.
You've started a extra terrestrial invasion Muddy.Obviously election season is looming
Charlielee
Member
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2013
- Messages
- 21
Back in 1980 and old friend and I were striper fishing on the bank at Lake Texoma. We had parked the truck down a trail just up from the bank in the woods in early spring. It was real dark from no moon and we were casting top water red fins and slowly pulling them in so a V-ripple would form on the surface. There was no wind at all, so we knew when some coon hunters put out their noisy dogs hoping to tree a raccoon or something. The dogs seemed like they were getting close to us but we could not tell for sure where they finally went because they whelping.
So after a while we decided to get on up to the truck and head back to camp. We had our hands full of rods and tackle boxes and if anything just a weak flashlight. So with our heads down trying to not trip as we reached the truck, we were laying the equipment into the bed when all of a sudden right at me a coon dog bellow and breath hit me right in the face, wharoohh! The entire pack had managed to get in that bed and they were as startled as we were when we surprised them, all letting it out. Needless to say the old man and I were having one heck of a laugh once our heart beat settled down.
The owners of the dogs soon came down the trail happy to find them. The "coon dog bellow" is a loud as a noise as a dog can make and they scared the dickens out of us.
So after a while we decided to get on up to the truck and head back to camp. We had our hands full of rods and tackle boxes and if anything just a weak flashlight. So with our heads down trying to not trip as we reached the truck, we were laying the equipment into the bed when all of a sudden right at me a coon dog bellow and breath hit me right in the face, wharoohh! The entire pack had managed to get in that bed and they were as startled as we were when we surprised them, all letting it out. Needless to say the old man and I were having one heck of a laugh once our heart beat settled down.
The owners of the dogs soon came down the trail happy to find them. The "coon dog bellow" is a loud as a noise as a dog can make and they scared the dickens out of us.
The worst hunting story I have ever heard was told to me at the range I go to by the man that experienced it. I was shooting my .338 Edge down at 300 yards. After a few rounds (that thing rings the tin roof over the benches like crazy) I looked over and saw one of the guys that were down at the pistol range walking toward me so I opened the bolt and stood up. I recognized him and we shook hands. He sheepishly asked me if I could hold off firing until his buddy (in a wheelchair) could finish shooting his pistol. The percussion of my rifle caused him pain. A little curious I said of course and started scrounging brass after he walked away. I figure if a man is going to walk the 100 yards or so down to where I was and be polite I could wait. Besides that, his buddy was in a wheelchair and somehow my .338 Edge's muzzle blast was affecting him.
It sounded like his buddy was shooting a .22 and he didn't shoot for very long. the guy that walked down gave me a thumbs up when they were done but I held off shooting. I decided to wait until they left. As they drove toward the gate they swung in and I walked over. His buddy was sitting in the passenger seat. He was gray and it looked like he was hurting just from being alive. I'm not kidding, he looked like a terminal cancer patient. Then the driver says, this is my friend "insert name here". This was 10 or more years ago and I don't recall either's name and I haven't seen them since. The passenger couldn't raise his hand to shake hands and he apologized saying something like shooting wore him out. Then the driver told me I was looking at a real miracle. I didn't feel like I was looking at a miracle.
He told me that his passenger was checking feeders (somewhere around Wharton, TX) with his buddy around dusk. They both walked in together on the main sendero, with their rifles. They were hoping to see some hogs. The sendero split into two sendero's, one left, one right. They separated (100% not in my book of right things to do in this situation but I get it) so they could check the feeders in time to fill them before dark. The passenger started talking, with a lot of effort. He explained that his walk was shorter and he was back to where they split up before his hunting buddy but the light was fading fast. He said he got down on one knee and started glassing for hogs with his scope. He felt something tap him in the side, then he felt like he was being blown up like a ballon, then something pulled at his other side. I didn't get what he was telling me at first. He said then he fell over and the next thing he remembered was his buddy crying and telling him that he was sorry. His buddy spotted him from down at the feeder he was checking, thought he was a hog, and shot him with a 7mm Rem Mag. I was stunned.
7mm Rem Mag is my hunting caliber (gross overkill down here). I blurted out, how are you even here? He said he wouldn't be much longer. I tell you what man... I must've had too much water that day... my eyes leaked when that frail little shell of a man said that. He smiled and bragged on how many surgeries that Dr. Red Duke had done on him and how people don't know how he survived. He was most proud of being Dr. Red Duke's patient. Most of his intestines were gone. Yup, gut shot through the side with a 7mm Rem Mag. I want to say he used a 180gr bullet but truthfully I don't recall. I can't imagine what that man lived through.
I've told this story before, it may not read the same every time, but it always hits me the same. A good 10 years or more have gone by since that day. I never saw him or his friend again. It pays to be kind...
It sounded like his buddy was shooting a .22 and he didn't shoot for very long. the guy that walked down gave me a thumbs up when they were done but I held off shooting. I decided to wait until they left. As they drove toward the gate they swung in and I walked over. His buddy was sitting in the passenger seat. He was gray and it looked like he was hurting just from being alive. I'm not kidding, he looked like a terminal cancer patient. Then the driver says, this is my friend "insert name here". This was 10 or more years ago and I don't recall either's name and I haven't seen them since. The passenger couldn't raise his hand to shake hands and he apologized saying something like shooting wore him out. Then the driver told me I was looking at a real miracle. I didn't feel like I was looking at a miracle.
He told me that his passenger was checking feeders (somewhere around Wharton, TX) with his buddy around dusk. They both walked in together on the main sendero, with their rifles. They were hoping to see some hogs. The sendero split into two sendero's, one left, one right. They separated (100% not in my book of right things to do in this situation but I get it) so they could check the feeders in time to fill them before dark. The passenger started talking, with a lot of effort. He explained that his walk was shorter and he was back to where they split up before his hunting buddy but the light was fading fast. He said he got down on one knee and started glassing for hogs with his scope. He felt something tap him in the side, then he felt like he was being blown up like a ballon, then something pulled at his other side. I didn't get what he was telling me at first. He said then he fell over and the next thing he remembered was his buddy crying and telling him that he was sorry. His buddy spotted him from down at the feeder he was checking, thought he was a hog, and shot him with a 7mm Rem Mag. I was stunned.
7mm Rem Mag is my hunting caliber (gross overkill down here). I blurted out, how are you even here? He said he wouldn't be much longer. I tell you what man... I must've had too much water that day... my eyes leaked when that frail little shell of a man said that. He smiled and bragged on how many surgeries that Dr. Red Duke had done on him and how people don't know how he survived. He was most proud of being Dr. Red Duke's patient. Most of his intestines were gone. Yup, gut shot through the side with a 7mm Rem Mag. I want to say he used a 180gr bullet but truthfully I don't recall. I can't imagine what that man lived through.
I've told this story before, it may not read the same every time, but it always hits me the same. A good 10 years or more have gone by since that day. I never saw him or his friend again. It pays to be kind...
