Those of us who live on the northern range have generally referred to that as a "Texas Brain Shot."
your most memorable hunting experience
- Thread starter bigchuck83
- Start date
Those of us who live on the northern range have generally referred to that as a "Texas Brain Shot."
Big Cholla
Member
I started hunting Nevada Mule Deer with my Dad at the age of 10. I couldn't carry a rifle and hunt until I was 12. We always got our Buck. At the age of 16 my Father gave me a Win. M 12 16 ga. I took it along that fall with the hopes of getting a Sage Hen Grouse. We were dry camping on the East side of Cave Valley. I got my Buck within hours of opening day morn. Dad had not. I was waiting in camp for him on the second day getting ready to prepare lunch. I heard what I was sure was the nearby 'chuckle' of Mountain Quail. I pulled out my new to me M 12 and quickly charged it with bird shot. I walked towards the sound and jumped a covey of Quail. I pulled up and shot a trailing bird then swung a little further forward and shot another, then taking a big chance I shot at the third that was about 50 yds. away. It went down! I tripled the first time I shot that shotgun in actual hunting conditions. By the time my Dad walked back into camp, I had three Quail breast cooking for him. He didn't believe me about getting them all in one flush until I walked him out to the site and showed him where they flushed and where each on landed. I treasured that shotgun. A good for nothing step son from my second marriage stole it and sold it on the street for dope money. He is lucky his mother was present when I found out what he had done.
None of that reduces my good memories of that Quail shoot. I get a twinge of nostalgia every time I see a Winchester M 12 in 16 ga. I could return to that exact camp site right now and that was 60 years ago. .....
None of that reduces my good memories of that Quail shoot. I get a twinge of nostalgia every time I see a Winchester M 12 in 16 ga. I could return to that exact camp site right now and that was 60 years ago. .....
My most memorable moment hunting would
have been something like this . . . . . . .
have been something like this . . . . . . .
Getting lost in the woods after dark. Overcast sky, cold, damp, no flashlight, no compass. I had never hunted that area before. Wandered around for a long while before I was able to find my way out. In the pitch black, I spooked something big out, probably a whitetail, but I couldn't see anything, it could have run me over. Never went hunting again without a compass.
twodog max
Member
About 20 years ago my Dad moved back here to his home state. My son had been hunting a few years and was maybe 12 years old at the time. He hardly knew his granddad and we all went on a deer hunt together the next fall after my Dad moved back. I turned out that that weekend we all three killed deer and my Dad told me that it meant a lot to him to get to go hunting with a grandson and be so successful a weekend. Turns out it was the last deer my Dad ever shot and he only hunted one more time before his health prevented him from going. He is gone now and that little short hunt is so much more special now that it seemed back then.
I'm a little embarrassed to tell this one, but I'm only human. It was
opening day of elk season. My Dad, My younger brother, and I were
up at our hunting spot a daylight. We kinda fanned out and started
through the pines. It wasn't long before I saw the biggest elk with, what
looked like a royal rack. I started stalking him. After an hour or so I
realized I had lost him, but worse than that, I didn't know how to get
back to where I started. I had always heard if you can find a creek,
follow it down hill. I found a dry creek bed and started down the hill.
It was several hours later probably almost midnight when I came to
a barbwire fence. I climbed through the fence to the road. About that
time I hear a car motor idling. I went toward the sound. It was the
County Sheriff waiting for me. I told him how glad I was to see him.
He said I knew if you had any sense at all this is where you would come
out. He took me home. My Dad, Brother and others had been looking
until it got too dark. Sheriff sent a Deputy up to tell them I was home.
I told them I wasn't lost. Just took the long way home.
opening day of elk season. My Dad, My younger brother, and I were
up at our hunting spot a daylight. We kinda fanned out and started
through the pines. It wasn't long before I saw the biggest elk with, what
looked like a royal rack. I started stalking him. After an hour or so I
realized I had lost him, but worse than that, I didn't know how to get
back to where I started. I had always heard if you can find a creek,
follow it down hill. I found a dry creek bed and started down the hill.
It was several hours later probably almost midnight when I came to
a barbwire fence. I climbed through the fence to the road. About that
time I hear a car motor idling. I went toward the sound. It was the
County Sheriff waiting for me. I told him how glad I was to see him.
He said I knew if you had any sense at all this is where you would come
out. He took me home. My Dad, Brother and others had been looking
until it got too dark. Sheriff sent a Deputy up to tell them I was home.
I told them I wasn't lost. Just took the long way home.
I got turned around a few times hunting.My dumbest was just a couple years ago on what I intended to be a short afternoon hike in the spring.Got lost at about 12000' on top of 5' of frozen snow and not enough daylight to climb the ridge to find some landmarks.Wearing shorts and a sweatshirt.had wind pants,a light jacket,space blanket,water and snacks in my pack.Spent the last hour of light breaking branches off of the trees for a fire.Damn cold sleepless night and found my way out the next morning.
There have been so many great days spent hunting, from my first squirrel hunt with my dad, hunting doves and quail with my dad and his brother. But if I have to pick just one it would have to be the morning my oldest grandson got his first buck. I think he was twelve, I had built a stand large enough for both of us to sit in. The spike came out at about twenty-five yrds. Using my 30-06 Ruger mod. 77 he rolled it over. When we got out of the stand and to the deer the look on his face was priceless. I don't think you could have knocked that grin off his face with a baseball bat.
bigwheelzip
Absent Comrade
I don't shoot critters except with cameras. Bagged a Grizzly Bear in Denali National Park at Kodachrome Pass in October 1980. We met on the same trail about fifty feet apart and it detoured through the brush, once it realized who it was up against. 
Just grazed it with one shot as it was leaving.
Just grazed it with one shot as it was leaving.
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My first deer! We lived in VA. and I was 13. Had bought a REM 700 in .243 win, 3X9 weaver and practiced all summer on a small range in the hills and a few woodchucks. My Dad had permission for us to hunt an abandoned farm bordering a state forest. It was very cold and I was standing on an old road/trail through an abandoned apple orchard. I saw a deer coming down the road! Buck fever hit, I stood there frozen, the deer got closer, and closer. When I realized I needed to shoot he was about 15' to 20' away, told you I was frozen!, and not from the cold! I raised the rifle and sited. Guess what, at that distance scopes are in the way! Love to say I was smart enough, but got lucky and looked along side the barrel, pointed it and fired. Deer dropped right there! Waited a while, wet my pants, shook like dog, and finally got my new buck knife out and started field dressing right in the road. My Dad drove the truck up about an hour later. Said that was good planning, no dragging! 
Later I learned he had been watching the whole time through binoculars. He said next time with that big scope I could probably take the shot a little further out! 
Was great eating, from the apple orchard!
My last hunt with my Dad, he came to Iowa, and with my son, we went pheasant hunting.
We each got a bird, but I was the highlight of the day. We decided to take a rest in a pasture, before heading back through the last corn. I sat down in a grass clump, on a rabbit, and could not get turned around to take a shot! I yelled for my Dad to shoot, but he was laughing, and declined. My son was laughing also, so Bre'r rabbit lived another day!
BTW I am looking at the mounted fork horn antlers on the wall draped with a big fox tail as I type this. Great memories! ☺ Thanks to the OP for the topic !
Later I learned he had been watching the whole time through binoculars. He said next time with that big scope I could probably take the shot a little further out! Was great eating, from the apple orchard!My last hunt with my Dad, he came to Iowa, and with my son, we went pheasant hunting.
We each got a bird, but I was the highlight of the day. We decided to take a rest in a pasture, before heading back through the last corn. I sat down in a grass clump, on a rabbit, and could not get turned around to take a shot! I yelled for my Dad to shoot, but he was laughing, and declined. My son was laughing also, so Bre'r rabbit lived another day!
BTW I am looking at the mounted fork horn antlers on the wall draped with a big fox tail as I type this. Great memories! ☺ Thanks to the OP for the topic !
bigolddave
Member
Bear hunt in Ontario. Opening day, warm and sunny. Because bigolddave is big and old, the guide had a nice spot picked out for me on a hillside overlooking an old quarry left over from building the Trans-Canada Highway. Couple old boat cushions to lie on, and a log for a rifle rest. Before the guide left, he sprayed me down with wood smoke scent. Warm and comfy, I started do doze. Suddenly, I realized there were supposed to be bears around, and I smelled like bacon! Did not blink for the next three hours! Enormous bear at the bait! Whacked him with my trusty '06, and he took off running. Waited until I heard the death moan, and went down to look for my bear. Getting dark, awful spooky in there. Went back to the pick up point, and the guide said we will get him in the morning.
We went out in the morning, and I sure wish we had gotten him out the night before. The bear had shrunk from at least five hundred pounds to just over one hundred!
We went out in the morning, and I sure wish we had gotten him out the night before. The bear had shrunk from at least five hundred pounds to just over one hundred!
Slowhanddd
Member
My bestest memories is being with my four sons when they shot their first deer. My oldest is 50 and shot his at 25(late bloomer). Twin boys both shot their first at 15. Youngest is 35 and got his at 22. Most memorable hunts ever.
Great thread! I can add a story. Dad had a friend, Wimpy, who was a real character and taught us a lot. He had a lot of really nice guns, too, but was constantly horse trading. Any way, I was about 12 or 13 and had my first shotgun, a single shot .410. The men let me come along to hunt pheasants near Burlington, CO. The 60s were boom years for them. We were walking a harvested corn field when up jumped a pheasant and me and Wimpy each shot. The pheasant went down and he ran up and grabbed it. When he turned around, he saw me and said "Oh, did you shoot, too?" I answered yes and he said, "Well, congratulations on your first rooster. I wondered why that bird had turned sideways just before I shot him" and handed me my trophy. There is little doubt in my mind, now, that the old man's 12 gauge probably did the trick, but I was one proud youngster. That was 50 years ago and I still thank him every time I think of that occasion.
Cooter Brown
Member
Where to start? I don't have a bad memory of hunting. I've had some golden days and I've had some disasters. I've been lost, cold, wet, tired, stove up, limping, madder'n hell with an empty game bag because I couldn't hit the ground with a rock or because of a dog having a bad day, but I've never had a day in the field I regretted. I've made a bed of privet because it was too dark to get out of the woods by the time I found the birds and I'd forgotten my flashlight. But I wouldn't trade those tough days for anything else I've done.
A buddy of mine told me one time that an adventure is something that hurts when it's happening but when you're in front of a fire with a bourbon is a fond memory. I've had lots of golden days and lots of adventures.
I reckon I should do like Redlevel and post a picture of me and a dog--I've hunted a lot of different critters but the best memories involve dogs.
But there was this day:
That's my two dogs at the time with my nephew. My nephew is the one in the middle. He was 17 years old and that's the last day of a hunt in the UP of Michigan. I'd talked his mother into taking him out of school for a week, explaining that he'd learn more in that week than he would in school (sorry, Mark!). I think he did. We saw his first bear, several eagles, a wolf. We saw a goshawk swoop down and catch a grouse.
Traveller is on the left, Rebel on the right. It was Traveller's first effective season, Rebel's last. I was there for over two weeks and the boy flew up for the last five days and made the drive back with me. Look at Traveller's swollen right leg and the sores on each wrist. The boy got hunted hard. He was a couple of years old and like my nephew--and me--learned a lot that year.
My nephew with his first partirdges, killed over my old Rebel dog:
Now Rebel is gone and Traveller is an old dog and I'm an older man. But we're still having golden days and every once in a while an adventure.
Well, I hit submit before I wanted to.
The end of this this post is this, what is maybe the strongest memory:
A day before my nephew and I left for the long drive home we were hunting an old skid road with Rebel. Reb pointed off the road at the entrance to a sort of tunnel created by some conifers. I told the boy to stay on the road and I walked past the dog on the left side of the tunnel--the road was on the right. I was hoping to push the bird over the boy.
I charged in well past the dog and popped back into the tunnel with no flush. I looked at Reb and said, "Where is he, boy?" expecting the dog to relocate. Instead old Reb looked at me imploringly, making eye contact as though to say, "Got me? Are you paying attention?"
At this point in the game I trusted this dog without hesitation and I walked toward him, he maintaining eye contact the whole way. I stopped about 30 feet from him. When I did he all but nodded his head in recognition of my compliance and then slowly, ever so slowly, as slowly as a dog can move, turned his head to the side 90 degrees to his left and stopped. I followed his gaze. Sitting under one of the conifers was a big red grouse. After turning his head Reb was looking right at it.
In general terms--hell, it's almost a rule--if I see a bird on the ground before it flushes I miss it. But I killed that bird and it was one of the last birds I ever killed over Rebel.
So yeah, that's a solid memory.
A buddy of mine told me one time that an adventure is something that hurts when it's happening but when you're in front of a fire with a bourbon is a fond memory. I've had lots of golden days and lots of adventures.
I reckon I should do like Redlevel and post a picture of me and a dog--I've hunted a lot of different critters but the best memories involve dogs.
But there was this day:
That's my two dogs at the time with my nephew. My nephew is the one in the middle. He was 17 years old and that's the last day of a hunt in the UP of Michigan. I'd talked his mother into taking him out of school for a week, explaining that he'd learn more in that week than he would in school (sorry, Mark!). I think he did. We saw his first bear, several eagles, a wolf. We saw a goshawk swoop down and catch a grouse.
Traveller is on the left, Rebel on the right. It was Traveller's first effective season, Rebel's last. I was there for over two weeks and the boy flew up for the last five days and made the drive back with me. Look at Traveller's swollen right leg and the sores on each wrist. The boy got hunted hard. He was a couple of years old and like my nephew--and me--learned a lot that year.
My nephew with his first partirdges, killed over my old Rebel dog:
Now Rebel is gone and Traveller is an old dog and I'm an older man. But we're still having golden days and every once in a while an adventure.
Well, I hit submit before I wanted to.
The end of this this post is this, what is maybe the strongest memory:
A day before my nephew and I left for the long drive home we were hunting an old skid road with Rebel. Reb pointed off the road at the entrance to a sort of tunnel created by some conifers. I told the boy to stay on the road and I walked past the dog on the left side of the tunnel--the road was on the right. I was hoping to push the bird over the boy.
I charged in well past the dog and popped back into the tunnel with no flush. I looked at Reb and said, "Where is he, boy?" expecting the dog to relocate. Instead old Reb looked at me imploringly, making eye contact as though to say, "Got me? Are you paying attention?"
At this point in the game I trusted this dog without hesitation and I walked toward him, he maintaining eye contact the whole way. I stopped about 30 feet from him. When I did he all but nodded his head in recognition of my compliance and then slowly, ever so slowly, as slowly as a dog can move, turned his head to the side 90 degrees to his left and stopped. I followed his gaze. Sitting under one of the conifers was a big red grouse. After turning his head Reb was looking right at it.
In general terms--hell, it's almost a rule--if I see a bird on the ground before it flushes I miss it. But I killed that bird and it was one of the last birds I ever killed over Rebel.
So yeah, that's a solid memory.
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Waited 14 yrs for my 1st ever deer hunt. My uncle told me I could go with him my cousin and a friend. Uncle left a day early to set up camp. I would ride with the other two. After our friend got off work we left about midnight. A 2.5 hr drive quickly went sour. When we got to camp uncle was finishing breakfast, he was not happy. I was told to get dressed and he walked me to a pine tree and told me not to go walking around. It started snowing, I was tired and fell asleep when I woke up I was buried. Could not find my rifle. My 1st day will always be remembered.
G.T. Smith
US Veteran
My most memorable hunt was back about 1958 or so. I went with my Dad and a friend of his deer hunting. My Dad was a machinist and worked in St Louis and came home on weekends. His friend was a city slicker with a nice 30.06 semi automatic. Neither my Dad or I were armed. This guy wound up shooting a big buck right about dusk. Dad and he walked back about 3 or 4 miles to get the truck and left me there to watch the deer. Man, was I scared, freaking out. I remember thinking that here I am sitting on a freshly killed deer in the middle of the boondocks with no gun and all kinds of animals that just might want to have a taste of the deer. It seemed like forever until they got back. They had to pretty much make a road to get down there. That little adventure sucked so much I will always remember that night. Very memorable indeed.
Peace,
Gordon
Peace,
Gordon
Bill Bates
Member
My most memorable moment hunting would
have been something like this . . . . . . .
Mine too, right down to hunting over an English Setter.
Big Cholla
Member
I have another story about Mule Deer hunting in Nevada; I had a cousin (passed now) that was 6 yrs. older than I. I really liked him, but hated to hunt with him as in my opinion he went a little too far in everything he was doing. If we were walking, he walked too fast. If we were a horseback he rode his horse too fast and too far into good deer areas without hitching the horses to something and walking in a little. .... We were going to hunt Cave Valley. He borrowed a newly rebuilt WWII Navy Jeep from a friend that couldn't come with us. He and another friend left our camp in that Jeep which was the usual light Navy grey color. Which all but matched the color of the big Nevada sagebrush in that valley. They were going South on the main valley road and then East up some two-track trails to near the limestone breaks that marked the base of the real mountains. I wished them well and walked out of our base camp. I took a fair Buck about mid morn. After dressing him out I walked back to camp and got my two wheel drive pickup and went as near as I could to my deer. I got it drug to the pickup and back to camp by about 3 pm. My cousin was not back yet. I went about my business expecting to hear them driving in at anytime. It got dark. I thought that they probably got a couple of big bucks and were hard at work getting them back to the Jeep. About 9 pm I got a little worried and drove back down to the main road and to the two track they had taken to the East. I could read the tire tracks which told me they still hadn't driven out. I went back to camp and built a much bigger camp fire than usual. I stayed up and kept feeding the fire. At midnight I heard them walking in. They had left the Jeep in a depression surrounded by sagebrush and walked what they thought was a big circle. They could not find the Jeep. They hunted for a couple of hours until dark and then decided to walk about five miles cross country back to base camp. They were tired, beat and disgusted. The next morn I drove them to the two track intersection where they started walking up to the mountain. I went back at noon to no cousin and friend. I went back at near dark and saw them walking back down the two track. They did the same thing the next morn. I picked them up at noontime as we all had to get back and go to work. The next weekend my cousin and four or five friends went back with another Jeep and finally found the original Jeep parked exactly where he had left it. I never did hear what the owner had to say about all that. I do know that my cousin discussed with his wife buying the Jeep from the owner and just forgetting about it.
I never let my cousin live that event down. We would be driving someplace and if I saw a Jeep I would say very loud, "Look there's a Jeep". He didn't think it was real funny. He later went back to our family's home county in the mid-west and was elected the County Sheriff in the same county that our Grandfather had been the County Sheriff during the late '20s.
I never let my cousin live that event down. We would be driving someplace and if I saw a Jeep I would say very loud, "Look there's a Jeep". He didn't think it was real funny. He later went back to our family's home county in the mid-west and was elected the County Sheriff in the same county that our Grandfather had been the County Sheriff during the late '20s.
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RobertJ.
Member
Lots of memorable hunting moments, but perhaps my favorite was when I lived in Idaho. I used to hunt about ten miles from
Yellowstone, I could hunt all day and not see another human. One time, I was hunting with a Contender in .35 Remington. I had never rattled antlers, so I gave it a try. I didn't see any deer, but two bull moose came within about 50 yards of me. I thought, oh poop, what to do now? So I stood up and let them see me, then gathered up my stuff, and started hiking the other direction. Thankfully, they were just curious, and not aggressive.
Another time in Idaho, I went fishing with a buddy on the last day of deer season. I took my rifle just in case, and wound up taking a nice little doe (hunter's choice for the last couple days of the season) on the way out to where we were going to fish. Then I caught a 16" cutthroat trout, on the same day, within about two hours!
Man, I miss Idaho!
Yellowstone, I could hunt all day and not see another human. One time, I was hunting with a Contender in .35 Remington. I had never rattled antlers, so I gave it a try. I didn't see any deer, but two bull moose came within about 50 yards of me. I thought, oh poop, what to do now? So I stood up and let them see me, then gathered up my stuff, and started hiking the other direction. Thankfully, they were just curious, and not aggressive.
Another time in Idaho, I went fishing with a buddy on the last day of deer season. I took my rifle just in case, and wound up taking a nice little doe (hunter's choice for the last couple days of the season) on the way out to where we were going to fish. Then I caught a 16" cutthroat trout, on the same day, within about two hours!
Man, I miss Idaho!
jag312
Member
My most memorable experience is not my most treasured experience. I was sitting on a large rock, cradling my shotgun, and just taking in the beauty of the wilderness. I didn't know that there was a red ant hill behind the rock. A red ant climbed up my pants, all the way up my leg. The ant bit me in a very sensitive part of my anatomy.
The people I was with saw me at a distance with my pants down around my ankles, waving my shotgun over me head, and screaming like a lunatic. They didn't know what was happening, but they later told me that they were concerned that I had completely lost my mind, and they hoped they would not have to shoot me.
Not only was this my most memorable hunting experience, but it was my last hunting experience. Since that time I have lost all interest in hunting, and have never gone again.
The people I was with saw me at a distance with my pants down around my ankles, waving my shotgun over me head, and screaming like a lunatic. They didn't know what was happening, but they later told me that they were concerned that I had completely lost my mind, and they hoped they would not have to shoot me.
Not only was this my most memorable hunting experience, but it was my last hunting experience. Since that time I have lost all interest in hunting, and have never gone again.
