Whats your favorite hunting memory?

[Perkinz88]

Two years ago, my best friend and I went out to one of our good buddies ranch in Eastern Oregon... We'll call him Tyson. Tysons family had many thousands of acres where they raised cattle, farmed wheat and hunted pheasant and quail. The temperature was around 35-40 degrees that morning. We loaded up on steak and eggs, and then loaded up on shells. We taxied the trucks around to our starting and ending points. Walking into the fields on that cool crisp morning, through the sage and brush, the dogs were very birdie. Smelling the sage, hearing the dogs, and seeing a line of my best friends in their hunter orange ready for a great opening day of pheasant- its one of my favorite hunting memories...

What's yours!?

[Kellyelk]

This is hard as I have two favorites.

The first is the year before I could actually carry a gun and hunt my dad and his good friend/neighbor took me up for my first elk/deer camp. It was a magical ride up the arkansas river and over to Gunnison for the first time. After setting up camp we had a great time cooking up steak and fried potatoes. Sleep came slowly that night. Opening morning found us sitting on our stand where elk cross. Watching the sun come up was a charge of adrenaline. About an hour after sunup my dads partner drops his cow. While they were getting it gutted some hunters running a finger kicked out a herd of no less than a dozen branch antlered bulls. Many of which could have gone well over 300 B&C. We watched them come out and look back from where they came and proceeded to trot thru the open for a mile or so and go into the timber to parts unknown. Not one hunter in the area saw them but us. Two days later my dad and I walked into a large basin up a small creek. As we came up on a hidden spring we heard crashing like a train was coming thru the willows. Out pops a rag horn 4X4 Bull that stops at 20 yards broadside and stares at us. I have never seen an elk since that had the golden coat and dark mane as nice as this bulls. He must have known my dad had a cow tag. He waited until we started around the other side of the willows and went back in and laid down. I have since never seen so many animals in a trip of the male persuasion.

My second favorite is 7 years later when I got my first bull. Was sicker than all get out. An hour after sunup sitting on my stand ready to head for camp and bed I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
There stands a bull 75 yards away. Made a quick count of points to make sure he was legal and 3 hits to the boiler room later he was down. Seeing my dads joy was priceless.

[rantingredneck]

Mine isn't just one memory but a series of hunting trips over several years. I used to hunt small game in Tennessee (where my family is from) every year around Christmas time. My grandfather and a bunch of my uncles and cousins would all go together and hunt for rabbit or squirrel. My grandfather and many of those uncles are now gone, but the memories live on.

[Flatcoat1]

A "favorite" memory? So many its hard to say. Every time I go to the field or water is a day that I remember. I work with a guy that is older than I by more than 30 years. He always says that I will "grow out of it like he did." When the days are nice and I see that sun rise in the east I think I am blessed. When I see that sun set I feel I am blessed. On those days when the rain, snow, sleet and just about anything and everything goes wrong and no game is spotted I go home and try and get warm I feel that I am blessed. The next morning I get out of bed and get ready to leave my wife wonders what keeps me going - I am blessed! (If you do not belive in a higher being then you haven't seen the sunrise from a stand or blind.) I love going out and I hope each day is as good as the last. Flatcoat (Then there was that day I was squirrel hunting with a friend and we had a wounded squirrel go into a tree cavity. My friend climed on my shoulders and was just reaching for the tail when his father spotted us. It must have been a sight to behold - I am still trying to forget it!)

[CHAVEZ CHAVEZ]

I have several like y'all ,but heres one of the best .
lst yr wasmy sons first harvest for a muley, well we started out on the big opener pumped ,especialy
my son we got to our spot way before day break doing the usual glassingand all that goodstuff.
acouple hr's past nothin,we sat there all mon'n ,hunted there n the evening still nithin.tryied another spot the next day bucks every where ,but they were'nt big enough for my boy.
his grandad was even gett'n fustrated (it was funny) my son would wake up look at the buck tell us
i told u guys' 4 points or better . so the day came to a end still no buck the next day he had to return back to school for 2 days, so the next available day we were ready once again ,kinda got a late start
that day headed out about 8:30 am headed to a spot were i use to deer hunt alot.
we got there and i told my boy watch that big chained area them bucks come trough thereback to there beds. about 10 min- later a buck came full sprint across, told my boy watch were he goes so we can get a setup on him. he stopped n the tree line so we had to work are way up 100 yrd's or so, finally worked are way up there told my boy be ready !!! hes already spooked, spoted him i said take him ,buck moved again. moved up a lil more there he is u gatta take him your not gonna get another chance !!
he had a perfect shot somewheres around 200 yrd's . take him when your ready, he touched it off and nailed that buck. sat there a lilbit jumping up and down high fives and all that good stuff !!!!!
told my son walk over there and track him.
i let him get a head start was yelling at him hold your rifle infront of u !! in case he gets up!!
about 5 min later i hear my son screaming! so i started run'n over there got there and asked him what
ya yelling for! he got up dad i thought he was gonna charge me! but he fell over dead. i told my son your screaming probably finished him off!! i bring it up every now and then he just gives me the biggest smile.

[rooster52]

I shot my first Fox Squirrel at the age of 10.My mother took me back to the woods on our farm for a picknic lunch,as she would often like to do. This time I talked her in to letting me take along my 22 rifle,all we could find was 7 shells ,when we got to the spot she liked to have lunch my shepherd cow dog/hunting dog took in after a squirrel and treed it.On my 5th deadly shot the critter came tumblin down the tree,the dog was on him in a flash and held him till I got there and got the dead squirrel from him.Me and that dog took lots of game for the next 10 years or so,I miss him like a family member.He was just a mutt farm dog but would hunt better than my $800 bird dog.
Little did my mother know ,but that day squirrel hunting really started something,and I hope it is far from over!

[markmazuch]

It was the first time I ever went out pheasant hunting by myself. I was about 12 years old. After walking about two miles, to what is not my honey whole, I came to a fence. I set my 20 guage browning bps down on the other side and hopped over. I picked up my gun and took two or three steps into some CRP and the place exploded. There were so many birds that I didn't know which way to shoot. I unloaded the gun and reloaded about twice maybe three times, I don't really remember. I was shooting for what seemed like forever. I shot what seemed like 1000 times, and I didn't get one freakin bird. I stumbled into at least 100 ROOSTERS and didn't get one. No kidding. Now you know I'm not lying because if I was lying I would have got at least one bird.

[rantingredneck]

I was about 15 or 16 and used to squirrel hunt a small tract of land within walking distance of my house. I'd come home from school and have an hour or two of daylight to knock a few bushytails out of the trees. This particular day I came home, grabbed my vest and .410 H&R break action. I only had 3 shells left out of the box I'd been working from. With that gun and that particular piece of property, though that usually would've equated to three squirrels. I headed down into the woods and sat down under a big sycamore tree that stood on the side of a small hill overlooking an oak flat. I let the woods quiet down for about 15 minutes and saw my first squirrel. He was sitting on a pine limb at the edge of the flat about 30 yds away. I popped him with the .410 and he dropped, but he caught himself about 10 feet down the tree and headed back up. I let loose my second shell and he dropped again but caught himself. Once again running up the tree. At this point I'd already figured out that he wasn't going to be worht eating with all the lead that was already in him, but being a responsible hunter I had an obligation to finish the animal and not let him suffer. I fired my third and final round and the squirrel dropped for the last time. This time, he landed on a lower limb about 10 feet off the ground where I couldn't reach him. As the squirrel lay there, apparently dead, I considered my options. I remembered my Western cutlery hunting knife hanging on my belt. I took it out and tossed it up at the squirrel. It took me three tries but I finally knocked him off that limb. He hit the ground with a thud. I retrieved my knife and now empty shotgun and then reached to pick the squirrel up by the tail. The little critter spun around and bit me on my right thumb. I flailed my arm around with the squirrel attached to no avail. I finally pried him loose and whacked him up against the side of the tree two or three times till he stopped moving and breathing. I once again gathered up my shotgun which had hit the ground when the squirrel bit me and walked the 1/8th of a mile or so back home. I dropped the squirrel on the front porch and went inside to clean and bandage up my finger. He had bit me on the sides of my thumb just beside the thumbnail. The bite was so deep that I'm almost certain his teeth touched inside my thumb. I got a bowl and my knife and started back outside to skin the squirrel out (again thinking it was pretty pointless due to all the lead). I walked back out on the porch and the squirrel was gone. To this day I don't know whether a dog came along and nabbed it during the 15 minutes I was in the house dealing with my finger or whether it revived again and ran off. At that point I gave up........that was the one that got away. I can laugh about that now, but my thumb still has the scars from his teeth.

[Perkinz88]

This is great stuff guys! Its great to read while I am stuck in the office, wishing I was out on a turkey shoot with my son (even though he is only a month) or popin' squarls out of tree with a .410! Keep'em coming! I know every person that reads these posts has story (or lie :)) that sticks out in their head!!
Share them with the group like we were all sittin' around the fire at elk camp!

[Chubminr]

It was 1965 and I was 12. Hunting muledeer, just south of Lake Tahoe at Marklyville Peak. Hunting just below timberline, six inches of new snow, cold, really cold. I didn't have enough clothes on and my boots sucked. Sun is rising and it's getting colder. I'm sitting on a rock the size of a Greyhound and watching the whole world wakeup. I learned that big rocks just suck the heat out of you with no end to thier thirst. Now it's ten, I'm blue and see the first deer of the day. Harvested my deer, he dropped in his tracks. I learned that after the kill I wasn't as cold and dressing the deer put the heat back in my hands.
Dad took a deer also and we shared the long, wonderful drag back down the mountain. Thinking about it makes me wish I was 12 and had it all in front of me. Maybe with my grandson!

[keb2739]

Favorite hunting memory...that's a tough question, but one that really makes you think, doesn't it? I'm 51 years old, and have been hunting since I was 10 years old...that makes for lots and lots of memories (some good ones too, LOL.)

A memory that stands out in my mind, is a deer season in S. Georgia back in 1992. My buddy and I were assigned to the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC) as instructors, and we hunted every weekend of the season(s) (Archery, Muzzleloader, Rifle), basically September to January, and we took some leave and hunted during the week as well. You see my buddy had never killed a deer before, and hadn't ever been big game hunting before we met, though he was quite the accomplished duck hunter. I asked him to go deer hunting over dinner one night, and the quest began!

We hunted long, and we hunted hard that first year, all on public land. I killed a couple small deer, and my buddy had no luck. During the last weekend of deer season we were hunting public land, and put our climbing stands on opposite ends of a gas-pipeline right of way. I'm going to say we were 600 yards apart and maybe further. I could see him, and he could see me. That morning we saw nothing, met for lunch, and went back into our climbers for the afternoon hunt around 2 PM. At approximately 4:30 -5:00 PM, with the sun setting over my shoulder, and a pleasant breeze blowing, I'm fighting to stay awake, when I notice a nice doe walk out of the woods, closer to my buddy, than to me. My buddy has a habit of falling asleep in his stand (as do I :), and I look at him with my binoculars and he's not moving. I'm thinking, here's his chance, and it's going to get away. About that time I see him raise his gun, take aim at the deer, and let that 30.06 roar! The deer never knew what hit her, collapsing right where she stood.

I got out of my stand, got my buddies truck, and went around to meet him. After high fives and hugs, we got the deer loaded into his truck (Ford Bronco II), being careful not to get any blood on the carpet (wrong, but that's another story). We had two climbing stands, our packs and our rifles that had to go in the back of this small SUV. We got it all loaded, and drove to his house. While he was in the house sharing the good news, I started unloading the truck, and realized that his rifle case was empty! I asked him if he had taken it inside, when we realized that we had left it in the woods, leaned up against a tree, while we were loading the deer and all our junk in the truck! Good thing it was hard dark by now. We loaded back up, drove back out into the woods to get the rifle, before we could start dealing with his deer.

I'll never forget how thrilled, and thankful my good friend was to harvest this white-tail deer, and I wouldn't take a million bucks for the experience.

Happy/Safe Hunting,

Kyle

[keb2739]

Realized after I posted that this is on the Upland & Small Game board.. Hope anyone that notices this and takes exception will forgive me. Great thread idea.

Kyle

[will79]

My first deer, a 10pt, my dad was standing right beside me. I was 14yrs old and when we got to the deer I was so happy and proud I would have cried but I couldn't do that in front of my dad. Had to force myself to be calm. I still get the same joys from hunting. I was 23 when my wife shot her first deer. I immediately hugged her and told her how proud I was and nearly cried then. Call me a pansy, I don't care. I have a true love for outdoors and respect wildlife.

[Obsessed]

My favorite hunting memory came to me this year. We hunt at my grandfathers farm. He lives in a heavly farmed area in the middle of a 2000 acre logging forest. I was sitting in my stand one field downhill of my father. He was sitting in a field bordered by corn and woods. At about noon some other hunters started a drive through the corn. Four does came running down the hill straight for me. They lazily ran across the field. About 150 yards away they stopped. I took a shot at one and it went down. Two of the does cut across the field and headed for some pines to the north of me. They stopped 100 yards out. I shot and missed (It was my first year using a 12 gauge and I was shooting too high). I called my father to tell him I got a deer. He congratulated me and told me to stay in my stand in case any more deer came. Being my stubborn self I waited 30 seconds and went to look for blood from the deer I missed. No more than 10 yards from my stand I hear my dad shoot. Out of the corn comes a huge buck. But this one was special. That buck came out carrying the entire cornfield on his rack. It looked like he was wearing shaggy camo. That buck was massive. The buck entered the woods and came back out about 250 yards away from my dad. H e took a shot and hit the buck ( For those who don't use shotguns a 250 yard shot is about 3 times the range of a good shot) Though the shot wasn't fatal. The buck ran 100 yards and ran right into a group of hunters just coming out from lunch. They took the buck. It was an awsome story even thought in ended without any deer. My brother shot a nice 10 pointer that day, his first. So it was a good season.