Saeed,
Got my money yesterday. Thank you very much. There is a clamor among my grandchildren over who gets the envelope withe the U.A.E. stamps. The money was looked at, but when they found out what it was worth, every bill came back to me. At work, it also caused a stir.
Again, Thanks Alot!
Max

I want to thank Saeed for making me a millionaire and also for creating this thread .I have read each and every story and enjoyed them quite a bit.

Fifty million, sixty milion, sixty one.....

Add me to the ranks of the Zim Millionaire's club! (At least until June 30th, the expiration date on the currency).

Finally was able to go to the post office.

Thanks for the cash!!!

My kids got a big kick out it. Plenty for everyone.

The UAE stamps were an unexpected bonus.

Thanks again.

Saeed,,, thanks for the millions! I received the cash yesterday! I am going to make a wall picture with it next to my African trophies. It will definitely be a conversation starter. Thanks, drwes

Thank you Saeed! The gift is much appreciated.

He stepped onto the porch, finishing the last bit of cold coffee left in the beat up tin cup. He contemplated the events of the last couple of days. He had lost calves before, sometimes more than one in a night, but never this many, and never for this long.

Usually they would move on, only taking a few here and there, almost as if they had some kind of respect for the old rancher’s livelihood. Not this one. He would take at least one a night over the past two weeks, sometimes two.

“I am too damn old to do thisâ€, he muttered, but inside he still felt the exhilaration of youth when they used to chase them with horses. Finding the track and following until the dogs told them where he was.

Pete showed up about the time the sun painted the East facing slope of the hills that separated him from the rest of the world. His neighbors had some kind of respect for him, ranching this far from “civilizationâ€.

He never considered that group to be very civilized anyway. He preferred the solitude of the ranch. Anyway, he was only a day’s ride from town. Problematic in an emergency, but worth the inconvenience for the solitude. He didn’t like people too much anyway.

Mary had always said he was a social retard. He never argued with her on this point.

Pete stepped onto the porch, rifle in hand.

“What’s up? John said you have a calf killer?â€

He just smiled. Even though he was older, Pete loved this as much as he did. Not sure if it was the danger, or the sense of accomplishment in solving a problem, or just a welcome break from the boredom.

“Yeah, we lost two more last night.â€

“How many does that make?â€

“Twenty-three.â€

“Fresh track?â€

“Yep.â€

Pete shuffled his feet and asked, “Do you have a suitable gun? You can use mine.†Knowing full well that he did have a suitable gun and that he would not take a gun from Pete.

“I see you brought your sense of humor.†He said and frowned slightly at Pete. Breaking the frown at the end into a half smile.

Pete had always made fun of his choice of rifle. Nobody in these parts used a gun with an action like this. Still, he could shoot it, so Pete kept mostly quiet, but never passed up an opportunity to take a jab at the gun.

He looked at him and commented, again, “You know, you are going to have difficulty finding a replacement part if you ever break that gun?â€

“Let me get you a fresh horse, yours must be worn out from the trip.â€

“He was worn out before the trip even started!â€

Pete rounded up the dogs while he saddled up the horses. He thought about this one, this one was different. The others had skirted around the heard, and picked off a calf that would wander too far from the center. Not this one, this one would walk right up the middle scattering the heard, as if he had no intention of going unnoticed. When he found one, he would run and pounce on it.

There was always a lot of commotion with this one, not like the others. Sometimes he would not even know that a calf had been taken with the others, the kill would be so quick that the cattle would make little noise and he would seldom wake.

This one was different, no doubt. What would he do when they got close to him? Would he turn and face them? Would he jump on them? Would he run like most of them do?

Mary stepped on to the porch with a bag in her hand. “Here, you guys be careful.â€

He opened the bag, and sorted through it. “How long do you think this will take? There is enough food in here to feed us for a week!â€

She laughed and said, “You will likely finish it all before noon. Be sure and tell Pete that you have food this time. Don’t eat it all yourself.â€

The track was fresh in the sand. He couldn’t move far, considering he was coming back every night.

Ten minutes into the ride, the track abruptly turned to the rock hills.

“He heard us.†Pete mumbled. “Went to the rocks.â€

“Yep, he has been chased before.â€

“Do you think this is the one we never caught? You know, that one four years ago, just before Christmas? We chased him from morning until the sun set, three days straight, never saw him. But I am sure he saw us.â€

“Maybe. He never came back.â€

They rarely ever did come back when chased. The thought that this one may be the one from four years ago cause him some concern. He had heard of one that became this brave before. Killed half of the pack of dogs that trailed him. The thought scared him … and excited him.

The dogs bounded into the hills, with the riders close behind. They could track, they had experience, even in these hills, they could smell one from a mile away.

His horse also knew what they were doing. It was almost as if they got just as excited as the riders. Strange behavior for a horse, no doubt, but maybe they sensed the excitement in the riders hushed voices. Maybe they knew the seriousness at hand.

His horse seemed especially wired today. He held his head high and tended to walk a little sideways, almost as if they were right on their prey. His gait was tight, and his behavior was a bit odd, even for this horse.

Unfortunately, it went largely unnoticed.

The wind was at their back, not the best situation, but they had to follow the track and the track went with the wind. Almost as if he knew that this departure from the scene of the crime would give him an advantage if they chose to follow him.

This is probably why the dogs passed it, focusing on the scent of the trail and not the surrounding bush.

It came from between a large rock and a patch of grass so small, it couldn’t hide a bird, but somehow, the dogs had missed it.

When it happened, it was like slow motion. Everything seemed to go silent except for the scattering rocks from the initial leap. He didn’t have time to raise his rifle to fire. From the corner of his right eye, he saw the blur and he knew. Two bounds and it was there.

“Hell of a time to be right handed.†he actually thought as the situation unfolded.

The horse, rared up almost immediately, in fear of the adversary. Now, only on two feet, he was at a bit of a disadvantage when the impact came. It felt as though he had been hit by a falling tree. High in the right thigh he felt it. The horse stumbled sideway on the rocky slope, catching his left hind hoof between two rocks and tumbling over sideways.

His rifle flew from his hands into the rocks below him breaking the stock in two.

Almost as if it was made of glue, it rode the horse to the ground, focusing it’s energy biting at the saddle, hooking around the back of the saddle for leverage.

It is funny the things that go through a man’s mind in a situation like this. He actually thought of his dad, the one who had given him the saddle as a kid and he thought of how disappointed he would have been to learn of the saddles demise.

They fell to the ground, a mass of snarling, flailing fury that is man horse and beast.

The impact with the ground would likely be as violent as the one that caused the fall. A fall on a rocky slope, like this, may be more dangerous than the teeth and claws that caused it, he thought, as he rode the situation to the ground.

While it seemed to go on for an hour, the entire situation took less time than taking a breath. As he struggled to get his leg free from under the horse, he heard the shot. The fall had tossed it over his head and on to it’s back. Luckily Pete was just behind him, and he was a hell of a shot, especially snap shots like this.

Pete had seen him leap from the depression almost five horse lengths from the trail. In the time it took to raise the gun and fire, the situation was over.

The horse struggled to get to his feet, leaving him laying in a shallow sandy depression between the sharp boulders. All he could think was how lucky he had been to land here.

A quick check of his limbs showed no bleeding, no torn clothing, no real damage other than the excruciating pain of the impact site. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer to the leg.

Another shot, and Pete lowered his gun and looked at him. Shook his head and smiled. “Got him with the first one, but … well, it never hurts to kill them twice.â€

He slowly got to his feet, being careful to favor his injured leg. He looked a bit dazed, a bit confused. He brushed the dust from his shirt and pants inspected himself again for damage. Turning around, like a dog chasing his tail to see if his backside was injured. Unable to believe that a bruised thigh was all he would get from this situation.

Pete laughed. “You look like my cow dog!â€

“Why did you shoot him? I had the situation under control!†He said and made a little smile as he limped to his horse.

The saddle was mangled, bit completely through in parts. The scratches were deep and far apart, just like the ones he had seen on the dead calves. Amazing that this much damage happened in such a short amount of time.

Pete dismounted and came over to him.

“You ok? That was one heck of a ride you just took. Turn around, let me see your back.â€

“Huh … nothing… unbelievable. Only you could go through that and come out the other side looking like you just got dressed for church.â€

“Don’t tell Mary, huh? I think she worries too much as it is.â€

Pete picked up the two pieces of his gun. It had broken right at the grip. “What are you going to do now? I told you that you won’t find replacement parts for this odd machine.â€

“Guess I will shoot it as a pistol now.â€

“Good luck with that.†Pete said, handing him the pieces.

It was dead, the first shot landed in the neck dropped it as it was rolling over to regain footing to make another attack. The height of the horse at the attack, and the angle they had fallen had thrown it clear of him, giving Pete the opportunity for a clear shot. While he had not intended to shoot it in the neck, that is where the bullet had landed, stopping him cold in his tracks.

They approached it and stared in awe.

Never had either of them seen one obtain this size. Yes, the track told them it was mature, but the track was exceptionally small compared with the size of the body.

He bent down next to it, wincing from the pain in his thigh. He ran his hand over it’s head, admiring the muscular build.

“Incredible.†He said as they admired the animal.

“Absolutely incredible.â€

Great little short story Wendell. Enjoyed it a lot.

I'm rich, I'm rich!!! Now just figure out what I'm going to buy with it...

Saeed I just received my $Z today and it is truly beautiful and much appreciated...You put a lot of work into this. Thank you again! Now, for that 450/400 double!!

Saeed: I just received my Zim dollars. Thank you so much for them. Can't wait to take them to work and show everyone.

My $61,500,000.00 inheritance finally came in today from Saeed. I now have more than enough money to retire in luxury. I'm considering a vacation home in Dubai, hunting lodges in Africa,and satellite homes located across the world. Thanks Saeed, you're the greatest!

Saeed,

Got my windfall...thanks. My wife got some great chuckles from her co-workers.

Jim

I didn't enter Saeed's writing competition but since I'm down to less than one-hundred million I might have to send a short story soon.



Namibiahunter

Dugga Girls

There’s no practical use for a .458 Winchester Magnum in Colorado. In fact, it makes little sense to lug the ten-pound Winchester Model 70 African .458 up any Colorado mountainside.

But that is exactly what I’ve often done in search of elk. This is a rifle made for elephants and Cape buffalo, for lions and tall grass. It was a gun meant to be lugged under the broiling Africa sun and used to stop a charge. I carried in at 10,000 feet, through lodgepole pines and across mountain meadows. For a while, it became the gun I carried for Dugga Girls…nasty, old mud-covered cow elk.

I had found this ponderous chuck of wonderful walnut and blued steel tucked in between the .270s and .30-06s at a gun show. The vendor, who had taken the rifle in on trade, knew almost nothing about it. That was ok. I knew exactly what it was. And because elephants are in short supply in Colorado, I decided to use it for elk.

Our usual elk camp is located at nearly 10,000 feet in a little timberline meadow surrounded by tall ridges. The Continental Divide is visible to the south and the steep canyons we hunt tumble away to the north.

On Friday, our small hunting group trickled into camp, tents were set up and old tales retold. During the evening meal, the inevitable debate on elk cartridges flared up once more. Is the.270 enough? Can anything be better than a .300 or .338? I sat back and let the banter run. Then, without a word, I placed a single .458 Winchester Magnum round at the center of the table. Jaws dropped and people stared. Someone finally picked it up, hefted it, read the headstamp aloud and whistled. The .458 has that effect on people.

The opening day of elk season was, quite frankly, a bust. The wind blew a gale, the aspens rattled and the pines swayed, and few elk were seen. Elk, like most heavy-cover game, don’t like high winds. High winds muddle their senses. The cow elk tag I had drawn for the hunt was burning a hole in my pocket.

On day two, the winds fell to a whisper and my big, Winchester Model 70 African spoke.

I’d been slowly slipping through the dark timber all morning, worked my way into the heart of a favorite canyon. As I eased along, moving three steps at a time and glassing ahead into the timber, I spotted a big cow elk just before she stood up. Maybe it was my imagination or the rifle I carried, but she seemed to slowly come up out of her bed like a Cape Buffalo rising up out of the tall grass. She was facing me almost dead on at about fifty-five yards and I remember thinking that this would indeed be a good test of this big, classic rifle. Elk are amazingly tough and seldom react to even a well-placed shot. Mostly, they just run off to die. This cow was no different. My crosshair centered on her chest and at the thundering boom, she whirled and headed down hill. After three steps, she stumbled. After ten steps, she wobbled. Within thirty yards, she was down. I covered her closely as I marched up on her, fully aware that I had the perfect stopping rifle should she charge.

I’d hit her where her throat joined her massive chest and the entry hole seems as big as a penny From there, the big 510 grain slug had traveled the entire length of her and I found it, perfectly mushroomed, just under the hide on the back of her right hip. It had plowed through the chest cavity, the stomach cavity and that meaty hip before stopping up against the hide. That big soft point had traveled through 56 inches of elk. I know because I measure it.

So, a 510 grain soft point from a .458 elephant rifle works just fine on Colorado Dugga Girls. It is, one would have to say, bloody well adequate.

I just came back off a road trip and with the price of gas I hope I didn’t get in too late on this!

“A few years back I was doing some volunteer work over in the mountains of West Virginia and found myself up in a “holler†looking at a rustic but well kept old log cabin. A thin wirey and slightly peculiar looking fellow appearing to be in his late 60’s to maybe early 80’s was further up the holler tending to some livestock. I called out and waved before being recognized and invited to proceed. After howdies and more formal introductions Ol Tom and I struck up conversations about hunting. He said he was planning on going out after chores to get a mess of squirrels for supper and asked if I’d like to go along. I said I’d be delighted but hadn’t brought along a gun. Ol Tom said he had one I could use, so I pitched in with chores and we finished quickly.

On the way to the house we stopped by the garden and I was introduced to Tom’s wife and spinster daughter. In no unkind way it was still very obvious why Tom’s daughter was still unmarried so late in life.

So after a few pleasantries we headed off to the cabin where Tom produced a very well used but seemingly very well made 32 caliber flintlock rifle, which he assured me “made clean headshots out to 80 or so yards†We charged the old gun were about to head up the holler when I asked Tom if he were taking a gun. He said no that we were mostly going after young gray squirrels and he would ugly his out.

I had not heard of this but had found the mountains and their people to hold many unique talents so we meandered up into the hills. Tom suggested I work a hickory ridge to the west and he’d work to the east but I explained I’d really like to see his technique if he didn’t mind before we split up.

He seemed proudly pleased and we quietly moved up under a big old scaly bark hickory and promptly heard a clack and thunk of a discarded nut bouncing off a limb and hitting the ground. Shortly a young bushytail worked its way out on a limb to the thin tips and retrieved another thick hulled nut. As he moved back to the trunk the nut obscured much of his forward vision and Ol Tom moved in close. When the young squirrel settled into a low crotch in the tree Tom whipped off his hat and screeched. The squirrel looked down and totally bushwacked it dropped from the tree at the same rate as the nut and plopped onto the forest floor by his deffinition “deader n a hammerâ€. Ol Tom picked up and admired his prize.

I being somewhere close to “at a loss for words†and not wanting to show it uttered a few praises about the tender young squirrel, and clean quick kill. Ol Tom beamed with pride and it was probably his smile but before I had fully regained my wits I ineptly asked Ol Tom if his daughter had ever hunted with him. Still pleased with himself and missing my poorly concealed innuendo Ol Tom declared that indeed she had but that he had made her quit because she was “tearing them up too badly to eatâ€.


Ol Tom and his daughter


If this one pays well enough I'll tell ya'll about the ole boys down in Mississippi that "charm hogs"

Your Friend Afield

Mike O

This is not a tale. On June 8 the Zimbabwe black market exchange rate was 1.5 billion Zim to 1 US dollar. When I left the country on July 1, it was 15 billion to 1 US dollar. I can only guess what it is now. The money shown above is not equal to a US dime.

quote:

Originally posted by zzz:
This is not a tale. On June 8 the Zimbabwe black market exchange rate was 1.5 billion Zim to 1 US dollar. When I left the country on July 1, it was 15 billion to 1 US dollar. I can only guess what it is now. The money shown above is not equal to a US dime.

Although you are correct, I enjoyed telling my friends that I wrote a short story for an online contest and won 135 million dollars.

The reaction is always the same.

Then I tell them there is a little catch, they are Zim Dollars. It cost sender more to send them than they are worth.

Universal Currency Converter

Live rates at 2008.07.11 13:36:36 UTC
Notice: The ZWD rate shown below is the official rate. Actual available ZWD rates may vary significantly.
Notice: The Zimbabwe government claims that a redenomination of the ZWD is imminent. More info (PDF)
50,000,000.00 ZWD = 0.0026764407 USD
Zimbabwe Dollars United States Dollars
1 ZWD = 0.00000000005353 USD 1 USD = 18,681,527,512.36 ZWD


A few years near Vic Falls back my wife gave a bell boy two bucks after he carted all of our luggage out to our cabanna. A few hours latter we stepped out and he was sitting by the doorstep. I told her whe had puchased him for the week, Today it would probably take him a week to do the math and figure out what he had 2.00 USD = 37,363,055,024.72 ZWD

BR

Mike O

About twenty five years ago. Several buddies and I had been glassing our hunting area just west of I.F. ID.looking for signs of elk. We saw a big bull moose (ok big for ID.)walk into the trees. We could see something else moving around in there off and on, but could not determine if it was moose, deer, elk or what.
I finaly said screw it I'm playing bird dog. You guys watch and be ready. I headed down the hill and into the thicket at the bottom. Not knowing at the time of my volentiering that it was full of scrub brush and downfall. So about half way through this maze of crap on my hands and knees at this piont. I hear all hell break loose and every think around me is crashing and banging.Then it's quit again! REAL QUIT!!!I neaver see what I jumped and no shots nothing.
Finaly I crawl out of the pit of hell. and back up the hill.
I ask Jade and Laval. What the hell? How close was I too the moose when I jumped him? They both look at me and smile. What I say. Jade says the moose never came out, but the biggest black bear I ever saw did!!
Now I'm white as a ghost, and that ended my days of bird doging for a while.
MM

Thanks for letting me write another one Saeed

here it is

I got into the stand by moonlight at about 5:45 AM. I hunt in a stand because it is safer and easier. Also, both of my neighbors hunt and it is my first year hunting.

The rut is in full swing, but I was just hoping for a nice doe. At about 6:15 one came along about 40 yards away, and there was enough light for a legal shot. But, just my luck, a rabbit came running out of the brush and scared the daylights out of the deer. My confidence fell and I considered ending the hunt, but it just was too early to throw in the towel, so I waited.

About 15 minutes later heard something crossing the creek near my stand, a 9-point buck! Heading straight for my stand, he walked down the path that runs by my stand. I grunted and he stopped 30 yards away, then started walking again. I grunted again and he stopped about 20 yards away. I was standing in the stand with the gold bead trained on his boiler room. I squeezed of the round and he jumped when the 150 grain 30-30 Winchester Power Point slug hit him, then ran about 40 yards to the edge of the creek and dropped.

I lowered the gun from the stand with a rope, then climbed down from the stand. Wow! I worked the lever then walked to the spot where I shot him. No blood at first. Then I walked over to him and poked the deer with a stick. He had been breathing up blood through his mouth and nose. It was a cleanly placed lung shot right behind his shoulder. What a deer!

Just a reminder gentlemen.

Please send me your mailing address in a PM to get your money.

Went. Missed. Went home.

Where's my money?

quote:

Originally posted by Will:
Went. Missed. Went home.

Where's my money?

In the mail

Every year I hear the same people ask me why I would get up so early in the morning to go hunting. To these unfortunate people of the world I try my best to relate the virtues of the great outdoors, and that it is not only the kill that I am after, many a hunts I have come home without game, but few if any hunts I’ve come home empty handed. Mother Nature has provided me with countless memories that I have relayed to these non-hunters. Told has been the story of the Red Tailed hawk catching it’s prey while I sat motionless, or the chipmunk that realizes that the log it just has jumped on, is not a log but my boot. The little screech owl that hunted field mice from not more than feet away from my tree stand, or the eerie sounds of coyotes awakening the day. One I like to tell most is of a red fox shaking off the snow and rolling in its bed similar to a house pet after a nights napping. By leaving out the kill and relating the positive of our sport non-hunters are apt to realize that we are not blood thirsty killers. Remember some people will never change, but if we as sportsman can change just one persons view a year from the negative toward the positive we as a group will be hunting for a life time.

A few years back,myself and a friend of mine were stalking Buffalo along the Zambezi.
We were concontrating hard on the spoor,and the surroundings for the Buffalo.
All of the sudden there was a thunderous crash in front of us.
We had startled a young bull Hippo on land,and he decided that he would charge us!!
my friend said "what should we do?"

I said " RUN"
he said " you know we can not out run a hippo"
I said " I know we can't, but I know that I can out run you...."

My neighbors are animal lovers and feed every stray cat that comes along. Their habit of doing this attracted the cat up the street who belongs to the fat woman who just had gastric bypass surgery.

The fat lady's cat is constantly in my garage eating my two cat's food and getting into fights with them, my two cats are real thouroughbreds, the best mousers you've ever seen, and I'm real protective of them.

I decided to have a little non-lethal dangerous game hunt and chose as my weapon my 5.5" barreled Ruger Blackhawk in .45 Colt. I drilled out the flash holes on a dozen old .45 cases and loaded them with magnum rifle primers and seated a wax plug into the case. I kept the gun on top of the refrigerator and waited for my opportunity. Sure enough, after several blown stalks over a 6 week period I caught the little bastard running out of my garage and he ran to the driveway of the animal loving neighbors across the street. It was dark, and using some bushes for cover I made my stalk, quietly, moving mere inches at a time, for what seemed like hours. I finally got within range of him and slowly raised the pistol. I cocked the hammer and took careful aim and settled the front sight broadside on his left shoulder. Crack!!! went the big Ruger with a sound like a cap gun. The cat rolled a couple of times and was hell for leather down the street and hasn't been back since. I found my wax slug in the driveway sort of mushroomed with a big chunk of cat hair on it. My next quarry with my wax bullets is one of the man-eating squirrels who live in the trees behind my house.

Here's another story, but not such a good one.

I had started a new job several years ago and one of the guys that I worked with told me that he liked to hunt and shoot. I took him squirrel hunting and although it was obvious had hadn't done much hunting or shooting he seemed like a decent guy.

We set up a low budget elk hunt out west with an outfitter who agreed to provide us a camp and some general hiking around the area to get the lay of the land and would help with packing out the animals, etc.

The guy needed a rifle so he picked up a Rem 700 7mm Mag out of the classifieds. Off to the range we go with his new rifle and a Win 94 30-30 that he said he couldn't hit anything with and must need sighted in. Up first was the 30-30. He shot four or five shots and not one was on the paper at 100 yards, he was flinching to beat hell, must have been pulling the shots 50 feet at 100 yards. I shot 3 shots with the rifle and it was right on, nothing wrong with the rifle. I didn't say anything. On to the 7mm Mag, same thing, scared to death of the rifle. I sighted it in for him, shot a three shot group, let it cool off and told him to shoot a group. Same thing, not even on the paper. I told him he was flinching and tried to give him some help but he got pissed that I was trying to help. Okay, whatever.

Off to Colorado. First day, the hunter steps out looking like he must have went to the Orvis store and said make me look like a big game hunter. I come in from the first day of hunting and he's sitting on a cooler looking dejected. I say, "I heard you got an elk". He says, "Yes, but there's some controversy surrounding my elk. It wasn't a "one-shot kill" and another guy tried to tag it."

I get the whole story from the outfitter later. A guy had wounded the elk and was following up on it and it had staggered in front of the guy from our camp. He shot at it something like nine times at about 25 yards hitting it in the ass, the guts, and everywhere else except the vitals. There was a pretty grim scene between the the two hunters and our outfitter. The outfitter told me that he had believed the hunter from our camp when he disputed the matter with the original hunter. After butchering out the elk and finding the other guys bullet just where he had said he hit it, and the fact that that wound was the only one that would have been fatal, he concluded that our hunter had been lying. IIRC, the other hunter was using a .338, so there was no question of which bullet was which. The outfitter said the elk must have literally been going down when our hunter started shooting it.

It gets even better when they go to pack the elk out. The outfitter said that the hunter just stood there and when the outfitter and his helper asked for some help the hunter said, "Get your ass down there and pack it out, that's what I'm paying you for." The outfitter told me that he told the hunter that he was never welcome back in one of his camps and to take his elk home and hang it on the wall and tell all of his golfing buddies how he's the great white hunter.

Moral of the story?

You don't truly know a guy until you spend time with him in a hunting camp.

deleted

Saeed, I want to thank you for your generosity! If there's ever a way I can repay you $10,000,000, I will!

Heath

Saeed,

I received my inheritance this weekend . Thanks for your generosity.