The thread about realistic shooting distances got me thinking....

We can all learn a lot from our mistakes, and we can also learn from other people's mistakes.

So in the spirit of honesty and sharing here goes:

I'd spent the best part of two days trying to catch up with a decent Blue Wilderbeest. They just would not cooperate. It was almost dusk, we were on the way to a waterhole to shoot some doves after giving up on the Wilderbeest when we came accross a lone bull. Up went the sticks, I knew I had only a couple of seconds before he ran off......I pulled the trigger....OH NO....as I pulled the trigger I just KNEW it was a terrible shot! I'd snatched it badly....somewhere in the neck....dreadful Buck Fever....but:

Click....in my haste I had forgotten to chamber a round! Deep breath, calm down, chamber round....heart shot.

So my Worst Shot was the shot that wasn't...thank goodness my initial error had saved me (and Mr Wilderbeest) from the consequences of my second error.

I learnt a lot from that.

Why does it always happen with Wildebeest?

I had been hunting a particular old bull for years. I came across him late one afternoon quite by accident, standing some 25 yards away, waiting to be shot. I sneaked a cartridge into the chamber, lined up carefully, and jerked my rifle wildly. My Gentry 3-way safety had been applied all along! The bull didn't wait around for me to vindicate myself. I did follow him up and shoot him, though.

I was in Argentina last year and one animal I was desperate to get was the Blackbuck, Through the week we had realised that the PH was a complete joker, and didn't have a clue about any aspect of hunting. He'd been doing the job for 3 years as he realised it was a good way to make money.

We went out to stalk our blackbuck and we found a herd of some 200-300 antelope. He Just said "Shoot Shoot shoot shoot shoot" , continuing to tell me to just shoot into the pack. I refused, and told him to shut up, (or words to that effect).

Luckily the outfitter had been very good in explaining to me what to look for and as the pack moved on there were 5 bucks at the back that came clear. I chose my buck and dropped him at 220m.

My father was with me and he said he would like a buck too. He is not an experenced rifleman, so I made sure we got in close this time. A dozen antelopes had come accross the back of the wood so we had a nice stalk up on them and got to 50m. The Animal stepped frward as he pulled the trigger and he hit it a bit far back. They ran out into the middle of a big stubble field and stood at about 800m away. I told The PH to drive the car out to the antelope to just get the animal put down as we couldn't afford for it to join the herd. Like the complete idiot that he was he put his foot to the floor and sped accross the stubbles reaching nearly 60mph. The antelope scattered and he told me to shoot the back one. As he skidded to a stop, I jumped out and dropped the buck he'd indicated, taking a rest on the door of the truck. When we got there he'd told me to shoot the wrong buck.

He refused to follow up the wounded animal and insisted that it was ok as his english became more broken than it was at breakfast... The only thing he told me was that he was only charging me for two trophy fees.

I have regretted ever since; not stopping him from pressuring my dad to shoot when he wasn't ready and had no comfortable rest, not telling him to drive slowly, not making sure that he had selescted the right animal, not insisting that we follow up that antelope. I got a call from the PH's wife in the evening to tell me that they had picked it up.... Who knows.

It was the first time I saw the value of a good outfitter when booking a hunt. He made everything right from his side and I wouldn't hesitate to use him again, (in fact I plan to), but my mistake on that antelope will make me question my PH's in the future and make sure I am happy with what they tell me.

Rgds,
FB

I was 17 and was hunting trek kudus in the waterberg mountains. April and May was the best months to hunt them as after May they would leave the area for another.

So the chances were slim and if you had the opportunity to shoot one you had to do it quickly. I spotted a young bull in a small herd of kudu and took a dead rest. The shot was longish around 180-200 meters. I aimed for his lungs and let the shot go I got him exactly where I wanted but I never realized that the bullet would exit and hit a young calf behind him. I had to to put a finishing shot in the calf as it was just standing there not knowing what happened and was hit in the gut.

Trial and error in learning is not always comfortable and easy.

Texas heart shot on an eland with a 450 NE #2. Doubled the rifle, got a small amount of blood at the scene, chased the poor thing all day as it traveled with another bull and ended up shooting and killing the wrong eland. A hunter the next week killed the wounded eland and it was no worse for wear as the bullet I fired had not hit anything vital. Stupid shot, stupid trigger control and stupid follow-up.

Cape buffalo.

I was hunting in the Kilombero and took a shot at a bull from atop the observation platform of a swaying boat.

I missed him on the first shot. DUHHH! Then when he got up to run I hit him twice too far back.

We had good blood for a while. Then nothing and we lost him.

When I look back on it I can't even imagine why I allowed myself to take that shot! For so many different reasons! Shooting from the boat, shooting from a moving platform, shooting at an unwounded running animal, the list goes on and on.

Many yrs ago, my dad and I were hunting the helms ranch in west Texas near El Paso Texas. We were walking down a canyon floor to the jeep, after working a ridge line on foot. We heard a shot on the other side of the opposite ridge, and three deer came boiling over the top, and down the slope into the canyon. There was a good ten point buck leading two does, as they hit the bottom of the canyon, they went behind a large deasert willow, in full run, at only about 30 yds in front of us. Only a split second a deer came into sight as it passed the willow, and I fired snap shot, killing the deer causeing it to go head over heels, for about 20 feet before hiting the ground dead as a door nail. The problem was, when the deer went behind the willow, the buck changed dirrections, and the first deer to come out from behind the willow was the lead doe, and she got a center of the shoulder 150 gr bullet, and died in mid flight over a 2 ft high prickleypear! No doe tag, and by the time we realized I had shot the doe, the buck was 200 yds away going over into another draw, and my dad killed it with a perfect running shot!

NOW! what do you do with a doe that was killed by accident, but was illegal? At the insistance of my dad, I went to the ranch headquarters to call the TPW and report it as bad as I hated to. The ranch foreman,said "hey no need" I have a doe tag, and we need the meat! WHEWWWWWWWWWW!

The trouble was this was a perfect shot but on the wrong animal!

Reedbuck, Mooi Rivier, KZN.

Underestimated the distance poorly (it was a 300yrd shot, longer than I had business taking!). I was using a .30-06 wth a mild loaded 165gr BTSP that made a great bushveld load (51.5grs S365)but I had not shot over 150m with it and I was not praticed at longe ranges - so poor judgement all round!

I held higher and in the vertical plane was spot-on but the bullet dropped enough to break both his legs (in a sense it was lucky to have broken both and not one, or he would have been gone!). Fortunately we ran up and admininstered the coup de grace seconds later.

A valuable lesson in knowing your trajectory, estimating range and simply saying no to certain shots!

Tried a running shot on a warthog at about 75 meteres too - gut shot but stopped the hog long enough to heart shoot him.
My two most poorly judged shots!

This year I shot a couple of warthog for meat for the landowner. The second one that I shot (both warthog were given head shots to save the meat)collapsed like the first, flailed around, rolled over and stuck all fours into the air, then stumbled into a log and fell down. After a couple of minutes he jumped up and ran, with his tail straight into the air, into the bush. We tracked him for 3 hours and could not find him. The fortunate (and craziest) thing was that he came back to the same waterhole two days later and I turned out the lights for good.

Shot at an impala for bait in chewore several years back. No obstructions, thirty yards, no biggie. Didn't touch her at all. I still have no clue were that bullet went. The next day I shot and killed another impala off the Angwa river bed at 340 meters. I don't know what went on.

"I know you have a bushbuck at home, but that's a damn fine one if you care for another," my PH said in Chewore in 'O5. Steep uphill at about 70 yards; a Remington safety halfway "on" went "click" and got me flustered. I cycled the bolt, ejecting the perceived "dud", my PH astutely pushed the safety all the way off (he's no spring chicken) and I proceeded to break the animal's far back leg. (Do I get the prize on this thread for pulling the farthest off target?)

Now its time for wind sprints uphill. I can do about 30 yards. Of course everyone went in different directions. I was cussing to myself, about myself and we looked in every little crooked canyon for about an hour. I was suckin' wind like an old lady and the PH told me that he's probably lost, but he'll take one more look, I could sit and rest. While I was sitting and feeling lower than whale feces, the scout and tracker came by and whistled for me to come with them. There's a moral dilemma. You're in steep, switch-back, tight, little canyons and your PH has told you to sit tight. The tracker and scout have told you they see sign and to come with them. What do you do? I looked around, didn't see the PH, got up and followed them. In a little bit, the scout pointed and there was a flash of bushbuck, I took a snapshot - clean miss. (No, I didn't hit the PH.) I was then running like a f#$%^#$% scalded ape over small ridges running down to the river. In a bit we three came to a bluff over the river that looks down on another rise on the bank. The tracker pointed, I dropped to my butt and I have never been so focused on anything in my entire life. I fired at about 60 yards and hit that bushbuck in the shoulder hard. The bushbuck still managed to scramble down the bank to the river. I fired again, hitting him again in the shoulder. We ran down to him. The tracker saw him breathing and said to shoot him again, but I knew he was on his last breath, but since he was about 3 feet from the river, the tracker, Richard, put his nose in the water and drowned him. In a few minutes my freind, my PH comes trapesing down the hill and calmly says, "So you got yourself a bushbuck?" He later explained that they had lost a bushbuck with another client with the same tracker, hit squarely that had swum right out in the middle of the river and had never been recovered. In retrospect, I hate that I botched that shot, but the feeling after knowing that that animal was finally hit squarely and wasn't going anywhere, and wasn't going to suffer, after hunting it down with two incredibly talented men was an incredible rush.

This is an exerpt from my first safari journal....Its a bit long but to the point.

"we spotted a large herd of Impala at an open area at a cross-roads of sorts, where two tracks crossed. It gave the animals good observation of anything approaching so we quickly pulled into the bush and got ready for a stalk. We hadn't been seen, and they were too far away to judge trophy quality but rams were present so we had to go look them over. Heading West, our stalk began much like the one previously. We stayed on the left side of the track, inside the heavy thorn bush for a couple of hundred yards and went to the edge to peer out from the shadows, hoping to see them better and make any needed adjustments on the approach. We did this two or three times and had observed a nice mature ram and a couple of younger ones, with the ewes. During our last "peek", we managed to spook them though. A ewe was suspicious and stared at us from about 75 yards, nose in the air, for a very long time. Finally she whirled and ran into the bush on the right side of the track, followed by all of the others. Perhaps a breeze had carried our scent to her, for it was whirling a bit, but not strongly. They proved the often observed defensive tactic, that if one member of the herd spooks, they all will without asking why! Since we had been busted we quickly crossed the track and hoped they would circle to our right and give us a view crossing the Northerly track, further up the line. So we set up in some low bushes and watched in that direction. It seemed like a long time but they did not emerge where we thought they would. They had actually returned back behind us to the open area! There they were, where we least expected them but strangely, no mature ram! What was this all about? Then we heard brush crack to the West and knew that the herd had split. Some had returned to the original spot, and the rest, with the boss man were making their way around us on the up-wind side and headed where we had hoped. We got real small in those bushes and set up for a shot at the edge of the brush down that Northerly track.
After a time, a ewe appeared tentatively at the edge of the bush. Nervous, she paced about and was joined by another, and another, and another. Finally there were several ewes bunched up at the edge of the bush when the large ram joined them! Finally! He was indeed a nice ram and so beautiful. This was more like it! At 125 yards he was literally covered up by ewes as they milled about, uncertain as to what to do. But I knew what to do! I got real ready for the shot, placing the cross-hairs right where they needed to be in case his screening ewes moved aside and we were presented a shot. I had to be careful that there were no ewes behind him too, for that would surely mean the no-no of two down. We waited patiently as they nervously edged away further down the road, never allowing the opening for a shot. I was calm and waited, holding the cross-hairs steady for the longest time. I kept reciting, be patient, it will happen, just wait. So I waited and watched them continue to mill around and move off. Finally it happened and the shot was there. Nick agreed and the rifle boomed. Our ram jumped in the air and disappeared into the bush with all of the others.
I had hoped to find him just a few feet or yards away from where we had last seen him, but he was not there. The ground was thorn bush covered, but not as thickly in this spot as others. The ram was not there. I went back to where he had stood when I fired and was shocked to realize I had made a serious, bone-headed mistake. On the ground was some hair, and evidence that I had hit him too low and it was instantly clear to me what had happened. I'd fixated on the aiming point, waiting for him to be clear of the ewes, all the while they were wandering farther away. When he was finally clear I did not adjust my aim point higher, so I wounded him. I wished I had missed.
Nick went back to get Sammy and we commenced the tracking job. Understand that in the bush veldt the game is restricted to narrow openings between the bushes and the soil is dry and sandy so tracks remain in place for months. No spot of clear ground is free of a track of some animal. The sand is solid tracks on top of tracks. To follow our ram was impossible. But they did it and when after 30 minutes or so, I felt there was no hope of finding him, he burst from under a bush and was gone again. It was getting late and Nick had hoped to find him for another shot before dark. Normally we would have backed off and left him for a time to settle down and bed up but the little time remaining didn't suggest that option. With no blood on the ground, they continued to follow the tracks. For over a mile we followed, looking as far ahead as possible hoping to see him. But darkness arrived and we never did see him. We marked our track on the way back to the truck, and would be back in the morning. After tracking for over a mile, we were only 215 yards from the road.
It was a sad, self deprecating mood I was in that night. I had never done such a thing and was very disappointed in myself. Nick had seen it before of course and helped me understand that while no one wishes for this to happen, it is the possibility of it happening that makes ethical hunting such a challenge and it is the major source of tension and even fear in the chase. The joy associated with successfully and cleanly taking an animal is in part derived from the satisfaction of knowing how much can go wrong and yet still maintaining self control and overcoming all that can be controlled. Not all things can be controlled of course, but it is the risk of failure that is the root of well executed success. I related I'd not thought of it that way before and he said I couldn't have, because I had never failed before. My night was restless at best as I pondered these new thoughts, but still deep inside of me was sorrow for the suffering my ram was experiencing.

Our start the next day was not as early as normal as Nick wanted some help from Boc, another member of their staff. With aging, sharply chiseled features, Boc had clearly spent his life in the bush. I'd not met him until now but as high as my confidence was in Nick and Sammy, on meeting Boc I was sure we would find the Impala. We returned to the point we had left off the night before and they showed Boc which track they had been following. In itself, that was no small demonstration of skill. It was just plain witchcraft. The only other explanation was it was all baloney for my benefit and for a moment I entertained that possibility and did not like the implications. I needn't have even had such a thought, and it was conceit to have done so. I was learning even more about myself than I'd bargained for, and I didn't exactly like the discovery. These were true skilled professionals, and they didn't need to posture to impress me, the guy who caused this mess! I followed along behind them, trying to stay out of the way. They were sometimes confident and moved quickly, and at other times seemed to lose the trail and circled and studied the ground intently, but each time resolved the mystery and set off again. In the end, Boc walked right up to the ram and called us to him. We were only 400 yards from where we had regained the trail. The ground around him told a tale even I had no difficulty reading. He'd stopped at dark and bedded down. A Jackal had picked up his trail sometime in the night and followed it to him. He had risen and fought briefly but the Jackal had of course prevailed. He'd fed on him and left the remains for us to find. I was relieved to have the matter resolved, sorry it had happened and proud of these men who had helped me. I took a photo of them all together and set my mind to be a better hunter."
Gary

We were looking for Caracal bait and found an Impala ram standing broadside in the open at about 50 meters. What can be easier than a 50 meter shot off the sticks at someting the size of an Impala? Well obviously lots of things can be easier. I knew the shot was bad as soon as I fired, the PH swore he heard it hit. This worried me because if I hit at all I knew it would be very low in the chest. I told him I thought I missed and after 15minutes of looking for spoor, he attempted to convince me I missed. "You don't need to convince me, I told you that 15 minutes ago."

I did vindicate myself about 30 minutes later with an unsupported 50 meter shot on an Impala that put it down.

The miss was the first shot of the trip on game and I was not very happy or sure of myself between the missed Impala and the one I connected with.

The shot I should have taken:
On a small boat in the Cahorra Bassa Lake on the Zambezi river in Moz, we were looking for a croc.
As we passed an island, we noticed a half-grown hippo, 700-800 lbs, all by its lonesome, and not diving into the water as we passed by at 100 meters.
We turned around and went back, only 10 yds from the shore, and the little hippo stayed put. As we went around a small promontory, laying in wait for the hippo, and only half sub-merged, was a croc of immense proportions, 16-17 feet in length,and perhaps a ton in weight. I should have stood up in the boat and started shooting, but instead, just sat and said "God bless America" as the croc submerged into the deep currents of the Zambezi.
At the same time the little hippo dived into the water to try to reach the further shore. We did not see any struggle in the water, so I believe we had accidentally helped the little bugger escape the clutches of the croc.

Spotted Horse, Wyoming. 2005. Antelope buck 270 yards away. Knowing that such a far shot requires a rest, I, in a buck fever haze, rest my rifle on the top strand of a barbed wire fence. Not very stable let me tell you. Anyway, I pulled the trigger an hit him right in the a$$. The next shot I missed. Finally I put him down with the third shot. Not one of my finer moments.

My story is similar to MacD37. I was hunting mule deer on the Hart Ranch near Van Horn, Texas. A friend and I were hunting the "Lava Beds". We were high on the rocks watching a large area at the edge of the lava. Suddenly we saw four or five doe and a huge buck moving in and out of the rocks at about 250 yards. They were getting farther and farther away. Finally, just short of the fence-line of the property the buck came clear of the rocks. By then he was probably close to 400 yards out.

I had a good rest with my 25.06 Rem. The buck stopped and turned facing us, so I pulled one off. My friend said I missed. By the time I got back on the deer the first doe was jumping the fence. I picked up the buck as he raced towards the fence and pulled another shot off. My friend said I missed again. By then the deer had moved off the property.

We finished talking about my shooting skills and were about to move away when something made me look back. I thought I saw a deer. I got back on the scope and found a huge buck lying in the shade of a large mesquite, staring right at us, near the same spot where I had shot at the buck the first time.

I got back down prone, put the crosshairs on the front of his chest, and pulled the trigger. My friend said I missed again. The buck never moved, just stared at us. I made the decision to move in on him. We cut the distance to about 200 yards, and I left my friend glassing him while I circled around through the rocks and some high grass.

I had gotten within 100 yards of the buck's location, when either me or my friend spooked him. He jumped to his feet and came bouncing right at me, on two legs, on the same side; left-side as I recall. I couldn't shoot as my friend was opposite to him. I jumped out of the way and as the buck bounced by me I tried a Texas Heart Shot. It looked like the buck went down in the tall grass as he crested the small rise.

My friend joined me and we began criss-crossing the four-foot tall grass looking for blood. The deer was heading back to the lava beds when I shot the last time. After about fifteen minutes of expecting to find him, we found nothing, no blood trail, nothing. Obviously my first shot had broken both legs on the right side as he stood facing me. My last shot was no more then fifty yards and aimed right at the base of his tail. I couldn't believe we couldn't find him. Then I looked down at my jeans and my thighs were covered in blood.

The blood trail was on the grass, not on the ground. We went back to where I had jumped him and by examining the grass three feet off the ground, we were able to follow the blood trail. It led right back to the lava beds into rocks fifteen foot tall. I asked my friend to stay put until I got in position, and I back-tracked, crossed over to the rocks and climbed on top.

I moved along the top of the rocks while my friend inched along the blood trail below. We eventually came to the same place. Down below me, in the rocks, hiding, was the buck, laying down. He was watching for my friend. I aimed straight down between my legs and put the 120 gr boattail right between his shoulder blades. It was over.

I climbed down and it took the both of us to drag him from the rocks out onto the flat. He was the biggest mule deer I ever killed, and I've killed a ton. He was a mess. Both legs were broken on one side, and my Texas Heart Shot hit closer to Oklahoma. I had hit the edge of his neck as he bounced away from me. It unzipped the skin for at least ten inches and took out considerable meat.

A trophy of that size deserved better than I gave him. He's mounted, but the cape was unusable, and my shooting was pitiful. The only thing I'm proud of is that we didn't quit searching for him.

I once tried to shoot a wildebeest in the back of the head/neck as it trotted away.

Followed his blood trail for a day and half and according to the PH for over 20 kilometres. The group ran out of water half way through the day in 40c degree heat and we ended up drinking from a cattle trough and digging for water in a sand river.

Eventually we found him but never again a shot like that. Have done it on donkeys but ...

sorry

Interesting group psycology here:

so far 434 views
17 Posts

looks to me like there are a LOT of people here who are either:
1) Perfect shots every time
2) Not ready to come out of the my-bad-shot-closet

quote:

Originally posted by UKhunter:
Interesting group psycology here:

so far 434 views
17 Posts

looks to me like there are a LOT of people here who are either:
1) Perfect shots every time
2) Not ready to come out of the my-bad-shot-closet

Or, 3) Have a few to choose from and are not sure which one is the worst.

Or, 4) Have day jobs and are waiting til they have enough spare time to write their tale of woe.

Cheers,
Canuck

In 49 years of hunting I've wounded and lost 4 animals. All of them were equally bad shots, probably avoidable and very upsetting. I've also missed completely probably a half dozen times and wounded but recoverd quickly a dozen more. Leon Francisco the first guide I ever used said "If you've never missed or wounded you haven't hunted much".

Mark

Tried an off hand, off balance shot that had to pass through some brush on a Zebra with my 375. The PH kept saying "the bullet will go right through, shoot" I kept thinking his isn't going to work. It didn't. We spent the rest of the day, from 11am until dusk, chasing that Zebra. We ultimately put it down but I never, at least I hope I'll never, take another shot that I'm not sure of.

TerryR

Although I've never been to Africa it seems we can make stupid shots anywhere. 1999 or 2000 I was on Mt. St. Helen's with a good friend. At that time he had numerous elk to his credit but neither deer nor bear. We were pre-season scouting for elk but the deer, bear, and cougar seasons were open. I promised him "first shot" on any deer or bear.
We stopped to glass at a lava flow-been there ten minutes or so and I looked up slope. There was an average sized black bear looking at us. Range was about 50 yards. I whispered to Randy, "there's your bear." For whatever reason Randy became petrified. I said, "Shoot. Shoot now. He sees us." Randy had his rifle slung over his shoulder but he didn't make the slightest move to present arms. By now the bear was nervous. I've seen many bears and criminals through the years. I know body language. When this bear turned to the brush line I knew he was going to bolt. I snapped my mauser actioned 300 Win mag to my shoulder and fired a round. Believe it or not, in that nano-second my thought was "I've got to stop that bear so Randy can shoot him."
My 200 grain Nosler Partition went just over the bear's back and created a huge plume of lava dust. The bear turned on the after-burners and just as he hit the brush line of alder saplings my cross hairs looked right, my swing felt right but I hurried to get off a second shot. I hurried to shoot before he got into those alders. The rifle went off and the bear fell down, rolled over onto his back and was pawing at the sky. Randy said, "Holy Christ" and with his rifle still slung over his shoulder, took off running at the bear. About the time I recovered from recoil and chambered a fresh round Randy was in my line of fire. I watched in agony as the bear thrashed around and then righted himself. This all happened in seconds and before I could safely shoot again the bear was gone into the heavy cover. The bear had gone cross-slope but Randy had gone straight up-slope. I walked to where the bear had fallen. There was a small pool of blood there-it looked like muscular blood-not lung, not gut, not liver. Just your basic blood. Believe it or not I could find no hair.
By this time Randy was 200 yards upslope. I whistled him back, tried to calm him down and explained what we had to do. There were Cambodian mushroom and brush pickers all over the mountain and while we needed to let this bear set for a awhile I had nightmares of him getting into one those family groups. We thought we'd hit the trail in an hour but 20 minutes later we were tracking. There were only spots of blood until the bear jumped into one of the newly created washouts or crossed over a blow down fir. IN those spots there were substantial sprays of blood-like you were shaking paint off a brush-or like blood shaken off the long hairs of a bear. Anyway, we followed sign as long as we could find it-then circled, and circled and circled-sometimes on our knees. We never did recover that bear and although Randy reacted sort of strangely this was his first bear and I don't blame him at all. I was the knucklehead who pulled the trigger.

Worse than a bad shot, mine was pure UGLY. The shot was at an Eland. At 100 yards off the sticks I was not steady but took the shot anyway.

The shot was high and we tracked him for over 5 hours. We saw him across a canyon at over 300 yards. He was Identified by the blood high on his shoulder. He walked behind a bush leaving only his hip visible. I took the shot and broke his hip, putting him down. He was still alive when we got to him.

I appologized to him and finished the job.

I will regret that shot forever, and if I am not rock steady, I do not take the shot.

In Mozambique,I was kneeling down ready to shoot my first cape buffalo. They were slowly walking across a small opening, one by one. They were traveling at the same slow walk.I had my elbow on my knee, ready to squeeze off. The bull stepped into the small opening, I followed it in my crosshairs. Just as I squeezed the trigger, he stopped. Not a single one had done that before. Three drops of brisket blood and $7500.00 out of my pocket.

I shot an impala smack dab in the jaw at about 200 yards, and the PH had to track it down & finish it off; I lost my confidence for a while that day, until I flattened a kudu AND a bushbuck with one shot kills later that evening. Bad hits can sure rattle your self confidence ......

I was deer hunting in kentucky on the family farm several years ago. There is a stand of Oaks on a mountain top planted by my great-grandfather over a hundred years ago. I generally sit back to a big oak and await the deer feeding at dusk. I have taken literally a hundred deer at this spot. This evening the deer were late and it was getting dark. I make a practice of getting both doe and buck tags as I eat my kills. Just as I am thinking it is getting too dark to see and am going to go back to the farm house, a deer comes into the glade. It is no more than 20 yards from where I am sitting. I believe I can make out the deer and there is really little chance of a miss. I take aim and fire with a .308 Winchester. I am surprised the deer does not immediately fall as I hled on the point of the shoulder. The deer runs over the mountain. The side of the mountain is steep and has not been cleared from the time that kentucky outlawed farmers burning off the hillsides of brush (1969). To say it is thick is an understatement. I went as far over the mountain and down the trail as I could without falling. I returned to the farm house with no deer.
The next morning, I walked around the mountain to the spot my grandfather called "pasture branch". A level field that he grew tobacco on between the two mountains. That field has not been cleared from the time of his death in 1978.
In busting the heavy brush, I found a spot of blood, then a bed where the deer laid overnight. I heard a noise and turned behind myself and saw the doe struggling up the mountain behind me. A second shot put her down and out. She rolled off the mountain and I did not have to go retrieve her (thankfully, as it is real steep!). When I went to clean my kill, I found that in the darkness the deer was facing 180 degrees from what I thought and the shot went through the skin between the rear leg and abdomen on the near side and broke the far side hip. To this day, I still have regret over the useless suffering I imposed by poor shot placement.