Alright folks lets hear about your first successful big game harvest, may it be w/ a bow, rifle, muzzleloader etc.

I shot my first Whitetail w/ my .308 Winchester when i was about 14. I was standing up in the stand to look around the field behind me b/c it was getting too dark to see anymore. So after seeing nothing i turned back around to the field i was watching and about fell out the stand. There were two in the field. I have never been so excited, after a whole season without seeing a deer to having two in front of you is quite amazing. I was shaking so bad that i couldnt sit down so i shot him from a standing position. The bullet clipped the spine and she dropped in her tracks. Then the other doe eased out of the woods to investigate so i let her have one too. Right through both lungs and she piled up 60 yards later. Thats my story how about anyone elses.

My first (1983) was a whitetail deer taken while growing up in South Dakota. After hunting with my dad and brother and missing a deer in the early morning on opening day, my brother and I went out later that morning. There was a patch of CRP about 120 yards wide in the middle of no where that I figured I'd check out. My brother waited in the pickup since it was such a small patch and I started through it.

About half way in, a rooster and hen pheasant flush. Another few steps and a whitetail doe scoots out on my far left. Then I see the buck trying to sneak out on the right side. I swung the .270 and held on his nose as he ran off. In hindsite, I lead him too much, but oh well. The bullet hit him in the neck and he crashed in the edge of the weeds. What an awesome feeling! My brother jumps out of the trck yelling congratulations. By now, it is starting to snow, so the two of us tag, load and go home, where we then proceed to dress the deer. Talk about funny, 2 kids (me 14, brother 12) trying to make sure they didn't hit the stomach and cut around the anus!! We finally finished as my dad and grandpa came back from working in the field.

When they got there, they couldn't believe what a nice buck I had shot. 6 X 5, but what was weird was the 6 on the right side were forked like a mule deer, where as the left was a typical whitetail rack. I couldn't care less, I was still on cloud nine.

That deer is hanging in my living room right now, and he is one of my favorites.

Snake

[ 07-13-2003, 21:03: Message edited by: SnakeLover ]

This was more than thirty years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

We were hunting the Tillamook burn area of the Oregon coast range for blacktail deer. It was opening day, about an hour after first light, and I was walking along a logging road looking up a steep hillside that was on my immediate right. There was a small thicket of young Douglas firs on that slope about 100 yds. from my position. Out of that stand of trees came a fork-horned blacktail buck that was hoping to sneek out and make it to a more secure hiding place. I couldn't believe what I was seeing!

But rather than waste time, I snicked off the safety, brought the rifle up, place the crosshairs right behind his shoulder, and pressed the trigger. He turned to run back the opposite way, but I saw the exit wound clearly, and I knew that this buck was mine. I found him about fifty yards from where I shot him laying against a stump, just as dead as a doornail. I was one excited kid!

My rifle was a Remington 700 ADL in .30-06 that I had purchased with summer farm money, and I still own that rifle to this day. It resides in the safe right next to my great uncle's Model 99 Savage..........

AD

[ 07-13-2003, 21:22: Message edited by: allen day ]

Gentlemen,

As Allen said, this happened over 40 years ago, but I remember it like yesterday!

There are some islands in the Gulf here close to the Iranian coast, and both my grandfather and father used to go there two or three times a year to shoot gazelles.

My father took me with him - I probably was 8 at most. The island we hunted - Furor - is very mountainous. My father had a Enfield 303 and I had a Browning 22 rim fire rifle. You know, the ones you load through a hole in the side of the stock?

We went up one of the mountains, and slowly my father peered over the top. He came back, and told me to come along with him. I did. As we peered over teh top, we saw one gazelle feeding about 40 yards away. My father told me to aim behind its shoulders. I did as I was told, and at the shot, the gazelle ran about 20 yards and dropped.

I am nto sure who was happiest, myself or my father. A number of us shot a few gazelle that day, but my father insisted we eat the one I shot. I was given the liver at dinner.

Mule deer, 6mm remington, model 660. I was 14 and it was the first year Nebraska allowed 14 year olds to hunt big game.

I was 12 years old and was hunting whitetails with my father.We used to push small bluffs in our grainfields to drive the deer out to each other.My father dropped me off and went around the bluff and out came a doe at a dead run but it was running the wrong way and was getting farther away by the second.It really was too far for my shooting skills at the time and for my model 94 in 30-30 but as an eager 12 year old I began to fire nonetheless.The first two shots missed but the third struck the deer in the neck and it fell quickly.When we went over to get the deer it was almost 300 yards away and the shot was obviously a fluke but it didn't matter because I had my first deer.

My first big game animal was a pronghorn doe in southern Alberta. We spotted the small band about 1 mile away and I stalked to within 75 yds (blundered might be a more truthful description). Earlier on this same hunt I demonstrated why it was important to be sure the rim of each cartridge be loaded ahead of the one beneath in a Lee Enfield rifle. My struggled mightily to chamber two rounds at once while a pretty nice pronghorn buck trotted in a circle about 25 yds from me! In the end it was a great hunt and I felt like a heck of a hunter when I got that doe. I was 15. Regards, Bill.

My first big game was a yearling Whitetail shot at over 200 yards off hand with a 222. I just pulled up and shot and it dropped. A lucky spine shot, but it made me crazy about deer hunting.

Whitetail doe 35 years ago 250-3000 savage 99 takedown 100 silver tips 3x weaver post and cross hair. Sitting on a stand ground level 705 am 3 does and buck comes running in one shot behind the shoulder. The deer runs about 75 yards drops dead. Not that I remember the details mind you but I was very excited. I shot my first deer with factory ammo and It was the last one with factory ammo all the other ones and verything esle has been with reloads.

My first was a small forked horn Mulie. I had been unlucky my first year but this time was it!
I had picked my own hiding spot along a creek bottom. Just after daylight a big doe came poking along and I could see she was being followed by the extra set of legs in the trees. When she stepped out she started trotting across the opening. The other deer turned around and appeared to be going back the way it came. After only a few yards it turned and came bouncing down the trail. I shot at the top of the third bounce as he was going by. I lost him in the recoil as I levered in another one. I didn't see him running off! When I walked up to him I couldn't believe it.
His little rack is on top of my gun safe and it still makes me smile to think this is how I got started.

My first deer was technically 'poached' I suppose...

I was about 14, and my brother and I and a couple of friends were on a month long kayak trip in the Queen Charlotte Islands.

We fished alot but also ate alot of freeze dried stuff.

I had a longbow with #46 written on the side, which I presumed meant 46 lbs...and 3 broadhead arrows- the full metal ones that you sharpen, not razor tips.

Little Island blacktail deer taste really good to 6 meat starved boys

My first was a calf moose. I got it on October 31, 1981 when I was 11 years old. I was packing a Win M94 30/30 Trapper that my Pa gave me when I was 10.

I was just looking at the pictures from that hunt a few weeks ago. When I close my eyes and think about that day, all of the details come rushing back. I hope you don't mind if I recount some of them here.....

My Dad and I had hunted hard that season. We hunted many, many days after school and almost every weekend of the season up until that lucky day. It was the last day of the season.

I remember getting up early and helping my Dad put together lunch. I remember jumping in my Dad's '77 Chev 3/4 ton and the drive out to our hunting spot for the day. Madonna's new hit "Lucky Star" was playing on the radio. I am no fan of Madonna, but, by association, I still can't hate that particular song.

I remember the taste of the coffee poured from the Thermos as we drove.

I remember wheeling into the turnaround at the end of the road, where we were to park for the day, and my Dad cursing lightly that we were about 15 minutes too late. It was almost "shooting light" already, and he had somewhere in mind that we were to be by then.

I remember the smell of the decaying leaves and grass as we "swished" down the cutline, trying to sound like moose as we walked.

I remember stealthfully approaching a small swamp where my Dad hoped to find a bull moose out feeding. A squirrel started chattering at us as we got close to the opening. I was mad at the squirrel blowing our cover, and symbolically hoisted my 30/30 at it and quietly muttered "Bang". Just after I lowered my rifle, an owl swooped out of no-where and plucked that noisy bugger right from his perch. I had never seen anything so cool in my life!!

It turned out there was nothing in that swamp, and nothing in the next one either.

I remember trying hard to be quiet and keep up with my Dad too. We had covered a lot of territory that morning. I think he was trying to get ahead of me at this point because I was getting noisier the more tired I got.

I remember turning onto one last cutline that would lead us back to where we had started. About 5 minutes down this cutline, my Dad was at least 50 yards in front of me. I was getting really tired and frustrated by being so far behind, but then all of a sudden he stopped and turned toward me and motioned for me to stop too. He then indicated to me to slowly and quietly catch up.

When I got there I couldn't see what he was looking at. He whispered that there was a cow moose about 70 yards from us in a stand of Aspen. He had spotted it by an ear flicker, but the moose was mostly hidden. I had a cow/calf tag and bulls were also open, so any moose would do. But we had to wait for an opening.

While we waited, another moose moved onto the scene. It was a calf and it was headed over to its mother. Dad whispered that if we got a chance, I was to take the calf, but that we would have to be patient.

After what felt like an eternity, the cow and calf remained in the same location, obscured by trees, but yet another moose entered from stage right. This one was a bull, and it had X-rated intentions. The rut was supposed to be over by then, but perhaps the cow had entered the second eustrous. In any event, the cow let the bull have its way and the two proceded to breed right in front of us. Nature in action, raw and unadulterated!

This only went on for a few minutes, and afterward all three moose started walking toward us. It was obvious that they were headed for the cutline and would come out directly in front of us, so Dad and I kneeled down, and I got ready using an aspen sapling as a rest.

In a flash (or so it seemed), all three moose were standing broadside on the cutline, 32 paces away, looking directly at us. The calf was closest, the cow was next and the bull behind. Dad whispered not to shoot until the calf was clear of the others. As good fortune would have it, the bull peeled off from the group and was closely followed by the cow. The calf hesitated just a fraction of a second, and Dad whispered "shoot". I didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger. The calf dropped on the spot.

Everything after that point is a blur. I remember the excitement - both mine and my Dad's. I vaguely remember helping my Dad with the field dressing. I remember Dad leaving me to run to the truck to get the Argo to haul the moose out with. I remember feeling triumphant as we rode the Argo back to the truck with the moose in the back. I remember babbling a mile a minute the whole way back home. I remember the blue sky and the warm sun, and the smell of my Dad's truck. I remember fondling the spent 30/30 cartridge the whole way. I remember the look on my Mom's face when we broke the news. And I remember skinning the carcass out after hanging it from the rafters in our garage.

I felt like the King of the World.

I remember that day, and many others just like it, whenever I look at my Dad's face and into his eyes. I was a pretty lucky kid.

If I can get my paws on them, I will scan the few pics my Dad took that day and post them here.

Thanks for listening, and John17, Thanks for asking.

Cheers,
Canuck

[ 07-14-2003, 09:52: Message edited by: Canuck ]

Canuck --many thanks for the story--it brings lot of good memories back from time on the hill with Dad.
Your father sounds quite patient--I mean he klet you have Madona on and all.........grins

Thanks for sharing

"GET TO THE HILL"

Dog

I laugh to myself, because I can remember taking my first big animal better than I can recall the first time I got laid.
My first big game animal I was 12 years old hunting whitetail with my father. Shot a doe with a Mod 94 30-30.
After that it has been a blur ever since. Same with the women but I have bagged a hell of alot more game.

Daryl

Hey guys,

Great stories so far. My first was a white tail button buck with my bow. I was 16 and just got my drivers license, so I did not have to rely on my uncle to take me hunting.I was walking through a soy bean field on my way to my tree stand, when the button buck jumped up from a weed patch not 10 yards from my position. The buck only ran 15 yards and turned around to see what had startled it from it's slumber. I quickly nocked an arrow drew and released. The thunder head 125 tipped 2413 XX75 sliced through the yearling buck's heart and came to rest on top of some soy bean stalks. The deer piled up 30 yards later and I couldnt have been more ecstatic.

Good hunting!!!
Fordfreak

Mine was also a whitetail button buck with a bow at 16. My dad was a bird hunter and trout fisherman but not a deer hunter. From the age of 10 we hunted grouse, pheasants, and ducks together. When I turned 14 I was bitten with the deer hunting bug so he agreed to take me. We didn't have any success the first couple of years and I got interested in bow hunting after reading an article by Fred Bear. I saved up and bought a 45# recurve and some cedar arrows. My dad did the same. On my first outing with a bow I saw more deer in one day than I had seen in 2 years of gun hunting. I even managed to shoot at a doe. I was hooked. Later that season I was sitting along the edge of a thicket (tree stands were illegal then)when I heard a noise behind me. Turning around I saw a deer take off. Suddenly another one ran up and stopped. I instictively drew and released and the deer bolted. Part of my mind thought I saw it fall down before running but it happened so quick I couldn't be sure. I walked over to the spot and saw the fletching of my arrow sticking out of the ground. My heart sank, I had missed. I picked it up and it was broken right ahead of the feathers. I looked down and there was blood all over. My knees started shaking and I started hollaring for my dad. When I told him I got a deer he couldn't believe it. We tracked the buck for about 50 yards and found him piled up. That was 30 years ago and that little buck is one of my greatest hunting memories. I lost my dad a couple years ago and miss him every day for the time we spent together. My own son just turned 12 and we are getting ready for his first season this fall. I hope his grandpa is watching over him.

Jeff

It was an 8 point buck I got on 11/19/93 with a Ruger New Model Super Blackhawk 44 mag.Got it hanging on my wall.

Ok, Ready for a good laugh. This is as true (and as ugly) as it gets.
I was 15 years old, and the only thing I had hunted to this point was gray squirrels. I had'nt had a lot of guidence and direction in teaching me to hunt, my dad took me 6 or 7 times. After that I was pretty much on my own, learning from my mistakes.

One evening after school. I grabbed my shotgun, my trusty Mosberg 500 12ga, (hey it was all I had ) and hit the woods. Soon after leaving my driveway and walking down an old logging road, I jumped 4 deer. Now these deer took off down the road and around the corner. Me being a Track Runner and a VERY FAST sprinter did what was natural. You see when ever I would jump 4 or 5 squirrels, I would just chase them down until they ran up a tree, then I would shoot them. So I proceeded to chase these four deer down.
After 100 yards or so I came up on a creek bed with a mountain laurel thicket around and through it. I stopped running and started looking around. Suddenly three deer spooked, and took off through the thicket. I took a few more steps, then I saw a head, and a tail through the thicket (about 30-35 yards). Well rather than waiting for a clean shot. I just figured out where the vitals "should be", and squeezed of a round of 3" magnum #4 buckshot. The deer hit the ground thrashing. I then took a few step toward him and fired again. (this time at a clean target). It was then that out of the corner of my left eye, that I noticed the HUGE 8pt that had been standing not 40 yards away watching the whole thing. He leeped across the logging road not 20 yards from me and ran past my downed deer, and was gone. At first I was like "man that stinks ", then I thought "who cares, I just got my first deer!!"
He was a fine 65lb (and thats being generous) whitetale button buck. I had fired 2 rounds of 3" mag. 12ga #4 buck shot. A total of 82 pellets! 3 pellets found the vitals (heart lung), and one found the butt.

Not exactly text book hunting, but I learned a lot that day. Run less, look more, and most important; shoot what you can see clearly

1969, with my step father and his old airforce buddy. A bull moose, shot from the side door of a beaver float plane, with the big 300 (Savage, of course). After we were done, they celebrated and told old war stories while sharing a bottle of cheer, and I got to fly the plane home, which I thought was pretty cool. All in all, I thought it was a great day. I learned later that these guys weren't sportsmen at all, moose was what filled your freezer and you lived on it all winter (licence?! tags?! seasons?! what ARE you talking about?). Still was an exciting day for a young buck though. FWIW - Dan

1983 - E of Palestine, TX, on public-access paper company land. I shot a yearling 4 pt whitetail with a Ruger 77 7x57. I hit it a bit far back, made the mistake of getting down too soon, jumped the bedded (wounded deer). My dad was hunting close enough to see me get down and walk around and he told me to get back in the stand and wait. About an hour later (after Dad shot a tree instead of a nice 8 point), he came over and tracked my deer about 100-150 yards with no blood trail and found him piled up.

I was 13 at the time.

Troy

I drew a doe tag, back before whitetai were abundant. After three days, I shot the first deer that walked by, which happened to be a button buck. He fit the legal description of an antlerless deer, but I was sorry nontheless. It put a bit of a damper on an otherwise triumphant day.

A small fork horn Blacktail in N.California. My Father and Uncle were walking back from their stands and they ran him right into me. A proud day for me! Ironically a few days before this post while I was in Long Beach, CA I thought about that hunt and called my Uncle and I am going to fly to CA this year and hunt Blacktails again with him, I can't wait!

Doug

[ 07-14-2003, 19:53: Message edited by: dwhunter ]

I got my first deer just after dawn on opening day about 150 yards behind my grandads farmhouse 38 years ago this November. Grandad is long gone but I still have my trusty 8mm Mauser and the photo of me and Grandad and the deer.

Bull moose on opening day with a 300 Win. Mag.

I was 8 years old an shot a little 8 pt. whitetail from a stand with a Rem. M660 in .243 Win., at about 25 yards.

That rifle got burned up in a fire at the gunsmith's shop many years ago or I'd still be hunting with it!

Ben Reinhardt

25 years ago, I jumped a button buck from the edge of a corn field, and emptied my shotgun at it. one of the shots went thru it's chest, and it piled up 100 yards later.

Cow moose, circa 1968. Mod. 88 Winchester in .243 cal. Shot her at 30 yards right in the neck and that was "all she wrote!" After 2/3rds of the skinning job was done, I looked up at my dad after he exclaimed "SHI!!" He let loose at the LARGE bull that stepped out of the trees with his 30.06 and downed it. We were packing out moose for two days! Don't know why I still like to hunt moose after that! Must be in the blood. I do prefer bears any day.
best,
bhtr

I was about 25 or 27 or so. Former Eastern Germany, one year after the fall of the Wall, which was ... 1989, 1990, 1991? How easy it is to forget these dates...anyhow, NE of Berlin..guided hunt, driven shoot for boar, followed by sitting up in a high seat for female roe deer and boar. A little doe came towards me, and obliged by turning broad side. This was before I learned that a 9,3x62 is very well suited to shoot a roe deer from the front into the shoulder ;-) Truely amazing experience...I think I wondered for months whether or not I'd be able to shoot at roe, either from "buck" fever, or because I might just not be such a big-time hunter after all. The doe jumped at the shot, and I had to wait for two hours before the forester showed. Ordnung muss sein, and I had been instructed to stay on the high seat. We found it some 50 meters into the cover. Nice forester showed me all about field dressing the animal.

Frans

My first game was rabbit at 8 years old with a 22LR with my Dad in Southern Ontario. My first 'big' game was a deer with a 30-30 with my Dad and my uncle in Northern Ontario and that was 50 years ago.

A blacktail deer in 1977 just outside Ukiah, California. I used an old Winchester SLR in 351 with factory 180 gr ammo. About a 50 or 60 yard shot as I recall. Neat rifle I wish I still had to mess around with.

First big game hunt. Nov 1978. I was 8 yo. Mule deer was shot by my Dad...



My first big game animal. Calf moose, as described in my post above. Oct 31, 1981. I was 11 yo.



A proud hunter. This was taken in the garage at home, just prior to skinning.



Thanks again, jon17, for bringing the topic up. Its been fun reminiscing. My Dad and I had a great time remembering these hunts this morning, when he brought the pictures by so I could scan them.

Cheers,
Canuck

[ 07-21-2003, 02:39: Message edited by: Canuck ]

I was raised shooting Quail and waterfowl, dreaming of bigger game. Finally, just married and scraping the bottom of the barrel money wise, I bought my first big game rifle, a 30-30 Marlin 336. I took my first doe, which I still consider my best "Trophy", after two years of hunting. I still have the rifle, still shoot it and always will. It is still excellent for close up work on deer, and the traditional first rifle shot by the grandsons. Good shooting.

Near Gilbert, MN. 1976. A fork horn buck from the out house (pants down) with a 6.5x55 swede at about 75 yards. Original military condition. That one is in the camp record book to stay.

Mine was a whitetail doe, 50 yard running shot with my new M-70 30-06, over 40 years ago, close to Garvin's Store between Leakey and Mountain Home, TX, at a day lease. Cost my grandfather $10.

This was my first:

Manitoba, late May of 2000



I had been big game hunting approximately three years prior to this, kinda half heartedly and had figured I would have killed a deer before going on this bear hunt. Well, it didn't work out that way! The rest is history as they say. Later that same year I got number two and three, two caribou bulls and then got a doe whitetail at home that fall.

I don't come from a hunting family so I don't have any cute growing up stories for any of you. Wish I did though!

After four or five years of going only as a go-fer, my Dad told me in 1963 that I would get to hunt. He borrowed a .270 from a family friend. We took it out a couple of times, and let it spank me.

I laid awake the night before we left to hunt mule deer in the Cibola National Forest in central New Mexico. My dad and two of his friends would be hunting also. We left at 2:00am.We went through Winston just as the sky was starting to lighten. I was nervous as a cat.

The jeep climbed up into the mountains, with me riding shotgun.

We jumped a fawn early. Then five minutes later passed a pickup with a bed full of kids and "hunters". Within minutes we heard shots. We turned around and drove back the way we'd come. The pickup had spotted the fawn, and shot it. Not killed it, just gut shot it, and driven off. It stumbled off into the trees. My Dad and the men in the jeep cursed the kind of people that would have done that; and I was wondering whether I really wanted to be a hunter afterall.

An hour or so later we stopped and the four of us scattered to answer the call of nature. About midway into my routine I heard my dad whispering loud to me. He was waving at me to hurry. I zipped up and ran over to him. I didn't think to bring the rifle. It was still in the jeep. Down the mountain from us stood the biggest mule deer buck I've seen on the hoof. My Dad was telling me to get the gun, get the gun. Before I could break for the jeep, the buck spun and bounced down the mountain.

The rest of the morning was pretty uneventful. We drove some, walked some ridges, and got discouraged. We stopped for lunch and sat on rocks at the edge of a drop-off eating our sandwiches. When we were fixing to leave I threw a rock off the cliff and four mule deer doe scattered. The three men were racing for rifles, I think I was just standing there with a dumb look on my face.

About mid-afternoon the jeep jerked to a stop and everyone was pointing whispering about the mule deer up the hill in the brush. My Dad told me to ease the gun out the window. I saw nothing. They kept pointing, and urging me to shoot the buck. I saw nothing. They were getting frantic. I knew I had to do something. I thought I saw legs in the brush, and aimed above them. The men were all going crazy. One wanted to get out. My Dad told him to stay still. I jerked the trigger. The safety was on. I flipped it off, and jerked again. No bullet in the chamber.

Everyone was upset. I just wanted to cry. I wanted to be anywhere, but where I was right then.

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to one guy complain to me Dad about me being too young; and me just wanting never to go mule deer hunting again.

At about 4:30pm we decided to circle back off the mountain. As we topped out. The complainer yelled to stop the jeep. He was sitting behind the driver. Someone else said it was a nice buck. My Dad leaned forward and told me to bail out and run around the front of the vehicle if the man shot.

A few secoonds later his rifle went off and I jerked the door open and bailed out, racing around the front of the jeep. In an instant I saw a mule deer head flying through the trees. I stopped, threw the gun to my shoulder and fired, in the same motion. I then raced through the trees hoping for another shot. Meantime the complainer was screaming at me, and my Dad, that his buck was down, dead, and for me to stop _____ shooting.

I just kept running, hoping for an opportunity to redeem myself, that didn't come. I never saw the buck again. I gave up and turned back to take more Hell from the men.

I'd walked back about fifty yards, when I walked right into my buck. Stone dead. Not a mark on him, except for a trickle of blood coming from his ear. I couldn't walk, talk, or anything else for a few moments, then walked towards my Dad still hearing all the bitching going on, and trying to understand what I'd just done.

I walked right into a buzz-saw. I could see the man had killed his buck, and he was yelling about what I thought I'd been doing. My Dad looked about as disappointed as I'd ever seen him. He asked me what I had shot at. I told him, and that it was laying over there.

Everyone looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, or just that they didn't believe what they were hearing. I led them to my buck. Everyone went nuts when they saw what I'd done. The back-slapping nearly knocked me down. My buck was the bigger of the two.

The ride back in that night was a thrill, except for the complainer. The other men rode him like a step-child.

It was hard to sleep that night. I had that sight picture replaying over and over. The buck's head floating fast between the pines, and me taking the shot.

I think if I'd missed, I'd have never become a hunter. Too much stress and pressure that day. A lucky shot made all the difference.

A little 125 pound wild pig on Fort Hunter Liggett in California. My buddy was next to me trying to kill a sow of about the same size. We had snuck up on them after spotting them from several hundred yards away. We got within about 30 yards. Like typical nimrods, we hadn't brought any more ammo that was in the guns. His sow was busy trying to get back up and biting saplings in two. I was using a 1917 .30-06 and Mike was using an 1895 Marlin (not Guide Gun back then) in .45-70. It was certainly exciting before we finally got his sow down for keeps. Our other friends back on the road said it sounded like machine guns going off...

I was 10 years old, pushing 11....I got Poli our cowboy to help me catch and saddle my horse, got my 25-35 and told him not to tell anyone I had the rifle, that we needed some meat and I would give him and his wife a hindquarter....

I went almost to the back fence of our 12,000 acre horse trap and nothing, so I climbed through the fence ( a no-no) and sure enough jumped a fork horn under a small outcroping, aimed for his butt and hit him in the back of the head as he bounced down the mountain, and as he sumersalted I shot again at the middle of the blur and shot him in the head again. I amused in my mind that I was really quite a shot.. I gutted him ( messy job puts it lightly ) and appraised my work as excellent.. I ate a bite of raw heart because the Mt. men I read about did and thought thats pretty good...I Dragged him across the fence, how I don't know to this day, found a bluff and somehow pulled him on to the saddle and tied him on with my rope ( it took awhile ) jumped off the bluff on my horse behind the saddle and proudly sprured him and headed for the house except for one little problem, he blew a fuse and tossed me half way down the mountain, toss my deer off and pitched my rifle out of its saddle scabbard and went home fast!....I met dad and Poli coming up the trail, obviously very worried, and very very quickly explained the problem in a very manly like manner other than a lot of stuttering and sweating, to wit I was sent packing on foot to the house, a mere 10 miles or so, with the knowledge that this would be discussed upon their return to the house this evening...They found my horse, deer, but no rifle and picked me up about 3 miles from the house...They found where I had killed the deer on the neighbors and by now I pretty well knew the proverbeal s--t had hit the fan, poli had snitched me off and Dad had to tell the neighbors ( they thought it was funny but I didn't know that ) and I knew the jig was up and I had bought the farm, I knew I was going to die, I wanted to die, and just get it over with and it had no happy ending in my book, that pretty much held true...Unknown to me of course all the adults thought it funny and I think Dad was actually proud of me, but never said so but he told eveybody in town...They found the gun in a badger hole some months later by accident and it was pretty rusted up outside but fine inside..I sandpapered it clean with probably 100 grit! then of course the s--t hit the fan again, but by now I am getting used to it.

The worst part is that its been downhill ever since....

Great stories, Kensco and Ray. I am really enjoying this thread and am glad to see some of the longtime regulars join in.

Speaking of longtime, I did a little websearch for "Ray's hunting pictures" and I think I came up with a picture from Ray's early hunting adventures. This could be Ray being thrown from the horse??



Sorry, Ray....No offence intended of course, I just couldn't resist.

Ann, nice bear! I didn't realize you were so fresh on the hunting scene. Congratulations on all you've accomplished in such a short time!!! (btw, I hope you weren't referring to my story as "cute". "Cute" is no way to describe the ritual of boy becoming man! )

Cheers,
Canuck

[ 07-23-2003, 02:31: Message edited by: Canuck ]