Hey all,

I have been meaning to ask this question for a while. My very sporting girlfriend and I went chasing mountain lions over Christmas break and while we managed to tree a couple of females (one pretty damn big) and I had an either sex tag, I elected to wait for a Tom. While I plan to continue hunting when the area gets some fresh snow, I have to say that we had a great time. We did a load of hiking, saw some beautiful country, got to observe some beautiful cats, and hung out with some great people. It was a great hunt. Now I ask you . . . What is your best hunt during which you shot nothing?

Regards,

JohnTheGreek

[ 01-20-2003, 22:06: Message edited by: JohnTheGreek ]

John,
In my case, better to ask: "Best Season during which you shot nothing!".

Mountain Lion, eh? That brings back a time, ..err Colorado I think, near Meeker ... back about 1898, or so. Well, I hounded the trail of this here big catamount for near 6 days, with no food the last 3 and no water the last day and a half. Treed'em at last, only to find the .348 had a rusted firing pin ... so alls I could do was whip out the Digital and snap this here photo.

'98 was the first safari when we concentrated on lion. We spent five very interesting nights in a machan 15' off the ground waiting for the lion to come to the bait. The lion finally showed himself on the 5th morning and I passed. He was a very big lion but had little hair.

The story is that while we slept in the tree the lions were feeding on the bait and walking around under our blind all night. The male and female who had been mating non-stop for days even decided to do it under the machan. Believe me this is an experience that will let you know you are alive.

I thought this hunt eventhough at safaris end we didn't get our lion was one of my best and certainly the best hunt with no trophy at the end.

Nick,

Cats are rough eh!! I will NEVER criticize anyone for hunting them with dogs and will always stand up against anyone who does. Here's the hunt story . . .

Daybreak of hunting day four we cut a track that was just about big enough to be a tom and set the dogs loose. It had snowed about 18 inches the night before so tracking was definitely the easiest part of our day. My girlfriend Cristina and I hiked for about three hours through the snow and pines and found that the dogs had chased the cat through a large bowl and had it bayed up somewhere ahead of us. We could hear the dogs goin' nuts but could not see them or figure out if they were above or below a set of high cliffs on the other side of the bowl. For the last three hours the dogs had sounded like they were just over the next hill, but now they suddenly sounded miles away. Well, we started walking figuring they were in a hole we just couldn't see and the sounds were echoing off the surrounding canyon walls. When we finally made it to the other side of the bowl after about 40 minutes we can't find or hear the dogs at all. My smiling girlfriend and I make our way up on top of the cliffs figuring the cat had gone over and then suddenyl see two dogs BELOW us. DAMN! The cat had jumped the tree and two of the dogs out of four had no clue at all what had happened. Well, it took us another three hours to walk across the top of these cliffs (Which was a bit scary in the snow with really loose soil underneath) and make our way into the next canyon. When we finally made it down to the trail, my guide is sitting there with a friend and a couple of four wheelers wondering why we don't have a dead cat with us. Absolutely starving and dehydrated, my girlfriend and I guzzled some gatorade and ate some delicious fudge made by my guide's wife. What a tasty treat for two exhausted hunters! We then came to realize by a track up the canyon a ways that the cat had crossed into our area by going over the mountain we had hiked across and had likely headed for some rocky outcroppings near our current location. As Cristina and I were really exhausted and with only a couple hours of daylight left, my guide sympatheitcally asked if we really wanted to go after the cat again. Even though my legs were like rubber and my ankles a bit sore I said, "HELL YES . . . That's what we're here for ain't it"! I obviously knew we had another little while before we would have to start hiking after the dogs. With a smile our guide set the dogs out on the trail. Within a too short 20 minutes we knew the dogs were on to this cat again and soon heard the canine craziness that is characteristic of a succesfully treed lion. Again, we started hiking though the rocks and trees and in an hour or so, made it to the base of a tree presently housing a lion. This cat had a large round head but a peculiarly slight body. Of the four of us up there, and since the cat was positioned awkwardly in the tree, none of could quite figure out if it was a male or female. On the way up the mountain, my guides friend and fellow lion hunter asked if I would take a large female. I said "no, since this particualr unit isn't managed too well (lots of females taken every year) and I want to do my part to keep the lion population healthy in the area". While we were trying to get the cat to stand up so we could determine it's sex, my 65 year old guide trudged up the mountain to us. On his arrival, and judging by the size and shape of the cat's head, he pronounced it a male and I raised my Ruger Old Army black powder revolver preparing to fire. As I am doing this, my cat started urinating on the branch BEHIND HER. "DAMN", I thought. We all looked at each other as I lowered my pistol into its holster. I smiled at Cristina and after a few pictures and watching that beautiful cat jump and run from the tree, we hiked back down the mountain in the Eastern Utah dusk.
Prior to this hunt, Cristina had bought me a hand carved stone Navajo mountain lion fetish for good luck. While it may sound trite, when I look at that fetish and remember the fabulous experiences we had, I realize how lucky I truly am.

Best Regards,

JohnTheGreek

In a serious vein, I have enjoyed many, many hunts in the East, where I took no game. On some of those hunts, no one in our party took game but that didn't keep us from enjoying ourselves and begin planning the "next trip" the minute we got home. Looking back, I value those difficult years. They taught me what counts and when the successes did come, they were all the more appreciated. A lot of fellows have outstanding good fortune early in their hunting lives and then lose interest as successes wane and they grow older. I suffered bigtime, early on, and was well into my thirties when lady luck decided to reward me with some special gifts. First learn to enjoy the outdoors and know that the longer the struggle for hunting success, the sweeter it will be.

[ 01-21-2003, 00:09: Message edited by: Nickudu ]

I did a fly in outfitted hunt on the Prophet river in 97 and got skunked. When we arrived the bush plane had brake problems so we lost one day right off the go get.
When we landed on the air strip spirits were high because the 4 boys on the way out each had a nice bull elk and 2 bull moose. Ontop of that there was a pack of local hunters who had been camped at the air strip who had almost tagged out with some really nice bulls.
We never got into the strip til late so we had to camp til morning before we horsed our way into base camp(another half day wasted). On the way in our outfitter started worying about the warm weather moving in.
We glassed that evening and seen some pretty big bulls and made our plans from there. Next morning we crossed the river and headed up a mountain to were we seen action. By 10:00am it was scorching. A matter of fact it stayed like that for the whole trip.
We seen alot of nice bulls on that trip but it always seemed to be at very last light and first light when it was cool. We managed to call a couple out of the woods only to have them wind us.
I seen the biggest bull moose of my life on that trip also. He was 65/70" and heading down a ridge where I seen mountain goats bedded the day before. I spent the last 2 days of the hunt in the drainage where he was headed. Every time I had a response from my moose calling I almost fell apart because of him. In that region moose must have at least 3 points on one brow palm or be a immature bull with 2 or less points on at least one antler. We seen multiple bulls every day.
My father had some action though. He grazed a immature bull and completely missed a 6x5 elk(smallest legal bull we seen).
At the very end of our trip we woke up to knee deep snow and the animals had all moved down to the valley bottom and the elk were right in camp basicly. Nothing we could do. Our hunt was over. It took three more days of riding back and forth from the airstrip before the plane could get in for us.
A couple of weeks later I called our outfitter to book again and he told me that the whole group that came in behind us had completely tagged out. It only took a few days.
None the less I thought it was quite the experience. I had a great time and don't ever think I ate that well.

JTG,

Mine would have to be forty days in the Brooks Range. Worked with two of the best guides around, had great clients, saw some great trophies taken, and saw more game...........well it was great! Me? Friends, pictures, and memories. Life is good. John, nothing wrong with hounds, unless you're out of shape!

Nick, you're killin' me.............!

Joe

I went to one of my "secret" watering holes this past Friday for an evening hunt and saw a couple real beautiful trophies with nice racks. I moved in close and used every trick I know to bag the one with the nicest symetrical rack and I was able to get real close but total success was not meant to be. I just might go back to the same stand next weekend and try again but I'll need different bait this time. Sometimes it's the one that got away that gives the best memories.

For me it would be the season my son got his first deer!!!

John

I got an invitation to hunt mufflon sheep from a friend in 1999. Since I know they had some really good rams, I took the invitation at once.

I spent 4 days chasing a really brute one who had full curl, really nice. I never gotten the chance too shoot because there were always one mufflon behind or covering it. My uncle (also known as the old dirty bastard) shoot a full curl the second day, but I spent my time looking for a gap to shoot

I had several good options shoots at rams who were not legall and I didn't wanted to "obehave" at my friends place. I saw alot of animals and really nice nature, spent a few rolls of camera film. A fool and his mufflon ram

People who never have missed or left without any animal has never hunted
/ JOHAN

Yesterday when I took my daughter hunting for the first time (she is 5yrs old). Jumped two cottontails, got a shot at one and missed (running shot w/.22 single shot and 50# of wiggly 5yr old on your back is a challenge, at least that is my excuse). She got tired of the high thick brush so up and into the back pack she went and stayed the rest of the day. Before the day was out SHE was picking out the cover to hunt and was so pumped she wanted me to shoot the farmer's cow (I still have work to do on that one). Alot of fun ahead. She carefully explains to my wifes parents (they are very anti) how she will first hunt bunnies, then antelope, deer, elk, bear, and mtn lions in that order (man they are freakin and it adds to the fun). Never seen a kid her age that will jump in and grab somthing dead and just hold/pet it (live frogs/snakes, dead pets, someone elses elk) like she will. Lots of fun ahead w/her and her two younger bros.

Deke.

Thank God I've never had that experience yet, except when I really didn't want to kill anything.

I went through some phase back in college for about two years. I guess I was having second thoughts about hunting. My best friend was my mule deer hunting partner. He just decided one year hunting wasn't for him.

I hunted solo after that and for some years I think I struggled with the idea myself. I hunted hard, but hoped I wouldn't find that buck. When and if I did, I was on automatic. I laid the crosshairs on him, and dropped him. No remorse or afterthought. I really never understood the conflict. A few years later it was gone.

To come up empty handed now would grieve me. The exception is hunting from a blind in Texas. I can sit, watch game all day long, have a great time, take a snooze, but it's still not the same.

When I hunt I'm on a quest. Either I save the maiden or slay the dragon, or I'm pretty much unsatisfied.

Bear camp in Canada about three years ago. I had a cold and could not keep from coughing in the tree stand. Tried to do it for one day and all I did was make noise. So I stayed in camp for the rest of the week. There is a big bunch of good looking country up there. I did all of the cooking and that kind of stuff. Nobody goes hungry in my camp ever. I think the guys got five bear for six permits. So the bears are there and we all had a good time, even though I did not get one that year I had taken three previously, so it was no big loss to me. I enjoyed my five days of leisure, just sitting around keeping the camp fire,doing the cookng and listening to the others stories of their big kills.

Anytime I'm with my son - and before that - anytime I was with my dad.

I'd have to say it was the hunt for my wife!!

Grrrrrr baby!!!!

My favorite hunt was not actually a hunt -- and will more than likely get my sanity questioned. In the late 80s, I hunted one particular buck hard for two full seasons and was midway into the third. I tried rattling, still hunting, ambushes, stand hunting -- everything I could think of. I had a number of sightings but never a shot. He always managed to elude me. Then early one morning, while running a trapline, I crested the ridge of a dry wash, and there he was, no more than 30-40 yards away. For some reason, I also had along a 7.5" Ruger Super B'Hawk in .44 Magnum in addition to a Mark I .22LR for dispatching trapped animals. I slowly dropped the 'coon in my right hand, drew the pistol and proceeded to cock the single action, fully well thinking that the movement and noise would spook the buck in a heartbeat. Drawing back the hammer sounded like 2 freight trains colliding in that cold morning air, but the buck never moved. The shot would have been relatively easy, and I did have the buck lined up in my sights. But I couldn't pull the trigger on that majestic buck -- not under those conditions.

At this point, the buck was, in my estimation, 5 1/2 years old. I caught one last glimpse of him later that season, but that was the last time I saw the brute. Whether he died of natural causes or ventured far off and was taken by another hunter, I'll never know. But the sight of him that morning still lingers quite vividly in my memory.