Hunting stories.

[Dorado]

My post about the Colt McCoy catching that bird got me and my dad talking about funny things that happen while hunting. I'd like to hear what Y'all have come across. I'll start. This one comes from my dad.

 

While out pheasant hunting, he had to cross several fences. He'd be safe and hand his gun to his partners and cross and hold their guns while they did. This went well until they came across an electric fence. They tested it to see if it was hot and didn't get shocked so my dad decided it was safe to cross. So he pulled the wire down and stepped over. Right about the time he had his feet flat on the ground on both sides of the fence, the power came on. He got stuck with a shocking experience in the seat of his pants, leaving him yelling and jumping up and down until a friend grounded out the wire letting him get off of it. He was a bit more cautious about crossing fences after that.

 

After he told me I had to ask him if it ever occurred to him that some wise guy had that fence on a switch and was waiting for him to cross.

 

What stories do y'all have?

[Pulp, SASS#28319]

When I was about 14 we were sitting around camp after lunch. A feller reaches in his pocket, pulls out a whet rock and commences to filing down a tooth with it. Another feller goes into an excellent imitation of a guinea hen. He's on his tiptoes, back arched, and elbows nearly touching behind him. After a very long string of colorful language he finally catches his breath and asks, " What are you doing." JW replied, "I've got a snag on this tooth and it cuts my lip when I whistle the dogs" and proceeds to start filing again. Robert goes back into his cursing guinea hen act again. The rest of us were rolling on the ground. Just imagine a 300 pound man looking like a guinea!

[J-BAR #18287]

My pheasant hunting story--

 

My high school buddy Jack and I were driving the unpaved county roads in southeastern Colorado, not far from the Kansas line, when a cock pheasant ran across the road in front of us. We watched the bird run into a big pile of brush about 50 yards from the road, which was about 100 yards from the trailer in which the landowner lived. This trailer was the only human habitation in sight. That country is dry, flat, treeless. Folks in that part of the country brag about being able to see farther without seeing anything than anyplace else in the United States.

 

Jack and I had shotguns in the car, and pheasants were in season, so we turned around, and found the road that led to the trailer. A really old gentleman, must have been 40 at least, answered my knock on the front door, and gave us permission to hunt.

 

He asked, "What are you hunting for?"

 

"Pheasant" I replied.

 

"Haven't seen any in years, but go ahead."

 

"Thanks" I said.

 

Jack and I walked to the brush pile, kicked the pheasant out, and I dropped him with Grandpa's .410. The hunt took about 5 minutes. As we walked to the car, we saw the landowner looking at us from his window, just slowly shaking his head.

[Grumpy Old Man]

2 come to mind and I wasn't involved in either one. My Dad was a coon hunter. Several of them were out one night and one of them carried a bottle of snake bite medicine with him. H e took a tumble down a big gulley and they asked him if he was allright. He hollered back, didn't break my bottle. the other story, Dad took me and my younger brother out one night. My brother got tired and layed down in the cornfield. Shortly, he was rudely awakened when a coon and several dogs ran right over top of him.

[Noz]

A friend of mine was shot in a stupid hunting accident. He survived but it really put a pall over gun hunting for me.

 

My bow hunting days were over due to a shoulder injury so deer hunting had become a thing of my past.

 

One season, I had just inherited an Ithaca Slugster from my Father-in-law, I decided to carry the Ithaca in the truck. Since the conversations always begin with "Did ya get yor deer yet?" had the choice of going to the woods or lying.

Second day of deer season my wife and I decided to go to my folks home and clear a fallen tree from their front yard. We finished about 3 in the afternoon.

I told my wife I was going to drive the truck around the top of the hill so that if anyone asked I could say, "Been hunting but haven't seen anything" therefore letting me off of the macho hook.

She went into the house to fix a cold drink for all 4 of us.

I drove to the top of the hill on a place that had not seen a deer in recorded history. As I topped the hill I mentally remarked that I had never noticed before that the lower limbs on that little thorn tree looked just like a set of antlers. I stopped 10 yards from the tree and stepped out to investigate pulling the gun off of the seat behind me. As I stood up so did he.

I went back to the house and into the kitchen where my wife was still in the process of pouring drinks.

She asked what was wrong because I looked strange. I told her I had just killed the biggest deer of my life.

Later as we were hauling him home, I asked her "Do you think I ought to have him mounted?"

Long pause. She asked "Have you ever killed a bigger one?"

"No"

Long pause. "Do you think you ever will?"

I called the taxidermist the next morning.

[Grouchy Greg, SASS#71981]

Some years ago, I was hunkered down with my back to a large old oak tree, watching a game trail that led to a nearby waterhole in the bottom and hoping a deer would come traipsing by to get a drink. A squirrel had been rustling around in the leaves looking for acorns and was getting closer to me by the minute. He finally got close enough and brave enough to hop onto the toe of my right boot, and was starting up the boot top toward my pants leg when I swatted at him with my rifle butt. I haven't seen a squirrel move out that fast since!