Haunting Memories
 

Do you have one? A memory of a hunting screw-up that haunts you now and then? One you remember more clearly than many of your most successful hunts?

Here's mine.

Fall of 1969. Back then our deer population was only a fraction of what it is today. Seeing a deer was something to talk about after the hunt. Actually killing one entitled you to bragging rights for at least a year. A buck over four points was a trophy to be envied by all of your friends.

I'm sneaking through the mixed oaks, sweetgum, and cypress of the Pearl River Wildlife Management Area just Northeast of New Orleans. Happened upon a giant gumtree blowdown that left the trunk forming a ramp that I could walk up, and take a seat in the crotch formed by the first huge branch which, though it was once thirty feet up when the tree was standing, is now about ten feet above ground level on the leaning tree. A perfect set up.

I sat up there all morning, quiet as could be even though I was feeding the mosquitoes a hearty meal. Finally, around 11 a.m. I'd had enough of the inactivity. Made my way down to ground level. Leaned my rifle against the rootball to take a leak. Looked up into the eyes of an 8-pointer not thirty yards away. How he got there, I don't know. Why I didn't see him sooner, I don't know. Why he didn't see me walking down that tree trunk, I don't know. What I do know is if I had sat up there five minutes longer I would have been king of our little hunting group. I also learned a buck can spin around and disappear faster than you can say "Holy ****!!!".

Anyway, I'll never forget that hunt.

Oh yeah I do. I was up our cabin for black bear season. After raining all night I headed up the mountain the first day of the season. I picked a spot just below the top of the ridge so I could watch most of the mountain side below me. About an hour after daylight I could hear something behind me up on the top. I crept up in a slow still hunt and jumped a very large blackie only about 40 yds away. Now this top was fairly thick brush as it was clear cut about 5-10 years prior. He was running right to left. Because of the rain the night before he was still wet. I shouldered my Rem 760 and when the .308 barked I saw the water spray too far back. I cycled the action and swung further in front but he changed direction and was running straight toward me. (I dont' believe it was a charge but more that he didn't know where the shot came from.) Looking through the scope his head looked massive. Those of you that have seen a bear run know that their body sort of rocks as the run. When his head came up I put a round through his chest, cycled the pump and did it again. This shot about 15 yds. He finally turned to the right. Swinging on him as if I was hunting rabbits with a shotgun now at this range, my fourth shot smacked a tree and I saw bark and wood flying in the scope. My last shot hit him squarely behind the left front shoulder as he disappeared into the laurel. As I put another magazine into the 760 I could see the laurel tops shaking as he ran through it. I sat on a stump to gather up all my wits from this episode that probably lasted less than 10 seconds. After about 20 mins I heard 2 shots about 150 yds away. Hoping it wasn't "my" bear I started examining the area. There was hair and chunks of meat and blood. I followed the blood train through the laurel - sometimes on my hands and knees until I lost it. I hung my orange scarf on a tree limb at the last spot and went down the camp for assistance but no one was around. I got back up, relocated the blood trail, retrieved my scarf and tracked it to a gut pile.
The following year I met another hunter up in the same spot and was telling him this and he said that he was the one that killed that bear. He said that the one I shot was in pretty bad shape stumbling around. He was hoping that he would hear or see me coming as there was another bear sitting on his haunches watching "my" bear. When the other bear walked away he decided that he should just dispatch the wounded one. He waited almost an hour with 3 of his friends but no one showed. (don't know why he didn't call out). So him and his friends dressed and dragged the bear out. He told me it weighed in at 386 lb dressed wt. I asked why he fired 2 shots. With a bit of embarrassment, he said that as he fired the first shot the bear fell and he missed it then took the second shot to finish him. To this day I regret not putting a .308 slug into that big bruin's melon size head.

The first deer I ever shot was a decent whitetail buck. We watched him feeding his way back to the thick stuff. It was my first year hunting and the first hour of opening day. I took a shot at him and watched him jump. I told Dad I was pretty sure I hit him. We walked up to where he was and no blood. Walked towards the brush and saw him jump up and run deeper into the brush. Dad asked how sure I was that I hit him. I said I did but we couldn't find any blood. After looking awhile and not finding anything we moved on to a different area. I ended up shooting a little spike later that day.
A couple days later Dad was talking to a friend that was hunting the same area. He said he was walking by the wooded area and could hear an abnormal number of crows and vultures in there. Started cutting his way through and about 50 yards in found the buck I shot. I had shot him too far back so he didn't bleed much. The guy said he was a real big 6 point.
Made me learn real early to be picky on my shot choices and look real hard if I think there's a chance I hit a deer.

Mine was when I was bowhunting.
Crossing a series of small fields with deep ditches (with trees & brush) and decided to sit down on an old stump in the next ditch and take a smoke break. I lit a cigarette and looked back along the trail I had come across the last field on (about 50 yards) and there was a set of antlers that looked like something from a magazine cover sticking above the brush! I had put "red fox pee" on my boots as a cover scent and that huge buck was actually trailing me. He finally crossed the field and was within 10 yards when I shot. I watched the arrow dip right under his chest and stick in the ground and he was gone. Found where I had cut a small unseen twig with the broadhead as it was on it's way and it deflected the arrow enough for a complete miss.

Later talked to another hunter that saw the same buck that year and he said he counted 26 points through his binoculars.
As far as I know that buck died of old age.

The year before my dad passed away I was 17. I had met up with him mid day to have lunch and we sat, backed up against a tree, talking about the morning events.

As we talked, we heard the unmistakable sound of deer crashing down off of the ridge in front of us and heading our way. We both grabbed our guns and as they came into sight we both said simultaneously "Doe, doe and another doe" The excitement level dropped and I lowered by gun. It was then that I caught sight of a coyote pushing the deer. It saw us and broke off from the deer and came to my right as deer passed on my dad's side to the left. I decided it needed to die so I threw one at it running (Marlin 336 in 30-30) missing completely.

I heard my dad groan "ahhhh!" I turned and looked over his shoulder to see a 140+ inch 5x5 standing 40 yards away. Of course, the shot spooked the deer and they all bolted. We both shot in a Hail Mary attempt but didn't touch a hair.

Unfortunately that was the last year my dad got to hunt and that would have been his largest buck to date. Still kick myself for that one.

Mine is a little different. I can't forget my last hunt with my dad. I didn't know at the time is was our last hunt together, because he passed away before the next hunt.

The last one was a good hunt, as was all of them were together with him. It's the last one that I live over and over in my mind.

I was a relatively new deer hunter. Probably about 30 years a ago.

These scene was NW SD and I was hunting with a bunch of my college buddies. We had spent the morning in the Buttes and I had set my cheap Tasco at 10 power while looking at a far off critter.

After lunch we were going to drive a big willow thicket. I was a designated blocker while others drove the grove. I see a large 10 point moving through the willows and I'm pumped. Finally, the drivers push him out, he runs through a low spot and pops up at my feet. I shoulder the rifle and can't see anything as the scope is still set at 10. He clears my ridge and drops into another draw never to be seen again. All this in the clear view of the gang. It was a lesson ill never forget. I'm constantly checking my scope setting as hunt.

I still get razed about it to this day.

Semi,

I'd rather not bring it up. If I do I may need to go into therapy and miss this hunting season.

BPS

Confession is good for the soul BPS. Let it out. :s2:

Im with stupid :wave:

Edward - Never say "I'm with stupid" when you're by yourself. Because then you are probably right!! (a line from Jeff Foxworthy)

Mine centered around my nephew about 30 years or more ago. My sister was divorced and no MAN STUFF ever seemed to happen with my nephew. So I used to take him fishing, camping, and then I asked him if he wanted to try deer hunting. He was so excited. I guess I was too.

Well I got him a Remington Model 760 pump 30-06 rifle, I was using my Remington 742 semi auto 30-06 rifles. We went to the range and he sighted in. Then I had him take hunter's safety and he passed. So we were all set.

I hunted with two other guys back then as my friend owned 700 acres of beautiful woods. And we camped on the land in a trailer. So we got my nephew all set opening day. He came back late that afternoon and said he never saw anything. We were shocked as we had put him on the best stand in the woods.

So the next day I told him I would sit with him. So we went out and took the stand and he was really nervous for some reason. Then he finally admitted he saw deer the day before, but nothing he wanted to shoot. That again seemed strange as we had doe tags.

Well we were not there twenty minutes and in came three or four does and a nice little four pointer. We both had tags to fill on bucks or doe so I whispered for him to take the buck and I would take a smaller one. So we both got set to shoot I told him I would shoot right after him. I heard him shoot out one side of the blind and I shot out the other side of the blind, dropping my deer. I then saw that big buck, running straight away from us. I kept yelling for him to shoot, and he shot again. I figured he was wounded, right? No one misses a gimmie shot. So since he had not dropped, I put my scope under his tail (I hate to shoot a deer in the rear, but I hate tracking and dragging worse) and gave him the old Wisconsin booster shot. He dropped like a rock then.

So we went to my deer and I showed him how to field dress a deer. I was careful to explain to him how to do it all. And he watched but never said anything. Then we went to his deer and I told him to have at it. Well he knelt there, and looked at me, his eyes were wide as saucers. And he looked frozen. So I started explaining again to him how to field dress the deer. Finally he made a little cut but again, he was very reluctant to open the stomach cavity. Well now I was getting kind of upset. It was cold and I was wet, I wanted to get back to camp. So I opened the body cavity and told him to reach in there and roll the guts towards him, cut the fat behind the stomach, etc. And he started crying and begging me not to make him do it.

Well I was raised, you shot it, you cleaned it. Then he started this, "I am going to throw up" story. And he kept crying. I then blew my temper and basically really reprimanded him brutally for being such a child. I'd never seen anyone afraid of a little deer blood or guts. And I let him know what I thought about the whole situation.

I ended up gutting his deer as he stood there blubbering like a two year old. He tagged it of course. And then I told him to drag it back to camp. I have to admit, I was mad at him. I mean, I was really excited to take him hunting and he acted like a child.

But the icing on the cake was, at camp he starts telling his BS story of shooting the deer to my friends. I lost it!! I then told them what a pain in the you know where he was, and how he blubbered like a child. They of course thought I was kidding, making a joke, so they laugh, and teased him. Until they learned that I was not kidding. They tried to make him feel better, but you could see he was devastated.

We went back home after opening weekend as I had to work. But what I regret is.. my nephew never hunted again in his life. He never told the story of his first buck. In fact after we skinned that buck, or I should say, I skinned that buck, he'd never even hit the deer. I always wish I would have handled that situation better. The worst part is as I reflect on that incident, I never knew how much like my father I acted that day. You see my father was very strict. I realized I sounded just like he would have been. Worse, when he was told the story, he chewed his grandson out too. So yes, I nave a temper and when its tripped.. I can do really stupid things. But every time I see my nephew, we never talk about his one deer hunt.

One evening in the late 1960s i watched a big buck bed down in the huckleberry patch about 1/4 mile from my parents home. Deer season was open and i hiked over there early the next morning. The deer jumped up from his bed and i shot at him with my .30-40 Krag. Was absolutely sure i missed, so followup was made.


While i went after the deer Dad was preparing to butcher hogs. After missing the deer, i helped Dad build the fire to heat the water. Our neighbor John showed up to help. John said: "There's a big buck deer lying dead above the old school house". Without a word i got in the truck, retrieved my deer, checked it at the gas station and quickly came back. We butchered four hogs and a buck with a rack that scored over 170 Boone and Crockett points.

That was my first lesson in following up shots. The other is too painful to relate here. My nightmares would come back and i'd miss the opening day of muzzleloader season tomorrow.

It doesn't really haunt me but back in the mid-80s I was using my .45 flintlock for all my hunting...It was rifle season and I slipped back into the swamp behind one of our farms and sat down on an island that is loaded with oaks where deer bed down during the day...

About 8:00 here comes the biggest buck I have ever seen while hunting...One of those with a 20+ wide rack as white as ivory...He came right to the island and stopped not 30 yards in front of me...I tucked that front sight right behind his left shoulder and touched her off...He turned and ran into the swamp, I could hear him splashing in the water...

I never found that deer, it's tough tracking through water that's 8-12 inches deep...It's also one of the reasons I moved up to a .54...I'll probably never kill a buck that large but I did learn a good lesson...With round balls, bigger is better...I also take high shoulder shots when I need to drop a deer right now...