Whats your best hunting memory? Mine is when i was hunting with my dad for the last time before he died , i was about 11 years old and didnt carry a gun yet, we got out at our stand before first light. I was so excited to just be out there i was always asking questions and could never really be quiet lol. we were hunting on a rub line and as morning came here comes a huge 8 point. so my dad gave me the gun and says you just aim and pull the triger and i will steady the gun. well i was a nervous wreck my knees were shaking so bad. the buck came in to about 30 yrds. but didnt have a shot because of to much brush and he walked over and made a scrape right in front of us!! well we ended up not gettin a shoot but o well its the memorys that count right.

Three years ago during the Michigan Rifle season, I was sitting in a treestand with my bow about 1/4 mile from where my 92 year old, at the time, grandfather was sitting in a blind with his rifle. About 4pm I heard the crack of his 30-06 and knew the old fart got one. I climbed down and started walking to his blind. I walked in towards his stand waving my orange hat so he could see me coming, he is blind as a bat. The thing is I could not see him. I found him trying to gut out a nice little fork he shot.

My pappy has lived the hunting life to the fullest, but has been pretty frail for the last five or so years. He is almost deaf, can't see worth a darn, can hardly walk, can't drive anymore, but will go to camp till it kills him.

Back to my diddy. I found him trying to gut out this buck and when he saw me, I got a smile from him I don't think I will ever forget. I like to call it a shi* eating grin. I could tell he was having a tough time gutting the deer, but was he ever proud! I told him to sit back and enjoy it, and I would finninsh up for him while grabbing his knife. I tried to gut the deer, but his knife was duller then a butter knife. You have to understand this caught me by surprise because he was always pretty anal about a sharp knife. By the time we finnished up and I dragged the deer out to a road on our property it was dark. When we got there he looked at me, smiled, and said this was his last year at camp. This shook me and I had to turn away for a second to get my composure. I had the tear well up.

Nothing exciting, but sure was a special moment for me. You know, old gramps is 95 years old now and has been to camp every season since and I will be picking him up to bring him to camp in November. I hope he can get one last monster buck. I want to see the shi* eating grin again!

hey thats a nice story bownutty thanks for sharing! keep' em comin.