All time favorites

[Deleted member 28227]

This one was almost as epic as Tiger King. So many plot twists.
Anybody know what happened to @RockinU? The satirical story he posted on this was hilarious. Sometimes when I’m trying to achieve a difficult task I still think about Jeff’s fictional friend Fred being like “Dbafp, Jeff”

Elk Idaho

Drew so called premier tag in Idaho. One of 5 rifle permits in the rut. Been here going on my 4th week and have seen more elk on a bad day in my back yard. One or two bugles tops. One great bull spotted on Private land which cannot be hunted without a written signed permit from the owner. Most...

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Award for most Eeyore post of all time.

 

[np307]

Is it selfish to post one of my own that I haven't shared here before?

My alarm went off at an ungodly hour on a Monday morning. Everyone hates Mondays, but nobody hates Mondays like pastors do. Preaching and teaching is mentally tiring and that leads to physical exhaustion. I did not want to get up early on a Monday, during the last week of turkey season (when the gobblers were probably going to be quiet anyway), to go chase the birds that had been giving me the slip all year. I thought about waiting until later and just slipping in for an hour or two of prime-time, but ultimately decided to drag out of bed and suit up.

It was a clear morning and cooler than I expected. The high for the day was supposed to top 90 for the first time all year, but in the dark of the morning I comfortably walked two miles of logging roads in long sleeves without sweating. I made my way back to a section of public land that I had experienced frustration with throughout the season. I stumbled upon it out of pure curiosity and had a jake appear at 60 yards, only to disappear as soon as I saw him. Once more, I battled with a gobbler for 45 minutes only to discover that he refused to cross a swollen creek that I couldn’t find a decent crossing for. All of this weighed on mind, even tempting me to investigate another corner of land that seemed to always be occupied and have shotgun blasts coming from it. I couldn’t let those birds get the better of me though, and so I went to complete what I had embarked on a week earlier.

As I tiptoed those last 50 yards, hoping not to alarm any birds that might have happened to roost in the area, I desperately looked for a different space to set up in. None was to be found, and I placed the decoy in the same spot I placed it just a few days prior. I sat down at the same tree and situated all my gear. Dawn had broken and birds were singing all around me. I joined in with some light scratches on a slate call, trying to convince the world that my decoy was a living, breathing turkey. As the sun rose higher, so did my heart rate. This was the first time all year that I had found birds on the roost. Gobbles and yelps were resounding from the trees to my right – the same direction as the creek which Mr. Tom wouldn’t cross earlier. Surely this wouldn’t be a repeat performance. After some more clucks and purrs, I saw the time was approaching 6:45 and I realized I hadn’t yet pulled my facemask up or put my gloves on. I did both of those and decided to lean back, close my eyes, and listen for the sounds of turkeys moving closer.

Ten minutes of not hearing any turkeys made me wonder if my calling had run them off or if they had avoided me in the fly down. I was interrupted by the subtle sounds of a turkey spitting. Turkeys have a funny way of sounding distant while close and sounding close while distant. I knew this turkey was behind me, but he sounded like he was over the hill behind me. Assuming I had time and distance on my side, I turned my head to look dead in the eyes of a red-headed jake no more than seven yards away.

My first instinct was to fumble for my shotgun, but I was frozen solid. My heart pounded as the jake eyed me and then the decoy he so wanted to become more acquainted with. He didn’t like what he saw and began to leave. His back completely to me, I maneuvered my grandpa’s shotgun to my shoulder and clicked the safety off. If the jake went straight away from me, I would have no shot. Suddenly, he seemed to remember that my decoy was there and turned to his left. I still had no shot, but he was heading for a small gap between two trees. In my mind, this dance was taking hours, but in reality he had moved no further than 5 yards. That red head showed up between those trees and I pulled the trigger.

I haven’t been a hunter for very long. I’ve hunted deer for 4 years and only last year did I kill my first. This was only my second year hunting turkeys, with last year’s hunts consisting of two days spent aimlessly wandering around while scratching on a slate call. Though my experience in the woods is short, and my dreams of the woods are not well-developed, one dream I had always entertained was to take an animal with my grandpa’s shotgun. It’s just a common man’s autoloader: a Winchester Ranger 140, not even the more well-known 1400. I’ve shot skeet with it and every time I’m reminded of a man who I admire, even having very few memories of him. A connection with one whom I share blood and personality with. Every time I have pulled the trigger on this shotgun since the time my dad handed it down to me as a teenager, I reflect on a man that I miss without having known for even 10 years.

The jake started flopping. All the nerves and muscles of the bird were now firing while being cut off from any brain activity. He was dead. When I killed my first deer, my reaction was subtle. My heart rate increased, but I still had plenty of rational thought left. I calmly texted friends and family who had been waiting to hear the news. As I watched this bird flop on the ground and I realized what had just happened, I thought my heart would explode. I pinched myself, expecting to wake up from this dream to find myself still sitting under the pine tree without a hint of any turkeys around. But this was no dream, instead it was a dream realized.

It’s easy to get worked up about beard and spur length, and I certainly want to take some trophy turkeys throughout my life, but when I look at this fan on the wall I’ll see the greatest trophy in the world. Life is about the decisions we make, but what we have from those decisions are the memories they create. Hunting is no different. This is a reminder from someone who knows next to nothing about turkey hunting – remember your roots. Create those hunting memories now and give yourself something on which you can reflect for the remainder of your days. Happy hunting.

 

[AlaskaHunter]

Not on hunt talk, but one of my favorite podcast episode is Tyler Freel's solo long bow sheep hunt
where he rants about an epic failure of $1200 gortex raingear.
https://tundratalkak.com/episode-61-good-rams-and-bad-rain-gear/

 

[cedahm]

Excellent thread. I was up half the night last night last night when I couldn’t turn my brain off and read the MT Unlimited thread from front to back. Not one story per se, but like a continuous conversation with some bad ass sheep hunters.

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[Hunting Wife]

Excellent thread. I was up half the night last night last night when I couldn’t turn my brain off and read the MT Unlimited thread from front to back. Not one story per se, but like a continuous conversation with some bad ass sheep hunters.

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@MTGomer’s success was a highlight for me in that one

 

[JTHOMP]

One of may favorites

Against The Grain - Hunt Talk Edition

This weekend was my 5 day weekend to hunt. On Friday, I went for what someone of my rotundness would be considered a death march. I proceeded to come down with the flu and was laid up Saturday and Sunday. This morning I got up, hell bent on achieving at least a half-assed morning hunt...

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Probably my favorite as well. I recall it often in my head. Leave the poetics and fancy gear. Go kill a deer and bring home meat. Good story @Nameless Range

 

[Oak]

@Gerald Martin knows how to spin a mountain goat yarn (or shoot a video).

Mountain Goats - The Hunt of a Lifetime

Patience Please, Another Goat Story

Sept 2010 Mountain Goat Hunt

Too Much Legislatin' Not Enough Goat Videos

 

[Deleted member 38069]

Back in the fall of 2013, I finally drew a Black Hills rifle tag for whitetail. It took residents about every other year to draw.
Now, Hills rifle season is Nov 1st-30th and the first two weeks are a madhouse with blaze orange everywhere. My strategy was to treestand hunt (before I got bit with the spot and stalk bug). My stand was 16' high directly above where new growth met old spruce and aspens. There was sign everywhere, I was excited.

My stand was about a hour commute from the apartment we were renting. I like to hunt mornings so I got to my stand 1½ hours before dawn. I got up in my stand and strapped myself in. Cracked open my Stanley thermos, full of black coffee. I was ready!

The date was 11/11/13, Veteran's day so I had it off. It was before a looming deployment in January so I wanted meat and to process it for the wife while I'm gone.

The morning just felt good! The drive was smooth. Getting into my stand was silent. The chest harness was snug and coffee tasted great. Like I said, morning hunts are important to me so I have a checklist. The checklist was accomplished with a hour before light still.

I started to hear the woods come alive! Foot steps at first then a squirrel was doing its morning routine. The sun started coming through the tall spruces behind me. I heard a very loud animal trail busting. I thought, here we go!

Cow elk!

False alarm!

My heart was racing and I was shaking.

It was time to stand and stretch for a while. Just then, two does were on a B-line 40 yards parallel from me. Almost exactly where the cow walked.

My phone vibrated. Weird because I had little to no signal. The wife said the dishwasher was spilling soapy water everywhere and she wanted me home.

Me: Stop the cycle and press drain. Fix it when I'm back.

Me: Not coming home until dark because I have a good feeling.

Wife: Okay goodluck.

Crisis averted.

Just then, it started snowing heavy silver dollar snowflakes.


Out of the corner of my eye, a flash of brown on that same B-line path! A buck. A small 6/8 pointer!

My Dad always taught me to look at the antlers once and decide. If yes, don't look again and focus on where his lungs are.

Remembering his advice, I calmly stood up and rested the rifle on the tree. I waited until he stopped. I could see how frantic he was to find these does. He stopped and I shot! I reloaded and relocated him five feet from his original spot but leaking blood and wondering what happened. I squeezed again.

Down he went!

I waited my self imposed 30 minutes and got down to see him. I was happy. It was gratifying and humbling. As it turns out, I had some pictures of this young buck.


If the morning didn't build up the way it did, I probably would've let him go. I still had 19 days.

I will never forget that hunt!