Favorite hunting memory

[Fullquiver]

My favorite hunting memory was being with my dad out back on the farm during the archery season. I begged and begged for him to take me with him for the evening. He relented and let me come.

We sat for what seemed like a very long time. Then like a ghost a six point whitetail buck walked out. Mind you this was the mid 70's.

Dad was a savant as far as archery was concerned. This buck was 35 yards out and dad had his bear Super Kodiak recurve and Microflight yellow shafted arrows. I watched intently as he drew and shot. The arc of that yellow shaft in the fading light and the reaction of the buck as the arrow impacted. It made a short dash and crash into hawthorn bushes at the end of his run.

I remember the smell of the pine we were sitting in, the stillness of the woods after the brief drama had just unfolded and the smile on my father's face. He didn't say a word. He didn't have too.

I have to say why this particular story of mine is my favorite hunting memory at this point in my life. I have many memories of hunting some of my own, others with my children and some with close friends.

I guess it's just that Dad is not with us any longer and that this is my memory of him that always brings a smile to my face. Especially on the days I miss him so..

Some of the greatest things we hunt are in the deep parts of our souls. I hope that in those hunts you all find success..

 

[bobbydean]

Toss up. My first mule deer and biggest. An adrenal rush.

Or, my daughter's first game animal, pronghorn. She knocked it down and I had to finish it.

Probably was my daughters!

 

[kansasdad]

Tons of fun memories, but the one that stands out as a "did we just do that??" was a spring turkey hunt with kansasson and kansasdaughter1. It was the only day possible that kansasson had to hunt that spring, as he was leaving for a summer missions trip the next day. I had already taken my first spring bird, and Aaron had two tags ready to go.

It was tremendously dark when we arrived at the Flint Hills cow pasture that was to be our hunting spot. We called this field the "Brick Field" as there were multiple piles of bricks waiting to be recycled out by the road. Using the brick piles and the trees along the fenceline we tucked in tight to the roost. Long story short....the girls led the boys away from danger.

As they drifted away, we decided that maybe we could head to the west fenceline and draw some birds off of the adjacent fields that we didn't have permission to hunt. Settling into the creek bottom shrubs we had a hen decoy out in front of us, and we attempted to call the second flock of birds our way. They did come about halfway, but as turkeys often times will do, they balked at coming through the barbwire fence.

Giving calling a rest, we sat there and finished off all of the water that I had brought for us. I looked at my kids and said, "I'm going to really lay it on hard, and call as loud as I can, and see if I can get some of that first flock interested in coming back to see what is going on".

Faint gobbles drifted our way and we felt some hope. I hit the box call as loud as I could........they answered again. 430 yards away (per OnX measuring tool) we saw three red headed turkeys enter the pasture. I hammered on the box call with some soulful yelps, and all three heads swiveled our way, and seconds after we saw their simultaneous heads dip we heard the gobbles.

They started out on a slow march towards us and our decoy. After a little bit the second in line got tired of being second, and upped his speed. The third guy realized that his two brothers were shifting gears, and he also stepped on the gas. The field was terraced, so the roll of the hill sometimes only allowed us to see heads gliding across the prairie, at other times we could see all of their fired up bodies.

Trying to beat each other to the sexy "hen" at our end of the field, they reminded me of NASCAR drivers blocking, drafting, passing and trying to be the first one to get to us. As they crested the last little roll in the field, they pulled flaps and slowed down. Glorious strutting displays started, with each boy trying to outdo the other. Inching closer, they had come into range of our shotguns.

Aaron and I had done the "one, two BOOOOOM" scenario before, so we felt right as home as I drew down on the second closest bird on the left, and he was ready to shoot the front bird. 1,2 BOOOOOM!! My spring turkey hunts were done with my second bird, and he stoned his first one. The third turkey hit the jets, running dead away, and Aaron said, "should I shoot??" Just as soon as the first sound of "yes" came out of my mouth his gun sounded again. Once again his bird went dead still and hit the earth. Not a shudder or flappy flap flop.

We three looked at each other, and did a happy laugh and high five'd each other. I was replaying the scene of the 400+ yard pathway taken by these turkeys, and Aaron had gone out to retrieve the far bird. He was walking uphill towards the last bird and it dawned on my how far out he was from where we had been sitting. Breaking out the range finder, I asked him to stand where his bird had ended up.

75 yards
Stone dead


Did we really just triple?? High fives again, and time to get tagging some turkeys.

 

[blackbeard]

I've got 3 150 class whitetails in my basement but nothing compares to watching my 7 year old daughter get her first deer. Absolute best hunting moment in my life hands down. She's not 10 and has got a few deer, a Texas dall sheep and says she wants do an antelope hunting trip with me.

 

[Randi]

without a doubt, the goat hunt with my brother, here in Alaska.

We fought all our lives growing up, but the time we spent together during that hunt seemed to wash away all prior disagreements, and we have been close ever since.

However whitetail hunting in the Hill country of Texas with my father is a close second.

Don, Guy, David, April, will remember my goat hunt as they all helped me decide which caliber and bullet.

 

[Ben Lamb]

Whale hunting was something my ancestors did and when it was legal to hunt them again, my first Whale hunt was special for several reasons. The hunt and festival lasted several days. Never forget it. Outside of that, most of my scary moments came from the elements more than animals. Planes and canoes at certain moments in certain weather, can create what we call "Jesus" moments. But on one hunt a white bear hurt one of my dogs and I am told I looked like that meme NoHarleyet posts sometimes of the woman "yelling and pointing her figure "

If the shoe fits and all that

I'd love to hear the story about the whale hunt, and the ceremony afterwards.

 

[NR_Hunter]

Good memories shooting the big game. Cool experiences waterfowl hunting. But all my favorites involve me and my ole bird dog.

 

[HalfAce]

Walking up on the first big mulie I killed is the best feeling memory I have, but it’s not my number one. THE most memorable moment I have is the big mulie I missed opening day in eastern Montana in 2006. That 5 seconds is branded into my mind. I still see it clearly. Too clear.

It was my 4th season of hunting - actually more like my 4th ever hunting trip. I walked a big loop, in some broken draw and coulee country. I was probably 7 miles into that 8 mile or so hike. The whole time I had hiked with my gun in my hands thinking ide have it ready to jump shoot a deer incase one popped up. The country was starting to mellow out, get more flat and just overall shorter and smaller brush pockets and I felt I was getting too close to the truck. So I crossed to the south exposure of the draw made it up on the edge, put the rifle sling over my shoulder and started making a straight line to where my uncle was parked. About 300 yards into my b-line to the truck I catch the slightest movement in the corner of my right eye. I stop and look over, and the largest mule deer I had ever seen was in the shade up on all fours and looking at me all bug eyed. He was only 35 yards away and was staring a hole through my soul. I’ve never had an animal look at me like that. I hesitated to do anything for a split second just looking at him. Then when it registered about what was happening I swung my left arm for the gun and the buck BLEW OUT of there. His first stride he stayed in place - wheels spinning in the dirt. He made it a few yards and I proceeded to send 2 bullets over his back. He stayed low and got out of there in seconds. Never saw him again. Since then I’ve seen a few good ones, and memories and stories tend to get stretched over time but I think he’s still in the top 3 largest antlered bucks I have ever seen and probably still the biggest pig bodied deer I’ve ever come across.

I don’t walk that type of country with a damn sling no more.

 

[Deleted member 38069]

Tons of fun memories, but the one that stands out as a "did we just do that??" was a spring turkey hunt with kansasson and kansasdaughter1. It was the only day possible that kansasson had to hunt that spring, as he was leaving for a summer missions trip the next day. I had already taken my first spring bird, and Aaron had two tags ready to go.

It was tremendously dark when we arrived at the Flint Hills cow pasture that was to be our hunting spot. We called this field the "Brick Field" as there were multiple piles of bricks waiting to be recycled out by the road. Using the brick piles and the trees along the fenceline we tucked in tight to the roost. Long story short....the girls led the boys away from danger.

As they drifted away, we decided that maybe we could head to the west fenceline and draw some birds off of the adjacent fields that we didn't have permission to hunt. Settling into the creek bottom shrubs we had a hen decoy out in front of us, and we attempted to call the second flock of birds our way. They did come about halfway, but as turkeys often times will do, they balked at coming through the barbwire fence.

Giving calling a rest, we sat there and finished off all of the water that I had brought for us. I looked at my kids and said, "I'm going to really lay it on hard, and call as loud as I can, and see if I can get some of that first flock interested in coming back to see what is going on".

Faint gobbles drifted our way and we felt some hope. I hit the box call as loud as I could........they answered again. 430 yards away (per OnX measuring tool) we saw three red headed turkeys enter the pasture. I hammered on the box call with some soulful yelps, and all three heads swiveled our way, and seconds after we saw their simultaneous heads dip we heard the gobbles.

They started out on a slow march towards us and our decoy. After a little bit the second in line got tired of being second, and upped his speed. The third guy realized that his two brothers were shifting gears, and he also stepped on the gas. The field was terraced, so the roll of the hill sometimes only allowed us to see heads gliding across the prairie, at other times we could see all of their fired up bodies.

Trying to beat each other to the sexy "hen" at our end of the field, they reminded me of NASCAR drivers blocking, drafting, passing and trying to be the first one to get to us. As they crested the last little roll in the field, they pulled flaps and slowed down. Glorious strutting displays started, with each boy trying to outdo the other. Inching closer, they had come into range of our shotguns.

Aaron and I had done the "one, two BOOOOOM" scenario before, so we felt right as home as I drew down on the second closest bird on the left, and he was ready to shoot the front bird. 1,2 BOOOOOM!! My spring turkey hunts were done with my second bird, and he stoned his first one. The third turkey hit the jets, running dead away, and Aaron said, "should I shoot??" Just as soon as the first sound of "yes" came out of my mouth his gun sounded again. Once again his bird went dead still and hit the earth. Not a shudder or flappy flap flop.

We three looked at each other, and did a happy laugh and high five'd each other. I was replaying the scene of the 400+ yard pathway taken by these turkeys, and Aaron had gone out to retrieve the far bird. He was walking uphill towards the last bird and it dawned on my how far out he was from where we had been sitting. Breaking out the range finder, I asked him to stand where his bird had ended up.

75 yards
Stone dead


Did we really just triple?? High fives again, and time to get tagging some turkeys.

That’s a great story, thanks!

 

[Deleted member 38069]

Walking up on the first big mulie I killed is the best feeling memory I have, but it’s not my number one. THE most memorable moment I have is the big mulie I missed opening day in eastern Montana in 2006. That 5 seconds is branded into my mind. I still see it clearly. Too clear.

It was my 4th season of hunting - actually more like my 4th ever hunting trip. I walked a big loop, in some broken draw and coulee country. I was probably 7 miles into that 8 mile or so hike. The whole time I had hiked with my gun in my hands thinking ide have it ready to jump shoot a deer incase one popped up. The country was starting to mellow out, get more flat and just overall shorter and smaller brush pockets and I felt I was getting too close to the truck. So I crossed to the south exposure of the draw made it up on the edge, put the rifle sling over my shoulder and started making a straight line to where my uncle was parked. About 300 yards into my b-line to the truck I catch the slightest movement in the corner of my right eye. I stop and look over, and the largest mule deer I had ever seen was in the shade up on all fours and looking at me all bug eyed. He was only 35 yards away and was staring a hole through my soul. I’ve never had an animal look at me like that. I hesitated to do anything for a split second just looking at him. Then when it registered about what was happening I swung my left arm for the gun and the buck BLEW OUT of there. His first stride he stayed in place - wheels spinning in the dirt. He made it a few yards and I proceeded to send 2 bullets over his back. He stayed low and got out of there in seconds. Never saw him again. Since then I’ve seen a few good ones, and memories and stories tend to get stretched over time but I think he’s still in the top 3 largest antlered bucks I have ever seen and probably still the biggest pig bodied deer I’ve ever come across.

I don’t walk that type of country with a damn sling no more.

Heartbreaker!

 

[2rocky]

Probably Elk hunts with my dad.

September 26th opening day of Elk rifle season

So with my bow put away, (un-shot), I slid the Ruger .300 Winchester Magnum in the scabbard as I rode out in the dark along with my Father and Billy. this morning we got an even earlier start. 2 hours later, we arrived at the base of “Action Alley” We could faintly hear the bull calling. We dismounted from the horses and began our climb up the ridge in the dark.

Now my 66 year old father had experienced difficulty with the altitude last season. He remarked that this season he was better able to cope with the lack of oxygen at 7000-9000 feet higher than we live.

As dawn spread across the upper reaches of the ridge, The bulls began singing out. Instead of setting up lower on the ridge, we continued to climb up to the trail I saw the bull traveling the morning prior. As we began to traverse the side hill I took the lead and began to see elk cows below and in front of me. I motioned to dad that we were into the elk and continued to scan the hillside in front of me.

What I didn’t count on was that the bull we had been hearing would come out of the timber BEHIND my father and I. I heard the rocks rolling above me and saw cows below me look up. I followed their gaze and saw elk crossing the saddle above me. I wheeled and brought my rifle to my shoulder just like I was quail hunting. I had one shot and fired before the bull disappeared over the finger.

My father called to me, 30 yards behind…”You hit ‘im?”

I responded: “I was on him when the shot went off”.

But my thoughts were on the lack of a reaction from the elk. Before I could follow up, I began hearing rocks clattering, and I saw dust rising from the next saddle. I jogged around the finger to watch my elk rolling head over heels from 9500 feet elevation down PAST ME, until he finally came to rest 500 vertical feet below where he had been when I shot

When we examined the elk, I could see the bullet entered under his “elbow” on the left side, punched through the thick Brisket bone, through the left lung, and major arteries, through the right lung, through the shoulder bone and muscle until coming to rest under the skin on the right side at the point of the shoulder. you can see the bump on the right shoulder that is the bullet under the skin in the picture above.

As the dust cleared, another bull called his scattered cows from the dark timber below us and we scrambled to grab a cow call. 30 minutes after my shot, a raghorn 4 point snuck in to my cow calls. Dad had his rifle up but elected to pass on the bull as he spooked and hot footed back into the timber

 

[MT Bound]

for me: "favorite memories" almost always include my child or spouse 1. my son's first duck & his first whitetail buck, 2. my wife's first bull elk

 

[Deleted member 38069]

Probably Elk hunts with my dad.

September 26th opening day of Elk rifle season

So with my bow put away, (un-shot), I slid the Ruger .300 Winchester Magnum in the scabbard as I rode out in the dark along with my Father and Billy. this morning we got an even earlier start. 2 hours later, we arrived at the base of “Action Alley” We could faintly hear the bull calling. We dismounted from the horses and began our climb up the ridge in the dark.

Now my 66 year old father had experienced difficulty with the altitude last season. He remarked that this season he was better able to cope with the lack of oxygen at 7000-9000 feet higher than we live.

As dawn spread across the upper reaches of the ridge, The bulls began singing out. Instead of setting up lower on the ridge, we continued to climb up to the trail I saw the bull traveling the morning prior. As we began to traverse the side hill I took the lead and began to see elk cows below and in front of me. I motioned to dad that we were into the elk and continued to scan the hillside in front of me.

What I didn’t count on was that the bull we had been hearing would come out of the timber BEHIND my father and I. I heard the rocks rolling above me and saw cows below me look up. I followed their gaze and saw elk crossing the saddle above me. I wheeled and brought my rifle to my shoulder just like I was quail hunting. I had one shot and fired before the bull disappeared over the finger.

My father called to me, 30 yards behind…”You hit ‘im?”

I responded: “I was on him when the shot went off”.

But my thoughts were on the lack of a reaction from the elk. Before I could follow up, I began hearing rocks clattering, and I saw dust rising from the next saddle. I jogged around the finger to watch my elk rolling head over heels from 9500 feet elevation down PAST ME, until he finally came to rest 500 vertical feet below where he had been when I shot

When we examined the elk, I could see the bullet entered under his “elbow” on the left side, punched through the thick Brisket bone, through the left lung, and major arteries, through the right lung, through the shoulder bone and muscle until coming to rest under the skin on the right side at the point of the shoulder. you can see the bump on the right shoulder that is the bullet under the skin in the picture above.

As the dust cleared, another bull called his scattered cows from the dark timber below us and we scrambled to grab a cow call. 30 minutes after my shot, a raghorn 4 point snuck in to my cow calls. Dad had his rifle up but elected to pass on the bull as he spooked and hot footed back into the timber

You’ll never forget that one! Thanks for sharing!

 

[AlaskaHunter]

My favorite hunting memory was my first bull moose in the 1990s.
I spotted 2 bulls down in a bowl in the first morning of our hunt,
problem was they were 3 miles from camp...
So back at camp, I asked my hunting mentor whether that was too far...he said "Hell No!"
So that evening we went back and called in 3 bulls, I shot one at 40 yards.
While my mentor butchered I would pack a 60 lb meat bag to the top of the ridge.
By darkness I had ten meat bags to the top of the ridge.
We packed 2 bags back to camp....our other hunting partner had another bull down,
then my mentor shot a griz..so they could not help pack my bull.
Long story short, I packed my bull solo to camp over the next 3 days (6 miles round trip X 8 trips = 48 miles of packing)
We had a great trip ended up with 2 bull moose, 2 black bears and a griz.

 

[Islander]

My nephew's first deer hunt. We were standing by two huge power poles on a powerline waiting for sunrise, when suddenly 15-20 turkeys flew down from their roost all around us. We didn't move. I don't think they ever knew we were there. Magical.

 

[sneakypete]

Being with my son when he took this nice northern BC BULL.

 

[Otto Matic]

I've been watching this thread.
Moved to Oklahoma in 2002. Started a new "chapter" in my hunting life.
Began keeping a hunting journal after 55 years! LOL!
All of my hunting stories are my favorites! !

After 50 years of hunting, I had not killed a buck I felt was big enough to mount. ...and my standards are pretty low! LOL!

I was working for my b-i-l whose family owns 800 acres in the Red River bottom.
The place was/is absolutely "covered" with deer.
I was looking for a "spot" to set up.
I'm tooling around 800 acres on my ATV when it dawned on me, "I always see deer on the west rye patch. I'll go set up over there."
I found a pepper bush on the edge of the rye (the grain, not the grass!) pasture.
I chopped a hole into the base of the tree, set up a stool. It was about 11AM, so I went to town, got a bite to eat and went to talk to Tommy. (my b-I-l brother and partial land owner)
I had decided I'd be in my spot by 230PM. By the time Tommy got through talking, I didn't make it to my spot until 300PM.

Cool afternoon, nothing moving.
I'm laid back, relaxing, enjoying the quiet.
A huge doe hops the fencd into the rye pasture, trots out to the center and begins grazing.
About 150 yards to the south, the property line fence runs east and west through a plum thicket. Beyond the fence, in the adjacent wheat field, I can see another deer walking towards the fence. It's a buck, but I can't see antlers because of the plum thicket.
When the buck steps up to the fence where the doe jumped it, his rack is obviously larger than anything I've ever shot and I become a nervous wreck!
I'm watching him through my scope. He sniffs the top wire, then turns and walks west into the plum thicket. I can't (not supposed to?) shoot across the fence/property line.
I'm whispering, "Just jump the fence! Just jump the fence!"
He stops, turns and retraces his steps and passes the spot where the doe jumped the fence and I'm hyperventilating and whispering, "Jump the fence! Jump the fence!"
He stops! I'm going nuts, "JUST JUMP THE FENCE!".
He slowly turns and returns to where the doe entered the field and easily hops over the fence!
I had been told several tines....er, TIMES, don't look at their antlers!
He ambles out into the field, I'm watching him through the scope as he heads straight at me! All I can see is antlers!
Now I'm whispering, "Turn broadside!" as the rifle becomes shakier and the buck gets closer!
At about 75 yards, he finally stops, turns broadside and looks at the doe grazing out in the middle of the pasture.
I've got a good, steady rest!
I flip the safety off and try to get the crosshairs on his shoulder!
The reticle is dancing, neck to loin and knee to wither!
I CAN'T KEEP IT STILL! !
Finally, the safety snicks to the on position, I lower the stock to my lap, close my eyes, duck my head and breathe deeply.
Two or three deep breaths and I look up.
He's still staring at the doe.
The rifle stock comes to my shoulder, he's still in the scope.
The safety snicks off, the crosshair settles on his shoulder and before I know it, the gun goes off!
I ram a second round down hole as he rears and runs about 10 steps before collapsing!
FINALLY!

Boone & Crockett?
Nope! Probably won't score over 120 or 130, but he was the biggest one I ever killed.

 

[OntarioHunter]

Okay, one more. A different sort of hunt. Must have been August of '87 and we were headed west on the Trans Canada to visit my mom and dad in Montana after checking on the wife's farm in SK. Somewhere the other side of Kenora Cathy spotted blueberry bushes alongside the highway. The kids were napping so we pulled off, emptied a small cooler of its drinks and snacks, and started picking. Within an hour we had it nearly full and the little ones were awake. So after changing Wes's diaper we were off again. Just crossed into Manitoba when my wife let out a little shriek: "A tick is crawling on your neck!" I turned to look at her and saw one in her hair. Fortuitously, a truck stop magically appeared around the next corner. Leaving our ultra-protective chocolate Lab in charge of the kids, Cathy and I rushed in to find a washroom. The local deadpecker old boys club was sitting at a table drinking coffee and swapping BS. We went past them into the women's can and did a thorough mutual bug search. When we came out the coffee crew was silent with every eye on us as we walked by. I explained we'd been picking blueberries and had to inspect each other for ticks. One old fella jumps up: "Well, I guess I better get outta here then." "Why, Fred? What's the rush all of a sudden?" "I'm getting the wife and we're going berry picking!" Cathy turned fifty shades of red. I miss that little gal, especially hunting ticks with her.

 

[geetar]

Okay, one more. A different sort of hunt. Must have been August of '87 and we were headed west on the Trans Canada to visit my mom and dad in Montana after checking on the wife's farm in SK. Somewhere the other side of Kenora Cathy spotted blueberry bushes alongside the highway. The kids were napping so we pulled off, emptied a small cooler of its drinks and snacks, and started picking. Within an hour we had it nearly full and the little ones were awake. So after changing Wes's diaper we were off again. Just crossed into Manitoba when my wife let out a little shriek: "A tick is crawling on your neck!" I turned to look at her and saw one in her hair. Fortuitously, a truck stop magically appeared around the next corner. Leaving our ultra-protective chocolate Lab in charge of the kids, Cathy and I rushed in to find a washroom. The local deadpecker old boys club was sitting at a table drinking coffee and swapping BS. We went past them into the women's can and did a thorough mutual bug search. When we came out the coffee crew was silent with every eye on us as we walked by. I explained we'd been picking blueberries and had to inspect each other for ticks. One old fella jumps up: "Well, I guess I better get outta here then." "Why, Fred? What's the rush all of a sudden?" "I'm getting the wife and we're going berry picking!" Cathy turned fifty shades of red. I miss that little gal, especially hunting ticks with her.

Wow! @OntarioHunter you always bring something unusually interesting to the HT threads.

 

[kparrott]

My first deer is a tough one to beat, I’ll never forget that hunt. But I think my favorite/most memorable would be a duck hunt from this year.

We had hunter a field for geese and constantly saw ducks piling into a low spot in the adjacent field. The ducks where hitting a small spot with shin deep water. After a few weeks of trying we were able to get permission for a hunt. In 30 minutes we had a 2-man limit of mallards and a black duck.

I knew I hit a bird early in the hunt, but my buddies dog had trouble finding it and we agreed to look later. After shooting a few more mallards we knew we needed to check the decoys and grass to pick up any ducks, I took off walking towards where I thought the duck was. I saw him tucked up in some grass laying low with his head up, still very alive. I called my buddies dog over and sent her after him, she made short work of the retrieve this time. And when she turned to bring the duck back I started laughing and said “you aren’t going to believe this!”

The mallard was banded! My second band, first duck band, and my buddies dog’s first band. It was an awesome hunt that will be hard to beat in Ohio.