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Life lessons

mdhunter

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Ok, after reading Cushmans post about his drunken phone call to the FBI it made me wonder what other bad ideas have the Huntalkers experienced?

My personal story was in 2008 I was black powder hunting in Mississippi. The weather was absolutely horrible with heavy heavy rain. We called the hunt early on the last day and my buddy drove me back to Memphis so I could try and catch an earlier flight home.

While going thru security my camouflage backpack got searched and they found four speed loaders with 150 gr of Pyrodex each and the bullets to go with it. I simply went from the field to the airport in way too much of a hurry. Anyhow, I had the privilege of being frisked, escorted to the little white room and held, interviewed by the director of security for Memphis International Airport, and finally released after about an hour. The only positive part was my flight got delayed for mechanical issues and I actually made the flight home. A few weeks later I received a letter from TSA reprimanding me and a fine of $150.

In addition to Cushmans suggestion of not calling the FBI while intoxicated, I would like to add not attempting to fly with even the smallest amount of explosives.

Anyone else have a story?
 
I had a rifle cartridge in my carry on backpack. I also got a letter from TSA, but no fine.
 
I had a rifle cartridge in my carry on. They just took it and let me go on my way.
 
I had one of those hidden secret knives in a hidden part of my wallet that I had forgotten I even had while trying to go through the Bozeman airport. I got some pretty dirty looks
 
Do not go to rural Mexico in 1984 with your roommates and act like the precursor to the Hangover movie. You will find yourself in a rural Mexican jail, confronted with the possibility of being there for life; a life that will be very short when placed in a cell that contains six of Mexico's most hardened criminals who share one mattress and a slop pail. The stench alone will probably kill you, and if not, surely the disease and conditions will.

When the local Sheriff offers to let you free for $500 and you only have $84, you are happy to give him the keys to your buddies new Toyota 4x4 if he will let you go back to your camp that night. When you get to your camp, you will grab your other vehicle and head north well in advance of your 9am sentencing, not hearing, sentencing, the next morning. Your obligation to pay 25% of the price of a new Toyota SR-5 seems like the deal of the century when faced with the alternative.

And people wonder why we will never film a show in old Mexico.
 
I had to give my one of my good buddy's a piggy back ride for a half mile on our senior trip so he would not go to jail in Mexico. The scary part is my other buddy grabs me by the shoulder and says if he goes to jail we all go.
 
I was taking a few boys that I was mentoring (in absence of their father due to divorce) bowhunting on public land in NC.

Due to the area we were hunting and me being foolish in my early 20s...I decided to take along my 9mm pistol in my fanny pack just in case needed for safety.

Anyway, after getting the boys settled in their stand I proceeded to locate a good tree for my climber. Just before dark rifle shots began to ring out all around us.

Knowing that there was no rifle seasons in effect I unveiled the 9mm pistol, gathered the boys, and proceeded on our trek out of the woods. Upon reaching the dirt road I was blinded by a suprise game warden armed with a maglight in hand.

I immediately put 9mm in hand behind my thigh and begin to answer questions...that's until asked for my license which were in my fanny pack. (Remember I'm 6ft from a game warden with a 9mm pistol in hand but unnoticed so far by the wildlife officer).

So instead of trying to stash the pistol so I could grab my license...which could make a bad situation worse I decided to notify the warden to "stay calm but I have a pistol in my hand and need to know what to do with it"

Short of shooting me....the game warden responded accordingly in words and action.

I got off with just a $150 fine and a temporary confiscation of my weapon.

That was not a fun night
 
In my college days I drove a 79 LeBaron (affectionately know as the Cruz-LeBaron to all who know me to this day). One January Saturday night in Muncie, IN it was decided that 6 of us from the fraternity NEEDED to go to the local spot, Papa Lou's Chugg. As it was about -10, a foot of snow and I had the only vehicle capable of carrying 6 yours truly was volun-told to drive. The deal was that I would drive TO the bar and another Brother would drive back. The night started and then.......I woke up on the couch in the house the next morning. I stumbled over to the front window to check on ye olde Cruz-LeBaron. As I was a senior I had my own dedicated spot but it was empty. Various "oh shit" scenarios swept through my mind. I woke up one of my boys and asked where my car was. He turned a lil white and pointed across the street. My car was perfectly parallel parked on the street in the snow. When asked who drove us how he replied "YOU!!". Apparently I had driven home black-out drunk, parked and barely stumbled into the house. Talk about a "Come to Jesus" moment......I have NEVER driven "on the bottle" since. I figured all of my good luck/grace had been used up and I didn't have to be told twice.
 
When I was a kid, my dad moved us to Nairobi Kenya for three years. Hunting was still legal, and we did quite a bit of safari with camera and rifle. My knowledge of Swahili was enough to doing shopping and barely communicate. Twelve years later I spent a summer with a group of Oral Roberts University students in up-country-off-the-tourist-circuit part of Kenya and further brushed up on my Swahili.

Eight years later I took my wife to Kenya to show her the country. Huge changes in population had occurred over the years since we first lived in Nairobi. The old road names had been changed from the colonial era to reflect Kenyan heritage. Where large coffee plantations had been there were now large housing tracks. Everywhere you looked,there were people walking around with cellphones in hand. Nearly modern shopping malls sat where farmer markets once stood.

After spending a few days in Nairobi and the surrounding neighborhoods, Mrs kansasdad and I rented a four wheel drive and took off for the hinterlands. We drove down the old Rift Valley escarpment road, and came in the "back way" to the mission hospital at Kijabe. When we told our friends how we drove in, they reminded us that Kenya had changed from the "old days" and some roads, like the one we had just used were only to be traveled during daytime, and in a caravan of cars for safety from highwaymen/robbers.

Leaving the mission station the next day, we headed out for an even more remote area of Kenya, using the main Uganda highway. Unlike our highway system, the roads do not have a posted speed limit, instead the vehicles on the road are assigned a maximum speed. This limit is displayed on the big lorries (African equivalent to our semi's) of 40 KPH, matatus (public transportation)60KPH and commercial vehicles such as our rented land rover type car is 80KPH.

Steep rolling terrain had our underpowered car topping out on the crest of the hills at 60 KPH, so I was gunning it hard on the downhills to maintain at least 80 KPH at the next hill crest. Little did I know that Kenya had upgraded their national police force to include radar speed detection. At the crest of the next hill was a Mercedes wagon with a cherry on the top, and four Kenyan policeman. One of the Askaris was holding a handheld radar gun, and the biggest Sargent waved me over to the side of the road. Rolling to a stop, as I was reaching for my passport, AAA drivers license and rental agreement, the Sargent came up and in rapid fire Swahili told me I had been going at least 20 KPH over my cars assinged limit .

I understood his Swahili just fine, but decided to play the dumb tourist and asked him in my most polite American English tone, " what seems to be the problem, officer?" He again told me in Swahili that I had been caught red handed for speeding, and as he spoke, he put his hand out in the African traditional way of asking for something, and said he was looking for a little "chai". "Chai" is translated literally as "tea" or in this instance, a slang term that signifies a bribe. Once again I perfectly understood his Swahili, knowing that I might get out of a ticket and a trip before a judge to pay a fine for speeding, if I just greased his palm with a little "chai" but decided that playing dumb might be my best bet.

He switched over to English, but it seemed as if he was not really comfortable speaking English, and for a third time told me that I had been speeding. Holding out his hand to make sure I saw it, he glanced down at his hand with a look that said pay me now and I'll make this all go away. I was slow to respond, and did consider paying a little chai to grease the skids of "justice". I must have hesitated just long enough and he finally said in his heavily African accented English, " you have been a very bad man, you must not do this again!" He waved us on, and you can be certain that for the rest of our trip in Kenya, I was very aware of my speed.

HuntTalkers: no speeding in Africa!!
 
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I must have been 8ish and had myself a Red Ryder BB gun (you know "you'll shoot your eye out"). My little brother had this gigantic bottle of bubble mix so we get this great idea of shooting the bubbles. I missed every bubble and on the final shot I proceeded to shoot the driver's side window out of my mom's car. The first (and only) legitimate ass whoopin I had ever got. Mom still has that BB gun hid somewhere and not for the lack of me searching for it either.
 
I have a life lesson story about a Mexican stripper in Tijuana, but it's not HT friendly :D

I to have been to those strippers in Tijuana!!! Better left untold!! I did fly to San diego once to see some friends and when I got there I went through my carry on and found a brick of .22 shells!! I left them there instead of trying to sneak them home!
 
Going home for Thanksgiving last year my wife brought a pack that we'd used as a day pack for hiking earlier in the summer. Didn't think twice about misplacing a fully-loaded magazine for the pistol while out hiking. TSA was gracious enough to find it in the mesh side pocket of the day pack! I tried to talk them in to letting me take the empty mag through security but even that wasn't happening.


Waiting to deploy to Afghanistan out of Norfolk, Virginia, my team and I went barhopping. After pre-gaming a bit in the hotel room prior to our evening out, we let one of the girls choose the first bar of the night. Things were already spinning a bit upon our arrival and I was feeling good. Walking up the stairs to this place a gentleman commented that he really liked my flannel shirt. I thought nothing of this and replied in kind that he had himself a nice flannel, as well. When we got to the main dance floor it dawned on our team that there was quite a bit of guy-on-guy dancing and girl-on-girl dancing. Unbeknownst to the rest of us the girl that had picked our first bar of the evening was a lesbian, and had picked one of Norfolk's hottest gay bars. We left rapidly there after.
 
A few life lessons from John
No matter how fun or easy it is, it's much cheaper to buy fish from your local store than the cost of fines after getting caught fishing in a hatchery. I was 16 at the time and me and a buddy thought we'd never get caught!
It's bad juju to urinate between the bushes and the church your about to get married in!
Thankfully I only got a stern look from the TSA agent when they discoverd a 40cal round in my carry on bag that I know I looked over at least twice before heading to the airport.
 
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