Your most memorable hunts (Anything goes)

[riverbowman]

I was hunting on the Oklahoma side of the red river and was calling to a gobbler over on the Texas side. I had him strutting for half an hour and he finally flew to an exposed sand bar in the river. I spent a other 20 minutes or so trying to get him to fly over to OK. He wasn’t budging, then all of the sudden two hens from my side flew out there. He strutted around them for a while and they flew right back within 15 yards of me. He flew over following them and i shot him at less than 10 yards. It was awesome.

[bps3040]

Your most memorable hunts (Anything goes)

My favorite is a hunt my buddy shot a 7 pointer at 74 Ranch. We used to go there twice a year. They basically put each group on 200-250 acre pasture. You are not allowed to cross fence lines tracking your deer. You have to grab a ranch hand to cross over and track

My buddy shoots a buck and we track it to the fence line. We call the ranch hands and they said they will meet at us at a certain gate. My buddy goes to meet them. The rest of us wait at blood trail.

Well, they come the back way instead, so my buddy misses tracking his own deer. They brought a tracking dog and a hog dog.

We climb through fence and let the dogs loose. We go about 100 yards and the buck stands up. He proceeds to barrel roll tracking dog for about 30 yards. Pushing him with his antlers. Dog is screaming and making all sort of god awful noises. (Turned out he was ok, needed stitches, had a bunch of lumps and scrapes)

Buck takes off with hog dog, ranch hand and me in pursuit. We were way ahead of everyone else. Buck gets to a little rise and jumps over it. Turns out it was the creek bank. He jumps, HD right behind him. RH and I get there and jump to bottom. While we are in midair, buck is doing a headstand on HD, driving him into creek bottom with his antlers. He then does a flip, lands on his feet. Pointed at us. We land about 2' in front of him. I thought we were dead, his eyes were crazy...(one of the main things I remember is how is eyes changed. Weird the things that stick with you) he lunges at us and at the same time, HD grabs his rear leg! He slips and stumbles....

This where I get stupid. RH yells grabs his antlers.. And so, I did, we both did. There is about a foot of water in creek bottom. He yells drown it! So, we try drowning this buck. He went berserk! We are hanging on for dear life, he is flinging us everywhere! If not for HD, we would have been screwed. He would not let go of the rear leg.
Thank God.

This goes on for what seems like hours, but in reality probably 30 seconds. We are "drowning" the buck (yeah, right), really just trying to hang on! We hear a loud scream, find out later we both thought same thing, that the other had been gored. But it was another RH who jumps off the bank and proceeds to stab the buck 10-15 times. Screaming like a mad Indian the whole time!

To say the adrenaline was flowing is an understatement. It was amazing! My buddy who shot the buck, missed the whole thing. He ended up getting the buck mounted, because of the story behind it.

[SCREAMINREELS]

Numerous hunts in a deer blond as a kid carving on my dad's stand with his pocket knife watching deer through binoculars and being kinda spooked walking to his stand in the dark because he didn't believe in flashlights if there was any moon. (We didn't have a 4 wheeler) and being told to cover my ears when he shot one.

As a hunter my first hunt I was by myself and successful on a deer outside San Angelo in miles. Biggest buck I ever killed in Oklahoma stalking in my avatar.

My first dove hunt as an adult with friends cooking in the field drinking lots of beer etc. Opened my eyes to a fun style of hunting with friends and letting loose a little. Wasn't a big bird hunter before that.

[Ryan81]

Thanksgiving morning 2017. This whole year was rough until this hunt. Had not seen much on camera or in person compared to 2016 at 3 different stands. It was my first time taking a rifle simply so I could put a doe down quickly and go eat lunch with the family. A 21.5” wide 8 point walks out. And I was glad I took the smoke pole as he wasn’t coming in bow range. Taped out at 136”. The tract I shot it on was a small 23 acre place I purchased a few months earlier so it made it even better.

Next one was Nov. 27, 2018. Some of you may have seen my thread but my Polaris caught on fire at 6:40 while I was in the stand so I got down to make sure it wouldn’t get out of control. Finally decided to walk back and get my bag out of the tripod about an hour later. Had an 8 point walking in as I was. Eased on up and leaned up against the tripod for a steady shot. He wasn’t the biggest but definitely a hunt I’ll never forget.





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[huntingfanatic]

Too many details to post but my most memorable hunts are the ones in which my four sons killed their first deer. I can't remember all my hunts but those four are clear in my mind. Tops anything I ever did

[Native Texan]

Cold. That’s what I remember. Bone chilling, skin numbing, teeth chattering , body shaking uncontrollably, borderline hypothermia cold.

It was New Years Day 1979. My older brother Richard had booked a 4 man guided duck hunt with Forrest West’s Los Patos Lodge, and our brother-in-law Tommy and his friend George and I were looking forward to a great hunt with one of his best guides Gene Campbell. Forecast was calling for below freezing temps with rain and strong winds, but we were determined to go no matter the weather.

A little after midnight as we all piled into George's extended cab Ford pickup and hit the road, the thermometer at the house read 34 degrees. The 100 mile drive to Winnie was made shorter by stories of past hunts and new Aerosmith songs on the radio. About halfway through the trip the rain hit, a constant drizzle with periods of heavy stuff that beat down so hard on the truck that it blocked out the music on the radio. We knew it would not be a comfortable hunt, but all agreed not to turn back.

We got to the truck stop in Winnie before the guide was to meet us and were just finishing up a warm breakfast when a guy in camo walked in and stood looking around. He slowly walked over and said "Ya'll wouldn't be going duck hunting would you?" We looked at each other, gave hesitant nods, and Tommy answered with a quick "Yep". The disappointment showed on Gene's face as he replied "Oh shait". He tried to talk us out of going, explaining how miserably cold and wet it would be, but we were determined to hunt.

As we piled back into George's truck for the ride to the boat ramp, the drizzle had turned to a wind driven sleet and a thin sheet of ice had formed on the windshield. Bob Stevenson on the radio said it was 22 degrees and "only the die hards and fools will be duck hunting this morning".

At the boat ramp on the intercoastal canal Gene launched his big flatbottom jonboat, and I was sure he was wishing (and he later confirmed) the motor wouldn't start so he could go back to a warm bed. It started on the third crank. We donned our thin rubber waders, loaded our gear and set off into the darkness as the q-beam lit up the rough choppy water and windwhipped cane on the shore. The sleet had lightened up a bit but still stung as it pelted any exposed skin. I snuggled up to Gene's black lab for extra warmth as he took us up the big canal and through a maze of smaller canals.

He slowed down so we could all hear him and hollered "Ya'll get down low and hold on...we're going to jump this levee." We all grabbed anything solid and hunkered down as Gene gunned the motor and launched us 10' across the 2' high levee, lifting the outboard at the last second. Unbelievably, even with all the weight in the boat we cleared it to the other side. A few minutes later he beached it at a tall cane covered levee and we grabbed our guns and gear from the boat.

A short walk down the levee and we encountered the next obstacle...an ice covered 2x12 "bridge" that spanned a dark muddy canal. We took turns inching our way across the slippery board, knowing the misery that would reward any misstep and plunge into the icy water and bottomless mud. The relief of making it across safely was tempered with the realization that we would have to cross it again on the way out.

Gene led the way to a large marsh pothole covered in whitecaps and sideways bobbing decoys where we settled into pit blinds...after checking them for snakes. With only a few minutes until legal shooting time, we could hear the ducks jetting overhead and barely make them out against the slate grey sky.
The sleet got heavier, the wind now a constant 30-35 mph, and the temperature had dropped to 19 degrees by the time our experienced guide told us to load our guns and get ready. The first group that rode the wind over the dekes was a huge flock of Greenwing Teal and Gene hollered over the deafening gale, "Take em!"

The next hour was truly magical. Hardly a minute passed without multiple flocks of ducks zipping by or circling around low over the water looking for a protected landing. Pintails, Teal, Gadwalls, Wigeon, and Mallards filled the sky and ignored the barrage of fire as they sought refuge from the weather.

We missed way more birds than we hit, a combination of fast targets, numb hands and eyes squinting to shut out the biting wind and stinging ice taking it's toll on our wingshooting skills. The layered flannel shirts, thermal underwear, rubber waders and plastic parka did little to stop the biting wind and I was shaking from the bitter chill and the excitement of the moment. Gene was sitting behind me calling the shots and saw how cold I was. He pulled out a thermos and offered me a cup of coffee which I gladly accepted, downed in one gulp and handed him back the cup. "Did you throw that coffee out" he sternly asked. "No sir, I drank it and never felt how hot it was", I replied. He poured me another cup that was downed as eagerly as the first.

Tommy shot a beautiful Bull Sprig that the dog brought back alive with only a broken wing and he tucked it under his parka, keeping it alive to use as a handwarmer. Gene did most of the retrieving so his dog could avoid the icy water, and Tommy picked up some of the birds too. Richard, thin and unable to handle extreme cold hunkered down in his pit and quit shooting to conserve his body warmth. George's firemans hip boots offered little protection and he got wet from sitting on the icy slush in his pit. After that first hour we didn't have our limit of birds, but had reached our limit of cold. Gene asked if we had enough and we all agreed to pack it up. As we climbed from the pits he spotted a lone low blue goose bucking the wind making a beeline for us and said it was mine. I dropped him with one shot as he fought the wind and he fell at our feet, finishing our shooting for the day.

The walk back to the boat, the "bridge" crossing and the ride back to the ramp was uneventful other than the boat not clearing the levee and having to get out and push it the last few feet across.

Back at the lodge we enjoyed a great HOT meal of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, black-eyed-peas, and turnip greens as we admired all the mounted birds on the wall and wondered what stories they could tell.

Forrest West sat down with us and told us that out of 50 parties booked that day we were the only group that hunted. As bitterly cold and miserable as the hunt was we had no regrets whatsoever...we made memories to last a lifetime.

[Johnny Dangerr]

People.

First hunt was in N Harris County. Put 2 poachers in jail - warden confiscated their 4 wheeler and guns.

Second hunt was in San Saba. A buddy and I did a quarter mile hike so we could aproach the poachers blind from the rear. No one was their. We took their feeder and chopped up the blind into pieces......

[Fishndude]

I went on a hunt by myself, soon after my daughter passed. I was not alone.

[skeeter]

In 2016, my dad, son and I went to South Africa. Celebrated my sons 16th bday while we were there. My son killed his first blue wildebeest with the same bow I killed my first wildebeest with! Great trip!

[Dry Bones]

A property I was able to hunt for a couple seasons not far from the Trinity proved to be a real memory maker a couple years back. We had a small piece of land (just under 100 acres) we were allowed to hunt and close to the end of the season I was still after a really big 8. I had a smaller deer moving through that I never really paid a lot of attention to. My dad had just went through knee replacement surgery, and for a man that has NEVER had a day when he could not do what he wanted, he was not dealing with it well. I got permission to take my dad out and put him on the mostly unknown deer. What came out of it was a young, but VERY nice 12 pt.
It was the last season we were going to have the place to hunt and the owner said shoot what makes you happy and legal.
The buck slipped through a drainage just after sunrise and I quickly identified him. I told dad not to look at his head just shoot when he stopped. That's exactly what he did. Then looks at me and says.. What is it?
I had missed a couple kickers the came off other points and what I believed to be a a decent 10 turned into the 12 . It's the best deer my dad has shot and we possibly could have taken it with a bow from the ground. He was pretty close and we were under a cedar. I keep the pic of dad and the deer on my work desk to remember the hunt. He has it mounted in his living room.

[txpitdog]

Kinda weird but the one hunt that always comes to mind whenever posts like these come up or my kids ask what my favorite hunt was is a simple morning squirrel hunting by myself. It was a bitterly cold grey morning, so quiet it seemed desolate. I was on the 200 acres that came with the farmhouse I was renting at the time, walking along the tree line of old oaks between pastures with my Browning Buckmark. I got 6 squirrels that morning, had no one to share the experience with, but it kinda seemed like it was supposed to be that way anyway. Don’t know why this hunt comes up over and over but it just sticks in my mind more than others.


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[kck]

I went on a hunt by myself, soon after my daughter passed. I was not alone.

The prayers will continue amigo.

[TheHammer]

I went on a hunt by myself, soon after my daughter passed. I was not alone.

Still tough for me to even imagine. Prayers up

[be12hunt]

My own personal was the first time I shot anything with my bow. My dad was in the stand with me and a pig came out. I sent an arrow away that missed, I completely forgot to aim. My dad laughed and calmed me down. A few minutes later the pig came back and I drilled it. My first deer was cool too because my now wife was with me.

A funny story one time was my dad, my best friend and I were hunting our place in the hill country. My dad shot an old scrub buck and jumped it getting out of the stand. After he picked us up we all went tracking and jumped him again. We waited in the dark for about another 30 minutes and walked up on him but he was still barely alive. My dad tried to stab his throat and that sucker came alive. He bucked and kicked around all three of us until my buddy got a clean shot with his pistol and dropped him.