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  • Lets hear some funny hunting stories. I will post.

    Lets hear some funny hunting stories. I will post.

  • #2
    I can remember a duck hunt with one of my dads friends, who always fiddles around. We had split up to different bays. We saw lots of ducks fly over to his bay, but he wasn't shooting. When we came by with the boat to pick him up, he was just carrying the stock and receiver of his side by side. We asked him what happened. He took apart his gun to clean it and set the barrel aside in some reeds. Then some ducks flew in and he reached for it to put it back together. He couldn't find it. This was common from him though. ON another duck hunt, he shot sideways in the canoe at a goose with his ten gauge. We lost two shotguns that day. Another time, i was hunting with him, he was about 30 yards down the bank on the point. Lots of ducks flew by and i let them pass so he could shoot first. The ducks circled a few times and then came back to me, I shot and hit a few, then i heard him take a few shots. I asked him why he didn't shoot when they were circling. He just pulled out the paper and said he got caught up in an article. To me, its times like these that make hunting fun.

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    • #3
      Four guys pulled into Stillwater Reservoir in the Adirondacks late at night for a couple days hunting. They unloaded gear from the big Ford station wagon and started hiking into the woods to set up camp. They hiked for a long time till they found a good place to set up camp. In the morning, making a cup of coffee, one guy said hey, look at that and pointed to something off in the distance. They got a litter closer and found out it was their station wagon. They walked for hours in a big circle and wound up 100yds from the car.

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      • #4
        I think it was Patrick McManus who told the story about two brothers who hunted together, and each time the younger brother pointed out some deer sign, the older brother would remark that you can't eat deer sign.
        Then one day the younger brother brought along some chocolate-covered raisins and spread them on the ground, pretending to find another pile of deer sign. When the older brother made his usual comment, the younger brother picked up a handful and ate it.
        You can imagine the rest of the story.

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        • #5
          After hunting in Maine for an entire week, we were packing our trucks in the morning to go home.
          The cabin we rented was next to a large river. When we finish packing our vehicles the last thing we had to do was to grab the two bucks that were hanging on the meat pole. While we were carrying the bucks, my young cousin Steve fresh out of college asked “What are you going to do with the bucks.” My older Brother joking said “We going to throw them both in the river”. Steve ran in front of us and said “please guys don’t throw the bucks in the river.” We all broke up laughing and told Steve how gullible he was.

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          • #6
            In the early 60's, the law was "buck only" and he must have at least 3 (three) points.
            Chuck came back to camp after the morning hunt and asked, "How many points does a buck need to be legal?"
            Knowing the only shot heard that morning was Chuck, Sonny looked at hom blankly and stated, "Four."
            "Okay," Chuck said, turned and left camp, stopping at his car momentarily.We followed at a distance until he relocated his deer. When we walked up, he was desperately trying to file a fourth point on his "legal" three point buck!

            Chuck told us about a group that got together and bought a hunt on the "King's"Ranch. The were quartered at a "foreman's" house with instructions that the Mexican couple would "host" them.
            The next morning, they stepped into the kitchen and Mamacita offered them pancakes or eggs for breakfast. They decided on pancakes.
            Mamacita stepped to the rear of the wood stove where a hound lay sleeping on a burlap feed sack. She kicked the hound, cursed it in Tex-Mex, grabbed the feed sack, wiped off the top of the wood stove with the sack and began cooking pancakes!
            According to Chuck, they never asked for pancakes again!

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            • #7
              One morning me and my dad were squirrel hunting. We snuck up on one and I was about to take a shot with my 870 when I heard music. My gun was still trained on the squirrel when me and the squirrel froze. Then I looked at my dad and he was answering his phone! When I looked back at the branch the squirrel disappeared.That's a lesson to always shut off your phone in the woods!

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              • #8
                last spring gobbler season I was workin a bird in GA's Redlands WMA, when I heard another hunter calling to the same bird. I gave a hoot owl call to let him know to back-off. I gave a few yelps about 10 min later, bird gobbled and again I heard the other caller, this time closer. So I gave a quick crow to once again alert him that I was there. After a few more minutes I could hear the gobbler drumming and gave another call. Suddenly, the other guy starts cuttin like crazy. I gave a hoot again, pleading with him to stop. The other guy then answers every call I give with one of his own. By now the gobbler is long gone, fed up with such shenanigans but this guy keeps on calling. So I decide to have some fun and continue with some soft yelps and cluck and purrs.
                another 10-15min go by when I see someone trying to belly crawl up the side of the low hill opposite of me and set up 80 yards from me.
                At that point I stood up and waved then walked out. He acted just like a frustrated gobbler. Hung back as long as he could, but eventually had to come check it out.

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                • #9
                  this past november I had a great day in the deer woods. My buddy didn't and was on his way to meet me. I texted him and told him to hang back. A little while later a big bodied buck walks under my stand at 5 yards and I drill him with my Hoyt bow.
                  He circles back out to this cut cornfield and as I watch him go down, I notice my buddy sitting in the background.

                  He later told me that he watched the buck cross the field, seen me draw, and heard the impact of the arrow. More details and photos of the buck at www.deer30outdoors.com/maryland-rut-in-full-swing/

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                  • #10
                    ok last one, When I was a kid I floated a small river (you could almost cast a heavy lure across it) in MD with my uncle and his friends for ducks and geese in winter. We put in and had floated about 1/2 mile when we hit some slow water that was frozen, SOLID! the ice was over 5" thick. So we could go no farther and would have to walk the canoes out. Since the ice was thick, we got out and was walking over to the bank, when the ice broke and my uncle fell through. Now this section of river was only about 3 feet deep but it was single digits air temps and he was going to be in trouble. So we all sacrificed a few layers and my uncle had to strip off his wet clothes right there on the river bank. I still remember, he kept claiming "shrinkage!"

                    We then walked the canoes across a couple pastures to a nearby farmhouse. I was elected to knock on the door despite the fact that I was just a kid and was only wearing long john pants because my uncle now had my bibs on. Luckily the sweetest little ol' lady answered and was more than happy to give us a lift.

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                    • #11
                      Mom took me on my first deer hunt with her girlfriend because Dad had work. As they were talking about an approaching deer and if it was a buck the buck approached to 20 yards. I missed and it ran away. While they were discussing it aloud an hour later it returned and I emptied the weapon on it missing every time. Moms friend then tried to pee in the woods but forgot she was wearing pantyhose so we went home. The trip just went downhill from there.

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                      • #12
                        That's good Hobob! LOL!
                        My mom grew up in the Depression Era. Last thing she wanted to do was go hunting!

                        One more.
                        A work pal invited me on a dove hunt. The first "push" of the day was across a cut over maize field. We walked up lots of birds, but Jack knocked one down and was having trouble locating it. The "drive" stopped and I stepped over to a patch of bare ground for a smoke. Jack finally found his bird and was returning to the line when I felt pain! Looking down, I suddenly realized I was standing in a bed of red ants!
                        I ended up standing in the middle of a cut over maize field wearing nothing but my skivvies and a camo tee!!! The whole "drive" got a real kick out of my antics!

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                        • #13
                          I assume you're only looking for true stories. This is one I posted a few years ago. I will admit, it was not all true. (The buck was slightly larger than I reported. Hate bragging on the Internet...)

                          Once, when I was still a bowhunter and not yet graduated to high-caliber rifles of enormous potential, I came upon a very nice 5 X 5 buck, marking his dominance into an old barbed-wire fencepole. I approached him head on, and the wind must have been swirling, because he nosed me and jerked his head up to look for the source of said scent. In doing so, he managed to snag, then securely anchor himself, in the fence; first on his rack, and eventually on the fur around his head as he struggled. Excitable in my youth, I thought it Providence that this buck be “shewn to me” and I drew back. I was going for a poorly-chosen head-on chest shot, but upon hearing the “twang” of the bow, the beast tried to duck! With his neck firmly anchored it amounted to more of a collapse, and my broadhead cut along his back from base of skull to tip of tail down to the backstrap. This added new strength to the buck! Wrenching himself from the fence, he actually started to de-cape himself! As I fumbled for another arrow he continued to snort, tug and further extricate himself from his fetters at the expense of his hide. Soon he was stripped naked, down to his hooves, when the barbed wire gave way, with only a three-foot piece still wrapped around his antlers. With a mighty tug, he finished his impromptu self-skinning job Leaving his entire hide caught on the demolished fence. With no discernable effect he turned and ran back along the fence, towards an old depository of farming implements, beer cans and plum thickets common in these parts of the Appalachian foothills. Now, up till now, any reasonable person could see the plausibility and utter truth of my story, but I will admit, it gets hard to swallow from here on out. I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but I believe that he ran past an old pickup whose only functioning part happened to be the drivers-side mirror. He must have caught a glimpse of himself; skinned and entangled in barbed wire, and suffered what I can only describe as “fright-induced-instant-death syndrome”, or FIIDS, as I have seen it referred to in whitetail management circles. As wild animals are often wont to do, (remember the chicken stories your Grandmother told you) although for all practical purpose being dead on the hoof, reflexive motion caused the buck to turn back towards our deer camp at a dead run (literally) and attempt to jump over the same fence that proved to be his Waterloo. He made a poorly-timed attempt to clear a wicked-looking metal fencepost, failed, and gave himself a nasty slice from brisket to paunch on the tip of the post. As his reflexes gave out, he managed a strange head-first twisting jump and snagged the remaining barbed-wire high in an overhanging branch of and old Burr Oak. By the time I caught up, panting and sweating, a strange silence hung over the deserted camp. There was the majestic buck; skinned, gutted, and hung not 10 yards from our campfire. All that was left for me to do was affix my tag, and my season was ended. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen, and true as the day is long. That deer is mounted and hung above the dining room table. It cost me extra to have the taxidermist mount the neck without any fur, but I think the remaining strand of barbed wire in his left antler is the finishing touch. Forgot to add: He green scored 197 12/32, and dried slightly larger to an amazing 200 1/5 inches on the nose.

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                          • #14
                            My father aside, my greatest hunting mentor is his close friend "uncle" steve. Steve has ALOT of stories similar to this but here is a good one. He grew up on a 240 acre piece that his family farmed. They didnt have much at all, and his mother made his clothing, in particular a green and black checkered hunting coat, which was ideal for standing in for thickets. Steve was about 16, out hunting alone on day when duty called, and it was an emergency. His only option to wipe was either a coat pocket or his home made stocking cap. The cap was his favorite, so he chose to save that. After he wiped, he tossed his pocket further in the bushes. Two weeks later, after a long walk home from school, Steve walked into the dining room to find his mother stitching his pocket back on to his hunting coat, praising herself for finding it while out hunting herself. He never had the heart to tell her it didn't tear off, he removed it for self comfort. He claims the jacket never seemed quite as comfortable after that.

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                            • #15
                              My father aside, my greatest hunting mentor is his close friend "uncle" steve. Steve has ALOT of stories similar to this but here is a good one. He grew up on a 240 acre piece that his family farmed. They didnt have much at all, and his mother made his clothing, in particular a green and black checkered hunting coat, which was ideal for standing in for thickets. Steve was about 16, out hunting alone on day when duty called, and it was an emergency. His only option to wipe was either a coat pocket or his home made stocking cap. The cap was his favorite, so he chose to save that. After he wiped, he tossed his pocket further in the bushes. Two weeks later, after a long walk home from school, Steve walked into the dining room to find his mother stitching his pocket back on to his hunting coat, praising herself for finding it while out hunting herself. He never had the heart to tell her it didn't tear off, he removed it for self comfort. He claims the jacket never seemed quite as comfortable after that.

                              Comment

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