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OK here's your chance. What is your most interesting hunting or fishing story? Happy Myles I especially would like to hear from

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  • #16
    OK Del and Happy, he goes one from the southern swamps!

    I was 19 at the time and thought I was ten feet tall and bullet proof. It was early spring and I had taken my Jon boat complete with an old beat up outboard up river before dawn. My mission was a scouting trip for turkey. The plan was to stop at gobbling time and drift back down river and listen for gobblers, marking the locations on a topo map. I had taken a shotgun along as it was legal to hunt feral hogs on the WMA along the river. The catch was you had to use #2 shot or smaller. It was one of those rules that bureaucrats create to hinder and discourage rather than promote...

    I had bought a box of Peters 12 GA 3 3/4 - 1 1/4 - #2's and tested them through my guns modified choke. At 25 yards the loads blasted a ragged hole through a piece of scrap 1/2 plywood. After my research I was convinced that if I got into bow range a hog would be mine. As they say, famous last words, or in modern redneck parlance, "hey, ya'll watch this..."

    After drifting a couple of bends and hearing a bird gobble I heard something even more appealing, the loud squealing of several feral swine! I carefully beached my boat on a small sandbar downstream and down wind I might add. After shoving 3 of those lovely blue shells into my 12 gauge I began to stalk the hogs as if I was Ruark or Hathaway (never mind that I didn't know Hathaway was some what of a yarn spinner at the time).

    The hogs remained vocal and with the dampness of early morning the stalking was easy. I soon slipped up on a small herd of swine rooting in a stand of river cane. Bits and pieces of pork were visible here and there, the thick, musky, urine like smell of "hog" hanging in the cool air. Small grunts and squeals continued to come forth as I followed about 20 or so yards behind waiting for a clean head shot.

    After about 15 minutes of "following", my chance came in the form of a large spotted gilt which I guessed to weigh about 60-70 pounds, just right for BBQ! At the shot she hit the ground dead as a hammer. What I didn't expect was that the entire herd would spook and come right back down the old slough running right at me!

    All would probably have been well if I had just side stepped the fleeing pork parade, but... remember I was 19... I just couldn't resist putting two loads into a moderate sized boar with a good set of teeth. On the report of the second shot the boar hog hit the ground only to get up and run along behind the rest. The range at the shot had been less than 10 yards. Without the added adrenalin from the scare the 2 loads of big shot would probably have been plenty for the situation. The first shot took him at the base of the neck angling into the front of the shoulder the other, square in the shield from the side. Having been well taught about the folly of following up too quick on a wild hog, I decided to dress out the gilt and get her to my boat, and then I would deal with the boar.

    The ensuing events took about 30 minutes, a quick wash up in the river along with some country well water and I was ready to go get my boar. I picked up the collective trail at the point of the shooting, the two indigo blue hulls closely marking the spot. After following about 30 yards I began to pick up blood and mucous then a small bit of bone. The blood began to get heavy and it was full of bubbles, a good sign the #2's had made it to the lungs. I had stayed on the trail for almost 300 yards when the hogs crossed a slough full of water. I could plainly see the water on the the far side bank where they had exited. I waded off into the cold water and got up to my chest before coming out on the other side where I could make out the pinkness of watered down blood. I continued to trail the hogs more by dripping water than anything else. After about 100 yards I noticed that a set of tracks had split off to the side and headed away from the trail the rest were following, a spot of clotted blood about the size of a match head told me this was my boar.

    About 60 yards away was a blow down fresh from a spring storm, the top of the short leaf pine providing thick cover. A twitching branch told me my boy was now holed up waiting for death or his persecutor, which ever got there first.

    This is where being 19 and the "hey, ya'll watch this," came into play. I figured the boar was down and about out of gas, so I stood where I was and decided to wait for a few minutes... A few minutes passed, I was bored and cold and young and wanted all this to end, so I began a slow, edgy stalk toward the branch I had seen moving a few moments before. At ten yards he came for me, an explosion of pine boughs and black bristles. The first round broke his left shoulder at 8 long steps; the second broke the right at 5, the last centered between his eyes as he skidded to a stop at my feet.

    I learned some valuable lessons that March morning…


    • #17

      That's a great story. I never liked water up to my neck, I'm not very tall.

      My turn to crawl under the porch. Thank"s for the story.

      Kindest Regards


      • #18
        Thanks Happy!

        I enjoyed yours also. I wonder just how many hunters have been afforded an opportunity to take a grand old animal by both fate and infirmity? Maybe that is the way it should be...

        I hope we all can sit around that camp fire and partake of a little "Irish" coffee some evening and enjoy a few more tales.

        Until then,



        • #19
          Hey Happy,

          Get that work done. We are still waiting for the 3 legged lion story!


          • #20

            You understand. Both of the trophies time had come, and that was at should be. Hope that is the way for me some day.


            • #21
              Great stories both!! Now just keep 'em coming. Anybody else want to jump in?


              • #22
                There are folks that probably don't know what shields are. A boar hog has very thick tough gristle like skin over his shoulders for protection from the tusks of other boars. I have seen them stop 00 buckshot at 40 yds.


                • #23
                  The three legged lioness

                  I promised I'd write this, and it is not easy.

                  Must be forty years ago in Zambia, probably in Mulobezi or Schifulo,don't recall which,it was a 42 day hunt, and winding down. The government was in turmoil, which made the trip affordable for me. We had noticed strange tracks around a couple of leopard baits by a lioness which had puzzled us. A few days later an Elder from the local village approached us concerned about a lioness who was watching their village and seemed to be hungry.

                  The government scout declared we had to stop hunting and take care of the situation. Luckily we found her single track near one of our baits and eventually spotted her laboring along in some tall grass. It turned out she had lost a paw in a poachers snare, it was not infected but she could not hunt, and was skin and bones.

                  The poor animal went behind some medium grass behind an old low termite mound. She was 200 yards away. Her head reappeared through the grass on the low mound. The government scout ordered me to shoot since she was already crippled. I fired my 338 and she died.

                  we walked forward the boys with their axes at port arms to protect me and working on their tips. When we reached the animal i announced I was unloading my weapon and turned to my left, away from the PH and the Gov't
                  Scout, upon opening the noisy Remington 700 action with a roar the real crippled lioness charged from ten feet away. I slammed the bolt down and shot her in the head literally at my feet. We had never seen another lioness, the first may have been her daughter we will never know.

                  It took us a long time to find all the discarded axes but the boys were all safe back in the truck.

                  If not for poachers those two lioness would have had a longer life.


                  • #24
                    Great story Happy.


                    • #25
                      I was going to crawl under the porch with beekeeper, but scince Del went to all the trouble of puttin' up the tarp, the "spirits" are flowing, and because Mr, Myles asked, here goes.
                      Years ago, the state of Ark. started a 3pt(one side)or better rule on white-tail deer. We went out "squirrel hunting" on the day before gun season started to scout a "new" area. I found several scrapes and rubs("Hook bushes"step-dad calls em') in a area I liked.
                      Next morning we get a late start waiting on my little brother to get to mom's house. We get out to the area right at dawn and I'd told him about the area/set-up night before and on ride out.
                      Got into position and waited, about 45 mins. later I see a deer coming in from a "thicket" on my left, THERE'S HORNS(heart beating faster), but I only see forks(4pt.eastern count).He's still coming(did I mention I'm hunting on the ground), finialy he turns his head and there's the needed third point. I shoot, he runs, I wait then follow the blood trail, using T.P.(toilet paper) to mark my trail. Well I run out half way to the deer, and keep tracking. He crosses the fire road we came in on twice, as I cross back, my step-dad sees me and the deer(said I looked like a blood-hound on the trail) as I make it to the deer I hear a shot. I start draging him to the truck when I see my brother at the truck with a doe he's taken.
                      He starts yelling at me "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU ! I HEARD YOU SHOOT, CAME OVER TO HELP, SAW THE TRAIL AND FOLLOWED IT TILL IT RAN OUT ! I THOUGHT ALIENS GOT YOU OR SOMETHING ! He had set down to think about what to do next when three does walked by,so he shot one(single shot .243). We both got deer that year, and was the last time I got to hunt with him. He passed from heart disease the next year.


                      • #26
                        I've got a shooting/hunting story too.
                        Years ago(30+), Grand-parents took 9n my little brother and I for awhile(parents divorcing). For Christmas that year "we" got a muzzle loader "kit" for my Great-uncle "Pappy".
                        I got to help him put it together from "scratch", we took it out to the small farm he and my Great-Aunt(Grand-ma's sis) owned. We tied it to a stump, and ran out a string to the trigger. When asked why? Pappy replied "I've never put one of these things together and I'm a little scared it'll just blow up!" Well it did'nt blow and scince then 11 family members have ALL taken deer with that "FINE" old rifle, including one out at 127 steps(Pappy). It hangs above the fire-place now, maybe I'll take it out this year and "Go huntin' wuth Pappy again. Thank you guys, for leting me remember with you, fine fellows to listen.


                        • #27
                          Good story big O. Next time you might find an old tire. They are great for holding a gun to test fire without scatching the stock.


                          • #28
                            Thisthread has gotten really long so think i will start a new one.


                            • #29

                              Wonderful story. A great reflection on how things aren't always as they seem...




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