There are strange, unusual, unique experiences while hunting, or afield, there are ones that give you a start, and ones that have you fearing of loss of life.
In terms of getting a rush of flight or fright adrenalin, the one that comes to mind was the first time I had a muskrat pop up from under the ice, then out of my spear hole, and into my dark house while winter pike spearing.
Another time I had borrowed a friends springer spaniel to go pheasant hunting. We were walking into a stiff NW wind when the dog jumped into the bed of a mature whitetail buck who never heard or smelled us coming. He immediately took to stomping and goring the dog with its antlers. I ran up and shouted, but the buck ignored me. I then shot a load of high brass 4s over its back. Finally I leveled on its shoulder and fired. At that point he noticed me and started to circle until I leveled another round at its head from about 30 feet, where it died. The dog was still on the ground seemingly in shock and full of blood, I learned later was mostly from the buck that had been standing over him when I shot him the first time. I carried the dog out and back home where he quickly recovered. Later that day my friend and I talked to the farmer and a conservation officer about what happened, went back and retrieved the 8-point buck. It all happened very quickly. My only fear was for that dog. He was a good one.
The only time I can recall being fearful for my life was when I was 13. At that time we lived in Kailua on Oahu. My spearfishing/skin diving buddy and I had snorkeled out to the Mokulua islands off Lanikai beach to spear fish in the pool on the backside of the island. After we were done we decided to go up and over with all our gear rather than walk around. We quickly learned it is far easier to climb up versus climbing down as the sheer rock wall started getting pretty loose and crumbly. We were extremely relieved to reach the top after clinging and clawing our foolish a�es off that cliff.
