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Many moons ago a friend gave me a 3 day hunt for deer in Georgia at a 'lodge'

After settling in I met a group of 4 that have been there for a day or two. They were all retired and from the Tidewater area. One I'm pretty sure was an ex-spook (he was a nice guy).

They were sitting around whilst the 'noisy' one of the group told a story. When he finished I said 'That sounded like a NO SHiETTER story'

He replied, 'You'll know more about life when you grow a little older, son'

I replied 'Gee, I figured 19 years in the military has hardened me a bit, but maybe I'll pick up some good info here' (the ex-spook just smiled)

After returning from the first evening's hunt I told the owner I had seen 2 smaller bucks within 30 yards of me and one decent buck RIGHT at dark but never had a shot.

The other 4 hadn't seen anything and immediately the NOISY one asked the owner what stand I was in. He showed him on the map and then asked 'What is the next nearest stand to that'

The guide pointed on the map and the NOISY one said 'That's where I want to hunt in the morning'

The guide said 'We don't like to put people that close together'

The NOISY one said 'I don't care, I'm paying and that's the stand I want to be in'

Before the owner had a chance to respond I said 'Put him in that stand, or the stand I was in this evening, I'll hunt an entirely different area'

He said 'You don't have to do that' and I said it was fine.


You know the rest, the owner put me in a place a LONG away from the Tidewater bunch and the NOISY one in the stand I was in the previous evening.

I shot a nice buck shortly after sunrise, they didn't see anything but a few doe.

It was my only 'pay' hunt for big game, but rubbing the loudmouth's nose into it was worth the trip....

Scott we were at our favorite fly-in pike lake when a couple French Canadians flew in for some fishing. By the end of day one they had caught a half dozen or so, while we had racked up 150 by lunch time. They took note of this and that afternoon I found myself and my wife 20 yards from shore, casting, and catching one after another.
On a 35 square mile lake, these frogs decided to troll between us and the 20 yards to the bank.

I had to do it.....

I cast my lure, literally bouncing it off their transom and almost immediate;y was into a fish behind their boat. My wife played along, screaming " Its a WHOPPER!!!"

I played and released the fish well in sight of the frogs....and went on my merry way.



The Lodge owners have become fast friends over the years so when they ask what we want in camp I merely tell the " No French Canadians!"

Lander, Wyoming in 1948-49 was a small, remote ranch town of about 2500 people where the Great Depression was just starting to end. As a nine year old boy, I would spend my 15 cents at the Saturday matinee and then go hang out at my favorite place, Spaldsbury's Saddlery and Sporting Goods. What a wonderful place it was: odors of new and old leather, new and old horse blankets, pipe smoke, original Hoppes and gun oil, occsionally a faint whiff of whiskey. Glass cabinets full of old Colts and Smith&Wessons. Racks full of Winchesters, Remingtons, Marlins, etc. More racks full of surplus Krags, Springfield bolt guns and trapdoors. Fishing gear too. Spitoons and sawdust on the floor.
One day a brand new Winchester 67 Youth appeared, price only $13.00 IIRC. I had some Christmas and birthday money squirreled away and conned Dad into spliting the cost. I didnt have to sign for it but Dad had to come down and carry it out for me.
I spent the next 3 years or so potting tin cans, stray crows and riding along behind Dad on old Poppin' Johnny, terrorizing prairie dogs. I learned to shoot with that gun.
At age 12 or 13 I got the hots for a new Remington model 512 at Spaldsburys, so I traded in the 67 on it This was in about 1952. Never looked back until much later in life.
In 1982, my Air Force career at an end, I moved back to Lander to start a new life. Every once in a while I would go to a gun show and see a Model 67 Youth and get a lump in my throat, longing for the days of my childhood and kicking my self for ever trading off my very first gun.
About 3 years ago my wife and I stopped at a yard sale put on by an older fellow here in town. He had some guns on a table and there it was, a Winchester 67 youth in very good condition. Got to chatting him up about it and asked him the history of the gun. He said he got it for his little son but the kid never took an interest in it, so it had been in the back of the closet for the last 50 years. I asked him where he got it, he said he bought it used at Spaldsburys in about 1952!! I gave him his $100.00 and ran for my truck , shaking like a leaf!
I cleaned it up and took it to the range to shoot a few cans, which I did, but it was difficult, I kept getting some smoke in my eyes.
My very first gun is back with me, and holds a place of honor in my safe. Life is good.

I've still got mine.

I poked a grizzly to death with a tooth pic I was chewing on.

All I had.

i've killed deer on more than one ranch, by waking up before everyone else that was invited and walking to the back fence line to wait for them to drive the deer to me while they were driven to their blinds.

Scott, Ingwe and Jnyork, Fantastic stories! Thanks for sharing gents.

JNY,

That's a great story!

That, Dear Sir is what I would call awesome! GFY,,, (good for you) grin.

Lotta holes in that story.

Excellent story jnyork, excellent!

Five of us were on a 5-day whitewater float/steelhead trip. On the third morning I was doing about a 2 1/2 mile upriver hike to a primo spot, so I was to be first up. The rest of the crew were doing camp water and could sleep a bit longer, so they asked if I'd light the fire and put the coffee on just before leaving. Not a coffee fan myself, but said "if you'll have it prepped I'd put it on the stove." Got up at 04:30 and found the pot ready to go on the ground beside my Coleman stove.

Fired it up, put on the pot, and headed out in the dark. I made it back about 10:00 AM just as the rest of the crew was drifting back into camp and prepping for our late breakfast. The guys finished off the last of the coffee drippings and someone offered to make up a fresh pot. When he lifted the percolator lid, there were about 50 bleached out earwigs and 3 beefy crickets laid out on top of the grounds.

Everyone agreed that the coffee really wasn't bad, but the pot's never been left overnight on the ground again.

Have a good one,

I wish Safariman would chime in, bet he has some good ones.

One time...

...I shot a Great White in the mouth with an M1, after it swamped the boat, ate our Skipper, and I threw a scuba tank down its throat.

....wait, what?!

My brother still has his Winchester 67. My mother was at a farm sale and bought it for about $3.00 and gave it to my brother. That was about 1948 or so.

Many many rounds of .22 through that fine rifle from both my brother and me.

L.W.

How about a hunting story/memory??????

This thread got me to thinking about some of the better hunts I've been lucky enough to be a part of. I'll do my best to recount a hunt that I took with a life long hunting buddy. Roger and I were Elk hunting GMU 66 near Lake City, Colorado in 1988 or 89 (I can't remember) and we both had muzzleloader bull tags. It was the 3rd evening of a 5 day hunt and we were not seeing many elk. We had hunted at about 9500ft the first 2 days and decided we would move up higher to timberline at about 11,000ft. We were hunting the LaGarita Wilderness Area and had not seen another hunter all day. As soon as the sun went behind the mountains we spotted several cows and a lone 6x6 bull come out of the dark timber and move into the open area above timberline. They were only about 600yards from us but between us was a creek drainage that would take at least an hour to climb down into, cross and climb back out of. We didn't have enough time so we planned on intercepting them in the morning when they headed back to bed down.

The anticipation of the next days hunt made sleep impossible for me that night. Finally it was time to head up the mountain.......

It had snowed about 2 inches during the night and it was cold as hell. We decided we would try to set up our ambush as close to the trail that they used the night before as the wind would allow. After finding what we thought was the ideal spot we waited for daylight. We could hear the cows chirping at each other but the bull never bugled. We had plenty of shooting light when the bull decided to take his cows to timber and bed them down but they were heading away from where they emerged from the evening before. Instead of walking into our trap the old bull took his girls to a patch of timber that was only about 200 yards long by about 70 yards wide.
We watched the herd enter the timber thinking they were just passing thru to the north facing dark timber. Wrong again !!!
They never left that small patch of Blue Spruce, Lodgepole Pine, and Quakies. We sat and watched them for about an hour then decided we would try and and move in on him and maybe one of us could get a clear shot. We agreed we would take all day covering the 100 or so yards if need be and to spread out by about 50 yards to get 2 different angles for a shot. We checked the wind for the 100th time and moved up a step at a time. With every step we took we would wait and make eye contact with the other before proceeding. It took us about 2 hours to get where we could see elk. The set up was perfect, wind was still good and the bull only had one cow between us and him. At about 90 yards I thought I had a shot but I just didn't have enough of his shoulder or neck so we pressed on. We were moving a foot at a time and every sense I have was at warp speed as well as Rogers. I felt like I was only 5 or 6 steps from a shot when Roger locked up like pointer on a covey and he wouldn't look left or right and I swear he wasn't even breathing. After staring at him for several minutes I finally saw the problem. Roger had a spike bull about 10 yards from him that had to have crawled out of a hole. That spike was not with the group when they entered that small patch of timber but he was dang sure was there now. The spike was already flaring his nose when I finally made him out. Seconds later he stomped his front right leg and barked one time. The next few seconds were closer to a stampede than anything else and neither of use ever fired a shot.

Sorry for the long post but it's nice to take a trip down memory lane ever so often. Man we had a great time and I'll always rate that hunt as one of my favorites even though we never busted a cap. Later Baker.

Quite a few years ago, was on an elk hunt with my stepson Matt and my hunting partner Scott. We were at the top of a steep ridge that many of my friends had nicknamed "the man-killer", and we spotted a herd of elk below us about a half mile out. There was about five or six inches of snow on the ground, that wet stuff that packs so good, and underneath that was some snow that had melted then frozen so it made for some really slick walking. Well we decided to drop off that ridge and head straight for that herd of elk, as they had decided to bed down in a patch of Quakies. Scott steps up and whispers, "I'll lead the way, take your time now and make sure you guys dig your heels in good because its going to be really slick". Well from the top of that ridge to the bottom was about 600 yards, and I think he made three steps before his feet shot out from underneath him and he landed flat on his back and went hauling ass downhill like a toboggan. It was all Matt and I could do to keep from laughing out loud at the sight. He had his gun slung over his shoulder and he was flopping all around trying to grab anything to stop his descent to the bottom. Well he went flying past this pretty good sized pine tree and he snakes his arm out to grab on to it and he managed to hold on. I can remember it like it was yesterday - straight out he was, about a foot off the ground and he sure enough came to a stop, then thump, he hits the ground. We were laughing so hard, I bet he had gone 60 or 70 yards down that hill. When we finally got control of our laughter, Matt decides he's going to go next. Picture perfect, three steps and in the same place his feet go out from underneath him and he's flat on his back shooting down the hill in the same path Scott just made. I thought I was going to piss myself I was laughing so hard. Well when Matt got to Scott, I might add in record time, since it was now packed down, Scott reached out and grabbed him around his chest - oh, he still had one arm around that pine tree. Well that stopped him alright, now both of them were straight out and a foot off the ground, then thump, they hit the ground. Needless to say I walked about 10 feet to the left of where they went down and started my descent...after I could finially stop laughing that is!

My dad bought a 67 back in the thirties paid $3 for it, got drafted in 42 and sold it for $4. He made it back in late 45 and bought the identical for $5. He shot squirrel, my sis learned to shoot with it as did I. I have it still and taken a number of rabbits and squirrels with it along with teaching my grandson how to shoot.
For an enhanced zip gun it has made and shot the rounds.

Dang hard to top this one.Great story Jn..