Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Deer Hunting Share your "when I was a kid" stories

I was born in 52, I’ll be 64 this coming May. I don’t remember my first hunting trips because I was too young to remember. I think I was only maybe a year old when Dad started taking me duck hunting. He bought an old army back pack, cut some leg holes in and put me in it. Mom fixed my formula, gave him a set of dippers and off we went.
My mother liked to go squirrel hunting so that became a family affair. We would come up here to my dad’s families place and do our squirrel hunting. After the morning hunt my grandmother cook up squirrel and dumplings for lunch. Deer hunting didn’t come about the mid to late sixties. When deer season started I used my dad’s M1 carbine and he used a Savage 99EG in 300Sav that he bought in 50. My dad bought me a Winchester 30/30 model 94 centennial. It was a long barral sucker with a full length magazine. It held 10+1. I didn’t buy my first real deer rifle till I came out of the Navy in 75. I picked up a Marlin 444. Now I use a DPMS home built AR10A2 carbine clone.

Wolf

Born in 1975 here...I've got a few cool hunting stories about my dad.

A buddy of dad's used to come out from Verona and go hunting with us every year. Of course Dad would take him out behind the house to shoot their rifles before season. They would always set up a target(usually a couple beer cans) for his buddy to shoot to make sure his .243 was still on. After a couple shots Dad would have me take one of his .243 cases and stand it up on a wood fence post about 300 yards out. Dad would take his old M98(still with the original irons)...and shoot the post!!! His buddy never did catch on until the post fell over after several years...

I remember how at the end of season we used to pile all the deer in the back of a couple pickups and go to town to "register them" amazing how long that could take on a good year...thirsty work too. One year Dad had shot a NICE 10 point buck, but had also shot a dink nub buck(t-zone that year, had to shoot an antlerless deer to get a buck tag)...when we went to the tavern after we registered the deer, I slipped one of my cousin's baby bottles into the dink's mouth...everybody that came in asked who shot that "big" one out there, we just pointed to Dad...man was he pissed when we left and he saw that bottle...by the way this is the first time I've ever admitted it was me that done it, reall load off my chest LOL.

As a kid growing up on a WI dairy farm in the 50's, my hunting exploits were restricted until after morning chores. We didn't have any deer in our area yet, but we had lots rabbits, pheasants and grouse.

A couple of times each winter, Joe, a relative of my Mom and WWII veteran would show up early on a Saturday morning with his beagles to hunt our land. My Dad always liked Joe so it was hard for him not to let me tag along. Of course the chores were still waiting for me when we got back.

Joe and his three buddies all carried Remington 11-48's in 28ga and there was a case of Federal paper #6's in the back of the station wagon with the three beagles; Jerry, Bif, and Sally. There weren't too many times we didn't get our limit of bunnies along with some grouse and pheasants.

About the time I was 13, Sally (and Jerry) had a litter of pups and Joe let me have my pick of the litter. I took the one that looked most like Jerry and named him Jack. Jack and I roamed the fields and swamps every weekend during the season well into my college years.

Since this thread has broadened to 'other' hunting beside deer stories I have 1 I'd like to share.

I'm certain that some WILL NOT believe it but I swear on my Dad's grave that it is true.

In the mid 60s Dad and I were bird (quail) hunting with his Liver Pointer. Her name was Lou. She was a very good bird dog but this one thing was truly remarkable.

We were hunting on family farm land. Pasture and mixed woods and sage grass mixed around. We had already killed some birds, don't remember exactly, then we could NOT find Lou. We knew she was on point but couldn't find her.

Dad and I separated looking for her. After several minutes Dad and I met up w/o finding her. We kept walking and looking. Out of a small patch of timber Lou came to us almost crawling. When she saw us, she TURNED AROUND and 'slowly' went back where she had been.

Sure enough she took US to the covey of quail. I rememer that we killed 1-3 (?) but that was NOT important.

She came and found us and took us to the birds. That was before 1967 and I remember it as if it was yesterday.

TRUE STORY

Jerry

One of my first deer hunting memories is this picture, from 1950. I was five years old at the time. We didn't have any deer in our part of NE Wisconsin so my Dad and his buddies would head 'up north' near Star Lake for the season.

They built a 'camper' on the back of a cattle truck. It had a wood burner, kerosene lanterns, bunks, and table. During the off season they stored it in our hay barn. I remember playing in it with my buddies pretending we were going deer hunting!

My Dad is on the left with a Marlin 1893 in 38-55.

My memory is Rusty with Cobwebs--

Is that the rifle you "used" in Kansas this deer season?


You are only 5 (FIVE) years older than I am ? ?

That ain't good for either of us.



Jerry

Jerry

Well, yes, I used a 38-55 in Kansas last fall and also on the hog hunt in TN two years ago. But I can't swear to the fact that it is the rifle in the picture. Although I'm pretty sure it is.

The rifle in the picture was sold to a local barber when I was about twelve. Then about 10 years ago I bought it from the barber's son after his Dad passed away. I always had a hunch it was the same one and the main reason I wanted it back.

BTW--your memory is still pretty good!

Paul

When I started hunting as a kid, it was almost always "buck only". We would shoot any buck that dared to come by. Now you can kill 3 does per day.

Reading all of these stories makes me realize what different experiences we grew up with. We used to farm oats, barley and flax on the coast south of San Francisco. We were so over run with deer that we used to get depredation permits. We had a hunting club back then so used to have 20-30 guys show up for opening weekend. The season was buck only fork or more. One year we shot 16 the first day and 12 the second day. My grandfather stopped the hunt because we had more deer than we knew what to do with.
Today because of the increase in cougar population and they are protected you never see a deer.

Since we branched out from deer hunting, I'll throw another one out. Thanksgiving Day in Ohio always used to be a big rabbit and pheasant hunting day. Dad had a real good beagle, and an invite to join us for birds and bunnies was a highly coveted thing. Belle would literally run rabbits and birds till she dropped. Dad always issued the same advice to everyon hunting with us. Don't miss! Belle didn't take kindly to rabbits being missed. More than one man had that dog at his feet with her teeth bared, growling like she was ready to rip his leg off. The message was clear-"I'm doing my job-shoot the damned rabbit!"

When I was 12 and deer hunting with the family I had been making drives all day in the rain an was soaking wet. The men had been standing all day and were cold. The last drive of the day I got stuck out in a long north-south meadow and with the wind out of the north and the temps dropping like a stone.

After about 1/2 and hour my clothes were stiff as a board and I was in moderate hypothermia. About that time I hear something coming down a ridge that ran to the point where I was standing so I could see both sides. Out onto the meadow comes a big wolf and I was so fuzzy headed I didn't shoot even though it trotted by close enough I could have reached out with the gun and touched it. It no more than got past me and my uncle up on the hill put a 30-06 round into the meadow behind me. Scared the sh*t out of me and then I realized what I had done. I spun and did my best to hit it but I couldn't.

So, there I stand frozen, and just knowing for sure that my uncle was going to come down off that hill when the drive got done and gut me out. I also knew my dad wouldn't even make him shoot me first. About the time I was ready to take off across the creek that ran down the meadow, my uncle opened up on a doe. He managed to gut shoot her, but that's it and she's headed off the hill toward me at a very high speed. I managed to drop her about 70 yards north of me before she got to the creek.

Now, I felt better. At least I wouldn't get picked up by my hands and feet and heaved across the creek and then my gun tossed over to me with the admonition don't come back without her. I'd already been through that dance. now all I have to worry about is am I still going to get shot for the wolf. That was $50 worth of bounty and at least that much for the hide that I let get away, and that was a week's wages back then. I was usually tasked with making sets near the deer gut piles as that particular uncle had taught me, so I also knew how much work went into getting a wolf.

When the drive got done my uncle was the first one down to me and he chewed me unmerciful, but the knife never came out of the sheath. I grew up in a very German family and kids were just barely tolerated, and only then if they made decent slave labor in the summer on the farm. I was damn lucky I survived that mistake.