Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Strange or scary experiences while hunting...

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.

HA HA

Yep muskrats popping up in your spear hole in a dark house will scare the crap out of any man. My cousin and I have a 4 x 8 spearing shack with two large spear holes and a stove in the middle. One year we put it out near someones swimming raft, that for some reason, they left in the lake for the winter. The muskrats must have been living under it because them suckers would pop up in our holes all the time and hiss at us.

One weekend I couldn't go fishing so my cousin brought another cousin from the other side of the family. A rat popped up and he screamed and speared it and threw it out the door. A few minutes later, the same thing happened. When they went to leave they found two frost covered, shivering muskrats sitting under the pickup. My cousin felt sorry for them so he put on his gloves and picked them up by the tail and put them back in the hole they had been speared out of.

The next day they went down to fish and my cousins hole was clean as a whistle and the other guy's hole was plugged tight with weeds.

Another guy had a big azz beaver come flying up the hole and land on the floor of his shack. Water was flying all over the hissing stove. He went backwards right through the wall of his shack. LOL

More funny than scary. My brother and I were duck hunting on a really nasty night. Early, big time cold front coming through. Lots of snow, wind, and the ducks were on the move. A big bluebill buzzed the spread and my brother shot it as it passed over. The danged thing fell right in my lap and about flogged me to death with it's wings as it literally ended up in my lap.

Can't even count how many close encounters I've had with small critters when bow hunting. Red squirrels running up my pant leg in the tree stand, chickadees landing on my arrow, a coon who just couldn't believe I was sitting in HIS tree stand. He came back to inspect me three times. The last time he climbed the tree, when he got to the platform, I spit on him and he bailed out over the side of the stand. Let me tell you, coons ain't real aerodynamic. He cartwheeled down through a couple saplings next to the stand I be he's still running.

On a more somber note, I used to hunt small game in some old strip mine land near our home. I had hunted through this area the night before I found this. Came back through the same area I'd hunted the day prior, and next to a pit lake there's a big Chrylser New Yorker sitting there smoldering. Over by the lake, the grass leading down to the water was all matted down, and I found the kind of stuff that comes out of one's wallet. Receipts, business cards, and a social security card. 'Figured this was a good place to get out of, so headed home. I called the police and they picked up the SS card, had me fill out a statement, and I never heard another word about it. Pretty sure someone threw a body in that lake, but could never prove it The Mafia was very well entrenched in that area and I always wondered if that was the case there.

Doc, there was a B-52 from Carswell that went down about then along the bombing site there! I remember as I went to elem school with the pilots kids. They lived at the end of our block in Western Hills, Ft. Worth. They never found anything from the crash if I remember correctly.

Wierd!

Mebbe that B-52 went down about 67-68.

I was hiking out of a canyon at night after elk hunting to my truck about a mile at the top of the canyon. It was pitch black, no moon, but I had a head lamp on. I heard something following me guessing about 40 yards behind me. Having trapped coyote and foxes, I figured that is what it was. So I stopped, yelled, and threw rocks toward it as they often trail people out of curiosity. So I kept walking. It continued to follow me. I did the yell and throw rocks thing again. I started walking again. I heard fairly large branches breaking behind me. At that point, I realized it was likely a mountain lion. That fricken thing followed me all the way back to my truck. It never quit following. I thought about shooting in the air to scare it, but I had partners waiting at the truck - they would have thought something was wrong and would have come looking for me.

That was the only time I have actually had the hair stand up on my neck. It didn't help that I had just attended a class about mountain lion attacks on people. That female jogger in California about 7 years ago who was attacked and partially eaten was highlighted in the class. The lion had jumped on her from behind, bit her neck, broken her neck, and started eating her while she was still alive.

Hey Guys,

Great stories and a great 24HCF read.

Thanks for the good time.

Steve

^^^^
We have a winner.

Steve.

Agreed please keep them coming

This took place in Tanzania. It is a real story - and scared me silly!

Elephant Morning


In my sleep my ears reach out, searching even before I roll over in my small bunk. A second sense left to us by our Neanderthal ancestors has awakened me from a bone deep sleep. It is dark, as black as any night could be.
The glowing hands and numerals of the wristwatch on the bedside table of small twigs and branches tracks my life in seconds, minutes, hours. The numbers tell me it is just after twelve.
I remind myself that is in another time zone, in another part of the world, perhaps in another reality. Still there is the sound that has awakened me, an insistent sound that has not gone away, no matter what my wishes.
As consciousness creeps across my groggy brain a memory is pulled from wherever memories are stored while I sleep. The origin of the sound an almost imperceptible shivering of the trees which tower over my tent. Perhaps a small monkey that is restless in the night. For a several minutes the sounds stop, only to be renewed. To comfort myself I believe, if only for a moment, it's a baboon in a nocturnally amorous mood.
The brilliant little flashlight kept handy next to my bed has been clenched in my sweating left hand for what surely must have been a half an hour now. In my right hand I squeeze the grip of my rifle, a 16 gauge over 8mm passed down through my family, father to son, son to grandson, for seven decades. The well worn black walnut stock soaks up my sweat. The sound of branches moving, cracking, and leaves whispering against leaves, moves closer to the canvas roof, now loud.
I try, almost desperately, to make myself believe that it is only a baboon. I fail. Maybe it's the leopard whose tracks have surrounded my tent each morning for the past three days. Relief floods through my body. Of course; it�s chui, the leopard. Chui has dragged a piece of meat, stolen from the kitchen, up into the trees that hang perilously close to my tent, barely a hands breadth between the canvas and branch.
Yes, I assure myself, it must be the leopard. Terry, my professional hunter, told me about chui. �You�ll have that, leopard about, no way round it actually. Simply love fresh meat, old chui does. Like the boys in that respect, he�ll eat all he can get then go sleep it off somewhere.� Terry made a good joke of it: �Of course chui is more interested in freshly killed kongoni than he is a stringy old bwana from across the sea.� he added. �Nothing to worry yourself about.�
It was easy to believe him; I probably needed to believe him.
Now my ears are stretching to hear movement, anything, to validate the belief that it is nothing more than chui. Hoping that it was a leopard that knew the rules, who really would rather be eating the kongoni I had bowled over this afternoon near N�gorongoro. Damn! It was tradition for the professional hunters to allow clients their privacy. Was it really necessary for Terry�s tent to be 200 black yards away?
The sound has now become more distinct; louder and closer. I strain to hear the sound of canine teeth tearing fresh meat. I only hear the sound of the leaves moving, falling on the tent roof only a foot from my sweating face. The very branches are now almost flailing my little temporary home. Scared, I can�t force myself to use the flashlight.
Reaching out through the blackness my ears detect a new sound. I immediately recognize the sound of something ponderous rubbing on the branches. It's a snake, a big snake moving slowly and elegantly through the trees. Moving from branch to branch, it is heavy; it must be a python, a constrictor. I silently curse myself for not studying African reptiles as well as I knew I should. Python probably. Were there any other large constrictors?
A shiver, then a shudder runs the entire length of my body; I shake myself as quietly as possible. Adrenaline, in large supply, is being pumped to every cell of my now quaking arms and legs, my chest is heaving. The sound now slithers into physical contact with the canvas; I can almost feel the smooth scales of the serpent on the tent. My fear has finally overcome my fear. I must use the light. My cave ancestors, from someplace deep in atavistic memory, whisper to me; use the light, but don�t let it blind you.
Very slowly I rise, silently kneel beside the cot. The light is clenched in my fist, it is slippery with fear sweat. In pitch black silence I place the rifle on my cot and cover the lens of the flashlight with my hand.
Oh, Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the sound is almost overwhelming, something is grating, rasping on the canvas. With a twist of the wrist the light is turned on, I can see it penetrating the flesh of the hand that covers the lens. The light, through the pinkness of my flesh, shows only the arteries and veins in my fingers. They glow pink and blue. My hands do not shake. Now they are rock steady, as still as my breath.
Carefully I allow an almost imperceptible sliver of light to escape between my fingers. It strikes the roof of the tent and the canvas is alive, moving. The entire tent is now swaying against the weight.
As I watch, a bulge appears in the canvas, I think first of a pulsing fire hose. Yes, I tell myself, it is a big snake; only a serpent of great size could form the deep concave shape that moves slowly across the canvas roof only a foot from my face.
A snake is OK, all right, not really dangerous. The tightly zippered tent flaps will allow no entry, even to a snake as small as a mamba. Big snakes are all constrictors, slow and easily evaded if necessary.
Then I notice the secondary sound. The sound has gone undetected until now, a sotto voce compared to the quaking of the trees and the sound of my own heart beating like a kettle drum played by a madman. It is the sound of something very big breathing.
Somehow it is dark again. I have involuntarily switched off the light; my rifle is again in my hands. I can hear huge lungs gulping air, pushing air back out. I can almost feel the moisture in the breath. A second dose of adrenaline is being pumped through my body. I become dizzy. I realize that it has been quite some time since I have taken a breath.
The sound of my own breathing startles me; it is so loud that it will surely give me away. The adrenaline pumps are all working at full capacity and I am sure that my next move will be stupid. I�m scared too stiff and, thanks to the adrenaline, too damn angry to care any longer.
I turn on the flashlight and am immediately blinded by the intensity of the beam. It no longer matters. I crawl across the floor of the tent and shine the light through the mosquito netting covered window. From this vantage point all that I can see are tree trunks, big gray and brown tree trunks. Now why are those tree trunks moving I ask myself? Because those tree trunks are the legs of bloody elephant you simple ass, my brain replies.
My brain seems to have gone off somewhere by itself, it�s talking to me as if I were a third party. It sounds as if it is sitting in a drawing room somewhere smoking a pipe and having a brandy.
�Now listen up oh great white hunter,� the old brain says. �You have gotten yourself in a very interesting position. These here bloody elephant are eating the leaves off the trees above your tent. There are at least several real, live, big, wild, hungry elephant that have taken a liking to these particular leaves and there is very damn little that you can do about it, now is there?
�You can surely shoot one of them and get yourself crushed when he or she falls on your little tent. You could fire a round through the roof and pray that you miss them and that they all run away in a direction that is not over you. You can, if you haven't already, wet your pants and sit here all night shaking like a ninny or you can relax as much as possible and enjoy yourself.
�Now don't start telling me that I'm off my rocker, let's look at the facts. Fact one, you have not, so far, been turned into hunter tartare, or more likely, mush. Fact two, it doesn't seem like these particular elephant are interested in doing anything other than having an early morning snack. Fact three, these particular elephant MUST have smelled your reeking old carcass by now. If they were inclined to be nasty you would have never awakened in the first place. I suggest that you count yourself lucky to be enjoying this experience. Just think about the story that you will have to tell the grandchildren. They most probably won't believe you but that doesn't really matter, does it? They will never believe much of what you tell them anyhow.�
With business concluded to its' satisfaction, my brain settled in to enjoy itself. After due consideration I concluded that I should take good advice when it is given. After crawling under the wooden cot, I relax and listen to the sounds of wild African elephant breathing, digesting, stripping the leaves off of the trees and every now and again replenishing the supply of fresh fertilizer.
After an hour under the bunk the cold African night air starts my teeth chattering, I finally crawl back onto the cot. I wrap myself in a soft down comforter. Smiling, I drift off to sleep.
We are not hunting early today. I sleep until the morning sun warms my tent. Was last night a dream? Were there elephant around the tent? Drowsy, it takes effort to unwrap myself from the warmth of the cot and comforter. I pull on freshly cleaned hunting clothes, shake out my low cut shoes and pull them onto bare feet.
I replace the 16 gauge over 8mm with the .375 H&H Mauser. I throw my small rucksack with binoculars, canteen, knife and extra ammunition over my shoulder.
I am careful to look only at the floor of the little tent as I open the zippers that shut it up tight. I step out and look only across the temporary, little camp toward the dining tent. I stride purposefully away from the tent knowing that the camp boys will sweep clean every square foot of the camp before I return from Manyara. Any trace of elephant tracks will be erased. I never asked.


Terry -the client, not the hunter, Terry Roach.

T/R chip, 15 min from the nearest FOB.

Some pretty interesting stories here, scariest thing for me was being scoped by another hunter in PA when I was a teenager. One of my dad's friends found a suicide in archery season back in the 70s, poor soul drove his car back an old logging road and shot himself.

I respect bears. I almost fear moose though. Healthy respect, especially in the rut with bulls and any mother with a toto.

Bears, hell they almost always go the other way anyway, especially if I'm trying to hunt em.

Yikes!

IGB chip, south of Tal Afar, put her down outside of a small village.

Kids and people started to get curious, so I told the other door gunner (cook by mos) to take the APU handle and draw a circle around the bird, give some kids MRE candy, and have one of the boys step inside the circle with the APU handle. Tell him that if anyone crosses, he hits them with the handle and gets more candy.

Best perimeter defence I can remember...

Did the typical crew chief chip fix. Remove cover, pull detector, blow, put it back in, call it good. Pilot got us permission for the one time red X, flight and off we went.

Great story, and thank God there weren't any clumsy elephants around.

Only snake story I personally have from Africa is one night in my room. By the dim light of my kerosene lantern I made out a compact grey round shape stuffed in the corner of a ledge right above my bed. Strangely enough my first thought was it was my thick wool socks bundled up, of which I actually had a pair. Almost grabbed it.

Closer inspection revealed it was a vine snake, only moderately venomous. So I got my palm frond switch broom and gently prodded it into motion, it uncoiled and crawled along the ledge. When it got to the window I opened the hatch that let you reach out through the screen to close the wooden blinds (no glass) and gently steered it out.

Scariest snake story I got other than was the squat night adder I coulda stepped on right outside my door one night. The scariest snake story much worse than that was the poor girl at our school who stepped over a log and got bitten in the heel by the black cobra hidden underneath. I think the fright might have killed her as much as the venom did.

I never worried about snakes myself over there, tho I was in the bush quite a lot bird watching. One time after the coup I even walked two miles through the forest between villages by moonlight without a light so as to avoid the patrols after curfew.

Most notable wildlife sighting, other than fleeting glimpes of deer-like bushbucks (??), was a little black weasel that stuck its head out some weeds one day as I was sitting quietly on a log in the forest. It peered at me for a moment, growled, and then disappeared.

Other than that, the large predatory bats, big as a hawk, that would cruise low over open areas. I believe they mostly preyed upon lizards and such picked up off of the ground and branches. You'd be walking in the late evening along a road or path when suddenly the low droning hum of its sonar would seemingly come from inside your head as it ranged you. Then the bat would pass from behind, its wings sometimes sounding like a bedsheet flapping in the wind.

Birdwatcher

Got out of my deer blind in the dark and a rattlesnake was coming by me. I would have stepped on him if I wasn't paying attention.

7-8 years ago I was bow hunting in an old abandoned apple orchard.
there was a big cedar on the edge of a draw with a row of apple trees running down the draw. I was busy assembling a ground blind when I saw something moving under a apple about 30 yards away. started paying attention when I saw it was 3 cubs about the size of a cocker spaniel. got my bino's up and was enjoying watching the little buggers arguing over apples when I saw an apple fall from up in the tree. normally I am not so dense as to not figure out that where there are 3 little bears there should be a big bear also, but I was really enjoying the show in stereo vision. about the time it dawned on me that mamma was up the tree swatting apples for the young'uns the wind switched and blew on the back of my neck and directly down to the tree momma was in.
the 3 little guys suddenly disappeared so fast it would have made a magician proud, and momma came down the trunk head first, hit the ground running, straight at me. she was all stiff legged and would pause just long enough to tell me what she was going to do when she got to me, and bounced up and down on her front legs. well at that time I weighed around 200 and was still logging and doing heavy construction. but that gal scared me wet.
she looked as big as a truck while she was demonstrating. I was yelling at her and insulting her character at the top of my lungs. She stopped about 5-6 paces off and blustered some then just lost interest I guess. when she settled down, so did I and I realized she maybe weighed 90 lbs. I guess the 3 cubs were keeping her slim. I am still glad I didn't have to punch her ticket.

the next one turned out different.
I was walking my 900 feet of water line coming down the mountain from a creek. I had a 41 mag on and my Kita dog was with me. now Kita wasn't what you would call a liteweight. In his prime he was about 145 lbs. and not afraid of anything but a moose.
we came over a slight rise and there was a big old stump that squirrels lived in. it was about 20 feet from us and a big old scared nosed black was head and shoulders in that stump after squirrels. I guess he thought we were another bear after his snack because he whipped around in a full charge roaring to curdle milk. Kita met him half way and that bear swatted him in the shoulder and sailed him arse over teakettle. I put 4 rounds of 41 starting at the tip of his nose and the last one went between his shoulder blades. he weighed 312lbs. all the time this was happening there was a strange sound in the woods , kind of reminded me of a little girl getting a frog down her pants. my wife said she heard it down to the house and thought it was a screech owl getting buggered.
took me 20 minutes or so to get my legs to carry me back to the house. Kita stayed with that bear and every so often would savage him. guess it made him mad getting swatted.

There was this one time when I was out huntin' and I saw this light in the sky. I looked up and felt tingly all over.

When I woke up, I had a lump in my forearm and had a serious case of butthurt...

Until some Wookie shows up unexpectedly and ruins your whole morning...

Only ever had one time I felt scared. I was watching a powerline in rifle season when I saw another hunter cross the powerline and head further back in the mountain. The whole time he crossed, he just stared at me. I thought maybe he knew me or something so I waived. He kept walking. Didnt think anything of it.

About 45 minutes later, he pops around a small bend above me and starts walking down the powerline. I noticed he had his chest kinda puffed up and holding his rifle with both hands instead of slung over his shoulder.

He was getting closer and I could hear him grumbling "f in cock suckers, sob'in mother fers" and hes again staring at me. I took the safety off my Abolt at that point and slid more against the tree with my right side, which really sucked cause it limited me ability to react quickly but it was my only way to protect the majority of my body as quick as I could.

He walked toward me and I pointed me gun at the ground but in his general direction. He yelled out "F you, its a whole skew of you mother fers back here" and shot me the finger. He kept goin down the mountain but would turn around every few feet.

What scared me the most was he was heading out the traul I came in on and where I was parked. I knew my dad was already at my vehicle and figured as pissed as this guybwas who knew what he'd do if he ran into my old man. So as soon as he turned into the woods trail I hauled ass through the woods parralelling him. I beat him out to the next powerline and could watch him getting closer to my vehicle, where dad was sitting.

Im not ashamed to say I had that sob in my scope the whole time he walked near dad. When he walked by i could see his lips move and he gave dad the finger, and I saw dad give him the finger back. Thank God he kept on movin cause it wouldnt have taken much to pull the trigger to protect my dad. Never had that happen before and hope I never run into someone like that again.