Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Alaska Favorite DSMF story

anyways, I was thinking of this thread as I was listening to stories of boone and crockett whitetails and 3ft bears.

Better you than me brother........

Chamces are a cub would not make three foot but a two-year-old would be bigger than that and the main kicker... They ain't going to lie and call it smaller than it was... But the reverse is far from true...

the extra loot from bear hunter charters will be promptly invested in stock symbol: TSX and MCM

it ain't that bad..

Figure it is a 1 1/2 year old bear, which is about right for a 3 footer. I hear ya, if it is a bit smaller or mom had a fat tit they might have some issues....

Speaking of B&C whitetails and three-foot bears... Had an expert talking about all the big bucks he shoots for days. Finally shot a deer from the boat (legal) and cutting to the chase needed to gut it.

After a LOT of hemming and hawing ("Kilt a ton o' WT, but I never even seen a blacktail before!") he knelt in the snow and made a neat little transverse cut right across and just in front of the penis sheath... Maybe 6" wide...

Bikini cut?

Exactly!

beat me to it

Ran across a pick-up parked along side the road in the wee hours of antelope opener a few years ago. As I pulled up I noticed the Wisconson plates about the same time he jumped out of the cab and flagged me down. Turns out he was lost and was looking for a Block Management Area a few miles away. As luck would have it this area bordered the ranch I was hunting so I told him to follow me and I'd stop by the sign in box so he'd know where to start. We get to the box and he gets out to walk in and I hear dogs barking so I ask him what kind of dogs he has with, he says he brought his GSP's with to do a little bird hunting after he tags out. I wished him luck and took off for the area I was planning to hunt. A few minutes later I pulled my truck up to a hilltop that overlooks both the BMA and part of the ranch and started glassing -- and listening to this guy's dogs bark and bark and ... An hour or so later I see the guy walking along when all of a sudden he drops to his belly and starts shooting - frantically. I, for the life of me can't figure out what he's shooting at until I spot a coyote running along a hillside with rounds kicking up dirt around him -- has to be 400 yds+ from this guy. Figured he must not like coyotes and forgot about it until I ran into him across the fence on the ranch I was hunting a few hours later. Told him he must have gotten turned around being he was no longer on the BMA and asked if he'd seen any antelope (they were all over the place) he said, "yup, emptied my gun on a nice one this morning but never touched him. I think it mighta got knocked off on the trip out." Not really knowing what to say to that I just nodded and showed him back to the BMA. Didn't see him again but I often wonder how one mistakes a coyote for an antelope.

While elk hunting several years ago, I notice a guy standing in a pull out on a mountain road trailhead. The guy was holding a rifle, but with no vehicle around I thought maybe he needed help.

I pulled over and asked the guy who was dressed in cowboy boots, a nine and a half gallon hat, and even had a leather Matt Dillon vest on, if he needed help. He said, "Nope, I'm hunting" I thought this seemed more than a little strange, since most guys actually get out of the parking lot to hunt.

He pointed to the ground and said a herd of elk had just been thru this area in the last couple of days and he expected them back soon. I looked at the ground and noticed shod horse tracks and a few deer tracks in the dirt.

Things started to get weird at that point...

I made the mistake of asking if he had heard any bulging? "No, the Fish and Game depatment had changed the rut to a month earlier and all the elk were done breeding by early August" according to him, since he had come out from Pennsylvania a couple weeks early to scout and that is what he had figured out.

I commented on what he was shooting. "45/70" was the answer. He had started out wiht a .270 several years ago, and it wasn't enough for elk, so he bought a 300 WBY mag and it wasn't enough either. The 45/70 was real elk medicine from his experience. When I asked about the elk he had killed with the little calibers he kinda himmed and hawed and admitted he had shot at running cow in almost this exact spot two years ago. "The .300 didn't even slow her down!" he said. I didn't even mention that there hadn't been a cow season for many years in that area, I just wished him luck and drove on.

Weirdest Sum Bitch I've ever run into.

I've got two of them, here's one;

Was elk hunting about six years ago north of New Meadows, ID. Walking out on a gated logging road about 1100 one morning when I came around a curve and spotted another hunter coming up the road. I stepped off on the high side into the brush a bit and waited for him to pass. Well, when he got close enough, I notice he's got his rifle at port arms, he's taking one step at a time like he's marching in slow motion, stopping and looking 360 degrees and then taking another step. He's decked out in a complete set of that wool camo that Cabela's had just brought out. Spendy stuff in those days. BTW, Idaho does not require hunter orange. Too much for me, so I step out so he can see me and wait for him to get to me. BTW, he doesn't change his tactic for the 30 or so steps it takes for him to get to me. "Huntin elk?" "Yep." "Seen any cows?" "Yep", I says, "but they're not legal in this area." "Nope, they're legal; I've got a tag", he says. "Might want to check with the Rangers in New Meadows for a map", I says. "Already have", he says, and promptly pulls out a Forest service map with his cow area highlighted. "Mmm, that's nice", I says, "But, you're not there. That area is EAST of this US Highway 95, and you're WEST of it about three miles." "Are you sure?", he says. "Yep, and why don't you walk back out with me so you can hunt in the right area?" "Nah, I like this area!" "Well", says me, "I'm headed to town to eat a burger with the Game Warden (I wasn't), so I'd suggest you'd oughta head on back out and hunt east of 95." On the way out I showed him visually the mountain he should be hunting on and even told him how to get to the road up the mountain. Strange, but true.

Sitting around the campfire that evening, one of my hunting buddies says to us all, "You wouldn't believe the loony I met this afternoon from CA. Was camo'ed up in that spendy wool camo and walking on the road at port arms. Jim, he was on that road just above the one you were on this morning."

Here's another:

I was stationed at Ft. Rucker, AL, circa 1976. Drove around and found a hunting club to hunt with. It was a small club with only about a dozen members. We ran dogs, as did everyone else. We had rights to a piece of land on the river of about 600 acres. Some of us also put a rifle in the truck because some weekends when we only had a few folks show up to hunt, we still hunted, rather than ran the dogs. It took about six hunters to make it work with dogs on that piece of swamp.

Well, this Sunday morning, only two other guys show up so we decide to still hunt. We meet back at the trucks about noon to go get a burger. One of the other two guys is a fairly new guy with the club (like me) and he is driving a newer Pontiac Grand Prix. He says his rifle is new and he hasn't sighted it in (gunsmith bore-sighted it when he mounted the scope) and would like to shoot it off the hood of his car to check the zero. Well, we're parked in a cut on the dirt road so there's an eight foot, almost vertical, red clay bank on one side. It's in a slight curve in the road so we can get about an eighty yard shot. It's a dirt/gravel road so we can hear if anyone's coming and the red clay bank will capture any bullets. Said guy pulls the GP sorta sideways on the side of the road and leans across the hood with the Remington 742, .30-06. Well, for those in the know, you'll remember that a GP of that vintage has a significant ridge down the hood with a chrome strip on top of it. Now that ridge was easy to see standing beside the cer, but invisible through the scope. Yep, you guessed it. First shot went right through the ridge at a right angle. "Whoa!", we says. "Crap," he says. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever done." After-which, he proceeds around the open driver's door on the GP (It was a pretty blue with white vinyl top, did I mention that earlier?)and, in disgust, throws the rifle into the car. And, yes it goes off again, promptly ending the life of one Turbo 400 transmission.

"Nope, I was wrong", he says, "That was the dumbest thing I've ever done", and starts walking to town. "Hey", we says, "Wanta ride to town?" "No!", he says.

Well we secured and safed the rifle, locked it in the car, noted the several quarts of transmission fluid draining on the ground, and then went back to hunting. The car was gone when we came out that night, and he never came back to hunt with us again.

This ain't an AK story, but it happened in Banff National Park, which tends to attract the same sort of DSMF's...

One fine August day I put my packrod, flybook, and a few odds & ends in a daypack and rode my mountain bike about 10 miles up the trail that runs on the north shore of Lake Minnewanka. Fished the outlet of one of the pretty creeks (Aylmer? IIRC) for a few hours, caught some nice cutts, then headed back. About half a mile from the parking lot/tourist lodge area the trail crosses a wide scree slope with a few scattered firs growing alongside the trail. In one of the trees was a family of three, a man & woman in their 30's and a kid about 10. At the base of the tree were two Bighorn ewes, looking up at them. There used to be a LOT of Bighorns around Minnewanka lodge, where they got plenty of handouts from the tourists. Anyway, I figured these folks must have climbed the tree to get a view of the big rams that hang out on the rimrock. But as I rode up to them, the man looked at me with eyes bugging out of his head. "Aren't you afraid of them?" he shouted in a distinctly down-South accent. I looked around to see if there was a griz I'd missed, perplexed, then realized they'd been 'treed' by the freeloading sheep! I tried to reassure them that the sheep wouldn't harm them, but they weren't having any, especially when they saw one of the sheep trot behind me hoping I'd drop a snack for her behind my bike. When I got down to the lodge I found a park ranger and suggested he might want to organize a rescue party for those poor folks in the tree.

lmao all good stories, but I particualarly enjoyed the

"treed by a sheep" story.