What hunting challenge "has massaged your ego" to help you believe that your are now a good hunter?
Considering, your power of observation to locate that massive Ram( insert your game animal of choice)
So now you have located your massive prey...what to do?
For me, it is usually a Bighorn Ram , it is inaccessable at this time and I can see the horns are heavy , deep, broomed off and all by himself- an old Ram.
I need to chart away up , around or over to the beast to get a reasonably close shot when he stands.
Usually, you don't want him to see me and feel threatened- I assume he has seen me. Bighorns have unbelievable vision.
I start up my chosen route .
My critera for the classic stalk, is to get somewhere around the same elevation or higher, I want to observe him more. Walking without ever skylining, a little crawling and retreating to prove to myself , the old battleaxe is still there.
Finally, I am in range , my guess 250 yards. I lay my daypack down and place my rifle on it, then setup my spotting scope ( if I can) ....he is still chewing...gotta wait.
He then stands to begin to feed or get more comfortable. I take my rifle shot, he tips over.
I walk down and over, sit down for 10 minutes to absorb what I just went through and how it happened. Then, I get to work ,I need to rough cape it for a shoulder mount, and save every piece of meat.
I have been in this situation, I always use one of my Sheep rifles and are nearly always a .270 wcf.
Let's hear about your experience? Serious hunters will have many. Most of my memories are solo hunts, in my youth when I was tough as nails, ultra observant and on a mission.
( Gunwriter's , you are free to use your artistic licence, to keep us engaged)
This might not be ideally suited under the Gunwriter heading. I did include my rifle's chambering.
Cheers

I'd say any of my whitetail bow kills were major ego boosts, especially my back-to-back kills in '91 and '92. Same tree, same time of day, same everything.

Nailing The Monarch on the Rifle Opener in 2003 was a lifetime achievement at the time:

The Savage Spoke. . .

. . . and then repeating the feat 4 years later and getting the camp record put me over the moon.
The Savage Speaks Again

With turkey, I'd have to say my first non-guided gobbler put me on the top of the world:

Turkey Camp, 2002

I still feel like a putz in camo when I go turkey hunting, but days like that keep me going.

One of my favorite turkey hunts

3rd hunt chasing this bird, he'd gobble once or twice on the limb and that was it, never to be seen or heard again. Usually a waiting game with these birds, they would at some point hit the powerline or food plots but this one just wouldn't. I took a chance and setup on a small old loading dock close to where I heard him the day before. There were no trees to sit on but a small tuft of grass on the edge. My vest has a built in frame so a tree wasnt necessary, got in earlier than usual, about 30 minutes before light, I literally plopped down in the grass, put my head down on the gun as if I was going to shoot...I knew if he was there I wasnt going to be able to move at all. I had a mouth call just in case but I chose not to call. No decoy. It gets light, nothing...no gobbles, gets more light and I'm getting a little discouraged. Finally a hen pitches down on the other side of the loading dock about 75 yards away. I figured it was over. Well the gobbler was right behind me the whole time and pitched down behind me, never made a sound. I have my eyes cut to the right over my shoulder and he was in full strut about 10ft from me. Why he didn't just pitch down with that hen is beyond me. He spit and drummed for a good 15 minutes until finally he started moving and walked less than 10 yards in front of my gun barrel when I shot him. That was the longest I've never moved on a turkey hunt. About an hour. I was pretty proud of that bird.

The one that comes to mind was a doe in late December with my bow. I got a shot in the late afternoon and I heard the arrow hit, but didn't see where. We had snow, so I took the track and saw a few drops of blood on the trail when the deer jumped up and ran. For being wounded that one sure ran well I thought, so I backed out. That next morning was clear and I was going to go find her. That track went a long way, but every time she put her foot down there was blood. I jumped her up again and she ran like the wind and I couldn't see where she'd been hit, but there was blood. I was in pretty good shape in those days and said to myself, okay I'm going to track you down and run you out of blood. The Nicolet National Forest is a big place and we were walking through lots of it. That deer did double back on it's tracks, jump to the sides, run in with other deer tracks, go through evergreen swamps, make big leaps, but yet there were those blood spots. I saw her a bedded a couple more times and then off we'd go again. About mid afternoon I saw her bedded again up ahead and that time I got close enough to put another arrow through her ribs and end it. My broadhead from the night before had cut the skin an inch above the back hoof without breaking the bone! Luckily where she bedded was close to a logging road where I could drive the truck. I learned more about deer tracking from that one experience than every deer hunt before or since.

for me every one , win / lose / or draw , made me want the next one even more

Most of my hunting is somewhere between utter failure and a comedy of errors. But I’ve worked hard at it and been rewarded. As the saying goes, a blind pig finds a nut once in a while.

my first trophy elk has me puffed as [bleep]......

As I already mentioned on your post about the hunt, that was excellent strategy and recovery on a great trophy-meat elk!

I usually felt kind of small and a bit lucky.

What generally seemed like a big accomplishment was retrieving the elk carcass by myself. But even that could turn out to be humbling.

Lots and lots of them....from many first archery kills of the species, to first P&Y of the species, to an archery Grand Slam (3 of 4 DIY) to an archery super slam (20 of 29 DIY).

My first buck of course was a huge one for me. I struggled to get one down. I missed 3 or 4 throughout the season before at last on the evening of the very last day I double lunged a little 2x3 mule deer buck at about 60 yards with grampa’s hand-me-down .300 Savage.

There have been plenty of others since.

Whenever I killed a bull in the Oregon Cascades it just reminded me how much luck was involved.

Zero ego, more like disbelief.




P

Took a nine year old child deer hunting years ago. He had brain cancer. His father asked me if we could possibly get him a deer on my spot…they had not had any success at all where they hunted. Of course I told him yes indeed and I brought him to the best stand I had the next evening.

I picked up Taylor and we headed to the woods. He was extremely excited at his chances and was just beside himself. I thought to myself, it will be a major accomplishment to just let the young man forget about his troubles for a day….id glance occasionally at him and take it all in. His eyes couldn’t hide his excitement! Chemotherapy had taken all his hair and made him extremely cold natured. He was shivering even though it was about 60 degrees. Excitement perhaps?

I had to drive him up to the stand and then hike back after driving back to a spot where I could hide the truck. Dang chemo made him weak as a kitten. I had to push him up the ladder into the stand….he couldn’t climb it. Soon we saw a nice fat doe at 90 yards and he took aim with his gun….and missed. Tears welled up in his eyes and he started getting upset. I brushed it all aside and told him “we all miss…don’t worry. I have something that’ll help”. I then told him I was going to let him use my rifle, and that it was a very special rifle. “This rifle is my very best rifle Taylor. It has killed countless deer, and never, not even once, has it missed a deer (100% true statement). This rifle is the closest thing I’ve ever had that would be magic…..it just doesn’t miss and I know she’ll do her best to get you a deer!”

His eyes lit up and we continued hunting. At last light another deer showed up in the exact same spot. It was a buck, but Taylor couldn’t tell that. I pointed it out, put the rifle in a sandbag rest and told him to gently squeeze when the crosshairs were on his chest. I then started praying as hard as I could. Bang! The deer did that high jump, mule kick that probably indicates a heart shot and an easy trailing job. Taylor’s eyes welled up again. “It didn’t drop…..I missed again”. “Let’s get down and go check. Come on!”

We got there and his eyes were still wet. He was discouraged. I told him to look down at my boot…tell me what you see. Three drops of blood. His face lit up! “Did I hit it?” “”You sure did…..I want you to track it…but I’ll help”

The blood was blowing out both sides in ten feet. Ray Charles would have no problem following it. I held the flashlight and Taylor was in front of me doing his thing. Fifty yards ahead in four foot tall weeds was a deer’s butt sticking out. Taylor was hopping around. He still had no idea it was a nice buck at this point. The deer was obviously very much dead and I told him to drag “her” out. He screamed “Hey! It has antlers!” He was concentrating on the rack and couldn’t see the tears streaming down my face. Solid nine pointer. He almost couldn’t breathe. He agreed that my Jarrett 280 AI was indeed magic.

I took him home to his grandfather and got a big ol hug. Later on, I received a handwritten thank you note from him.

And I got it all, from start to finish, on video.

This past 2023 season. 80 years old.Thought my elk hunting was done with. Two bad knees, bad back. Messed up lungs, problems with heart and on supplemental oxygen. I drew a muzzle loader cow elk tag in one of the worst areas in Colorado hit with winter kill.

Initially my hunting partner went with me, but due this health, he left after three days, leaving me to hunt solo. The first day I was out, I took a long nap in a sunny meadow I was so tired.

The next day, I got up at 2:30, had breakfast,fed and saddled the mule, and rode in about 4 miles, getting to my hunt area about 1/2 hour before light.

I tied up my mule and using my shooting sticks for a cane, I walked about 75 yards to a spot where I have killed 2-3 cows in the past.

I settled in and about 15 minutes there was enough light that I could barely see through my binos. As I scanned a small meadow, I saw three shapes feeding across it. Wind was blowing towards me, so I set up my shooting sticks and kept watching them until I could see the FO sights.They were approaching the edge of the meadow, and I hurried the first shot and missed. The smoke cleared and they were looking all around. I was able to reload, took a better rest, picked out what looked to be about a two year old cow and sent a 380 gr Powerbelt on it's way.

In a few seconds, the smoke cleared and there wasn't an elk in sight. I thought, well at least I saw elk and got a shot, but figured I better go check for blood. I reloaded, put my small day pack on, fixed my shooting sticks, and hobbled the 80 yards or so towards where I last saw them.

Weeds were about thigh high and it took me a bit, but as I was getting close, I spied a brown hump and darn if the elk wasn't laying there dead. Talk about being surprised..

I took a few photos and figured I would use the no gut method of breaking it down. First problem was there were no trees close enough to tie her legs off to and I did not have the strength to roll her over. So I split the hide up the center of the back, peeled it down as far as Id could, cut off the shoulder, and that side of the back strap.With the hind leg up over my shoulder, I worked the hind quarter free.

I carry a 10 x 10 sheet of thin plastic with me and pulled the two quarters to the nearest tree about 75 feet away and layed them out on the plastic.

I still could not move what was left, and I had to gut the elk and cut off the head. With that, I was able to roll her over and do the opposite side, plus cut out the tenderloins. I was about used up and had to sit on the ground while I cut out the hip joint of the last hind quarter.

By this time,the battery for my portable O2 unit went dead (3 hours). I got all the meat on the plastic, in the shade, and hobbled back to the mule.

I had a deal with an outfitter friend that she would pack any elk out for me, so I grabbed anoher battery from my saddle bag, mounted up, and returned to camp four miles away. Then to the outfitter's base, another two miles.

She wasn't there, so I left a note, went back to camp to get game bags and returned to the elk carcass. With a lot of struggling/grunting I got the quarters in the bags and hung, but only about six inches off the ground.

Nothing left to do there, so I mounted up and headed back to camp. About half way there I met the outfitter and her foreman.They were on their way to pack my elk out. Back to the elk we went and in about 20 minutes they had the meat loaded and on our way. Down off the mountain we split up. Me back to camp and her back to base to put the elk in her walk in cooler. Before leaving she asked me to come down for dinner that evening. It was already evening!

Back to camp, I got cleaned up. Me and the mule went the two miles to the base camp to enjoy a fabulous dinner along with her staff. What great lady and staff. ( J bar H outfitters).

I got back to my camper about 9:30, cranked up the generator to get my 02 concentrator going and recharge the batteries.

It was an eighteen hour day. I rode about 25 miles going back and forth. Something I never thought I could do again. I have killed over fifty elk in my 50 years of hunting. In 2018 I killed my last 6x6 bull on a solo hunt, but this one stands out. I am thinking I might even try it again next year, if the good Lord sees fit to keep me going.

Damn, it’s dusty in here, I got something in my eye…





P

Saddlesore, Great story, At 85 years old I know how hard that day was, good for you Old Timer I'm proud to know you. Rio7

It was around 1976/77 when a new neighbor moved into the house next door. He was from New York City and we got to talking. He asked about the hunting here in Nevada where I lived at the time and I told him it was pretty good. Come deer season I loaned him a rifle and we were out opening day. We went to one of my favorite spots and though we looked and hunted hard hadn't seen a thing. Tom, my NYC neighbor had been grumbling for a while telling me we won't see deer because the country was too open for them to hide. I told him, "Patience my friend." I'd decided we should go to another area that usually had deer and we were sitting at the top od a ridge resting a bit before climbing down to where my truck was parked. As we discussed where we might go to I heard a volley of shots off to my right that came from behind a saddle in the hills. I turned to look and damn me if a right pretty 4x4 came trotting across the saddle heading right toward us. Tom and my stepson who was with us were looking the other way and there was no way I could turn enough to take a shot. I decided to try shooting left handed and took the shot dropping the buck DRT. Tom jumped up hollering at me to be careful with that gun. I just looked at him and said, "When you're through hollering at me, come on over and help me gut my deer." He said, "What deer?" I said the one lying deed about 25 yards from us. The look on his face when he saw it was priceless.
PJ

Taking my 13-year-old grandson hunting and being there when he dropped a 9-point Whitetail Buck at 185 yards with a 1982 vintage Marlin 30-30 I'd given his dad as a Christmas gift.

I had intended to post a photo of the bragging sized pocket gopher I stalked and killed with my Daisy Red Ryder. That is, until I read this. I simply could not in that manner disrespect such a touching tale.

My compliments to you, Godogs57.

Exchipy

Powerfully moving experience just reading this. Thanks to you for bringing a bit of happiness to a child’s life.

What a wonderful way to start my day by reading this story God7ogs5, good on you Sir!

God Bless

Godogs57-

Friend, that was special!!! Thanks

High Brass' first deer kill with a handgun and my one and only turkey.

Well done sir, very well done. You're a credit to the human race.

What a great story, GoDogs. Bless you.

You need to post that video! What happened to little Taylor?

November 1954,Dad said take the rifle and go shoot that coon the dog had had treed.

https://www.24hourcampfire.com/ubbt...07/tagged-my-10th-bear-today#Post3307307

This hunt had me feeling like I had bear hunting a bit figured out.

Godogs57, wow. Good on ya mate.

For me, it is likely my 2009 Montana wolf, killed during the first official season ever there after delisting so interest (and hatred) for the hunt was ridiculously high.

I don’t recall which number on the 75 wolf quota he was as far as being checked in to MFWP. 30 something maybe?

He was a SCI silver skull so I decided to officially enter him even though I am not a ‘book’ person. I have several other heads that I could enter into B&C and SCI, but just haven’t. He was the first lower 48 wolf to be entered into the books so by default he was the state record. I believe he has been surpassed now but I haven’t seen if anything bigger is officially on the Montana books or not, and really don’t care.

Runner ups are my Afognak Island Roosevelt bull elk, Alaska Dall sheep and my Montana Shiras moose. All were DIY solo (except the Afognak hunt which was DIY but not solo) and all were substantially harder hunts both physically and mentally. They didn’t however have the distinction of all the ‘firsts’ associated with that wolf.

Taking a dying, older family friend who helped raise me on a mountain lion hunt was also pretty satisfying. We got him a mature, but relatively young Tom.

He died just a few months later.

Quite the opposite here. My quarry is constantly humbling me and I do not consider myself a great hunter, just a persistent one

South Texas whitetail hunt at the Callahan Ranch. Spotted a nice deer feeding in a sendero that I wanted to shoot approximately 1,000 yards away about an hour and a half before sunset. My guide agreed he was a shooter but said "he's too far away". Well, he didn't know anything about my shooting experience, but I agreed, knowing darn well it was indeed too far away.
Sooo, I hopped out of the truck and using my Army stalking skills began low-crawling towards the buck. The guide was freaking out, saying "what the hell are you doing? Get back in the truck, etc." I told him "I'm going to go get that deer!"
So, I low-crawled on my belly for 1 hour and 15 minutes, slowly getting closer and closer to the deer. When the deer would put his head down to feed, I would crawl...when he raised his head, I would stop.
It was getting almost too dark to see him very well at distance and he was easing on over to the edge of the sendero, so I decided it was time to take my shot. I'm an excellent judge of distance and I estimated that I was approximately 300 yards of him, so I knew I was good to go at that distance. The buck turned and faced me dead-on and put his head down to feed once more and I pulled the trigger. Boom - flash of fire out the end of my rifle's barrel in the now almost darkness and I couldn't see sh-it anymore.
The guide came barreling down the sendero in his truck and hopped out pitching a fit for wounding the deer at such a long distance. Well, I wounded him alright - a deadly wound right there where he stood and dropped. Then the guide thought I was some sort of special fellow as he loaded my deer up and hauled a$$ back to the ranch house to show off the deer and tell all the other guides and hunters the story.
"Ain't never seen such a thing...dude low-crawled a half mile...shot him in the neck...dropped right there!, etc"
I grinned, my brother grinned. Then my brother said to my guide "He didn't mention anything to you about Army sniper school, did he?" and laughed his ass off.
I did misjudge the distance by 15 yards, though - it was 285, not 300.

Oh yeah, I had never been to south Texas before and didn't know anything about all those prickly things out there. I didn’t have the proper clothes for it and was wearing a brown fleece pullover on my stalk - I picked thorns out of my belly, wrists, forearms, and legs for a month afterwards. 😄

My most memorable hunt was a muley taken with a Ballard 45-70, blackpowder and cast bullet of my own making. Half day stalk to get from 1/2 mile to 150 yards for the shot.

Walking up to a blood puddle and legs in the air:



Shot placement:



Rifle:



I look at this every day and think about how much trouble I was in for not being home in time to see my Grandsons in their costumes that Haloween evening (they've long since forgiven me):

Damn fine, JGray!

Thats a truly great story, good on ya!

Currently it is in remission. Handsome young man with a head full of hair I’m proud to say.

Gotta say this whole season almost has me thinking I know what I’m doing. Six 3-4 hour hunts on public land, from the ground, yielded two bucks and a doe. The first buck was grunted up and crushed at 7 yards with a crossbow. The doe and second buck were a double. I had to fill an Earn-a-Buck obligation before killing a second buck, and they obliged by wandering by in perfect order. I made a poor hit on the buck, but did a good tracking job, and he was dead within 100 yards.

In reality I was very lucky to even see all the deer I viewed, aided considerably by the good work done by our DNR in turning a bunch of head-high weeds and brush into meandering food plots that provide good observation points under any wind conditions, and of course attracted the does and their love-struck suitors. Whoever does the land management for the 2nd District in WV sure did a bang-up job.

Hopefully by next season I’ll have new knee or two and be better able to roam the woods, but it’ll be hard to top 2023.

Great story. Thanks for sharing.

Good stuff brother!

This was a good one.

I wouldn't say any have "puffed me up", but a couple have taught me some humility & a hard lesson or 2.

MM

I am not a very accomplished hunter, so I don't have a lot of experience to draw from. I loved hunting Kodiak when I was stationed there. It was completely different from the southern woods hunting that I was accustomed to. It was active rather than passive, and being a busy body I liked that. The last year I was stationed there, I made it my goal to get a nice blacktail in velvet.

As the season approached, I put in a leave request to have the opening day off. I was working for one of only two bosses that I didn't get along with. He denied the request just to piss me off. I'd have to be in the building by 10 that morning. With sunrise at 6am, I could make it work.

I lived at the base of Old Women's Mountain. There's a hiking trail on the northeast side. It's a pretty good trail, but is gains 800 feet in elevation pretty quickly before the grade eases up. Before daylight, I started jogging up the trail, rifle in hand and frame pack on my back. Just a few minutes after I started up the trail. I came upon a guy that I knew and his bud. They had stopped to catch their breath. I told them what area I was going to, just so they'd be aware. They wished me luck and I was off to the races.

The trail runs across the top of the mountain. About a mile and a quarter down the trail there's a route through the alders that leads to a small meadow. My plan was to watch that meadow for about an hour. I arrived at the meadow right as the sun was peaking over the horizon. I peeled my backpack off and set it on the ground. As I did I caught movement on the meadow. THREE gorgeous blacktail in velvet were grazing. I went prone and threw my Ruger Ultralight 243 over my backpack for a rest.

I took a moment to kinda compare them. I picked the one that looked best and mentally guessed the distance at just shy of 300. This was way before rangefinders were readily available. I was shooting hand loaded 100 grain Hornady BTSPs. There was no wind, so it was a matter of just holding a little high. My rest was solid and I was steady. The crosshairs settled, I gently squeezed the trigger. An old friend had done a trigger polishing job for me, making the trigger nicely crisp. The rifle barked.

I lost sight of the deer in the recoil, but was immediately greeted with the tell tale wooden thwack of the bullet finding its mark. I got he rifle back in position to look for the deer. It was nowhere to be seen. My previous experiences had taught me that I wasn't good at estimating distance over broken terrain, so I started second guess in myself. I wiggled back into my backpack and started heading to where the deer were standing, continuing to evaluate the distance as I did. With the trajectory of the 243, I should have been safe even with a good bit of error in judging distance.

I walked to where the deer was when I pulled the trigger. There was a slight drop about 5 yards behind him, and that's where he lay. I had work to do, and I had to do it in a hurry. I got the meat boned out, cut the head off for an antler mount, packed the meat in the pack and lashed the head to the frame. I then started making tracks for home. When I reached the main trail, the guys that I had passed on the way up were just getting there.

The guy that I knew stared at me dumbfounded for a minute, then gave me a Hail Mary. I wished them luck and began the trudge back down the mountain. I got the meat in an ice chest, and threw the head in the back of my truck. I got home, got cleaned up and made it to work with plenty of time to spare. I knew a guy who was an SCI scorer. He measured the deer for me, and it made the SCI minimum, whatever that is.

The best part of the whole experience was when my dickhole boss saw the rack. He was so pissed he couldn't think straight. I lost that rack when Hurricane Katrina demolished my house.

Godogs57,

I have got to tell you that this is one of the most touching things I have read in a long time. Kuddos to you for providing the experience for that kid.

Good story, except for that “ tell tale wooden thwack” business.

Pretty sure that’s racist, somehow.

I will second that. I killed a busted up herd bull that had left the herd and was by himself. After jumping him in the morning he dove off into the timber headed down hill and I didn’t think he would cross the highway. That afternoon I climbed a mile or so steep uphill and a mile to the west of where I figured he might come out to circle around him and get the wind in my favor. After sitting above timberline for a hour and freezing my ass off I started my hunt which lasted about ten minutes before I killed him and as I stood there i was like WTF just happened. I still can’t believe that it worked out.

Ditteaux

I am still trying to figure out how to hunt larger game.

I hunted small game, particularly ducks for 35 years.

I have never been one to go with Norm. He always seemed boring to me.

So, I never owned a labrador. Always had "other" breeds.
My last was a wachtelhund with the call name of Quaid. He was a special dog by all measurements. Not much taller than our lab dog basset hound, but longer and built like a dang otter. Interesting thing about wachtelhunds is that on hair, they will bark like a beagle, but on feathers they are quiet as a mouse.

Anyways, in Quaid's third year you could start to see the switches being turned on in his head. He started to know the smell of Ballistol, understand that the click of the safety meant business and he had to use his nose to retrieve for most of my sub par shooting kills.

Our time was spent mostly hunting out of pirogues in small brakes of cypress in central to north Louisiana and usually by ourselves unless number one son could meet us from school at LaTech.

We had big ducks move into one brake that was a pain to get to, but Quaid and I discussed a strategy and agreed we could get in there to kill our birds.
Took six hen decoys and after beating through palmettos, got to our spot.
We killed our birds in no time. Six shots, six birds. I over kicked my coverage that day.
While I was getting the decoys loaded, Quaid jumped a cottontail. So I loaded up with number 4 shot and sure enough, bunnies being bunnies, he circled right back to me. I shot the rabbit and Quaid delivered him to hand. I was congratulating Quaid for his stellar work and sure enough, another bunny made a poor decision. We dispatched him as well.

On the way in we rode through a food plot with turnips planted in it. I pulled a mess of turnips.


That night the camp had smothered rabbit with turnips, and duck breast seared in the black iron.

Was the first time I thought of myself as a hunter.