Deer season is upon us. What a great time of year! I'll open the Minnesota deer season next weekend with T-Zone, Jack, and Pastor Josh up in Duluth. Absolute can't wait, even if I never see a deer. 'Been thinking about all the great stories from year's past. We got get some of them in print here guys. I'll start.

This goes back to my camp in Pennsylvania, probably back in the 60's. My dad and the gang from camp were working a deer drive deep down in a hollow. Dad was one of the standers, and right down on creek. The pushers had routed a bear, and it came blasting right down the hollow, straight towards my dad. He heard the hollers from his buddies first, and then pretty soon here comes this bear, just wanting to be anywhere away from all this noise. Dad saw him coming right at him, with his head back over his shoulder looking at whatever had spooked him. It was obvious that Dad was going to get run over. He really didn't want to shoot it, so he just stuck his gun out in front of himself and yelled BOO! as loud as he could. By then the bear was way too close for comfort. The bear locked up all 4 legs, slid on the leaves and fell flat on it's face. Dad said he could her a very loud OOOF! as it knocked the air out of it's self. It swapped ends, and took off back up through the woods, as fast as it could run. Every time it encountered one of the guys, they'd yell at it and it ran that much faster. Dang bear's probably still runnin'.

My 3rd deer season was in 1975 when I was 14. The opener was cold and snowy. We were putting on a drive and as the drivers were getting into position, a buck steps out broadside on the pipeline. Ron and Phil both shoot about the same time. The buck takes off up over the high wall but there is blood in the snow. They finish the planned drive and the gang heads to surround the patch of woods the buck went into. Somebody takes the trail and a couple of flankers tag along.

I'm posted along a road and Cal, the camp captain comes by to tell me to keep my eyes open and starts on up the road. He's not 20 yds. from me when the buck comes around a small pine and I drop it. Cal about jumped out of his boots. A nice 7 point, it was my first deer.

As we're looking at it and gutting it, we notice a bullet creased it's nose and there is an entrance wound in the hindquarter.

Ron tells Phil, "I must have hit the nose, my 308 Win. shoots faster than your 300 Savage and I spun it around, then your bullet hit it in the ass."

Dale

Good stuff Dale, but we all know it wasn't hit by the 300 Savage, cuz it it had been it'd have been very dead-unlike that whimpy 308 round.

my brother isnt much of a hunter, but back in 2004 or so he decided that he'd like to go deer hunting for rifle season, I took him up and set him in a ground blind with me, He'd never even seen a buck during hunting season before. About 830 am were on the side of a wooded ridge and i hear deer walking, a couple does and a small buck. I look over and he's shakin' like a dog chittin' tacks. I tell him go ahead and shoot it if he wants to. Now this poor buck is about 35 yards away, and my brother has a very accurate mdl 70 in 30-06 in his hands. He pulls up and touches one off, the deer takes off like a bullet and its going BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAh. I quick throw up my rifle and notice that its bleedin' from the nutsack region lol, dumbfounded i look at my brother and asked him how in the hell he hit the deer on the opposite end of the body and such a short distance, and to top it off shot its bits off. He couldnt really talk at that point he was shakin' so hard, so i say we gotta go see if we can get another shot at that thing, so off we go. Bout 5min into the recovery effort this chit heal brother of mine goes "takes a damn good shot to shoot the nuts off a buck" i about died laughing, 5 min later i saw the poor thing laying on the hillside and gave it a coupe de grace.

Stories from deer camp...hmmm.

That title alone brings someone to mind....

Do tell.........

Got to be the Sherpa.

Love Sherpa stories!

One year we were 4 for 5 by noon on the opener. We put a buck past the fifth guy with short drive but no shot was heard. Seems he was taking a leak and his rifle was leaning against a tree.

We busted on him for a long time, This is my Rifle, this is my Gun, this is for Shooting, this is for Fun.

Dale

Come on BD.... Lets hear some stores from the Sherpa!

He he coming to da camp this year!

Come on BD.... Lets hear some stores from the Sherpa!

He he coming to da camp this year!

Oh da sherpa he vill be comin' ta da deer camp dis year yahshur...

There might be a bit of dat Shepa coming up shortly...

Sherpa Sherpa Sherpa!

I spy da sherpa post

I've told this one here before. Back in the day, our camp used to have a deer pool with the camp next to us to see who could have the first buck hanging on the first day. It got to the point that there were accusations of deer being taken the day before and hung at first light. Our guys wouldn't have poached, but I'm sure they weren't beyond hanging a recent road kill from the game pole if they could find one that didn't have too bad a case of road rash.

Dad used to hunt right up above camp. He had one spot that was barely a quarter mile from the cabin. The neighbors had a similar spot too. One year, dad shot a buck at about 7 a.m. on the first morning and thought for sure he had the buck pool locked up. About 5 minutes later he herd the neighbor shoot from his spot nearby. The race was on, as they both wanted the buck pool, and bragging rights for the next year. Dad did a quick gutting job and started down the hill with his deer. As he looked over to his left, he could see the neighbors coming down off the hill with their buck too. Dad pointed the deer down the mountain, sat on it, and rode it down the hill on the slick leaves, darn near killing himself as he bounced off trees all the way down. Dead deer are apparently tough to steer, and they don't come equipped with good brakes. He overshot the camp by about 20 yards before the careening deer came to a stop. End result was the neighbors got theirs to the pole first, although they were laughing so hard at my dad that they all most threw up. The drinks flowed freely that night, and my dad was forever known as the Deer Skidder. Some legends and lore just have a way of enduring.

I'm known as the deer camp skidder too but for entirely different reasons..

some of that deer camp chilli can be rough on a guy :-D

I'm picturing that deer ride and laughing my butt off.

Some excellent stories here, keep em coming.

We never had a deer camp, we hunted about 15 miles from home and would just drive out every morning. Dad was pretty laid back too, so no crazy stories, but I can appreciate them.