Your Dad's Best Hunting Story...

[2 Full Curls]

We all have our best hunting stories, and have shared "this happened to me" on other great threads, but what about those family hunting stories? Those that were told to you around the campfire when you were young....You know the story that you always wanted your Dad or your Grandpa to retell when you were a kid.

 

I suspect that, like myself, you'all have several favorites. So let's share them and give us all something to enjoy reading at work the next few days. It's possible this thread already exists and I didn't see it, but let's start a new one regardless. If you have pictures that's awesome, and if not, let yours be legend and lore.

 

I'll start.....

 

My Dad's Bear Story:

 

I personally think my Dad's best trophy is his AZ black bear. It was harvested without dogs, bait, or calls and I've never seen another bigger. It's the story that I always ask him to tell around the campfire.

 

My Dad started hunting AZ in the late 60's and has plenty to say about the good ole' days. Back in the 80's and early 90's, he and my Uncle were hooked on harvesting a big AZ black bear on the San Carlos. They did everything from horseback trips to one-nighter's, and devoted some serious time into chasing big bruins. Over the course of several hunting trips neither was able to shoot a big bear... the one they were holding out for.

 

Then on a hunt in the early 90's it all came together. My Dad and Uncle had a special spot that they liked to hunt. An area that included gnarly canyons, forested with oaks and jack pines. To hear him tell it, it was remote as can be and they had it all to themselves.

 

Late one afternoon my Dad and Uncle made rounds to check out several stock tanks that sat on the ridgelines. They would check the tanks for fresh tracks to see what was hitting the water. As they dropped into the bowl that held the last tank, they both stopped. Through the boughs of the pine trees ahead, they could see a black dot out in the middle of the tank. They threw up their binoculars and saw a big bear. What caught them by surprise was not only its size, but that it was chest deep in mud, in the middle of the tank. The bear was eating up the rear of a dead cow that had recently died by getting stuck in the mud.

 

My Dad shouldered his 7mm and let one fly... mis-judging the distance (back before rangefinders). My Uncle quickly realized that it was about 500 yards away and tried to get my Dad to not shoot. In a brotherly gesture, my Dad told my Uncle heck no. My Dad let another round go, and the bullet kicked up the dirt in front of the bear's body. The bear did not here the first round, but was startled by the second. He pulled out of the cow, raised on two legs, and wheeled to turn. As he did, my Uncle shouted "that boar's 500 yards away!". My Dad came to the realization and raised the sights and let one fly.

 

Not knowing where the last bullet finished, and seeing the bear run into the distance, they walked down towards the tank. According to my Dad, my Uncle was not too pleased with him As they approached the tank, my Uncle went to where the bear had been eating and saw blood. As he did, my Dad walked up the ridgeline. As he busted over the first hump and crept through the oaks, he saw the boar up the ridge ahead.

 

The bear had been hit in the chest by my Dad's last shot and had run full bore through a barbed wire fence. The fence and gunshot made him woozy and he was wobbling behind a big juniper tree. Another 7mm round and he dropped on the spot.

 

The bear was enormous and my Dad and Uncle had a hard time rolling him over to field dress him. It took all night to skin him, and he had 3-4" of fat around his whole body. They couldn't wrap their arms around the boar's chest he was so fat, and they broke a brand new come-along winch that night when the tried to hoist him into a tree to skin. The winch was rated for 350 lbs. The bear squared 7'2".

 

 

[Edge]

My dad grew up the oldest of seven siblings in W. PA during the Depression and Prohibition.

Deer, raccoon, squirrels and corn mash were staples. The willingness and ability to poach and brew, meant going to bed hungry or not or letting down your family.

 

They didn't talk much about that illegal stuff, but I do recall my dad talking about a bear that his buddy shot at a distance with a .375 H/H up in unit 27. They tracked the blood trail where as they probably should have been more patient and let the bear bleed out.

 

But they kept the pressure on it and the bear would get up and move on as they approached. Eventually, they tracked the bear to where it crossed a muddy patch of creek bottom. When they arrived there, they could make out where the bear had stopped and scrapped up mud and packed his wound with it, minimizing it's bleeding and eliminating the blood trail.

[Pixman]

One of my favorite stories was when my dad and his buddies went bear hunting back when you could bait bears in Arizona and I was very young or not even born, not sure on that part. They had set out some baits and would check them regularly. Well they had heard a noise and thought a bear was getting into one of the baits so they went to investigate. They snuck in and my dad said he was looking around and looks up above his head and see's a 44 magnum pointing in the direction of the bait directly over him. Well of course he flinches not knowing if his buddy see's anything and could shoot at any second so my dad says let me know if you are going to shoot! his buddy says "you'll hear it!" They did not kill a bear but had some good stories to tell.

[muledeerarea33?]

I'd have to be around the camp fire, drinkin beer to tell my pops stories. I've been there for a few of the effed up ones and believe the others! Has anyone else's head ever been used as a rest to shoot a 120" white tail, when they were 5?? Good times I'll tell ya what.

[cosninocanines]

Not so much a specific story but the atmosphere. My dad and his hunting buddies used to to hunt some rough country in 6A (pre draw) and it took several hours on "goat trails" to reach "camp". To welcome others who might be passing through they hung up a "Carte Blanche Welcome here" sign and to my knowledge nobody ever showed up with their card requesting a spot. I sat around many a campfire and listened to the stories, some hunting some just life (enhansed by A-1 or Lucky Larger) hoping I could have some great stories to tell myself some day.

 

He passed in 1995 at 82 and I made a point of taking a pinch of his ashes to Their Camp.

[firstcoueswas80]

shooting the coffee cup out of my uncles hand as he took a sip of coffee.

[Guest 300ultramag.]

Uncle shot 4 legs of a deer once- my most memorable hunt as a kid with dad was- driving for 3 hours in the dark had to of been 2am arriving at apache lake loading the tin boat in the dark boating for 45 minutes in the dark... Hiking for hours to the top of a plateau finally arriving we come accross a cave I thought it was away cool so I poked around on the outside and found a fork and spoon... I yelled to my dad at my findings he comes over we investigate the cave. Little further and sure as shoot there is man in the cave acting like we don't see him he didn't say a word just satthere motion less... My dad turns around like he'd seen a ghost and says to me we need to get off this mountain.. We flew off this mountain nearly running until we got to the flats of the washes near the waters edge... I have never seen my dad to this day fearful of anything but this one makes the hair on my neck stand up... The kicker is this... The spot is only accessible by boat and the closest cove for miles we were the only boat in the cove or even on the lake that day- my dad and I have only spoke if this one time...

[singleshot]

Back in 1949 my Grandpa traded in a model 1895, 38-72 and some cash to buy my dad a Marlin 336 in 30-30. It was a late high school graduation present and he gave it to my dad on the way to deer camp in northern Wisconsin. First morning on stand Dad had two bucks come blowing through and failed to lead the first one and hit the second one in the head. First shot out of the rifle. They held a kangaroo court in camp every night and the punishment for a blunder like that could be harsh, so he didn't fess up to it.

The next morning he shot a big buck a little far back and low and caught up to him as the buck was swimming across a wide slough. He went for the head shot and hit him through the base of the antler, knocked the buck out and he drowned.

Couldn't get out of that one and the "court" dished out the sentence of hunting without socks and made him cut off the sleeves of his wool shirt.

[biglakejake]

the 'blue buck' story was dad's only hunting story.

 

sometime shortly after 1946 the deer on bill williams mountain wildlife refuge(a teddy roosevelt proclamation along with the north kaibab refuge) were starving. the hunting moratorium and limits were removed and folks were bringing pickup beds full of half-starved deer off the mountain. dad said there was only 10 lbs of edible meat on a adult doe at the time. he walked up over a little rise and this huge buck with an incredible rack got up and ran up the next ridge. dad emptied his m94 but missed entirely. he said he had never seen any animal-not even a pronghorn-run that fast and its coat was as blue as the arizona sky. the man was never accused of exaggerating anything or drinking too much in his lifetime.

 

my guess is it was the first bull elk he had ever seen. just a guess.

 

lee

[wildwoody]

oh man there are to many, and i don't even no if there true, if they are that means you could get away with some crazy dodo back then. you guys tell some great stories thanks for sharin.

[bonecollector777]

My dad has a few haha. . Not sure they are all true but funny either way.

First one was when he was about twelve and him and his dad were driving down the road turkey hunting when some ran across the road. My grandpa shot one and told my dad to run out and grab it. Problem was it wasn't Dead so when my dad picked it up he said the turkey woke up and started beating him with its wings and knocked him down. It continued to beat him while he was on the ground and every time he would try to get up it would knock him down again. He claims he tried and tried to get away from the thing while getting pummeled and scratched all while my grandpa sat and was laughing his head off. Eventually the turkey got far enough away from my dad that my grandpa shot him again and ended it.

The other is when my brother had his first antelope tag when he was 10. My brother still can't hit the broad side of a barn today and he is 33. So imagine when he was ten. So they got on a nice buck and first shot hit him in the leg. Just enough so he couldn't walk much. They snuck up 50 yards from it and my brother proceeded to shoot the whole box of shells at it and missed every time. My dad had to run back to the truck a couple miles away to get more bullets and run back. He made it back and had 10 more shots. He shot 9 more times and one shot hit the bucks back leg. Last shot missed. So now they didn't have anything left to shoot it with so my dad snuck up on it and had to finish it off by stabbing it multiple times with his knife.

[azslim]

My Dad had a Model A pickup, it was notorious for jumping out of gear. He had all his stuff loaded in it and had to get out and open a gate, yep the truck popped out of gear and was headed for a multi-hundred foot fall off of the Dinwoody Rim. Dad was able to grab a hold of the bumper and stop it but that was all, no one to help and he couldn't let go and run up, jump in and hit the brakes. So there he was holding the truck, and holding the truck, and holding the truck, until he got charley horses in both thigh's, let go and fell back and watched the truck head for the rim. Luckily there was a forked cedar and the right front tire & fender hit the fork and the tree stopped the truck. After the cramps went away he got in the truck, started it up and backed it out of the tree and went on his hunt. That Model A still has the dent, or did. Unfortunately I had to sell it last year. Had a lot of memories in that old thing going fishing and hunting with my Dad.

 

If you ever get to the Wind River Reservation in Wyoming and head up to Dubois you will go by Dinwoody Lake and can see the rim, it is an easy 1000 ft drop or better coming off the top at the upper lake. We killed a lot of deer and elk up there, and caught a lot of fish out of the lake.