MossRoad
Super Moderator
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- South Bend, Indiana (near)
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- Power Trac PT425 2001 Model Year
Funny Hunting Stories, Let's hear yours.
- Thread starter Ed of all trades
- Start date
- Views: 21463
cqaigy2
Super Member
These two things didn't happen to me. First one is creepy but the second made me laugh.
Walked into a gun shop and notice a rifle up on the wall with a nicely drilled hole in the breach. I ask the owner why someone would do that. He said that the last owner had been up hunting in the mountains on horse back. Hunter said that he felt something hit him in the back like a sledge hammer and knocked him off his horse. A guy jumped out of the brush, his eyes wild and ran up stopped and looked at the hunter laying on the ground, then he ran off, never to be seen again. Hunter that had been knocked off his horse got up and retrieved his then notice blood on his leg and figured he had been shot by the guy that had jumped out of the brush. He swung his rifle off his shoulder and saw that neatly drilled hole in the breach. The blood was from the wood splintering off the forestock and stuck him in the back. He never deer hunted again.
This second one is from my Dad, so i cant vouch for it. :laughing:
My Dad grew up in Michigan, the Upper Peninsula. Im sure many of you are familiar with ice fishing where people put fishing huts on the ice and sit inside with a fishing pole in a hole cut into the ice. So one day, he says that his Uncle and him were off to go ice fishing on the river. His Uncle brought his Labrador retriever with him and took him into the ice shanty with them. They were fishing when my Dad's pole gave a little wiggle and he grabbed it up and hooked a fish. As my Dad was pulling the fish up out of the hole, the Lab jumped at the fish, into the hole in the ice and disappeared! As you can imagine, my Dad and his Uncle were distraught and figured the dog was history. They both came out onto the ice on the off chance they might see the dog or something, when they heard a commotion coming from a shanty about 100 yards down river and they saw a guy come tumbling out of the door of his ice shanty and behind him was that dang Lab. The dog shook the water off and came trotting over to them none the worse for wear. Apparently this guy was leaning over and looking into the ice hole when he saw the black monster with white teeth come boiling out of the water and "attacked" him.
Walked into a gun shop and notice a rifle up on the wall with a nicely drilled hole in the breach. I ask the owner why someone would do that. He said that the last owner had been up hunting in the mountains on horse back. Hunter said that he felt something hit him in the back like a sledge hammer and knocked him off his horse. A guy jumped out of the brush, his eyes wild and ran up stopped and looked at the hunter laying on the ground, then he ran off, never to be seen again. Hunter that had been knocked off his horse got up and retrieved his then notice blood on his leg and figured he had been shot by the guy that had jumped out of the brush. He swung his rifle off his shoulder and saw that neatly drilled hole in the breach. The blood was from the wood splintering off the forestock and stuck him in the back. He never deer hunted again.
This second one is from my Dad, so i cant vouch for it. :laughing:
My Dad grew up in Michigan, the Upper Peninsula. Im sure many of you are familiar with ice fishing where people put fishing huts on the ice and sit inside with a fishing pole in a hole cut into the ice. So one day, he says that his Uncle and him were off to go ice fishing on the river. His Uncle brought his Labrador retriever with him and took him into the ice shanty with them. They were fishing when my Dad's pole gave a little wiggle and he grabbed it up and hooked a fish. As my Dad was pulling the fish up out of the hole, the Lab jumped at the fish, into the hole in the ice and disappeared! As you can imagine, my Dad and his Uncle were distraught and figured the dog was history. They both came out onto the ice on the off chance they might see the dog or something, when they heard a commotion coming from a shanty about 100 yards down river and they saw a guy come tumbling out of the door of his ice shanty and behind him was that dang Lab. The dog shook the water off and came trotting over to them none the worse for wear. Apparently this guy was leaning over and looking into the ice hole when he saw the black monster with white teeth come boiling out of the water and "attacked" him.
cqaigy2
Super Member
Dupe removed....
k0ua
Epic Contributor
My hunting story is not all that funny, but it is a little weird.
It was about 1996 and I went deer hunting with a friend way off down in "booger county". He owned an old house on the property we were to hunt on. The Sky was pretty "weepy" and the temp was near freezing when we left the Springfield area after work and headed off down in the brush. By the time we got to the property, and got the electricity turned on at the pole for the house it was freezing rain predicted to turn into snow by morning and we were glad to get the lights on and out of the weather. The old house came equipped with a couple of bedrooms with actual beds and while it was cold inside, it would sure beat the heck out of a tent. We went ahead and started to eat while my buddy started a fire in an old wood cook stove in the kitchen. So things were looking up, we had light, a roof over our heads and soon a rip roaring fire in the stove. Soon I noticed a wasp or two crawling out of the woodwork and we killed them. As time went on and the fire got hotter, soon there were wasps everywhere coming out of every crack in this old house. Soon they were flying around and we were really busy killing them with rolled up newspapers and one old rickety fly swatter. Swatting, stomping, and getting more apprehensive by the minute. Soon the floor was covered in dead bodies, and we decided to shut down the damper on the stove and try to get the fire banked down. There was no way I could count them, but in my mind we were talking about 400 to 500 wasps here and neither of us really wanted to get stung. As the fire died down, at least we kept them from flying around. When things calmed down we went to bed in cold beds. When we got up before sunrise to the cold house not a single living wasp was to be found. Just the hundreds of dead ones on the floor. There was an inch of snow on the ground and we went to our deer stands in the cold crisp air. I did not get a deer that year either.
It was about 1996 and I went deer hunting with a friend way off down in "booger county". He owned an old house on the property we were to hunt on. The Sky was pretty "weepy" and the temp was near freezing when we left the Springfield area after work and headed off down in the brush. By the time we got to the property, and got the electricity turned on at the pole for the house it was freezing rain predicted to turn into snow by morning and we were glad to get the lights on and out of the weather. The old house came equipped with a couple of bedrooms with actual beds and while it was cold inside, it would sure beat the heck out of a tent. We went ahead and started to eat while my buddy started a fire in an old wood cook stove in the kitchen. So things were looking up, we had light, a roof over our heads and soon a rip roaring fire in the stove. Soon I noticed a wasp or two crawling out of the woodwork and we killed them. As time went on and the fire got hotter, soon there were wasps everywhere coming out of every crack in this old house. Soon they were flying around and we were really busy killing them with rolled up newspapers and one old rickety fly swatter. Swatting, stomping, and getting more apprehensive by the minute. Soon the floor was covered in dead bodies, and we decided to shut down the damper on the stove and try to get the fire banked down. There was no way I could count them, but in my mind we were talking about 400 to 500 wasps here and neither of us really wanted to get stung. As the fire died down, at least we kept them from flying around. When things calmed down we went to bed in cold beds. When we got up before sunrise to the cold house not a single living wasp was to be found. Just the hundreds of dead ones on the floor. There was an inch of snow on the ground and we went to our deer stands in the cold crisp air. I did not get a deer that year either.
EddieWalker
Epic Contributor
This happened to my uncles hunting moose in Canada back in the 80's
One lives in Vancouver, the other lives in PA Saskatchewan. I forget where they where hunting, but mostly they would just drive the oil field roads until the saw a moose, then shoot it as close to the road as they could. On this particular trip, they where driving a van with windows all the way around it. The moose came out of the woods to the side of the van while they where driving along real slow, and hit the van. They stopped, and he hit the van half a dozen times more, breaking out the glass on the side of the van, and the windshield. It all happened so quickly, that neither of them had time, or probably, the thought to get out and shoot the moose. Then it was gone.
My aunt sent us a clipping of the story in the news that included a picture of their van.
One lives in Vancouver, the other lives in PA Saskatchewan. I forget where they where hunting, but mostly they would just drive the oil field roads until the saw a moose, then shoot it as close to the road as they could. On this particular trip, they where driving a van with windows all the way around it. The moose came out of the woods to the side of the van while they where driving along real slow, and hit the van. They stopped, and he hit the van half a dozen times more, breaking out the glass on the side of the van, and the windshield. It all happened so quickly, that neither of them had time, or probably, the thought to get out and shoot the moose. Then it was gone.
My aunt sent us a clipping of the story in the news that included a picture of their van.
RalphVa
Super Member
- Joined
- Dec 19, 2003
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- Charlottesville, VA, USA
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- JD 2025R, previously Gravely 5650 & JD 4010 & JD 1025R
Mine is about encounters with hunters. I always garden naked and usually ride my tractor naked. First off, I had a Gravely with a little seat on wheels to tow behind it. I went by this one area once during the day. Next time by it, I looked up and saw a hunter with a crossbow sitting up in a tree that was actually on my neighbor's property just over the little stream that was the line. I promptly informed him that he was not on my property.
Later on, I met another one or two of the hunters (with some clothes this time) and showed them where my property lines were.
Ralph
Later on, I met another one or two of the hunters (with some clothes this time) and showed them where my property lines were.
Ralph
joeyd
Platinum Member
I was hunting with my friend Dan outside of Yosemite one year. We had separated with the idea of circling around and hopefully pushing something towards each other. As the song says "the weather started getting rough" and as it was late in the afternoon I headed back to his truck. I got back first and was unloading my rifle and set my cartridges on his dash. As I was stowing my rifle one of them rolled into his defroster vent on the dash. When he returned I let him know and joked I hope it doesn't go off if you use the defroster/heater.
Dan and I work for the same company in different locations, a few months later I received an inter department envelope from him, inside was my cartridge, it finally rolled out of his heater vent and he found it on his floor mat. I keep better track of my bullets when I unload now.
Dan and I work for the same company in different locations, a few months later I received an inter department envelope from him, inside was my cartridge, it finally rolled out of his heater vent and he found it on his floor mat. I keep better track of my bullets when I unload now.
Mace Canute
Elite Member
gwstang
Platinum Member
When I was lots younger, I worked day shift and would get home in the winter about 30 minutes before the sun set. I would rush into the house and grab my shotgun or rifle depending on where I was going too. One January evening I rushed home and grabbed my shotgun, 1966 Remington 150th anniversary 1100 semiauto. Special because it belonged to my wife's father and I received it when he passed away. I would go quail hunting with him and still remember him using it. Anyway, I rushed into the house and my wife said," where do you think you are going?". I said hunting, she said that we were going to such and such house to eat dinner with some friends. I said I wouldn't be long. I ran down to the area below my pond and sat down. Had about 20 minutes to dark. I hear them coming and got ready. A couple of doe crossed the creek and I waited and....a nice 6 point came trotting down the hill right for me and hot on the trail of the doe that had gone by. The rut was full on and he didn't notice me a bit as he was sniffing the wind. I waited until he was about 30 yards away and unloaded some 00 buck into him....twice. He stumbled and I stood up looking to see where he fell. Varmint jumped up and took off, I unloaded again and missed because he was hopping around. So it is getting dark by now and I am fumbling around ( no flash light of course) and following the blood trail. It went in a circle of all things and I finally got sight of him under a big oak tree and he was laying on his side and groaning while stretching his legs in and out. Looked painful and I wanted to end it quickly. I clicked the safety off again and pointed the bang stick and pulled the trigger...nothing. I pulled the latch back and realized it was out of the magic shells that make it go bang. Ruh Roh, what now. No flashlight and dark by then and no more shells (I always carry extra now) so what do I do? I looked around for a large stick to whack him with as I was not going to get close to a live buck with horns as they can do some damage. No stick big enough....well, I did the next best think and whacked him with the butt of this finely crafted gun. I had some adrenaline going now. I hit much harder than I thought I would and knocked him slap out so I could finish him with my lock blade. Then had to drag him up two very long/steep hills and of course I got to the house and she was fuming as it was past time to leave for the dinner date. Fastest skinning/cutting up job I ever did. Kids were watching me do the deed and one of them said, "mama's mad ain't she". I said yeah, but she will get over it...of course that varmint went and told her what I said so she was really fuming by the time I got done and back in to clean up. Red heads get very irritated too easily, in my opinion...lol The next day, I went to clean the shotgun up and noticed the stock did not look quite right. Dang, it was cracked but good and the reason it would not load the next shell as it was binding up. Still had 2 shells left. I took it to a gunsmith and he fixed it. Costly deer. :ashamed:
Another one a little funnier. After the operation on my back (different thread already about injuries) to fix the disc that was broken, I wasn't supposed to be doing anything but gradually walking a little more and more. I could not stand it when the deer season came in. so, I grabbed the above shotgun (before it got broken) and stumbled up the trail to grandmas house as the deer would cross the big field and cut through the woods there. Makes for an easy ambush. Sure enough, four does go trotting by and then a small spike lastly. I figured that I could handle him even in my feeble state. So, I unloaded on him and he dropped like a rock. I then unloaded the shotgun so I could send one of my boys to get it and bring it back. I was about 100 yards from the house and just about as far as I could make it anyway. I poked the deer in the open eye to make sure he was really dead...yep, no movement. So I unloaded the gun and stood it by a tree on the trail. I then took my belt off and slipped it over the 70 lb spike to pull him to the barn about 70 yards away. I would pull about 10 feet or so and have to stop and lean against a tree in my weakened state. This was maybe 3 weeks after a major operation and I wasn't supposed to be doing anything like this. I was around 30 and invincible. It took me awhile to drag that dang deer up that trail. I got about half way and was leaning against another tree to recover and had the belt in my left hand. Yeah, you know what is coming next. I was about give out and suddenly I feel the belt jerking in my hand like a catfish does when it is on the line. Oh crap! This is not happening. The varmint is struggling to get up. WTH do I do now? The shotgun is leaning up against a tree a good way away and empty anyway. I could hardly get to it anyway in a hurry so....I did the next best thing. I knelt on his neck and stabbed him right in the heart with my big lock blade that has skinned many a deer. The varmint was about dead anyway, just had a little bit left in him. That was that, now I still had to drag him to the barn. Finally made it. Sent my 6 year old to get the gun for me. I strung him up and finished cutting him up. My 4 year old was watching me and wanted to know why I had shot this deer? I told him there wasn't going to be any Santa Clause this year as I had just shot Rudolph! I was just playing with him but he took it serious and went crying to the red head and course **** fire and damnation followed that. I finally got him to believe me that it wasn't Rudolph...whew. That whole deal was a bad move and cost me dearly for about a month as it slowed my recovery quite a bit (not to mention the pizzed off red head). He's 28 now and we laugh about it every three years or so. I still remember what flashed through my brain as that varmint was struggling to get up! My belt had my name embossed on it (nice belt btw) and I just knew that deer would run to the place below mine and one of those guys would find it and give me **** for the rest of the season. I could hear the hee-hawing in my mind as we would all hunt together frequently. :ashamed:
Another one a little funnier. After the operation on my back (different thread already about injuries) to fix the disc that was broken, I wasn't supposed to be doing anything but gradually walking a little more and more. I could not stand it when the deer season came in. so, I grabbed the above shotgun (before it got broken) and stumbled up the trail to grandmas house as the deer would cross the big field and cut through the woods there. Makes for an easy ambush. Sure enough, four does go trotting by and then a small spike lastly. I figured that I could handle him even in my feeble state. So, I unloaded on him and he dropped like a rock. I then unloaded the shotgun so I could send one of my boys to get it and bring it back. I was about 100 yards from the house and just about as far as I could make it anyway. I poked the deer in the open eye to make sure he was really dead...yep, no movement. So I unloaded the gun and stood it by a tree on the trail. I then took my belt off and slipped it over the 70 lb spike to pull him to the barn about 70 yards away. I would pull about 10 feet or so and have to stop and lean against a tree in my weakened state. This was maybe 3 weeks after a major operation and I wasn't supposed to be doing anything like this. I was around 30 and invincible. It took me awhile to drag that dang deer up that trail. I got about half way and was leaning against another tree to recover and had the belt in my left hand. Yeah, you know what is coming next. I was about give out and suddenly I feel the belt jerking in my hand like a catfish does when it is on the line. Oh crap! This is not happening. The varmint is struggling to get up. WTH do I do now? The shotgun is leaning up against a tree a good way away and empty anyway. I could hardly get to it anyway in a hurry so....I did the next best thing. I knelt on his neck and stabbed him right in the heart with my big lock blade that has skinned many a deer. The varmint was about dead anyway, just had a little bit left in him. That was that, now I still had to drag him to the barn. Finally made it. Sent my 6 year old to get the gun for me. I strung him up and finished cutting him up. My 4 year old was watching me and wanted to know why I had shot this deer? I told him there wasn't going to be any Santa Clause this year as I had just shot Rudolph! I was just playing with him but he took it serious and went crying to the red head and course **** fire and damnation followed that. I finally got him to believe me that it wasn't Rudolph...whew. That whole deal was a bad move and cost me dearly for about a month as it slowed my recovery quite a bit (not to mention the pizzed off red head). He's 28 now and we laugh about it every three years or so. I still remember what flashed through my brain as that varmint was struggling to get up! My belt had my name embossed on it (nice belt btw) and I just knew that deer would run to the place below mine and one of those guys would find it and give me **** for the rest of the season. I could hear the hee-hawing in my mind as we would all hunt together frequently. :ashamed:
OP
Ed of all trades
Elite Member
cqaigy2
Thanks That 2nd story got me to laughing and I had a hard time getting to the end of it. I knew what was coming. Thanks again Ed
Thanks That 2nd story got me to laughing and I had a hard time getting to the end of it. I knew what was coming. Thanks again Ed
