Ok... here's a few I borrowed from another site to get things going.
My story comes from a man in his 70's that needs to be shared. True story I spoke with the kids (now in thier late 40's). After returning from a long day of hunting with his son and sons friend. Dad noticed the kids had filed thier pockets with rocks. He asked why on earth would they fill their pockets with rocks while out hunting. The son and his friend told him they were filled with gold. The father of course did not believe them and looked at the rocks. Sure enough they were quartz rocks that had a gold vien in them. The kids told Dad there was rocks like this everywhere under "THE TREE". The family has been back every year for near 20 years and have yet to find this spot again.
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Today went out calling just east of home and found a very nice sporterized Mauser in 25-06 on my way into a stand. High grade dual wood, checkered bolt and high end scope. With the weather wear it looks to have been dropped in the only the last few months. Asked the two neighboring property owners of the BLM land where I was calling if it was there's and they didn't recognize it. As it was found on BLM land it could be from anywhere considering how little of our area is not private land.
After I finished calling for the day I stopped by the Sheriffs office to have them run the numbers and try to locate the owner. I really do hope they find the owner of the rife as it seems they put allot of time and money into it. If they are not able to locate him/her I guess at some point they will give the rifle to me as long as she comes back clean. Will be a neat project restoring it.
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Growing up in Northern Idaho in a super small town, we spent lots of time in the woods.
There is an area called West Dennis that in the 80's was still considered pretty remote. It bordered the Indian Reservation on one side and was NF and Private Logging Company land for the rest of it. We loved hunting elk and deer back there. My uncle pretty much raised me and this was his favorite spot in the world to go.
I walked one ridgeline and he and a friend walked in on a finger that branched into two ridgelines about 2 miles in. Plan was to meet back at the pickup in about 6-8 hours. I walked in about 2 miles and sat down to just listen and watch an area with my bino's for an hour or so. Well as most hunting trips turn into a big nap session for me, I decided to not change my MO and promptly fell asleep. I must have been out around 1.5 hours or so (later confirmed by the time). I woke up with every single nerve on HIGH ALERT. I sat there and calmed myself and then I noticed the smell. I can not even begin to describe it properly at this time, but it is NOT a normal smell of the woods. At this time I had killed or been part of harvesting every known animal in the Clearwater National Forest. We sustained our families on the game we harvested. I have spent countless hours in the woods both alone and in parties, by this time in my life (I was 17).
Just as I am considering WTH is up, 3 consecutive shots ring out roughly from the pickup parking area. This is our standard signal to return to the pickup as someone has something down or needs to leave (emergency, etc etc). I return with 2 consecutive shots into an old stump nearby to let everyone know where I am and that I am on my way. I am walking out and catch that smell twice more. Wind is the same as when I walked in, but I do realize swirling winds can do funny things with scents and humans have terrible sniffers. I did NOT smell it on the way in.
I get to the pickup to find a rifle trained on me, by my uncle. I am like WTH and then I notice, he is white as the background on this webboard! He taught me BRM and safety and even when I later went in the Army I have never been taught safety in a more paramount manner than my Uncle teaching me in my early days.
His buddy is in a kneeling position with his rifle to his shoulder pulling what I now realize is rear security. At the time I was like "what are these jokesters up to?" My uncle seeing it was me lowered his weapon and yelled for me to hustle. Now I am worried, here is one of the most accomplished mountian men I know freaking out. I break into a jog for the last 150 -200 yards and get to the pickup.
They barely wait for me to get there and they jump in stuffing me in the middle. Then I notice the pickup is running and they are both sitting with their side arms drawn. My uncle drives like a mad man all the way out, slamming into a stump on the way and denting the heck out of the rear quarter of his pride and joy (1985 Dodge Pickup, hey everyone has a right to dream). They don't say a word except "Anything?" "Nope."
We get back to the hardball and the finally start to relax. By the time we get to my uncles they have relaxed enough to talk. We go out into his "shop" and stoke up the fire.
My uncle and his bud recount this portion of the story as follows.
They were walking in and just as they got to the branch in the finger they smell something, thinking it might be an elk they hunker down in a makeshift hide and wait. My uncles buddy was the first to see it, movement about 75 yards out and FAST movement. They think it is an elk moving downwind. My uncle decides to just chirp a cow call to see if it will stop. Not only does it stop, it stands up. It then starts screaming in what they describe as a distressed woman wailing. Now we have run dogs on bears and cougars so neither of these guys in unfamiliar with the sounds either of those animals makes. They are pretty freaked out they say, it just feels weird. The animal moves off into the woods and they decide it is best to just leave the area. As soon as they stand up to leave 50 yards on the OTHER side of them the brush explodes with sticks being smashed into trees, the wailing sounds from 2 seperate voices/animals. They say F that and start booking it out. As they round a corner on the skid road about 20 yards on the uphill side two very large rocks (they say neither of them could have picked up the rocks) get rolled forcefully onto the trail behind them. Then the wailing starts again 2 voices one on the uphill side one on the downhill side. Either the animals are matching their movement or there are a lot more of them than the original 2, because the brush is pretty thick in this area and it would be hard to match a guys pace on a skid trail while walking off trail in the woods.
They break into a pretty healthy jog, now. They get to the pickup clearing and immediately smell that smell again. My uncle decides to send off the 3 rounds in hopes of calling me back and hopefully to scare off whatever it is that is harassing them. He hears my two return shots and is happy to hear that I am only a couple miles away. They hunker down behind the doors of the pickup, scared to death. They smell the smell one more time and it is right before they spot me walking down my own skid trail to the pickup.
To this day neither my uncle nor his best friend will go back to West Dennis. I don't either by shear respect and awe for this story. These guys would not tell anyone else the story for fear of being called crazy, stupid, naive or worse liars. But I would put my reputation on my uncle without hesitation. Why would he willingly stop hunting his favorite spot that is full of game and beauty?
I never really could place that smell until I was in St. Louis with my two boys. We walked into the large primate exhibit they have and BOOM there it was. I am saying that I am so sure the smell I smelled was primate. Specifically it smelled like the Gorillas the most.
I don't know what any of that means, but it scared the crap out of 2 grown men and by defacto one teenager.
