Trad Gang
Main Boards => PowWow => Topic started by: Buckeye Trad Hunter on February 19, 2009, 10:16:00 AM
-
I'm just curious about most memorable or favorite hunts. Does anyone else have a favorite or most memorable hunt that ended with no taking of game. My all time most memorable hunt occured this year and ironicly ended with me sending an arrow through a P&Y 8 points antlers at about 20 yards :knothead: . Some of you may have read the post about my spot and stalk through the field. For some reason this hunt just sticks with me. Maybe it's just because I had a realization that success is different for different people :) .
-
2007 Archery Elk hunt in Wyoming...and we didn't kill an elk.
It was awesome! Blew a few stalks, wind screwed up a bunch of them. We caught the rut good!!!!
I called in a few nice bulls and my buddy just couldn't get a shot.
He called in a NICE 6x6 for me, he came RUNNING in and stopped at approx 8yds....behind a tree!!!
He was all worked up, bugling right there in front of me...I still get goose bumps thinking about that.
We chased 1 herd for a few days, approx 40head...thats alot of eyes and noses to fool.
The satellite bulls were very nice, the herd bull was 6x7 and I watched him one day a little over 40yds with ALOT of cows between him and me. I watched him laying on the ground and bugling, kinda cool I never thought they did that.
It was a very good time!
I still think that was my favorite hunt, beating out the hunts where we actually killed an elk/deer.
It was just so much action and thinking and working them, kinda made our heads hurt.
I guess thats why its called hunting and not killing.
You would think with everything working so great that a kill would have been easy.
It definately beat out the 08 season where it was so hot (70 degrees during the day) that we didn't see anything.
Oh well, it was still time off from work and spent with good friends.
-
Any hunt that has an encounter is memorable. My first trad kill this year was my a hunt that had some great aspects that are and will always be burned in my mind. The most memorable turkey hunt was one that I worked a bird for four hours until it snuck through brush to ten feet, and my buddy refused to shoot because it wasn't strutting out front :banghead: .
-
In 2007 I was out on bow opener. Two wide and heavy beamed bucks traveling together came right in to me at 25 yds. I'm guessing they went between 110-120 inches. The first one walked out between two trees, leaving his vitals exposed. I let loose and my arrow went just under his armpit. He bolted forward and the second buck hopped between the same exact two trees. I let it rip again and my arrow went high. Talk about heartbreak!
:bigsmyl:
-
I was hunting elk in the Washakie Wilderness in early September. I had a BIG black bear respond to my bugling, and I shot him as he came towards me at 7 yards. He let out a big roar and ran all of 15-20 yards before falling over, dead. I didn't get an elk that year, but the bear sure made up for it. An adrenaline rush for sure. The following year, my hunting buddy had the same thing happen within a couple of miles of where I shot my bear. Unfortunately, we never found his bear, although we tracked him for a long way. Having bears respond to your bugling definitely adds some spice to an elk hunt.
-
I posted about one of my favorite hunts of all time on a thread recapping my 2008 bowhunting season. The part of that thread that talks about that hunt was titled Deer, Elk and Antelope Hunt.
I am going to try and post a link to that thread below. It was a recap of a 2 1/2 day hunt with lots of up close action.
http://tradgang.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=068622;p=1
-
I think mine are the ones where I had pretty steep odds to overcome but they did result in game taken. I am a lefty and a few years ago i broke and severly cut a couple fingers on my left hand about the first of Nov. I had planned a backpack hunt which was in 1 week and I wasnt going to give that up for anything, so I found a right hand bow (53lb bear kodiak hunter) kinda learned to shoot it and proceeded on the solo hunt. it was a challange to say the least, but on the second afternoon I was able to arrow a very nice buck, after cleaning it and hauling it out, I left camp set up and went to the doctor (after the taxidermist and meat locker) as my hand had the stitches ripped open and between the deers blood and mine, the bandages were a mess, and I caused a little stir at the doctors office.
the next one was 2 years ago, I had completly broken my left bicep tendon in a hunting accident and had drawn a hunt at Mcallister munitions depot that was in 2 weeks, and knew I was hurt pretty bad, but didnt want to go to the doctor knowing surgery was a sure thing. I shoot a 60lb bow and that proved pretty much impossible so I borrowed some lighter limbs for my bow but didnt have any arrows set up for it. So I pretty much decieded it was my 60lb bow or nothing. So I worked with it, started tryin to use my back to draw, it hurt and I was weak but could shoot. So I decieded that I would shoot very little in practice and hopefully could do it if the chance was given. I killed my biggest buck on that trip. my 2nd biggest was with the messed up hand. I take a lot of kidding that I need to hurt my self more if it leads to that kind of deer. I stay gimped up enough as it is !!!, since I found I could shoot some I waited till the 2nd flurry of rut activity was over to go to the doctor with my arm and he was stunned that I was such a DA to wait even 1 day let alone 2 months, I killed 2 more deer and a hog in that time.. ( he wasnt a hunter!) but the surgery date was set ! thats 2 of my most memoriable but there are plenty that ended in no game and were just as good due to time spent with good friends etc...
-
Back in the early 70'S my dad and I went rabbit hunting. We saw 4 men and a young boy coming toward us that was hunting with shotguns. When they got up to us one man said don't tell us you are hunting rabbits with them bows. I said how many rabbits do you guys have. They laid 1 rabbit on the ground and they said how many if any do you have. My father and I laid 7 rabbits on the ground and they walked away talking to themselves. My dad and I laughed and we proceeded to get one more for our quota.
-
That is a really tough question. My favorite hunt that I did not harvest anything on was in Texas for hogs. My most memorable hunting trip was to Wyoming for Turkey and Mule Deer. I was able to see an incredible number of animals, hunted with my friends, harvested a turkey, and was there to see my friends harvest two mulies.
My favorite day in stand was the day I shot my biggest buck ever, and it was my first buck.
-
My most memorable hunting memory was backpack hunting with my father in Colorado. We spent five days in the mountains. We never came closer than eighty yards to Elk, but it never mattered. The mountains, carrying a bow, and feeling close to God made it exceptional.
My second memory was watching a squirrel jump from limb to limb for about 10 mins. After which he jumped, came up short, and fell out of the tree. I can't tell you how many times the hair has stood up on my neck as I thought a whitetail was approaching, only to curse a squirrel. My smile was my revenge. :biglaugh:
-
Mine was this year. It still bothers me today. I was hunting during the rut and had out my montana buck decoy. At about 15 min before dark I saw a doe running rite at my setup. I looked behind her and saw something running behind her and it had a rack a big rack. She stoped at about 40 yards away from my decoy. Then old Mr.Lucky saw my buck decoy and he puffed up and started slowly walking at my setup. It was the most awsome un-nerving thing I have ever seen it was just like I have saw on TV. Anyway he kept on putting his rack down like he was going to charge. He got at 15 yards and I thought do it now or he is going to charge. I drew back and let my arrow fly. It hit the groung rite under his vitals. He stood there and did not know what happend. So I went to get another arrow and the doe he was with bolted and took him with her. I can tell you this and this is the hard part, in my life I never did expect to ever harvest a big deer, but I blew it. He was on the low end 150PY high end 180PY. I will never forget how he looked when he saw that decoy. TALK ABOUT LOOKING FOR A FIGHT.
Sorry so long but I loved sharing it,
Bryan Horner
-
Three OCT.ago I had 2 strokes.A year in a wheel chair year I could'nt talk for over year with a walker and cain for another year.I had killed 32 bucks with my selfbows. I was starting to have with draws.Even though I had really bad cornation on my right side and could'nt feel my anchor.I started shooting in the spring and even though I had to come down from 61#s to 50#s by OCT.I was back up to 55#s.I was totally on the ground[could'nt climb]did'nt really bother me over the last couple years I ground hunted mostly anyway.On OCT.28th I shot an killed a 5 pointer at 5 yards.He was my 33 buck with my own selfbows.He was'nt a pope an young but a was a booner to me.
-
Awesome stories guys ... Roy your story is just outright inspirational!!! Keep um comin!!!
-
I have got one that I will throw on here tonight.
-
My most memorable hunt wasn't an archery hunt and didn't result in any game being taken. When I was probably around 13 or 14 me and my Dad went rifle hunting around Christmas. We found a nice hemlock tree to sit under and watched the snow falling. You could faintly hear the Christmas music that was being played down in the town. It was just cool sitting there with the snow and the music talking with the old man. I don't think we even saw a deer, but that is definitely my most memorable hunt.
-
Congrats Roy :thumbsup:
-
1991,I was 11,dad and I were hunting on our place before we built the house.The land was somewhat cleared,and dad had skid a pile of logs out front.We when across the road,and sat under an ol white pine.I said I'm gonna go and sit by myself.I went and sat on that old log pile out front.About 10 minutes after I plopped down,in plain sight,a line of eight deer(Back when we had awesome numbers of deer around VT..seemed like you could wade through deer in the forest back then) came crossing the road about 40-50 yards away.I was just sitting there watching them,not knowing what to do.Then I said to myself I'll try for the last one.I had the same bow I'm shooting now in my sig,with some of dad's old fiberglass arrows,and some of his old green razorheads.The arrow fell about 20 yards short,all the deer took off running.I ran over to dad.He said be quiet!I just saw deer come through.I said I just shot at them,lol.
A boy was hooked and a hunter was born that day. :campfire:
-
In general, and odd as it sounds, I can honestly say that most of my most memorable hunts and hunting adventures involved "failure." Go figure. We work so hard to kill ... and yet come away so grateful for the experience even when we don't ... and often remember those "losses" most poignantly. At least me, but of course, as my wife eagerly testifies, I'm a crazy old coot. To each his own. Up to a point. Dave
-
For me it happened in '02. I am the only hunter in my family, (5 brothers and sisters). My brother is a big NASCAR fan and DJ on a morning radio show here in New Hampshire. In June of '02 he convinces me to go to the NH NASCAR race with him, trying to convert me. Well I went, and he did all he could to get me interested, I mean we went into garages, met crew chiefs, met a couple of drivers and then watched the race from a suite with all the food and drink you could want. No offense to race fans, but it still wasn't for me......as we left that day I told him as payback he would have to spend an afternoon in a tree with me. He agreed, and as the time got closer he came up with the idea that he would play it up on his radio show. We did, I went on the show a couple of times, and the support was outstanding. The night of the hunt I took him to my honey hole, where I had been watching deer all summer and fall, including a nice ten point with a dislocated shoulder. The night of the hunt was uneventful, right up until I hung my bow up readying to leave.....when I heard some deer coming. I told him not to move, and soon 5 bucks including a couple of eights and the ten walked right under us coming out of the woods into a finger of swale grass we were on the edge of, all within 15 yards or less. They milled around a bit when the ten and one of the eights began sparring in front of us, then eventually all of them moved into the field. That's the only time in over thirty years of hunting that I have seen bucks sparring in New Hampshire, I told Greg how rare it was to see. My brother did a great job, we left under cover of darkness, and then we had a segment on his show the next morning, again it was very well received. That night I went back and shot the ten, which was really an eleven, from the same stand. (It is the buck in my avatar) Every hunting season since, they talk about it on his show, and the response has always been overwhelmingly supportive.
To top it off, just last week he told me that he wants to go with me again this year to photograph deer and the hunt, I can't wait!!!!!
David
-
Mine was Feb 7, 2008, I took some friends 9 year old daughter, Sidney, deer hunting (she had been begging her parents to let her go with me.. she's a bit of a tomboy and loves camo). We were easing down a old logging road stopping every 10 yards or so she could operate the doe bleat can, and doing it very well. After only about 3-4 stops, out pop a spike buck about 80 yards from us and it made a bee line straight to us. It stopped about 20 from us (we were kneeing down) and then turned back into the woods. I told her to "call him back" and she made 2 little bleats on the can and the spike came running back toward us grunting. He made about 3 grunts and walked within 10 yards of us before stopping and doing a stare down for about a minute. Then he took off into the woods, but he never blew. Sidney looked at me and said... "That was so cool!"
-
Most definitely would have to be this past 2008 season. If you haven't read the story, you can below:
http://tradgang.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=067950;p=1#000000
-
My favorite deer hunt happened about 18 years ago. Although there was some success involved, it was not the most memorable aspect of the hunt. My dad and I were hunting together and I was fortunate enough to take a small buck, probably a 5 or 6 pointer but nothing giant.....
I sat in my tree and waited for my dad to come through on his way out. When he arrived, I climbed down and pointed out the blood trail. As we stood next to my tree (5 yard shot)I noticed a spike buck walking through the woods.
The deer was going to pass a bit out of range so I hit the grunt call. The buck turned and walked right towards us. My dad raised his bow and shot right over his back at about 15 steps. We were laughing it up as the buck ran away but when he stopped a ways out, I hit the call again and he came right back at us. When dad shot over him again, standing in the same spot- we couldn't help but scare the deer out of the county with the laughter. I'll never forget that hunt.
Brian
-
I was on active duty and hunting on the base. We all were assigned stands. We received our safety brief and then loaded up in the duce and half truck and headed out while it was still dark. I had forgotten my flashlight. When I was let off the hunt captain told me to just go in about 20 yards and I would find a big oak tree and sit down and wait til day light and then find the stand which would be within sight. My particular stand was about 100 yards from the swamp area coming from a tributary to the York River. I found the tree by swinging my bow side to side like I was blind walking across a cross walk. Any ways after sitting down I continue to hear the truck letting the other hunters off at their stands and then the sounds slowly faded away. Now it was just total silence. Boy was it dark, really dark. I couldn't even see any stars due to the canopy much less my hand in front of me. About 30 minutes into this silence, and still so dark you couldn't see your hand. I heard a faint sound of something running. The sound was intensifying as the seconds ticked by. I couldn't believe something was running and it being as dark as it was. As the sound intensified and seemed directed straight at me I pivoted while sitting on the ground toward the sound, and got ready for a shot. As the sound was within yards of me now and seemed directed at me I nocked an arrow. When this sound was right there and couldn't have been any closer, the arrow was nocked off the rest, bits and pieces of dirt, leaves and twigs thrown on me as the deer passed. As night faded away to day light I found that I was sitting next to the trail with my legs across it. I had deer prints on each side of my legs that straddled the trial.
-
This is a story I wrote about a hunt with my dad.
What Makes a Hunt Memorable?
What makes a hunt memorable? Many people have asked me that question, but few times have I really thought about it. I’ve always thought that every hunt was memorable in its own way. Growing up in northern Wyoming, I took for granted so many of the things that I had — I was very fortunate to be part of a family that loved to hunt and loved the outdoors. My Dad took me hunting with him when I was young, and when I was old enough, he prepared me to hunt by myself. He got me my first bow when I was too young to even remember it and taught me how to shoot. My Dad showed me the art of hunting everything from prairie dogs to black bear. The best part was that we did it together.
It was not just my Dad, though — it was my uncles as well. My uncle Mark was the one that had the most influence. He was there when I was learning how to shoot my bow, he helped me when I was learning to load shells for my rifle and was right next to me when I shot my first elk. Uncle Mark was always there when it was time to go track my animals that had run into a tough spot and had to be packed out. He and my Aunt Cindy where there to help when it was time to clean and butcher every one of my animals.
Since those early days, I have harvested many animals, with both gun and bow. I remember my first animal with a bow was a rock dog. I took my first turkey when I was 12, my first deer and first elk the year I turned 14, and my first bear at 15. I took my first bear with a bow when I was 16. That same fall, on Oct. 17, 1999, I was fortunate enough to harvest the elk of a lifetime — he was seven points on the right, eight on the left, and he gross-scored an awesome 402 inches Boone and Crockett. Three years later, in 2002, I took my second black bear with a bow — my first Pope and Young animal. I think that my dad was more exited than I was! A couple of years later I shot a pronghorn that also made the P&Y record book.
But as in most aspects of life, hunting doesn’t always go smoothly. I made my first really poor shot on an animal in 2004, an elk that scored 298 P&Y points. It took six hours of tracking, with my Dad’s help, in order to find him and make it right.
These are just a few of my adventures, but none of them can top the hunt I will always consider my most memorable.
In 2005, my Dad called me and asked if I wanted to put in for a different hunt area in the Bighorn mountains and go with a group of friends that he used to hunt with years ago. I was excited — this would be a whole new area for me, and I could not wait for the September 15 to come around. Our group arrived on the evening of the 14th, and I was ready to go by morning. Over the next few days I found myself in the middle of lots of elk. On the night of the 21st, Dad, a good friend Ramey, and I went up Buckley Creek and found three big bulls and a fair number of cows. This was the setting for what was to be the greatest day of hunting I might ever have.
Dark and early the next morning Dad and I set out for Buckley Creek. Despite six inches of fresh snow and bitter-cold -16 degree temperatures, we were as warm as we could be thinking of all the elk we’d seen the night before. As we hiked in the darkness, we heard the call of the wild — the majestic bugle of the bull elk — shatter the pre-dawn silence. We got into a position where we could get a good look at the elk and make a game plan when light broke. As the sunrise lit up the hills, we picked out our target — a nice six-point with 13 cows and a *** horn. Dad and I started toward them up the canyon, which turned out to be a lot steeper than we had anticipated, the wind in our favor and the sun on our backs.
Just as we got to the top of the trees where we could see them again, we heard another bull bugle. I looked at Dad as if to ask without words if that was the same bull that we’d set out after. The bugle had come from way up above us, and that was not the direction the bull had been heading the last time we’d seen him. We hurried to a better vantage point, and what a surprise we got. On the skyline stood a monster, with several cows and two satellite bulls.
The elk that we were in pursuit of, much smaller than the second bull, took his cows around the corner to the other side so as not to lose them to this truly superior bull. Dad was quick to say, “let’s go after him.” Little did we know what kind of endeavor that would be! The monster moved off of the skyline and down into a canyon that we refer to as “No-Name.” We scrambled to the ridge, only to see him going over the next one, cows in the lead, moving quickly. It was two or three miles around the head of the canyon.
We took our time getting to the other side, stopping to look over the divide into Lost Lake and take a few pictures (which, incidentally, did not turn out. I guess the shutter on the camera was not opening all the way.). We even found a few elk bedded down near the lake. Dad took a little time to play with his new GPS and mark the coordinates —a fruitless endeavor, as he won’t remember what he called it, not having learned how to use letters to name things on it yet. With the day getting shorter by the minute and not having heard the bull bugle for quite a while, we decided that we’d better get to the other side and see if we could find this magnificent elk.
We pressed on, climbing through rock piles and over boulders. When we climbed over the last ridge to the east fork of Porcupine Creek, he was nowhere to be found. After eating lunch and glassing all that we could see, we were almost out of ideas. Then a coyote came running up the bottom chasing a bird. I grabbed my cow call and started to squeak on it, and he came running. The ’yote went behind a little hill, and just then I heard it — the bugle of the bull that we were after. We forgot about the coyote and started glassing again, so engrossed in watching for the elk that we didn’t even realize the coyote had come right up to us. He spooked and ran away, and we were back to looking for the elk.
I thought that I could hear him in the bottom, so we moved down the ridge and looked some more. We had only heard the one bugle to go off of, but it was more than enough to motivate us. Dad told me to go around the corner a little farther and see what I could find. As I was climbing out on a little rock ledge, the elk bugled again. He was right under me, but I had yet to spot him. I picked up my binoculars and found a cow almost immediately, then another and another. Then there he was, bedded just above his cows in a little grassy spot in the scattered trees, with the wind coming from below him. He had wisely set himself up with a great vantage point to spot intruding hunters.
I ran back to Dad and told him I had found the bull and was not sure if we could get to him. After climbing out to the ledge and assessing the situation himself for a few minutes, Dad decided to go after him. His game plan for getting there: “Let’s get around this cliff and go straight to him.” I wasn’t sure that would even come close to working, but I trusted Dad’s years of experience, and away we went. It would be a good mile over treacherously steep, rocky terrain just to get close to where the elk were settled.
The area where the bull had gathered his harem was a place that I later nicknamed the Labyrinth. It is in the bottom of a canyon. Relatively flat compared to the rest of the area around it, the Labyrinth is scattered with pines and several little rock rims that vary in height from two to 10 feet. There were two big puddles in it that looked to be about three feet deep. I could see that this was elk heaven, and the closer we got, the more I saw that Dad was right on the money in his plan of attack.
We moved into the edge of the Labyrinth at about 3 p.m. and glassed around to find a path that would not take us right into the middle of the cows. I could see just the antlers of the bull not even 60 yards away. This was the first good look that we’d gotten of him since early that morning. He had seven points per side and had great mass that carried all the way to his fours and was strong on top except for his G6s, which where only about two inches long.
We found a way to approach while staying hidden, and the wind was in our favor. This big bull was starting to get restless and was bugling every minute or so. I decided to get on top of a little ridge and Dad was going to go round the end. Either way, one of us was going to get a shot — or at least that was the plan.
I took my position and got set up, and Dad began to make his move. The bull got up and started toward me. He stopped at about 35 yards, nearly broadside but slightly quartering-toward. I really wanted Dad to get a chance at this amazing animal; he had worked hard for it and deserved it more than I did. At long last, I heard the twang! of his bow, followed by a string of choice words from Dad’s mouth when the bull bolted. I jumped off the rock and ran across to see where the bull and his cows had retreated to. I gave a few cow calls and the herd slowed down, but I knew there was no chance of getting the bull back within range. Dad followed me, smiling and fuming at the same time. His arrow had hit a branch on the tree right in front of him. Nonetheless, Dad was happy for having had the opportunity to stand just 20 yards from such an impressive animal —something I’ve always respected about him.
I learned a lot that day, some from nature, some from God, but most from my Dad. His smile after missing the bull of a lifetime, a dream of his forever, taught me that we don’t hunt to kill. That’s not what this is about. Rather, it’s about being out in the great creation, getting in touch with nature and respecting the animals that God gave us. If we are lucky enough to take an animal, that’s just a bonus, an added benefit — but by no means is it what makes or breaks the hunt. More than all the stories I can tell about animals I have taken on my own, being with my Dad on a marathon chase for a big bull elk was the most memorable hunt I might ever have.
-
Great story Randy!
-
Thanks Dan
-
up lets hear more of these
-
There no no question here. Hunting grouse with Wingnut. We brought home pot licking good grub, shot till I was tired of pulling the bow, and laughed till I cried.
There is just nothing more fun than a grouse hunt busting out while your elk hunting. Ya need two elk arrows and a back quiver full of grouse arrows.
rusty
-
My favorite bowhunt has to be my first trad deer. It all started out one october morning, i had football practice at 930 so i had to be home by 9. well i was hunting about 50 yards from my house in my development. talk about urban... about 7 i looked up and saw 2 yearlings heading my way from my neighbors yard, they came right to me and stopped at 12 yards. I picked a spot drew,released, and white fletching grazed her belly. I was devastated for a whole 2 seconds until she stopped again. This time it was 15 yards and i REALLY focused. I let go and swampdonked my first trad deer. around a 50lb deer and i was so jacked up i couldnt even talk. at that point i had killed over 30 with a compound and none could even compare to this. I was one proud 16 year old. I smacked my first buck with traditional stuff this past year, 4 pt. No drug can match the high one gets from getting an animal with trad. equipment.