Does anyone have a favorite hunting story to share?

Wow - Sad. I guess I will start. My first hunt when I was 12 years old, was back in 1972. My dad took me out and the first weekend was a bust. All of our favorite hunting areas were crawling with orange clad folks with rifles. There was someone on the tip of every coulee draw, every wooded bottom exit and few were brave enough to actually walk the bottoms or the coulees.

In the early morning hours of our second weekend we found ourselves alone in one of dad's favorite hunting coulees and down we went. Sure enough a big doe jumped up right away and dad took a shot with a borrowed enfield. He saw her kind of slip and saw a blood trail so he took off to find her.

He sent me up another draw at a fork int he coulee and continued. After about a half hour of walking along I heard another shot and was getting ready to backtrack to help my dad. Right then a four point muley and a doe popped up out of the dry creek bottom about 200 yards away. I knelt down in the wild roses and sage and took careful aim. I fired. I missed. He stayed there looking around so I levered another round in my Winchester Model 94 and fired. Dropped him right there. I never saw the doe again.

I went up and saw I hit him in the right eye.

I didn't have a knife with me so I tagged him and headed off to get dad. I didn't go far as he had heard me shoot and came to see what was up. He had already gutted his doe and we gutted my buck when we found where the first shot went, I had put a neat round hole right through his right ear!

After we loaded up the buck, we went and got his doe. Apparently she was standing right there not 50 yards away as he rounded that fork in the coulee and just as he pulled the trigger she turned. He hit her in the rear end. It was something he had been ragging on me not to do for weeks before we went out.

Karma is a *****, ain't it!

My dad never lived that one down with mom or our hunting buddies. Tell me where you hit that doe in 72 again? And your son did what? Also, his first shot had just kicked her above the hoof, it was a very minor wound that left a blood trail only because it was so close to the ground to begin with.

To add injury to the insult, my dad decided not to take a third shot and went up to slit the doe's throat. She managed to twist around and kick the crap out of him before he got the job done. Had bruises on his rib cage for a while. Also, he had warned me several times to make sure the animal was dead before I approached too close, then ignored his own advice.

You had to be there to understand how funny this all really was, but I think most of you hunters can appreciate it, especially if your hunting mentor was anything like my dad. He was an avid outdoors man, had handled guns and hunted his whole life, like to fish and camp as well. BIG safety advocate and proper shot selection guy as well. As I would learn over many years of my own experiences, sometimes things happen no matter how well you try to do it right.

I would never hunt if that meant killing some animal - only to photograph them.

Killing for fun is sick, twisted and a sign of mental illness.

The sad part is that.... i never went hunting

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