Post by Rick Barbee on Oct 24, 2021 16:22:32 GMT -6
Share your memorable hunting stories with us. Include pictures if you have them, and want to.
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I have lots of hunting stories, and some of them are pretty funny if your humor leans that way.
To start, I'll tell one of the more serious ones.
Some years ago (can't remember for sure, but late 80's, or very early 90's) I was on a javalina/hog hunt down near Freer Tx.
I shot a javalina on the first day, then spent the rest of the 4 day hunt getting after the pigs.
For many years I've been after what I call a tusker with my bow, and have yet to get a good one.
This trip was no exception to that curse for me.
On the evening of the 3rd day I got onto a lot of pigs in the 15 ft tall bee brush, not more than 20 yards off the sendero I was hunting on. I started to go in after them, but didn't go more than 20 ft before I realized - this is not a good idea, and returned to the sendero.
Once back to the sendero, I just listened closely to pick up on how/which direction they were moving, and if they were getting closer to the sendero path. They were, so I kept moving with them, and kept myself positioned down wind of where they were.
After about an hour they started crossing the sendero about 15 yards up wind of me. They would enter it, stop, sniff & look around, then hurry on across. Like I said, I was after a tusker, so I waited, and eventually a big one (real big one) came across. He had very long tusks, and after killing him he weighed in at 347 lbs.
Yes, I got him, but only after a ferocious battle, that I thought "I" was going to LOSE.
I shot him right through the lungs with a 605 gr arrow tipped with a Zephyr Sasquatch broadhead from my 98# recurve. The arrow seemed to not even slow down, and zipped right through him like a hot needle through a stick of butter. The blood spray was instant, and profuse. He let out an angry squalling growl, and jumped into the brush on the other side of the sendero.
I listened to him crashing that brush, and running through it going back to my left (down wind), until he emerged again about 30 yards, and yes downwind of me.
You wouldn't think they could smell you with all that blood flowing, but smell me he did, and he came charging. He probably saw me too (by that time, standing right in the middle of the sendero), but I could tell from how he acted, the he smelled me first.
The first shot from the .44 mag hit him right in the forehead. He folded up, and slid (still in my direction) for about 5 ft, but at the end of the slide was right back on his feet charging.
The second shot hit him in almost the same spot. Rinse, and repeat of the first shot, only at this time only about 15 yards from me. The third shot popped his head like hitting a watermelon with a sledge hammer, and he was done, dead, and still (after the slide) not 10 ft from my feet. Yes, I checked my drawers, and to my great relief they were clean.
My biggest boar ever, but ruined for having a tusker trophy due to having to destroy his head with the .44 mag. Oh well, it's an exciting memory I'll never forget.
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I have lots of hunting stories, and some of them are pretty funny if your humor leans that way.
To start, I'll tell one of the more serious ones.
Some years ago (can't remember for sure, but late 80's, or very early 90's) I was on a javalina/hog hunt down near Freer Tx.
I shot a javalina on the first day, then spent the rest of the 4 day hunt getting after the pigs.
For many years I've been after what I call a tusker with my bow, and have yet to get a good one.
This trip was no exception to that curse for me.
On the evening of the 3rd day I got onto a lot of pigs in the 15 ft tall bee brush, not more than 20 yards off the sendero I was hunting on. I started to go in after them, but didn't go more than 20 ft before I realized - this is not a good idea, and returned to the sendero.
Once back to the sendero, I just listened closely to pick up on how/which direction they were moving, and if they were getting closer to the sendero path. They were, so I kept moving with them, and kept myself positioned down wind of where they were.
After about an hour they started crossing the sendero about 15 yards up wind of me. They would enter it, stop, sniff & look around, then hurry on across. Like I said, I was after a tusker, so I waited, and eventually a big one (real big one) came across. He had very long tusks, and after killing him he weighed in at 347 lbs.
Yes, I got him, but only after a ferocious battle, that I thought "I" was going to LOSE.
I shot him right through the lungs with a 605 gr arrow tipped with a Zephyr Sasquatch broadhead from my 98# recurve. The arrow seemed to not even slow down, and zipped right through him like a hot needle through a stick of butter. The blood spray was instant, and profuse. He let out an angry squalling growl, and jumped into the brush on the other side of the sendero.
I listened to him crashing that brush, and running through it going back to my left (down wind), until he emerged again about 30 yards, and yes downwind of me.
You wouldn't think they could smell you with all that blood flowing, but smell me he did, and he came charging. He probably saw me too (by that time, standing right in the middle of the sendero), but I could tell from how he acted, the he smelled me first.
The first shot from the .44 mag hit him right in the forehead. He folded up, and slid (still in my direction) for about 5 ft, but at the end of the slide was right back on his feet charging.
The second shot hit him in almost the same spot. Rinse, and repeat of the first shot, only at this time only about 15 yards from me. The third shot popped his head like hitting a watermelon with a sledge hammer, and he was done, dead, and still (after the slide) not 10 ft from my feet. Yes, I checked my drawers, and to my great relief they were clean.
My biggest boar ever, but ruined for having a tusker trophy due to having to destroy his head with the .44 mag. Oh well, it's an exciting memory I'll never forget.
