triple on ducks or geese, really high shot on a dove with a 410, long shot on a deer with slugs or buckshot, diving clay target on the skeet/trap field, close shot on something, unluckiest whatever kind of bird in the county,must have died from a heart attack? let's hear about them, those shots you tell your buddies about
best shot you ever made with a shotgun
- Thread starter blooch
- Start date
best shot
Mine was a forty yard crossing shot on a grouse. We were walking across a hillside , my hunting pard up at the crest and I was about down at the bottom when he flushed a bird that flew across him and angled down the hill. When I saw the bird he was about 10 yards off the ground afterburner kicked in and a tail wind, so I just pulled up swung through and fired. Bird dropped and I about died ! I make a shot like that in the thick stuff but can't hit a crossing on a duck to save my life, My pard says the bird saw me got startled an flew into a branch
but I found pellets when I cleaned it at home 
Mine was a forty yard crossing shot on a grouse. We were walking across a hillside , my hunting pard up at the crest and I was about down at the bottom when he flushed a bird that flew across him and angled down the hill. When I saw the bird he was about 10 yards off the ground afterburner kicked in and a tail wind, so I just pulled up swung through and fired. Bird dropped and I about died ! I make a shot like that in the thick stuff but can't hit a crossing on a duck to save my life, My pard says the bird saw me got startled an flew into a branch
but I found pellets when I cleaned it at home my own was in a pheasant hunt as well. i have only hunted pheasant one time in my life, a friend flew myself and some of his customers to northern kansas to hunt about 12 years ago. we stayed in a barn in a camper shell on a truck, some were in the farm house, snow on the ground everywhere,no toilet facilities, it was great. being young and from texas i was made to walk, not block. i had no idea what i was going to walk through when i started. the veteran pheasant hunters told me what to do and it was fun, just not too many birds, i didn't get a shot in two days. we only shot 5 birds out of a group of 25 hunters. we walked a lot, a whole lot. on the third day they wanted me to get to shoot, so the put me in this fence row on the edge of the field, blocking. as they walked the field birds flew everywhere, fell everywhere, too. closest one to me was at least 150 yards though. they just about ran a deer right over me. then they stopped and laughed at the big texan the buck wanted to breed. the stalk continued and on the other end of the line a rooster flew up and across the front of all these great shots, he was flying right at me, from a long way out, he'll never make it here i thought.
i watched as about 25 shots were fired at this rooster, he never wavered, just kept comming. all of this happened quickly, the deer ran to the road, saw the rest of the blockers and came back, i turned to watch him, and the rooster kept flying, my freind yelled at me and i turned to look at he rooster. he was about land in the fence row, right at my feet. i got him at about 15', before i could pick him up , the deer went the other way, and another hunter's dog got the bird while i dodged the scared buck. only rooster i ever shot at, i killed, and didn't even get to pick him up.
i watched as about 25 shots were fired at this rooster, he never wavered, just kept comming. all of this happened quickly, the deer ran to the road, saw the rest of the blockers and came back, i turned to watch him, and the rooster kept flying, my freind yelled at me and i turned to look at he rooster. he was about land in the fence row, right at my feet. i got him at about 15', before i could pick him up , the deer went the other way, and another hunter's dog got the bird while i dodged the scared buck. only rooster i ever shot at, i killed, and didn't even get to pick him up.
Not a hunting story but still "The Best Shot I Ever Made With A Shotgun"
One of the clubs that I belong to has "Action Shooting Events" every month in the summer. One evening one of the stages was for shotguns. There were three "pepper poppers" between fifteen and 20 yards from the shooter. You were only allowed 5 rounds in your shotgun. The two "pepper poppers" on the outside each had a clay bird thrower ingeniously incorporated into it so that when you hit the popper and it fell, the weight of the steel target hit a welded lever and threw a bird low over the middle of the target array. Both threw toward the center of the array.
I was using my Remington 1100 with the 21" barrel and a Modified choke tube. Everyone had to use the clubs AA 7 1/2 Target ammo.
I shot the left "popper" first, then the right one and as I swung back to the center "popper" the two clay birds were crossing around the top of the center "popper". That's where I shot and the pattern hit the "popper" and both birds simultaneously. Five targets with three shots. I pulled that shot out of my butt. Needless to say I won that stage but I took a lot of kidding about it.
Sometime luck is on your side.
It hapened at the Erie County Conservation League in Sandusky, Ohio a couple of years ago.
Neil Casper
One of the clubs that I belong to has "Action Shooting Events" every month in the summer. One evening one of the stages was for shotguns. There were three "pepper poppers" between fifteen and 20 yards from the shooter. You were only allowed 5 rounds in your shotgun. The two "pepper poppers" on the outside each had a clay bird thrower ingeniously incorporated into it so that when you hit the popper and it fell, the weight of the steel target hit a welded lever and threw a bird low over the middle of the target array. Both threw toward the center of the array.
I was using my Remington 1100 with the 21" barrel and a Modified choke tube. Everyone had to use the clubs AA 7 1/2 Target ammo.
I shot the left "popper" first, then the right one and as I swung back to the center "popper" the two clay birds were crossing around the top of the center "popper". That's where I shot and the pattern hit the "popper" and both birds simultaneously. Five targets with three shots. I pulled that shot out of my butt. Needless to say I won that stage but I took a lot of kidding about it.
Sometime luck is on your side.
It hapened at the Erie County Conservation League in Sandusky, Ohio a couple of years ago.
Neil Casper
It was my first day ever shooting a shotgun. J.C Higgins bolt action 12 gauge full-choke w/ a 28" barrel. My Dad still has the gun and it routinely wins turkey shoots when he goes.
My great-grandpa points out a clump of 3 pine cones about 30' up in a tree. He tells me to shoot the one on the left.
I ask him how I'm supposed to do that with a shotgun? He says to just aim at that little open space to the left of the pine cone.
I try to get him to show me, but he won't. After about 10 minutes of figuring out how to not completely embarass myself (as only a macho 10 yr old can do) I decide to just let the lead fly where it will. I try to follow his advice, hold the gun up forever until I just close my eyes and pull the trigger. Pull, mind you, not squeeze. About the time my ears stop ringing, I look up to see there's only 2 pine cones still hanging there to the right of where the 3rd was and hear my Papa say - "See, shotguns ain't so hard."
I've never been able to duplicate that with any shotgun since. I never saw him do it either, so I now attribute it to just dumb luck. Maybe I'm just afraid to de-mystify that day subconsciously and don't ever want to repeat it lest I spoil my childhood memories - but I think it was just dumb luck!
ERRainman
My great-grandpa points out a clump of 3 pine cones about 30' up in a tree. He tells me to shoot the one on the left.
I ask him how I'm supposed to do that with a shotgun? He says to just aim at that little open space to the left of the pine cone.
I try to get him to show me, but he won't. After about 10 minutes of figuring out how to not completely embarass myself (as only a macho 10 yr old can do) I decide to just let the lead fly where it will. I try to follow his advice, hold the gun up forever until I just close my eyes and pull the trigger. Pull, mind you, not squeeze. About the time my ears stop ringing, I look up to see there's only 2 pine cones still hanging there to the right of where the 3rd was and hear my Papa say - "See, shotguns ain't so hard."
I've never been able to duplicate that with any shotgun since. I never saw him do it either, so I now attribute it to just dumb luck. Maybe I'm just afraid to de-mystify that day subconsciously and don't ever want to repeat it lest I spoil my childhood memories - but I think it was just dumb luck!
ERRainman
Harley Nolden
Staff In Memoriam
NotMy Shot, but I was there
In the early days of my youth, it was custom for the men of the family to hunt ducks and geese in MN. for the Holiday meals.
My dad, rest his soul, had always expressed that he was the best duck and goose hunter in MN. He also expressed he was the best with a shotgun. My brother's and I had heard this so many times we decided to put him to a test.
As we parked the car at the edge of our regular slue, we got out of the car and dad headed for the bushes. (pit stop) My brothers and I immediatley loaded his shotgun, one slug, 2 #4's, for him.
We had sat in the blind for about an hour when my dad called "Mark 1:Oclock. All eyes turned in that direction, and of course that was our dad's side of the blind, he takes first shot.
As the geese came into range, Dad stood up, "Bang, Bang" replied that old Win 97. Two Geese fell. The lead bird was missing it's head and the 2nd bird wad downed with shot.
We never questioned our dad on his expertise with a shogun or a rifle after that.
HJN
In the early days of my youth, it was custom for the men of the family to hunt ducks and geese in MN. for the Holiday meals.
My dad, rest his soul, had always expressed that he was the best duck and goose hunter in MN. He also expressed he was the best with a shotgun. My brother's and I had heard this so many times we decided to put him to a test.
As we parked the car at the edge of our regular slue, we got out of the car and dad headed for the bushes. (pit stop) My brothers and I immediatley loaded his shotgun, one slug, 2 #4's, for him.
We had sat in the blind for about an hour when my dad called "Mark 1:Oclock. All eyes turned in that direction, and of course that was our dad's side of the blind, he takes first shot.
As the geese came into range, Dad stood up, "Bang, Bang" replied that old Win 97. Two Geese fell. The lead bird was missing it's head and the 2nd bird wad downed with shot.
We never questioned our dad on his expertise with a shogun or a rifle after that.
HJN
Doc Hudson
New member
My best shot with a scatter gun was on a preserve quail shoot several years ago.
I was just getting into wingshooting, and still getting over the bad habits learned from .410, so the dog handler was less than impressed with my shotgunning excellence. My hunting partner used the excuse of being out of practice and having one firing pin of his O/U broken. I was using an ancient Fox Model B with very tight chokes.
Late in the morning, a quail flushed right under my feet. It of course startled me. The dog handler was jumping up and down cussing and yelling, "Shoot 'em!!! Shoot 'em!!! Kill the SOB!!!!"
The bird was flying straight away at just above head high. By the time I'd gotten a bead on him, the bird was a good seventy-five yards away. The dog handler had about quit yelling in disgust by the time I squeeze off my shot.
The Quail dropped like a rock without even a flutter. I looked at the dog handler and my hunting partner and both were standing there with their mouths hanging open. It was the quickest, cleanest kill I made all day. I suspect the dog actually killed more birds than Charles and I did. But I will always cherish the memory of that long shot.
Doc Hudson
I was just getting into wingshooting, and still getting over the bad habits learned from .410, so the dog handler was less than impressed with my shotgunning excellence. My hunting partner used the excuse of being out of practice and having one firing pin of his O/U broken. I was using an ancient Fox Model B with very tight chokes.
Late in the morning, a quail flushed right under my feet. It of course startled me. The dog handler was jumping up and down cussing and yelling, "Shoot 'em!!! Shoot 'em!!! Kill the SOB!!!!"
The bird was flying straight away at just above head high. By the time I'd gotten a bead on him, the bird was a good seventy-five yards away. The dog handler had about quit yelling in disgust by the time I squeeze off my shot.
The Quail dropped like a rock without even a flutter. I looked at the dog handler and my hunting partner and both were standing there with their mouths hanging open. It was the quickest, cleanest kill I made all day. I suspect the dog actually killed more birds than Charles and I did. But I will always cherish the memory of that long shot.
Doc Hudson
J
Jeff, CA
Guest
Maybe not the best, but a little unusual.
I was hunting quail in the chili fields around Hatch, NM. I got a left-to-right crossing shot, and I must have been slightly ahead, because the bird had one pellet hole in it, in through the right eye and out through the left.
I was hunting quail in the chili fields around Hatch, NM. I got a left-to-right crossing shot, and I must have been slightly ahead, because the bird had one pellet hole in it, in through the right eye and out through the left.
Mine was when I shot it during a carbine instruction class where about 10 guys with AR-15's were lined up and the drill was to start at a low ready and hit a 8" plate at 50yds. in under two seconds. I was shooting an 870 with slugs and nailed it under the time limit while all the AR's missed or were late. Just kinda showed 'em up that day, I guess.
44rugerfan
New member
I don't know about my best shot, but the worst shot I ever saw was two days ago goose hunting. This guy shot at a goose at ten yards with a 835 3" BB's, and put exactly one pellet through the wing, breaking it and dropping the bird. One pellet at ten yards.
I was a kid probably about 13. I used to go with my friend and his dad to the Sportsmans Club where they would shoot trap and I would watch because I didn't have a gun or money. After the shoot, my buddy and another guy were standing (actually one of them was sitting in a wheelchair) on the line BSing when they noticed bats flying around the lights. They started discussing whether they could hit them. A bet ensued and they both tried without success several times. I asked if I could try it, and dropped one on the first shot. Pure luck. I didn't get any money either.
10 years ago(more or less) I was the proud owner of a new Browning M42 .410 bore, which wasn't quite EXACTLY like the one my father once owned, but close enough. Anyway I'm out with my beagle looking for a few cottontails when I meet a couple of other hunters, all toting 12 ga pumps and more than slightly amused at my little "popgun". After a little of this we parted company, they went east and I continued west, for about 100 yards, when the other three kicked up two cock pheasants. Lots of shots were fired, not a feather fell, one bird went north and the other angled back almost right at my position. Waited 'til the bird was quite close, swung, and fired. The bird folded up like a limp dishrag and bounced about 10 feet off. Walked over, picked it up, held it and my "popgun" high and yelled "HEY,THANKS GUYS" and walked away snickering. Saw these same hunters later in the season but they didn't say jack about my little gun.
Don in Ohio
Don in Ohio
Best Shot was Deer Hunting
Hunting with my brother, on a Sunday morning, in a thick wooded section of our lease him and my dad had been hunting a lot. My dad had to preach, and I was going to sit in his stand. I was late getting in the woods after twisting my knee. Was about to give up getting to my Dad's stand, because my knee was starting to throb. I put his Ithaca 37 down and was rubbing my knee, deciding to return to camp. Suddenly, I froze to movement just off the path I was on.
A six point walked out on the trail about 10 yards in front of me with a little bush all that was between us. About the time I finally got my hands back on my dad's Ithaca I had borrowed for these thick woods, the buck froze, staring at me. I froze too, for what seemd like an hour, eazing the gun up as sloooowly as I could.
Mr. Whitetail see's me and leaps back to my left where he had come from. He bounded away then jumped between two oak trees and I snapped off a shot. It was like pheasant hunting. Then I heard nothing, saw nothing. Figured I had missed him, and calling myself a dumba$$ for even taking the shot.
All those years shooting doves had paid off though. I walked over about twenty yards to see if there was any sign of the deer being hit and there he lay. A perfect head shot and a clean kill. Shot him leaping through an opening about 10ft. in the air with #1 buckshot.
Best part was, I found out a little later I was only about 100 yards from my brothers stand! Both my luckiest and best shot, topped off by getting my brothers deer, and having him help me carry it out of the woods!
Hunting with my brother, on a Sunday morning, in a thick wooded section of our lease him and my dad had been hunting a lot. My dad had to preach, and I was going to sit in his stand. I was late getting in the woods after twisting my knee. Was about to give up getting to my Dad's stand, because my knee was starting to throb. I put his Ithaca 37 down and was rubbing my knee, deciding to return to camp. Suddenly, I froze to movement just off the path I was on.
A six point walked out on the trail about 10 yards in front of me with a little bush all that was between us. About the time I finally got my hands back on my dad's Ithaca I had borrowed for these thick woods, the buck froze, staring at me. I froze too, for what seemd like an hour, eazing the gun up as sloooowly as I could.
Mr. Whitetail see's me and leaps back to my left where he had come from. He bounded away then jumped between two oak trees and I snapped off a shot. It was like pheasant hunting. Then I heard nothing, saw nothing. Figured I had missed him, and calling myself a dumba$$ for even taking the shot.
All those years shooting doves had paid off though. I walked over about twenty yards to see if there was any sign of the deer being hit and there he lay. A perfect head shot and a clean kill. Shot him leaping through an opening about 10ft. in the air with #1 buckshot.
Best part was, I found out a little later I was only about 100 yards from my brothers stand! Both my luckiest and best shot, topped off by getting my brothers deer, and having him help me carry it out of the woods!
I've posted this before..
But.. at 100 yards off a bench with a remington sportsman 12 magnum pump shotgun and a 21 inch rifle sight barrel with rifled choke tube and a 10z max dram slug (not a sabot) I hit a bulls eye on a rifle sight in target , the kind with the orange cross bars and center bull (missed the center diamond by a half inch). This shot was witnessed by the gang at Cherry creek shooting center last year. The range officer spotting for me could NOT beleive it and showed it to the owner who said "well Rob is a good shot" I didn't even know he knew my name. That was a GOOD day at the range. ... and I put it away before they asked me to do it again
Worst day.. first attempt at sporting clays.. yikes.
But.. at 100 yards off a bench with a remington sportsman 12 magnum pump shotgun and a 21 inch rifle sight barrel with rifled choke tube and a 10z max dram slug (not a sabot) I hit a bulls eye on a rifle sight in target , the kind with the orange cross bars and center bull (missed the center diamond by a half inch). This shot was witnessed by the gang at Cherry creek shooting center last year. The range officer spotting for me could NOT beleive it and showed it to the owner who said "well Rob is a good shot" I didn't even know he knew my name. That was a GOOD day at the range. ... and I put it away before they asked me to do it again
Worst day.. first attempt at sporting clays.. yikes.
This shot saved my self respect
I've never been a wingshooter. I learned to shoot on rifles and handguns, and I can hold my own with those firearms, but have never been able to hit anything with a shotgun. I've embarrassed myself badly the few times I tried to shoot skeet. I was even outgunned at skeet by my opera-loving older brother who had never fired a gun before that day! Long ago I decided that I had a better chance of hitting something airborne with my handguns than with any shotgun.
Fast forward to middle age, when I had what must have been some kind of mid-life crisis. I tried to recapture my youth in a lot ways, for example bidding like a fool on E-bay so I could buy a vintage Boker Treebrand pocket knife just like the one I had in the sixth grade. Ultimately, I decided that the children needed a dog, so I tracked down an English Setter just like the house pet I had as a boy. The only trouble was that the lady who bred him is a nationally known breeder of hunting dogs, and she wasn't about to sell me one of her dogs unless I was going to hunt him. I thought it might be fun to become a gentleman birdshooter, so I assured the breeder that I would live in the quail fields with that dog. She talked me into bringing the dog back out to the farm so she could work with him. She kept pressing me on where I would be hunting and how, questions I really couldn't answer at that point. I could tell she was skeptical of me and my hunting ability.
On the first such visit, I brought my young daughters who had never seen me shoot, and who had been sheltered from the whole hunting and shooting scene at the insistence of their mother (one of the reasons we were divorced by then). We went out to the field where the breeder had hidden some live quail. She would swing the birds around in circles so they would be too woozy to fly for a while, until the dog was right on top of them. She let the dog point and then started letting him flush the birds (See, I don't even know birdhunting lingo!) After about a half hour of that, she suddenly pulled a shotgun out of her Bronco. It was a single shot H&R or Iver Johnson --some kind of exposed hammer single shot --in .410! It was covered with rust and scarred all over. She handed it to me with a 2 1/2 inch shell, and said "Here, you shoot the next one he flushes so he can start getting used to it." She was smiling, clearly testing me.
My stomach turned over and I felt my face turning red. Here I was about to be exposed as someone who can't hit the damn ground with a shotgun, and right in front of my daughters! I was more nervous than I had ever been in any hunting situation; more so than with any shot I'd ever taken at deer or anything else. It was awful. With my heart in my throat, we approached the clump of grass where the bird was hidden.
When the quail flushed the breeder flung herself face down on the ground and covered her head with her arms, as if a grenade had landed nearby, so sure was she that I didn't know what I was doing. Thankfully, the bird flew straight away from me. I aimed the little gun like a rifle, right at his butt, and smoked him. The dog retrieved the bird as I casually broke open the gun and extracted the smoking hull. "Good boy," I praised the dog, acting like I did it every day. The breeder, still prostrate, peeked out from underneath her arm and exclaimed "Don't tell me you killed him!" My daughters cheered, but I think it was for the dog.
The breeder and I got along fine after that.
I've never been a wingshooter. I learned to shoot on rifles and handguns, and I can hold my own with those firearms, but have never been able to hit anything with a shotgun. I've embarrassed myself badly the few times I tried to shoot skeet. I was even outgunned at skeet by my opera-loving older brother who had never fired a gun before that day! Long ago I decided that I had a better chance of hitting something airborne with my handguns than with any shotgun.
Fast forward to middle age, when I had what must have been some kind of mid-life crisis. I tried to recapture my youth in a lot ways, for example bidding like a fool on E-bay so I could buy a vintage Boker Treebrand pocket knife just like the one I had in the sixth grade. Ultimately, I decided that the children needed a dog, so I tracked down an English Setter just like the house pet I had as a boy. The only trouble was that the lady who bred him is a nationally known breeder of hunting dogs, and she wasn't about to sell me one of her dogs unless I was going to hunt him. I thought it might be fun to become a gentleman birdshooter, so I assured the breeder that I would live in the quail fields with that dog. She talked me into bringing the dog back out to the farm so she could work with him. She kept pressing me on where I would be hunting and how, questions I really couldn't answer at that point. I could tell she was skeptical of me and my hunting ability.
On the first such visit, I brought my young daughters who had never seen me shoot, and who had been sheltered from the whole hunting and shooting scene at the insistence of their mother (one of the reasons we were divorced by then). We went out to the field where the breeder had hidden some live quail. She would swing the birds around in circles so they would be too woozy to fly for a while, until the dog was right on top of them. She let the dog point and then started letting him flush the birds (See, I don't even know birdhunting lingo!) After about a half hour of that, she suddenly pulled a shotgun out of her Bronco. It was a single shot H&R or Iver Johnson --some kind of exposed hammer single shot --in .410! It was covered with rust and scarred all over. She handed it to me with a 2 1/2 inch shell, and said "Here, you shoot the next one he flushes so he can start getting used to it." She was smiling, clearly testing me.
My stomach turned over and I felt my face turning red. Here I was about to be exposed as someone who can't hit the damn ground with a shotgun, and right in front of my daughters! I was more nervous than I had ever been in any hunting situation; more so than with any shot I'd ever taken at deer or anything else. It was awful. With my heart in my throat, we approached the clump of grass where the bird was hidden.
When the quail flushed the breeder flung herself face down on the ground and covered her head with her arms, as if a grenade had landed nearby, so sure was she that I didn't know what I was doing. Thankfully, the bird flew straight away from me. I aimed the little gun like a rifle, right at his butt, and smoked him. The dog retrieved the bird as I casually broke open the gun and extracted the smoking hull. "Good boy," I praised the dog, acting like I did it every day. The breeder, still prostrate, peeked out from underneath her arm and exclaimed "Don't tell me you killed him!" My daughters cheered, but I think it was for the dog.
The breeder and I got along fine after that.
greentimber
New member
Thanksgiving day 1997. Three buddies and I were duck hunting in a flooded rice field near Walnut Ridge Arkansas. Someone had dropped a damn shoveler about 60 yards down the levee where we were hidden and I volunteered to go pick it up. Sure enough, as soon as I get out there and get the duck I hear shots. I turn to look as all three of my buddies empty their guns at a lone drake pintail hovering 15 yards from them over the decoys. They don't raise a feather.
The duck flies away from them and me for about 40 yards then begins to fly almost parallel to the levee I'm on. I figure I'll get a laugh out of the guys if I try the shot, which by now is about 65 yards. I fire up the 10 ga. and the bird falters, then regains flight. I fire again and the damn thing drops like a rock, easily 75 yards away. My buddies are yelling and laughing in disbelief as I retrieve the bird.
I am absolutely shocked and thrilled to find out that my duck hunting career long dream has come true. The pintail is banded. I scream and yell like a complete dork and go show my buddies who are obviously pissed because they all 3 missed it.
Turns out the bird was banded near Ft. Norman, Northwest Territories Canada. 80 miles from the arctic circle and 400 miles from Alaska. A 2700 mile (in a straight line) trip to Arkansas.
We still talk about that one.
The duck flies away from them and me for about 40 yards then begins to fly almost parallel to the levee I'm on. I figure I'll get a laugh out of the guys if I try the shot, which by now is about 65 yards. I fire up the 10 ga. and the bird falters, then regains flight. I fire again and the damn thing drops like a rock, easily 75 yards away. My buddies are yelling and laughing in disbelief as I retrieve the bird.
I am absolutely shocked and thrilled to find out that my duck hunting career long dream has come true. The pintail is banded. I scream and yell like a complete dork and go show my buddies who are obviously pissed because they all 3 missed it.
Turns out the bird was banded near Ft. Norman, Northwest Territories Canada. 80 miles from the arctic circle and 400 miles from Alaska. A 2700 mile (in a straight line) trip to Arkansas.
We still talk about that one.
I was 16. I had been hunting for 3 or 4 days, and because of inexperience, I did not take at least 2 easy shots. I also saw three nice bucks that were broadside to me, but too far for buckshot (maybe 65 yards).
I was leaning against an oak tree, carrying Grandpa's double 12. After my experience with the 3 bucks, I had loaded one bl with 00, the other with a slug.
I heard something behind me. I thought it probably a small animal, and slowly turned my head. It was a deer! He was maybe 12 yards away. After a minute, he moved from behind me (my left), and slowly began walking forward.
I have never moved so slowly in my life. It probably took me about a minute and a half to bring that 12 up. The deer was a little farther away by the time I judged the barrel as being high enough, but parallel to me.
I fired without even bringing the shotgun to my shoulder, just pistol gripping her. The deer fell as though poleaxed, boom. I sat stunned.
My older brother showed up with a huge smile on his face, hopeful, but thinking I had missed.
I had thought the deer a doe, but it seemed he had just lost his antler on the side nearest me.
I told my brother that I hadn't been sure the deer was big enough to shoot. What were you waiting for, a moose?, he asked.
That was my first deer.
I was leaning against an oak tree, carrying Grandpa's double 12. After my experience with the 3 bucks, I had loaded one bl with 00, the other with a slug.
I heard something behind me. I thought it probably a small animal, and slowly turned my head. It was a deer! He was maybe 12 yards away. After a minute, he moved from behind me (my left), and slowly began walking forward.
I have never moved so slowly in my life. It probably took me about a minute and a half to bring that 12 up. The deer was a little farther away by the time I judged the barrel as being high enough, but parallel to me.
I fired without even bringing the shotgun to my shoulder, just pistol gripping her. The deer fell as though poleaxed, boom. I sat stunned.
My older brother showed up with a huge smile on his face, hopeful, but thinking I had missed.
I had thought the deer a doe, but it seemed he had just lost his antler on the side nearest me.
I told my brother that I hadn't been sure the deer was big enough to shoot. What were you waiting for, a moose?, he asked.
That was my first deer.
Didn't I answer this on another forum, Blooch? No matter....
It was 1971 or 2, and I returned from living in the LA madness after one of those late night phone calls no one wants to get. Pop had an infarction, and was scheduled for some bypass surgery. Survival rate after surgery was about 60% at the time, and survival rate w/o surgery was effectively zero. So, I came home to help out.
It was early September. The surgery was scheduled for the following day, and Pop and I were puttering around the barn, doing small jobs to keep busy and keep our minds off the crisis. Then we noticed that doves were coming in to water at the spring down the hill in the bottom of the pasture.
Plans were laid. The Quarter Horses were stabled, and I went up to the house and returned with Pop's SKB 20 ga, a High Standard 20 ga pump, some shells,a lawn chair for Pop, and Mac's Gogo Girl, Pop's field trail Champion Shorthair.
We eased down the hill and set up near the spring, Pop sitting at ease in the chair holding his SKB. I set up nearby, and the doves started coming in again.
Doves were a passion with us, and I gave an acceptable account, getting a dove for every 2 shells or so. Pop took few shots, but when he swung that SKB,a dove fell, and Girl would bring them back to Pop.
The flight petered out,and as I started over to Pop's position, a late comer showed and he dropped it. It fell close and he reached out and caught it in midair. We looked at each other and laughed together, gathered up our stuff and slowly walked back up the hill. Pop looked tired and grey, as he usually did these days, but seemed happy.
Mom got home from work about the time we got to the house. Before we went into the house, Pop looked back down the hill and said,"It's been a good day". He had not missed, taking 10 dove for 10 shots fired. He picked his shots, taking incomers, and made each one count.
It was his last time hunting. He survived the surgery, but "died" and was revived on the table. Enough damage had been done that hunting, or even just following those great Shorthairs, was not possible.
He took it with his usual courage, and lived a depleted life without much complaint another 19 years,until God called another old soldier home.
If there is a just God, and I believe so, his spirit and that of some good dogs get to work through some great cover now and then in Heaven.
It was 1971 or 2, and I returned from living in the LA madness after one of those late night phone calls no one wants to get. Pop had an infarction, and was scheduled for some bypass surgery. Survival rate after surgery was about 60% at the time, and survival rate w/o surgery was effectively zero. So, I came home to help out.
It was early September. The surgery was scheduled for the following day, and Pop and I were puttering around the barn, doing small jobs to keep busy and keep our minds off the crisis. Then we noticed that doves were coming in to water at the spring down the hill in the bottom of the pasture.
Plans were laid. The Quarter Horses were stabled, and I went up to the house and returned with Pop's SKB 20 ga, a High Standard 20 ga pump, some shells,a lawn chair for Pop, and Mac's Gogo Girl, Pop's field trail Champion Shorthair.
We eased down the hill and set up near the spring, Pop sitting at ease in the chair holding his SKB. I set up nearby, and the doves started coming in again.
Doves were a passion with us, and I gave an acceptable account, getting a dove for every 2 shells or so. Pop took few shots, but when he swung that SKB,a dove fell, and Girl would bring them back to Pop.
The flight petered out,and as I started over to Pop's position, a late comer showed and he dropped it. It fell close and he reached out and caught it in midair. We looked at each other and laughed together, gathered up our stuff and slowly walked back up the hill. Pop looked tired and grey, as he usually did these days, but seemed happy.
Mom got home from work about the time we got to the house. Before we went into the house, Pop looked back down the hill and said,"It's been a good day". He had not missed, taking 10 dove for 10 shots fired. He picked his shots, taking incomers, and made each one count.
It was his last time hunting. He survived the surgery, but "died" and was revived on the table. Enough damage had been done that hunting, or even just following those great Shorthairs, was not possible.
He took it with his usual courage, and lived a depleted life without much complaint another 19 years,until God called another old soldier home.
If there is a just God, and I believe so, his spirit and that of some good dogs get to work through some great cover now and then in Heaven.