Do you remember your first hunt?

A

aarondhgraham

New member
Last night I was sitting in my favorite watering hole,,,
Enjoying a double shot of Herradura Anejo.

I got to shooting the breeze with a few other guys,,,
The topic shifted to hunting and stories were told.

One gentleman told of his first real hunt,,,
Just after his 10th birthday his grandfather took him out.

As he told the story of a week in the woods with his grandfather,,,
You could see in this older man's eyes a hint of a tear,,,
It's a shame that more kids can't have this today.

But I got to tell the story about my first hunt,,,
It happened right after my 4th birthday.

It entailed a Daisy, a flashlight, a picnic table,,,
A blanket, and a jackalope.

We had just moved to U-P Michigan,,,
Dad took a job working for my grandfather,,,
Drilling for core samples on Drummond Island.

This was in December of 1955,,,
There was only one "place" on the island,,,
It was a restaurant, bar, grocery store, and post office.

The walls of the restaurant/bar were lined with guns and taxidermy,,,
I remember a white painted shotgun "for weddings only",,,
That's also where I saw my first jackalope.

My grandfather told me the island was thick with the critters,,,
And that's why all of the men wore engineer boots,,,
Because the things would attack and gore you.

We lived in one of several rental cabins,,,
They all shared a common shower room and toilet room,,,
We kids had to be sure we did our business before dark because of the jackalopes.

Anyways, I wanted to hunt one real badly,,,
I had watched all of the Davy Crockett shows,,,
So I was sure I knew everything I needed to know.

So one evening my Dad, two uncles, and my grandfather said okay,,,
They set me up on one of the common area picnic tables,,,
I had a flashlight, a blanket, and my Daisy BB rifle.

I remember sitting out there combing the bushes with the light,,,
Wrapped up securely against the December cold,,,
Daisy at the ready to drop me a jackalope.

I remember Mom coming out with a mug of hot chocolate,,,
I had no idea at the time how much amusement I was providing the adult men.

Apparently they were all sitting in the kitchen drinking beer,,,
Watching me scour the landscape for a jackalope,,,
Laughing their besotted hind-ends off.

The way Mom told the story in later years,,,
I sat out there shivering for two hours.

I never quit though,,,
Mom made them end the game.

The next day dad told me there was really no such thing as a jackalope,,,
I was absolutely crushed that my idols had tricked me.

But my grandfather took me for a real rabbit hunt the next week,,,
He let me shoot his .22 rifle and his "owl's head" revolver,,,
So all was forgiven but never really forgotten.

When I finally did get my first bunny,,,
I was so frustrated that they wouldn't have it stuffed for me.

I idolized the men in my family,,,
But I never fully trusted them after that.

In retrospect though,,,
It's a great story. ;)

Aarond

.
 
My first and memorable hunt

Oh, how well I remember mine. I was in 8th. grade and my buddy asked if I wanted to go Pheasant/Rabbit hunting with him and his father, . Oh course I said yes and had to borrow one of their shotguns. It was a single-shot "Black Prince". My buddy told me that his father was very critical on the safety so just follow his lead. ...... :rolleyes:

While walking through some horse-weeds, I came to a high creek bank and before I knew it, the ground gave out, under my feet. Down on my butt I went and so did the shotgun's butt. Yes, the gun went off and I had enough sense to keep the muzzle up. My buddy ran over and asked what I had shot. I told him what had happened as I got back up on the top of the bank. His father came over and asked the same question. I started to explain and my buddy interrupted and told his father that I had shot at a rabbit. His father looked around and at the bank. Just turned around and walked away. ...... :o

Was never invited by his father but to this day, my buddy and I still hunt together. ..:)

Maintain muzzle control, keep your finger off the trigger and;
Be Safe !!!
 
I don't really remember my first hunt which I am sure was rabbit hunting with my Dad. It would have been before I was old enough for my own license. I loved bunny hunting. Loved it!

The hunt I chuckle the most about was when I was 14 and my first year hunting deer. Was with my Dad. He had his Remington 760 in 30-06 and the only gun available was a Ithaca 16 ga pump shotgun which my Dad gave me about a dozen rounds of "punkin balls" to use. This was in PA.

At lunch time, we met to build a fire and discuss the morning and eat something. My Dad always seemed to like a can of baked beans heated along the edge of the fire. I did the same that day. He always opened the can with his Case pocket knife. Anyway, we were walking along the crest of a ridge and an 8pt buck jumped up that was crossing the ridge line. My Dad was wildly swinging that Remington around tying to get on target and I just watched him as the deer was only about 20 yds away and to me an easy shot. He never shot.

Afterwards he gave me a lesson in hunting.... don't worry about the other guy and take the shot if you can. He had the scope turned up to 7x and couldn't find the deer in the scope. He got see through mounts after that season for that rifle. I later bought a 243 win rifle with my summer's earnings at age 15 and never used a shotgun for deer hunting again. The funny part is that the "punkin balls" were old... probably 20 years old at that point. Not a single one of them fired one day we were just burning ammo (plinking) along the creek. It would have been just click click click if I had actually tried to shoot that deer that day.
 
My first deer hunt? Yep, almost like it was yesterday, even tho it was half a century ago. I still make a annual walk to the first stand I had on public land, even to it looks completely different now.
 
15 years old, first deer hunt, 1966.

Scan1_zpsuxt396zq.jpg
 
My first time tagging along hunting was when I was three; dove hunting in the abandoned Mormon homesteads and dry fields of Southeast Idaho.

During my first deer season when I was in 7th grade, I jumped a huge Idaho Mule deer buck at about 250 yds. away in some steep desert mountains. I had never shot that far before and was carrying an old sporterized 1911 Schmidt Rubin rifle with iron sights. I wasn't confident I could make that shot. I just froze and watched the deer running away. A few days later I was walking up a rocky slope in the Northern Portneuf Range. In a thick juniper bush about 6yds from me I saw a gray furry texture. A 2x2 buck stepped out of the bush, I just pointed my rifle without even sighting, and shot it. It was a remote road-less area so I had to bone it out and pack the meat out over the next couple days.
 
Remember some of the occasion. Long ago. 54 or 1955 maybe. Thinking back. I do remember it was a later in the day arrival.
A hunting camp my father took me to in Marquette Michigan having a bunch of bearded, swearing, hard drinkers, having one hellava good time feasting on Back Strap and taters cooked on a barrel stove while others were playing poker on a kitchen table in a smoke filled room.
Upon our arrival at the hunters camp my Father pointed to their Bucks all hanging. {Wow!! all their BIG bucks were hanging on a single pole spiked between two trees next to the little cabin.} We two only stayed 3 days and I got to go deer hunting one of those mornings (first time) with a TALL Paul Bunyan lumber jack looking fellow who took me along for the day so to experience a few (postings & drives) and than allowed me to shoot his well used Marlin (empty) in camp after lunch at a White Pine's base. That too was my first experience in shooting a high powered deer rifle. (30-30)

Upon my fathers announcement we were leaving. Those hard partying fellows would not allow my father to drive all the way back to Chicago without a deer. 4 of them swell Michigan fellows tied a BIG frozen 8 point to my fathers left front fender on his 31 Model A._ To this day I never have seen so many big big Bucks hanging altogether in a bunch.~~~ Good times. with Good people.
 
The first time I could actually hunt, I was 13 hunting Pronghorn in 1980 on the Eastern Plains of Colorado. It took me a good 30 minutes to field dress it and everything went fine. Then one of my Dad's friends told me I needed to cut the stomach open to see what it had been eating so I could tell my Mom what kind of spices to use. I fell for it.

The rifle was a Winchester 670A in .243 Winchester with a Black Walnut stock. My oldest son shot his first Pronghorn with the same rifle last year and hopefully my younger son will get a tag this year and do the same thing.

I can remember what I wore, where we were and even the sight picture on that first Pronghorn. I know what I had for breakfast lunch and dinner that day and how much I wanted to get home and tell my Mom (no cell phones :D ) sisters and friends about it.
 
I don't remember my first rabbit hunt. There were many, but I don't remember the first.

I do remember each of the "first hunts" for which I was simply baggage - not allowed to hunt, hike, or do anything except sit in the truck while the 'big people' were out chasing deer. For my first 4-6 "deer hunts" I was actually locked in the camper shell on my grandpa's truck. It wasn't child abandonment, since my grandmother was locked in there, too. But, we were legitimately locked in the shell. My grandfather would close the hatch, latch it, lock it, and take the keys with him.
Memorable, but not much fun.

Most other hunts were just as "fun" - generally involving my father and/or grandfather pushing his vehicle beyond the limits and causing breakage, damage, or unnecessary delay. I once spent 5 days "hunting" Central Utah with my father, with about 60% of that time spent in the back seat of his Bronco as he tried to make his crappy 'all terrain' tires do things well beyond their limit, 25% spent sleeping or listening to him yell about setting up camp, maybe 10% walking down logging roads, and the remaining 5% consisting of his complaints about cabins, poachers, 'idiot locals', and how much he hated his tires.

The last of those type of hunts was in Northern Utah. There was more emotional ranting about the crappy tires. We nearly rolled the Bronco three times. My dad lobbed some 165 gr .308" Core-Lokts at a herd of deer 900+ yards away. And most of the trip was spent trying to get to "a better area" rather than just hunting where we were actually seeing deer.


The first hunt THAT MATTERED, however, was the year I turned 17. I had my own tag, my own muzzle loader, my own car, 9 days to chase deer, and an invitation to an established hunting camp in a great location.
I never filled the tag, but it was my single best hunting trip.
To this day, I owe Cornbush a lot for inviting me and putting up with his idiot little brother. I know I was annoying. I know I had no idea what I was doing. I know I was unprepared. But he and his friends made it a great trip.
That was the turning point that actually made me want to hunt, and to truly enjoy hunting with other people.
It set the stage for future hunts that, while unsuccessful and/or under extremely unenjoyable conditions, would be great, memorable hunts. ...Like the year that Cornbush, Crankylove, and I spent 5 days living under a hastily-made tarp lean-to shelter next to a bonfire, because the freezing rain only stopped for 15-20 minutes, maybe once a day. (But, luckily for us, Crankylove had brought a pallet of kiln-dried wood!)
It sucked. It really, really sucked. And we didn't fill a single elk tag. But we have a lot of good memories from that hunt.
 
Like the year that Cornbush, Crankylove, and I spent 5 days living under a hastily-made tarp lean-to shelter next to a bonfire,
Click to expand...

Affectionately known as the Hobo rape shack.

That was probably the worst hunting trip I've ever done as far as weather goes, but we had plenty of fire wood, a few cases of expired MRE's, and some really good times.
 
I'm enjoying reading these stories,,,

I'm enjoying reading these stories,,,
As I never was more than a casual hunter,,,
It's interesting to read more of your serious tales.

My Pop was a crack shot with a .22 rifle,,,
He grew up on a subsistence farm in 30's-40's Oklahoma,,,
Hunting for food and trapping for fur to sell were necessities for him.

He didn't really hunt for pleasure as an adult,,,
His reasoning was that "There's plenty of good meat in the fridge."

Why would he want to eat some rangy old rabbit,,,
When there was good beef and pork on hand.

When he did go hunting during deer season,,,
It was more to get away from Mom,,,
And drink at camp with his friends.

I went deer hunting with him one time,,,
He was actually a bit put out when I got a deer,,,
Now he had to go to the trouble of skinning and dressing it.

I am enjoying reading about your adventures.

Aarond

.
 
First hunt was me as a teenager with my Bear recurve. I could shoot it quite well, what I couldn't do was find a deer to shoot at.
My dad quit hunting in the '60s. I was born in the '70s. I bow hunted and also hunted with a muzzle loader on and off for years. Shot birds and squirrels and other small game. Ended up hunting with a guy from work the last few years and have killed some deer with the (compound) bow. Hunting partner has 21 years on me, so I have a good spot to pass on at some point to another hunter.
 
Sure do. I was about 6, and I had pestered my dad enough that he agreed to take me along on an overnight hunt. I remember the drive out to the Santa Ynez mountains in southern CA, the long, dusty road, the rattler that crossed the road and we ate him for dinner mixed with beans, the stars like a shower of silver sparks against the night sky, coyotes yipping, owls hooting. I remember the next morning, cold and dark, walking through the greasewood and getting poked in the legs by the Spanish bayonet. I remember being cold and tired, and being tired of getting scratched and stabbed. I remember the little grey blob moving across the hillside and my dad flicking his Savage 99 up and firing in one motion. I remember how the dirt smelled with blood on it and how the deer looked. I remember my dad gutting it and dragging it unceremoniously back to his '63 Chevy II station wagon and taking it to the processor on the way home. And I remember my mom FREAKING OUT when she found a tick on me and the ordeal of using a heated match to get him out. Most of all, I remember how it made me feel. And that's why I still hunt.
 
1984 16 years old, I was invited to go up north Michigan and deer hunt with my uncle and his misfit friends. I idolized my uncle so I was going to listen to what was said from the teachings and the stories from past hunts. I quickly learned how to be safe and about after the hunt drinking and card playing. I shot my 1st deer it was a spike, learned to gut it with what to do and not, I learned well to stay away from the stomach. I have made my annual trip to deer camp to my uncles and the characters of deer camp ever since. It is my favorite time of the year.
 
yep.
I was wearing tennis shoes.
the truck got stuck
wasted daylight digging truck out.
never got it unstuck.
got to walk 7 miles through knee deep snow in tennis shoes in the dark.


oh... and we didn't see anything.
 
I think it's funny how one thing from a first hunt always sticks in our minds. I was 15 1/2 yrs. old on my first deer hunt in 1960. I remember the age because I had just gotten my Nebraska learners permit to drive so my father let me drive the pickup. We lived not far from the Wyoming line and hunting over there was easier for permits and more productive, so I drove us a couple hrs. to a parcel we could hunt. We stopped at a sporting good store and bought an out of state license for 20 bucks. I managed to drop a doe with my dad's model 70 in .270, just as my two older brothers had before me.
This hunt will stay with me forever. I eventually ended up with that model 70 and it was still in mint condition...but I gave it to a brother that has used it since and it's still mint. It is destined to go to his grandson some day.
 
These have been great stories to read.
My first serious hunt was for deer at Fort AP Hill, an army base in Virginia. It was flatland, and with so many hunters, shotgun only. It was pretty tightly controlled, they put you in an area and you stayed there. I was sitting on a log trying not to move, like Dad said, about freezing to death, when I saw scissors motion on my left, a nice little spike buck. Just one piece of shot hit him, but it struck the base of the skull. This was 1963 and there weren't as many deer, so everyone was really excited about it. In those days deer were weighed at check-in.
Funny thing, a week or so later we were at our land, rifle country, and I got another spiked buck. Dogs were chasing him, don't know whose, and he would have run me down if I hadn't given him a 303 at about 10 paces. I thought I had deer hunting aced, but I entered a long dry spell after that.
 
I want to revive this thread,,,

I want to revive this thread,,,
There are some extremely good stories in it.

Would anyone like to add some more to the mix?

Aarond

.
 
I missed my first shot at a deer on my first morning hunting deer. It was a 4pt. That was 26 years ago probably to the week. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was using the same Rem 788 in .308 I use today. I can still find the tree I put a hole through although there is no sign of the impact. Wasn't my last miss but it was my most memorable one.
 
During WW II, I spent a lot of time at my mother's parents' small farm/ranch acreage. So, going on eight years, my grandfather figured that the best way to keep me out from under his feet was for me to take his .22 rifle and a handful of Shorts and roam the pastures and woods.

Basic instruction: "Don't shoot a cow."

Kind of a learn on the job, as you go. :) Those were some good years for me as a kid. The more accomplished later years were probably more satisfying but those early years were certainly an education as an outdoorsman.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top