why not to rope a deer
- Thread starter deanadell
- Start date
texastweeter
New member
I always p[oke them in the eye with my gun, or an arrow, if they blink i pull the trigger orn lean on the arrow.
rantingredneck
New member
That's hilarious.
About 4 or 5 years ago while deer hunting my father in law and I walked up on a young guy (late teens/early 20's) who was bleeding from the chest. He'd pulled off his camo and his white t-shirt was red. We immediately thought he'd been shot and ran to render aid. Come to find out he'd shot a deer and it had gone down. He got down from his stand, tied a rope around the deer's neck picked up his gun and started to pull. The deer pulled back. At this point he's walking a wounded buck like it's a dog. The buck gored him in the chest and ran off. The wound was ugly but shallow. We patched him up from our first aid kit and sent him on his way. He never recovered the deer.
About 4 or 5 years ago while deer hunting my father in law and I walked up on a young guy (late teens/early 20's) who was bleeding from the chest. He'd pulled off his camo and his white t-shirt was red. We immediately thought he'd been shot and ran to render aid. Come to find out he'd shot a deer and it had gone down. He got down from his stand, tied a rope around the deer's neck picked up his gun and started to pull. The deer pulled back. At this point he's walking a wounded buck like it's a dog. The buck gored him in the chest and ran off. The wound was ugly but shallow. We patched him up from our first aid kit and sent him on his way. He never recovered the deer.
I've only told this story to a few close friends but this is the perfect opportunity.
Once upon a time, I was a young PFC in the 25th Infantry Division. As most young PFCs, I was young, dumb and... something else. We were on a field training exercise (FTX) at the Pohakuloa training area (PTA) on the big island. Because of our own training, assisting with a National Guard exercise and a typical Army SNAFU, a small number of us had been stuck out in the field for a month. We were bored and tired of eating MREs and the occasional B-rations when we were lucky enough to get 'em. We got the brainy idea to catch one of the ubiquitous wild hogs and have us a pig roast.
The Army didn't dare issue us live ammo so we were left to figure out something else. Of all the possibilities, we probably chose the worst one. We dug a pit about 2 feet deep and dropped a bunch of food scraps into it. We secured a rope around the rim of the pit and backed off under the edge of a camo net to wait. I tied the rope around my waist to be sure that I wouldn't let go when the moment of truth came. A few hours after dark, it did.
We were hoping for a suckling pig or even a sow but we got a full-grown, 300 lb, boss-hog, complete with razor-sharp tusks and everything. My buddy and I looked at each other and decided that it was now or nothing. We were hard-core, life-taking, heart-breaking, US of A soldiers for God sakes! We pulled on the rope, tightening the noose on a very surprised, very strong, black-Russian-razor-backed hog. He took off like he'd been shot from a cannon and yanked me off my feet. I don't mean by a little bit. I was a Tennessee farm-boy, 19 years old, corn-fed and in the best shape of my life and that hog yanked me around like he was Ike and I was Tina. God bless him, my buddy hung onto me for dear life and that hog dragged us both across the high desert for better than 100 yards before he let go. I eventually freed myself from the rope and laid there in a pool of my own blood, sweat and other bodily fluids.
If you know anything about that terrain, you know that it's dry, dusty and covered in sage brush and lava. Being dragged 100 yards across it was akin to, well, being dragged across 100 yards of combination broken glass and cheese grater. The pig got away and we were bloodied, bruised and humbled. When they heard the yelling and cursing, the rest of our company came out of the tent to see what we had caught. After a few seconds of stunned silence, and one look at us, it dawned on them what had happened. I didn't think they would ever stop laughing I think one guy even peed on himself. We don't say nothing, we just lay low.
We found the rope another 100 yards away the next morning. Two other guys did manage to catch a suckling pig a few days later but they cheated and tied the rope off to a trailer. One of the officers had trained as a Vet in a previous life and pronounced it 'fit to eat' but the tender-hearts in the camp wouldn't even let us butcher it.
Once upon a time, I was a young PFC in the 25th Infantry Division. As most young PFCs, I was young, dumb and... something else. We were on a field training exercise (FTX) at the Pohakuloa training area (PTA) on the big island. Because of our own training, assisting with a National Guard exercise and a typical Army SNAFU, a small number of us had been stuck out in the field for a month. We were bored and tired of eating MREs and the occasional B-rations when we were lucky enough to get 'em. We got the brainy idea to catch one of the ubiquitous wild hogs and have us a pig roast.
The Army didn't dare issue us live ammo so we were left to figure out something else. Of all the possibilities, we probably chose the worst one. We dug a pit about 2 feet deep and dropped a bunch of food scraps into it. We secured a rope around the rim of the pit and backed off under the edge of a camo net to wait. I tied the rope around my waist to be sure that I wouldn't let go when the moment of truth came. A few hours after dark, it did.
We were hoping for a suckling pig or even a sow but we got a full-grown, 300 lb, boss-hog, complete with razor-sharp tusks and everything. My buddy and I looked at each other and decided that it was now or nothing. We were hard-core, life-taking, heart-breaking, US of A soldiers for God sakes! We pulled on the rope, tightening the noose on a very surprised, very strong, black-Russian-razor-backed hog. He took off like he'd been shot from a cannon and yanked me off my feet. I don't mean by a little bit. I was a Tennessee farm-boy, 19 years old, corn-fed and in the best shape of my life and that hog yanked me around like he was Ike and I was Tina. God bless him, my buddy hung onto me for dear life and that hog dragged us both across the high desert for better than 100 yards before he let go. I eventually freed myself from the rope and laid there in a pool of my own blood, sweat and other bodily fluids.
If you know anything about that terrain, you know that it's dry, dusty and covered in sage brush and lava. Being dragged 100 yards across it was akin to, well, being dragged across 100 yards of combination broken glass and cheese grater. The pig got away and we were bloodied, bruised and humbled. When they heard the yelling and cursing, the rest of our company came out of the tent to see what we had caught. After a few seconds of stunned silence, and one look at us, it dawned on them what had happened. I didn't think they would ever stop laughing I think one guy even peed on himself. We don't say nothing, we just lay low.
We found the rope another 100 yards away the next morning. Two other guys did manage to catch a suckling pig a few days later but they cheated and tied the rope off to a trailer. One of the officers had trained as a Vet in a previous life and pronounced it 'fit to eat' but the tender-hearts in the camp wouldn't even let us butcher it.