doublegunshop.com - home Forums General Discussion DoubleGun BBS @ doublegunshop.com Funny hunting memories.

Years ago I had a big cheesie who hated cutts compensators. Once took the preacher duck hunting. He shot a cutts. His first shot was a miss and the dog growled at him. Thinking fast I told the preacher the dog hated missing and would bite if it happened too often. The preacher thought about it and said that maybe I should shoot first from then on. Being a kid this suited me well and I scratched that spot behind the ear all dogs seem to love.

This Christmas I was duck shooting with my son. A number of teal came into our spread at Mach 5. I killed the fourth bird in line. My son missed his two shots and was making fun that I had hit number four not the lead bird. I said with a straight face I was aiming at number three but he flaired and exposed number four when he did so. Told him I left the first pair for him. About half an hour later he knocked down the third bird in line and said it was easier done with good eyes and reflexes.

Years ago my hunting buddy and I were coming up behind the shorthairs pointing a covey of quail. When we reached about 20 feet from the dogs, the covey flushed. One headed right at my buddy who proceeded to duck and swing the buttstock of his Ithaca 280, killing the quail and never firing a shot. The standing joke was "no bullets required".

When I was a kid, my older cousin took me pheasant hunting for my first time. He had a young Brittany that was on point at the edge of a corn field that had been harvested. When the pheasant flushed, we both emptied 5 shots from our pumps as he flew 200 yards across the field. When he reached the other edge of the field, the pheasant hit a tree in flight and fell dead at the base of the tree. There wasn't a BB in him!

Both true stories.
Hope they are enjoyable. I always smile when I think about them.

I was shooting pheasant at a preserve in Ontario called Griffith Island. About 2900 acres, private, with about 80 members. My host and I had just finished pushing a field with two other hunters and were standing near the road that marked the end of the field.

After about a minute of discussion about what we were going to do next, two pheasant took off from a hillside about 150 yards away and flew directly overhead at somewhere between 40 and 60 yards straight up (I'm bad at guessing vertical distance...it was high). My host and I had both seen them get up and it was safe and within the etiquette of the place so we quickly loaded and took our shots. I took mine slightly before it was overhead so as it was falling, I realized it was falling directly at me. I shifted my gun to my left hand, reached straight up with my right and caught the bird with a straight arm, then continued to hold it above my head as I turned to the other hunters and guides with an attitude that said "This is how you collect a bird!"

Everyone fell over laughing.

Now that is funny.

When I was a teenager living in Minnesota, we had a fair distance to ride on the school bus. My friend who lived about a mile from me, lived about 1/4 mile off the main road. The school bus dropped him off one afternoon, and since it was the weekend before grouse opening, he decided to walk through his pasture to do a little scouting. He got to a group of thickets and got down on his hands and knees and was crawling around them to see if he could spot any grouse. He got half way around when he met a bear coming around other way. They damn near met nose to nose. Well, they both shit their pants (if bears wore pants). He took off one way and, luckily for him, the bear took off the other way.

Back in about 1972, opening day of pheasant season, we were hunting a large nearly dry playa lake in the Panhandle of Texas. Our group was led by my Dad, and included my brother, uncles, cousins, brother-in-laws, friends, customers, vendors, perhaps twenty-five people total. And about half of us had the same last name.

As the sun rose it was apparent there was a low fog. Ducks and geese were flying all over, perhaps as low as ten yards above the ground. We brought down dozens of ducks and geese. Most of us didn't have duck stamps nor were our semi-autos plugged.

The game warden shows up and we line up for a check of our guns, licenses, and duck stamps. That warden checked one Remington 1100 four times and another twice. He inspected one particular duck stamp several times.

That's a good one, Mike!

Thirty years ago, I took my 12 year-old stepson on a dove hunt. Unknown to us, the field was baited. At the time, knowledge of bait was immaterial to guilt. A SC game warden came through the field and collected licenses. He indicated that the field had been baited within the proscribed period in which hunting was illegal. He also said we probably didn't know about the bait since it was gone. He told us to continue hunting and see him after we finished. MIchael and I left the field with limits and Sidney gave us a choice: "I won't charge your son, but the forteiture bond for you is $50. If you want to go to trial, I will write a Federal ticket for your appearance in Charleston (120 miles from home). You may keep your birds." I couldn't resist as I handed him the money and he returned our licenses: "When can we do this again?"

Many Years ago, while grouse hunting with my two best hunting buddies�both long gone now, one of them passed way too soon of a heart attack and the other I put down at the ripe age of 12�we had a lot of good times afield together.
This one particular cold January day we had been chasing spooky southern Ontario grouse most of the afternoon with little luck, the birds were in deep cedar cover and hard to get a shot at despite the good dog work, old Diamond would lock-up head high a few yards downwind of the cedars and look up front sort of telling us ��there it is guys, go get it�, we tried every approach that day, but nothing worked, they either flushed out of sight or out of range�needless to say we never touched a feather.
Now the old dog loved to hunt hard and could always tell when we were done�.the moment he sensed I was heading for the truck he would try to lure me back to the woods by going on point, he knew once I heard the beeper I would turn around and go to him, it was a game and more often than not once I go to him, I would tap the back of his head, he would move on and start to search again�that�s when I would leash him up and call it a day.
Well, on that particular day, after a dozen or so productive points and nothing to show for we decided to call it quits�we walked out of the woods with the dog up front, as we go closer to the truck we walked through this one open meadow, snow on the ground and no cover� except a small dead log right in the middle of it, all of a sudden the dog makes a hard left, bolts for the log and locks up on point, knowing the history of his behavior and that of the birds on that day we looked at each other and said �No Way��.he�s just playing games�go get him and leash him up my friend says, it�s miller time�.I walk to the dog, leash on hand, gun broke on the shoulder, get within six feet of the dog and a grouse busts clean open out from under the log, could have hit him with a tennis racquet if I had one�I don�t think the dog ever forgave us for what happened that day, and from then on I always made sure I was gun ready as opposed to leash ready�and it often paid off, so much so that I had a name for it, I used to call it �the go home bird�....of all my dogs he was the only one who did that, funny as hell now that I think of it.


All best,

CJ

Once there was a dove shoot near me, and one of the "distinguished" guests was a local judge. The field was baited, and everybody there had killed over the limit, including "Yo' honor". A couple game wardens showed up to check everybody and the judge saw him coming. He surreptitiously slipped out of the field with his pile of birds, much over the limit, got to his vehicle and, after easing quietly out of hearing, floored it towards his house. You see, he knew that the wardens would be bringing the other shooters to his house shortly. He beat them there, slipped in the back door, changed clothes, and settled down just in time to hear the doorbell ring and see the wardens and a rather large group of unhappy dove shooters, all of whom he knew well, on his front porch.

When asked a couple days later what he did to them he replied, "I did just what I should have done ... charged them $5 apiece and chewed their ----s out!"

SRH