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WyoChukar
PostPosted: Sun Apr 14, 2019 4:02 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 16 Jul 2015
Posts: 2124
Location: Hudson,Wy

Since we have been answering questions and telling others more about our backgrounds lately, I figured this would be a great time to take this in another direction. What we have here is an opportunity to put some genuine personality on stage. After all, most of us have been chasing horizons for a number of years and inevitably, odd, bizarre, and down right amusing things do happen in the field. Let's get some of those great hunting/ shooting stories out in the open!

I will kick off this side show and then sit back and see what the rest of you can add. This should be fun, so here goes.

I'll call this one "Tar Baby Rusty".

The events occurred not long ago, recent enough to say that the pheasant belt was in a tailspin. The big surge in pheasant numbers in the Dakotas had been riding on the coat tails of plentiful CRP for many years and exited stage left as these contracts expired, drought opened it's ravenous jaws, and emergency haying became a necessity for many agricultural operations. To be blunt, it wasn't a time to stand idly by when a rooster initiated that drag race between wing and reflex.

Years of plenty afford a hunter the luxury of being choosy with shots based on whims, convenience, and any number of factors. Heck, during the good years a selective attitude is often needed if one wishes to do more than take a 15 minute stroll then wonder what to do with the rest of a glorious autumn day on the prairie. Well folks, those days were gone like gasoline in a bon fire.

No sir, I didn't mind hunting all day long, but this is bird hunting and certainly differs from bird watching. I have never been a man who deludes himself. I love all aspects of the hunt and that includes watching a bird fall clean, leaving only feathers on the wind to testify that he was there a moment earlier. I relish the sight of my dog bounding eagerly forth to the fallen bird along with the beauty and grace of his return with cargo. I bask in the joy of holding such a treasure in hand and admiring the magnificent plumage as the bird's warmth penetrates my hand. I also make no apology for wanting the entire experience, for each facet builds upon the others and makes upland bird hunting the fulfillment that it is.

This said, the day started with all of the right ingredients, a tad cool, but a mild day that just begs to be explored...with a dog and a shotgun of course. The wind was even bearable. As expected, the food plot harbored a few birds, but when the Fox 16 spoke in exchange for a rooster, it's voice convinced the pheasant contingent that a mass exodus was indeed in order. Down into the creek bottoms half went while the others didn't settle back to earth until their wings wearied. Rusty returned with my scraggly little rag tail rooster, a bird I was ever so grateful to receive.

Not one to ignore a good chance, off to the deep grass along the shallow water course we proceeded. Hard running birds began popping into the sky far ahead of our approach, seasoned survivors indeed. This game of cat and mouse continued and the mice gave us two cats many a defeat until Rusty turned abruptly toward a small patch of cattails that rimmed a stream that was mostly black muck.

Oh boy! This scenario usually ends well, as long as I put a swarm of shot where there is a bird. In Rusty went and amongst the snapping and crackling of my dog in tight cover there emerged a ruckus that spurred me to plant my feet and begin the process of gun mount. I was well into my routine as a bold brassy cock bird launched, announcing loudly his displeasure in a series of brutal epithets as only a rooster can.

At this point excitement totally obliterated any hope of reasonable cognitive response. The far bank was high and once over it, the bird would be afforded an earthen shield that no shot pellet can defeat. However, there was the matter of the black gooey expanse between cattails and this miniature bluff. Bird in question was in flight over this mess and in the event of a connecting shot, surely gravity would place falling rooster there, even if he bounced off the far bank. At this occurrence, surely said dog, one Border Collie with long flowing coat of burnt gold, would undeniably charge forth and launch himself, also succumbing to gravity's harsh insistence that he come down into the wretched quagmire after which his long flowing coat of gold would inevitably become anything but that.

Well, lacking the luxury of a dozen bird eruption, my focus naturally put a beam on that iridescent blue head and the Fox barked emphatically; the bees had now left their hive, irrevocably. Such a beautiful shot. Trailing feathers marked the path as my rooster embarked on that cascading journey from leaden prairie sky...SPLAT!

"Oh no, what have I done?!" Before I could finish the thought, Rusty was airborne from the cattails...Splat-splat-splat-splash. Upon the bird's impact, our rooster easily penetrated 2" of water, plus another 6" of dark snot that pretended to pass as wet earth. Ooo, this isn't going to be pretty and it wasn't. What to do now?

As Rusty came back over the bank with wide eyed astonishment, rooster in mouth, I did the only thing I could. I snapped a quick series with the camera then laughed hysterically. My thoughts journeyed back to childhood tales of Uncle Remus and the Tar Baby. Yep I had a tar baby dog with a tar baby pheasant in his mouth. Rusty brought me the bird and set it at my feet.

I picked it up by one grubby toe and suddenly realized that a fuse had been lit, a short fuse marking the countdown until the dreaded "wet dog shake". I ran. Rusty shook a crude like mess into the air, while I watched amused, from a safe distance. Kind little fella that he is, he realized that I had not shared entirely in this experience and repeated the maneuver; I ran again. There is something to be said about delaying the inevitable. Eventually he got me. I found deeper, cleaner water and gave him a bath. He sprayed me again before I could escape.

We hunted many hours after that, both in search of that 3rd rooster, and those wonderful grouse of the prairie: Sharptails. Eventually, my boy dried off and we headed to a friend's farm where I recounted the events for the amusement of those willing to listen. It's a bizarre life. I wouldn't trade it for any earthly kingdom.
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Last edited by WyoChukar on Sat Apr 20, 2019 9:14 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Pine Creek/Dave
PostPosted: Sun Apr 14, 2019 5:20 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 2786
Location: Endless Mountains of Pa

WyoChukar,

Great story only a gun dog man can appreciate it!


I have a Grouse hunting story that finally happened to me after 45 years of Grouse hunting.

My best friend and I were Grouse hunting in Somerset County, Pa in the Blue Hole area of Laurel mountain. After a frustrating day of not being able to get close to gun any Grouse, we ate dinner and came back to the mountain as the sun was setting.

We got Sampson my Small Munsterlander out of the Tahoe and decided to hunt the lower section of the Grouse mountain. Sampson went on point as we eased back the old logging trail and Dan circled over to his left, he got set up and I gave the flush command to Sampson who put up 2 Grouse from under the snow. Dan's Ithaca sounded and one of the birds fell, the other flew over the mountain side and was gone. Sampson retrieved the bird to hand, my hand of course. Dan just stood there laughing, that stinking Munster will not retrieve birds to anyone else but you, he said. I laughed and told Dan Sampson knows who feeds and cares for him. I handed Dan his Grouse. It was a beautiful big Red Phase bird, we stood admiring the bird for some time, just talking and having a good time.

Sampson had other ideas and moved on down the logging road all by himself. We finally stored the Grouse in Dan's vest and followed Samson around the bend. As we got closer to Sampson he was locked on Grouse point. The bird was definitely under the 6" of snow again and Dan circled to the left while I moved over to the right a few steps and followed the logging road down to where Sampson was on point. The Grouse scent must have been pretty great cause that old Munster dog was quivering. I told Dan to get ready and gave Sampson the flush command, when he moved in a few step 6 birds came up out of the snow, snow flying every where made it almost impossible for me to gun the birds, I heard Dan's Ithaca fire and he yelled bird down. Sampson remained on point, I stood waiting, the snow started to clear from the air and I told Dan to get ready again, he said no can do, have my Grouse limit for the day already. Ok I said and told Sampson to flush the remaining birds, he hit the snow running and 2 more Grouse exploded one just slightly higher in the air than the other as they few, about 30 yards down the logging road crossing L to R, snow flying every where. I raised the old 16 Gauge L.C. Smith double gun and both birds were right in front of me. I squeezed the 1st trigger on the IC choked barrel and both Grouse fell. Sampson retrieved both birds to hand and then went to retrieve Dans Grouse also. That old Munster dog brought the Scotch double back at the same time, before retrieving Dan's bird.

Dan walked over to me laughing, as Sampson brought me Dan's Grouse. Stinking mut he said, 3 birds killed here you think he would at least bring me my bird. I started laughing at him. What are you laughing at he said you just made the greatest Grouse shot of your life, but don't tell anybody about it, cause nobody is ever going to believe it happened, I still can't believe it happened and I saw it with my own eyes. A deep voice came from behind Dan and there stood Charlie May, our Pa Game Warden. Not to worry sir I saw it happen, now let me check your licenses and your birds.

Charlie bent over and patted Sampson on the head, the finest Grouse work I have ever seen in my 40 years in the woods, real good dog, thanks for the show.

It took me over 40 years to shoot a true Scotch Double Grouse, and my best friend and Charlie May were there to witness it. Dan was correct however few Grouse hunters even believe it happened. A once in a life time event by the grace of God.

Wish I would have had my digital Camera, unfortunately they had not been invented yet.

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith Man


Last edited by Pine Creek/Dave on Thu Apr 18, 2019 9:00 am; edited 6 times in total

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wahoo
PostPosted: Sun Apr 14, 2019 5:25 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 22 Jan 2015
Posts: 345

Good one Wyochukar, especially with the show-and-tell pics! Bet you washed that rooster off too. Good thing the weather wasn't approaching icy eh.

Guess I'll add one, no pics though.
Maybe 20 years ago, it was also a cool clear morning in late October. I had been in the woods early, setting on a deer stand and had not pulled the trigger on any. Was getting on towards mid morning, so grabbed up my gear and started walking back to my truck which, was parked about a mile away on an old logging road. I was following a skid trail, having a pleasant stroll through a rather open section of hardwood timber. The fall leaves were well into coming off, but the walk was very quiet as there had been a rain the nite before, making the ground damp. I was completely alone, and did not hear so much as a bird chirping as I walked along. I had my eyes peeled though in the slight chance I might jump a deer heading out. I was maybe halfway back to the truck then when I suddenly and very clearly heard my name called out.." HARVEY".....As I said, I was alone, in a section of open timber where I could see a 100 yrds in any direction. In the next few seconds, I had one of those moments I have heard others speak about, where you question your sanity. I brushed it off after a couple seconds as just my imagination....Then...I heard again, but louder and with more urgency...HARVEY!. What the heck, I'm thinking, that's not my imagination!!! Is this what it's like when people say they are hearing voices in their head??? I stopped walking and turned all the way around expecting see someone behind me, but no one. I hung my head down and was thinking hard. Am I going crazy?

This all lasted only a few seconds in actual time but seemed like 30. As I stood there, it came to me. My hunting partner, Bill, had not made it that morning to go in the woods before sunrise. We were supposed to link up later in the day for a planned hunt elsewhere. For just those kind of occasions, we both kept a handheld radio in our packs, and I was hearing mine as he was calling to check in with me when he arrived to where I had parked! I'd forgotten all about it being there on my back, Ha, what a relief when I realized what was going on!
Maybe the funniest part of that for me was when I got back to the truck and told him the story. Bill shook his head and said he really wish he had known what I was thinking when he called me.....had he known, he would have said..."Harvey, I want you to build an ark"! It might have worked on me too!

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1929 Thomas Bland 16ga SxS 28"
1947 Browning A5 16ga 28"
1948 BRNO 16ga SxS 27.5"
1949 Stevens 530 16ga SxS 28"
1950 Stevens 311A 12ga SxS 30"
1952 BRNO 12ga SxS 28.25"
1963 Superposed O/U 12ga 27"
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Pine Creek/Dave
PostPosted: Sun Apr 14, 2019 5:44 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 17 Mar 2017
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Location: Endless Mountains of Pa

wahoo,

Great story sir!

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith Man

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duckdup
PostPosted: Sun Apr 14, 2019 5:46 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 12 Feb 2018
Posts: 258
Location: West-central Missouri

Well, I'm not a great story-teller but here's my dog Hunter's story of an easy set missed badly. He was a very red colored Golden that thought he was a tolling dog. He actually did rather well at it.

We were out late season on a heavily used conservation area. We had it to ourselves, just me and Hunter. A light wind from the north, the decoys were set upwind to my left with a splashing feeder adding movement to the spread. Near perfect morning for us.

9 AM and not a bird seen except mile high snows, finally from the SW came a locked up bunch of mallards with a widgeon trailing. Not funny that I raised my head and missed with both barrels. However the look that Hunter gave me for at least a minute after they flew off is worth a smile.

[URL=http://www.jpgbox.com/page/56844_800x600/] [/URL]

There's a John Denver song that goes with this story...

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Bill K
PostPosted: Tue Apr 16, 2019 11:31 am  Reply with quote



Joined: 13 Oct 2014
Posts: 253
Location: North Shore of Boston

Long before we knew the area was called the "Bridgewater Triangle" (Google it) everybody in our hunting gang referred to Rocky Gutter Wildlife Management Area (WMA) as the "Enchanted Forest". And along with that another somewhat nearby WMA, Hockomock Swamp, had a weird reputation as well.

In the enchanted forest deer would appear out of nowhere, a while back someone shot a species of deer (Sika ?) there that is not native to Massachusetts, just weird little things happenings, and all of us have seen shadows move out of the corners of our eyes.

One guy in our gang - who was posting in a tree stand diligently watching for deer, when it came time to leave climbed down and literally stepped onto the back of a deer !

One opening day by 8 AM I had heard over 200 shots fired and could hardly wait to go to the checking station - figuring it was a deer massacre. When I stopped in I asked how many deer had been checked in, the fellow said to me - do you have one ?, and I said no, he said none. I think those shots I heard were hunters shooting at shadows - out of 200 shots someone must have hit something.

When hunting out at Hockomock Swamp, one of the guys in our gang returned to the cars babbling something about seeing a UFO.

We weren't spooked by it, as a matter of fact we just accepted the oddities.

Years ago two local TV personalities were riding in a convertible heading to a racing track in area (I forget if it was a horse racing track or dog racing track) anyway as they were driving along they both claimed to have seen a triangular shaped UFO right over their car !

Anway I came home one night and my wife was watching a television program about the "Bridgewater Triangle" and she asked if I knew anything about it. When I looked at the map they showed - I laughed out loud, they're talking about the enchanted forest and the weird things people see out at Hockomock Swamp.
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16gaDavis
PostPosted: Thu Apr 18, 2019 8:30 am  Reply with quote



Joined: 24 Jun 2013
Posts: 2062
Location: canandaigua - western n.y. (formerly deerhunter)

sitting things out to go work . Liver and white Britt playing in yard - chases bird SHADOWS , not the bird itself . Bird lands next to dog , dog really excited standing over the shadow . Bird takes off , dog chases shadow directly into newly tarred drive . WOW - dog sez !! Rolls over and over in the tar - NICE !! Also time to go to work . 14hrs at work , come home dog acts like nothing happened - still completely tarred ! ( in travel box )(house smells like , well , TAR !!)

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hiplainsdrifter
PostPosted: Thu Apr 18, 2019 1:35 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 09 Jan 2017
Posts: 50

Good tales!

A few years ago, I drove over the mountain for my first chukar hunt. I was with a friend who had chased chukar a bit, and he showed me how to read the habitat. I was carrying my old beater backup 12ga pump as my 16ga double was in for repairs. I was also dogless as my pup was out with an injury. We worked several promising ridgelines to no avail. About the time I was getting tired, I flushed a covey at about 40 yards. I pulled up to shoot, but completely fumbled. I was used to the tang safety on my double, and I was too flustered to get the trigger safety off in time. We preceeded to pinball this big covey of chuks around, flushing them 4 or 5 times with marginal 50 yard shots. I decided to split off a ridgeline down to an arroyo edge. Several birds had been in there and I tracked them through the snow. Suddenly I heard chukkachukkachukka! behind me and saw my buddy wild flush a single off the ridge. It was a rocketing cross shot at about 40 yards but I gave it a healthy lead and crumpled it mid air, where it dropped on the far side of the steep arroyo. Meanwhile my buddy had put up the rest of the covey, so I ignored my down bird, confident it was dead in the air and I could come back to it. I hustled to get back into position behind my friend's pointers, but they preceded to school us on several more flushes before vanishing. I scrambled the steep, snowy shady side of the arroyo up to my bird. There was a nice bloody crater in the snow, but no bird. No tracks either. I started to circle the spot looking for sign, when I saw a goshawk fly out of sagebrush about 100 yards away. Sure enough, I walked over and there was my bird. I held it high in the air and bellowed "CHUKKARRRR!!". That was my first chukar and the only bird we shot that day.
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Researcher
PostPosted: Thu Apr 18, 2019 7:50 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 13 Jun 2009
Posts: 695
Location: WA/AK

An Expensive Quail

Fifty-two years ago I was starting my junior year at the University of Washington. I had been hunting all manner of game and varmints with my parents since I was old enough to hold a Winchester Model 67 single shot .22. But, by 1967 it was becoming clear that wing shooting was my game. Jim, a chum of mine since his mother was my den mother in Cub Scouts, was expressing an interest in getting a shotgun and going hunting with me. In that my twenty-first year, I already had two Ansley H. Fox 12-gauge doubles – a 1928-vintage 3-inch magnum Super-Fox for serious waterfowling, and a 1914-vintage 28-inch barrel A-grade with a straight grip stock for all other work. During the summer of 1967 a Parker Bros. DH-grade 12-gauge with 28-inch barrels and a straight grip stock came up for sale at the Safari-Room at Frederick & Nelson in Seattle, and I pointed Jim in its direction.

The opportunity for me to take Jim hunting finally came the week between Christmas and New-Years. We started with a day of shooting decoyed ducks on the Winchester Waste Waterway in Grant County. Jim killed five ducks in nine shots, and I figured he had this wingshooting down. We then headed down to Columbia County to shoot quail around the Dayton area. By mid-afternoon, I had limited out and Jim hadn’t cut a feather. The next day I was nearing my limit and Jim still hadn’t hit one, so I suggested that we trade guns and I’d see if I could figure out how to hit one with his Parker. We started out going around some trees where an old set of farm buildings had been with the intention of heading up a brushy draw between two wheat stubble fields that lay beyond. Jim was going around the old farmstead to the right, while I was skirting a deep dry wash along the left side. We hadn’t gone a hundred yards when the most amazing thing happened, my Brittany began barking! I had never heard her bark before. When I approached the dog I saw that she had treed a large Bobcat. Seeing the cat, I fumbled around in my shell vest and found the heaviest duck load I had, put it in Jim’s gun and shot the cat out of the tree. The Bobcat fell down in the dry wash, and I had a hell of a time climbing down in there, getting the cat and climbing back out. I decided to walk back to Jim’s stationwagon sitting on the gravel road and leave the cat there, then we could continue hunting. Just as I got to the road the cat started coming to and kicking with its hind legs. I threw it down in the road and went to hit it with the butt of the gun. Then a thought struck me that I’d heard of a gun going off when you do that. So, I quickly removed the shells and bashed the cat in the head with that fine Parker Bros. skeleton steel butt plate. That finished the cat, but also broke the stock square through the grip area. Ouch! My Fox had a recoil pad, and if I’d had it, I’d have probably found something else to hit the cat with. We finished the trip with me trying to shoot Quail with the Super-Fox, and Jim doing a good job with my old A-grade Fox.

When we returned to Seattle I took the cat to Olympic Taxidermy Studio on Rainier South, and the man there said it was the biggest female he’d seen in years. So, for $65 I had it mounted as a rug with the mouth open. I guess I could have sent the paws in to the Game Department for the $5 bounty, but that would have ruined the rug. I took Jim’s Parker to Bill English, the gunsmith at Frederick & Nelson. He hollowed out the head of the stock and epoxied new wood into the center, re-inlet the metal, recut the checkering, and refinished the stock, for $125. When Bill was done, you would really have to know what you were looking for to find any evidence of the break on that Parker stock.

We’d have probably all been better off if I’d have just whistled up the dog and we’d gone on our way. However that Bobcat rug is lying on the old brass bed in our guestroom to this day.

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wahoo
PostPosted: Fri Apr 19, 2019 5:13 am  Reply with quote



Joined: 22 Jan 2015
Posts: 345

Hiplainsdrifter's story reminded me of something else that happened to me earlier this century.

One afternoon in the fall, I took a favorite 22 rifle along for an impromptu bit of squirrel hunting in a section behind my home where there was a 5 acre stand of massive white oaks and beech trees hemmed in by a swamp and pine plantation. Beautiful ground! It was getting late and I had not really been hunting hard thus no squirrels taken, when I spotted one fellow on the ground. I spooked him into a big oak, and decided to sit down and wait him out. After maybe only 5 minutes passed, he came out and around looking for me. He was up the tree by the lower limbs, maybe 20' up, and to my left as I faced. Suddenly and quietly, an owl glides out of the pines nearby and lands in another oak to my right front about just as high up as the squirrel, and maybe 40' of air between them. Well that's when the show started. The squirrel disregarded me, and began fussing at that owl. He even went out onto a big limb to get closer to that owl as he fussed. Guess I decided it was time to go home with my squirrel, and as he was presenting a fine shot, I took it and he fell straight away to the ground about 25' away from me DOA.
Instead of jumping up and grabbing my squirrel, I paused to see what the owls reaction to this would be. To my surprise, the owl lit from the limb, and swooped down to my squirrel. The owl got a good grip, and took off with my squirrel, heading (struggling) back up towards the way he had come from. After apparently much effort, the owl made it back up into a tree and landed momentarily before taking back off and flying into the dark pines. Guess he was hungrier than I was.

_________________
1929 Thomas Bland 16ga SxS 28"
1947 Browning A5 16ga 28"
1948 BRNO 16ga SxS 27.5"
1949 Stevens 530 16ga SxS 28"
1950 Stevens 311A 12ga SxS 30"
1952 BRNO 12ga SxS 28.25"
1963 Superposed O/U 12ga 27"
1968 V Bernardelli SxS 12ga 28"
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WyoChukar
PostPosted: Fri Apr 19, 2019 10:31 am  Reply with quote



Joined: 16 Jul 2015
Posts: 2124
Location: Hudson,Wy

Researcher, your story is mighty similar to one of mine. Back when I was in college, I entered the realm of calling coyotes and the only gun we had that was reasonable for the task was Dad's Sako .243. I was trying to pay for my daily expenses with $20 pelts back then and enjoying mild success with it.

Basically the pelt money was paying for the gas I used going back and forth to college...and hunting birds. I mostly squandered it on bird hunting. I figured that if I hunted coyotes about three times a week (providing I actually bagged a few), I could stay on the plus side of the equation, having gas money to chase birds, and even buying a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a bag of Cheetos to go with my bologna sandwiches.

Well the .243 did a lousy job with FMJ bullets and was a tad destructive with expanding types that were available at the time. My dilemma came when I was faced with finishing off a coyote that still had a good bit of fight left. It was him or me! I had grown weary of stitching hides, and considered a head shot. Well that would have done too much damage.

There needs to be a head remaining to actually put the hide on a tapered stretcher so I went for option B, ignorant of the circumstances. Shortly thereafter my ongoing education included the revelation that gun stocks are not quite the same as baseball bats and don't like side impacts one bit at all. The coyote expired post haste, but oh how I dreaded facing Dad. I was hunting a neighboring ranch, so I didn't get to delay the inevitable for long.

Much to my surprise, Dad left my own hide attached to its carcass. I had taken up custom stock work by this point and promised the build a new stock for the Sako. In the barn I crafted a decent stock from bird's eye maple. Dad seemed appeased, but I thought I could do better. Let's just say that to this day that rifle bears one heck of a nice fiddleback walnut stock, complete with inlay work. After this Dad suggested I might take a few more of his rifles out and break them. I declined, it was a lot of work and good wood like that isn't cheap.

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Pine Creek/Dave
PostPosted: Fri Apr 19, 2019 12:43 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 17 Mar 2017
Posts: 2786
Location: Endless Mountains of Pa

wahoo,

I have Great Horned Owl experience also.

We were Grouse hunting in Somerset County, Pa in the late 70's when the lower tier of Pa still had seriously good Grouse habitat and my GSP locked up on a Grouse in the Blue Hole area of the state forest. Now this old dog was a real German Bred KS trained and certified animal and did not make many mistakes while hunting. I gave Rosie the flush command as I still waiting for something to happen, the nice size Grouse flushed up over the trees and I shot the bird. Having thought I killed the bird Rosie was commanded to fetch. Instead of fetching Rosie circled a big downed hollowed out fallen tree and went on point again. I moved up to see where the Grouse had hidden itself along the big tree. The bird looked dead to me so I reached down to pick up the bird. My hand almost touched the bird when it stood up and ran inside the downed tree. The bird just a few seconds later came flying out the opposite end of the big downed tree. It flew quickly making a 180 degree circle and an instant later a big Great Horned Owl took that Grouse right out of the air. My hunting companion at the time just stood their laughing, In reality it was probably pretty funny to watch. 2 chances to shoot that nice Grouse and the GHO showed me that it was definitely the better hunter.

Pine Creek/Dave
L.C. Smith Man

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Chukar60
PostPosted: Fri Apr 19, 2019 7:36 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 31 Jan 2019
Posts: 55
Location: Idaho

8 years ago when my oldest Britt Finn was a pup, it was time for his first real hunt.
We were at the ranch so figured it was a good time for an afternoon hunt.
I decided to take my old Britt Zach with us.
Left the house on foot, crossed the creek and headed to a reliable cover.
We had worked through most of the cover when Finn’s beeper alerted to a point.
Zach heard the beep and rolled in and backed the point. I loaded the gun and walked in on Finn. No birds flushed, I checked Zach for body language. He was a great dog and would honor a point even when he knew the birds were not there. His stance would relax just a bit if he was not confident about birds being there.
Zach was a little loose on his stance, but his face showed great interest as if he just wasn’t sure what the pup had.
I was getting ready to kick the weeds to double check for birds when I heard a hiss. I quickly located a feral cat backed into a tangle of weeds.
We have a real problem with feral cats on the property and have a standing rule of see cat, shoot cat. They prey heavily on the quail and I watched one kill a mature rooster.
It was kitty’s lucky day. I did not want to shoot the cat there as I didn’t want the pup to think we hunted cats.
I grabbed Finn by the collar and kicked the weed pile. Out came the cat, Finn lunged and I lost my grip. He was on that cat in a heartbeat and was rewarded with a face full of claws and teeth. Zach had to get in on the hate fest and I had a real rodeo on my hands.
As the locals would say, things got real western in a big hurry.
When I reached into the tangle of critters and pulled the pup out, Mr. Puss made a hasty retreat with Zach on his trail. A quick bump on the collar stopped the dog.
I assumed the cat had made his escape and let the pup loose and grabbed my shotgun. When I turned my attention back to the dogs, Finn had located the cat and was off again, apparently wanting some more feline pain. Before I could react he was just a few feet from the cat and the cat jumped straight in the air and landed on his back chewing and clawing. I rushed in and knocked the cat off the dog.
Finn had apparently had enough of cats and just held his ground. Zach was a quick student and did not need another bump to keep him out of the fracas. Mr. Puss was not done. He held his ground hissing and spitting and letting us know he wanted some more dog hide.
I grabbed the pup by the collar, one handed the shotgun and sent kitty to wherever feral cats go.
This was the weirdest event I have had hunting.
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16gaDavis
PostPosted: Sat Apr 20, 2019 10:22 am  Reply with quote



Joined: 24 Jun 2013
Posts: 2062
Location: canandaigua - western n.y. (formerly deerhunter)

12 yrs old , hunting with a M37 Winnie . Grouse are EVERYWHERE !! MISSING EVERYTHING !! Walk into a thorn bush and get one of those 3'' stickers in my leg . Put gun against a tree and drop trows to try and pull it out . Hear a flush , look up and a G**D*** bird flies right up and lands about 5' above my head and sits there watching me !! Till I got the gun , then it dropped down on the ground and walked away . Really dense brush - bird perfectly safe !

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Soggy socks
PostPosted: Sat Apr 20, 2019 1:02 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 26 Apr 2016
Posts: 369
Location: Vermont

Since this has evolved into more than just grouse hunting here goes, my last escapade. Last September had not developed into the banner early goose season I had hoped it would be. Geese in fields I could hunt were few and far between, we shot a few. Around the middle of the month an acquaintance who happens to be my daughters boyfriend asked to go. Since he has the time to scout in the evenings the plan was for him to scout for the following weekend.

I called on Friday night and asked if he had located any birds. He told me that he had gone looking for deer instead. So we went blind to a field I had hunted a few times and shot a few birds in earlier. you know what happened never even heard a honk. Here is where it started to get interesting and I mean started! I had parked my new truck in an adjacent wood lot and when backing out backed into a tree and dented my bumper in badly enough so that I could not put the tailgate down to load the dekes.

The early morning was a bust so I took him the shoot a few crows, we unloaded the goose dekes picked up my crow gear at camp and shot crows for an hour or so. We probably shot a dozen to fifteen before they caught on. Anyway our day was done I dropped him off. I decided to take my very energetic GSP for a run, (he runs I walk). Here is where it gets interesting. We were walking through an alfalfa field and I was thinking what a pretty field it was. Cooper was bounding through the soybeans on the edge of where I was.

He slammed to a gorgeous point. Now there aren't a lot of pheasants around so I though maybe some turkeys? I walked over and peered into the soybeans and saw white! Oh no, I said Cooper no, Cooper no but his eyes were as bugged out as far the fellow in the boat that Rodney Dangerfield ran over in Caddyshack. I took a couple steps forward and the dog broke point grabbed the SKUNK and flipped it. He immediately knew it was not a great move and came to my side. Maybe it didn't spray him I thought as I could not not smell it right away. Wrong

Well I thought I could put his kennel in the back and put him in that. Nope bumper was pushed up from the earlier incident so that wouldn't work. I put him in it in the rear seat and drove to the nearest Rite aid. I could not remember the formula but knew Hydrogen peroxide was one of the ingredients. I went in smelling like the skunk and grabbed a bottle , I waited off to the side while the clerk talked to another customer about the latest small town gossip then asked to go in front of the next customers who I told the issue to. They were sympathetic and grabbed a bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid for me.

I went back to camp and douched the dog with the concoction and coaxed him into the water while my neighbors shouted encouragement. Got him as good as I could cleaned the inside of the kennel and hoped the stench did not permeate the interior too badly. I called my wife and told her I was afraid to drive home. In a week it was all better and I hammered to geese on the last day. 15 shots for 15 birds with a miss but that is another story.
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