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    #46
    My favorite thread

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      #47
      Good story Mike.....Sounds like redneck ingenuity at it's best

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        #48
        Great story's guys.

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          #49
          RBTS indeed greAt story

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            #50
            Mike, good story.

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              #51
              Thanks guys. You keep blowing up my ego and you might get another one. That is a theat.

              I will try to take a picture of the picture of Me, Norris the javalina and the spear tomorrow and post.

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                #52
                Originally posted by M.E.B. View Post
                Thanks guys. You keep blowing up my ego and you might get another one. That is a theat.

                I will try to take a picture of the picture of Me, Norris the javalina and the spear tomorrow and post.
                Don't take a pic of the pic! Use your scanner and scan it onto your computer, then load up here!

                Bisch

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                  #53
                  This is going to be a Great thread! Fun reading boys.

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                    #54
                    Originally posted by Bisch View Post
                    Don't take a pic of the pic! Use your scanner and scan it onto your computer, then load up here!

                    Bisch
                    You really don't know how computer stupid I am. I do good to log on here.

                    I have a Tin Poster of Phil Robertson in my man cave, really man nook, that says, "I'm a low tech man in a high tech world."

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                      #55
                      Come on guys, we need some more stories. There are some fine trad hunters on here and I would like to hear from some more of them.

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                        #56
                        This happend when I was about 20 yrs old. I had sold my compound and bought a recurve. It was the era after it was not cool to shoot a recurve and before it was cool again.

                        Some Days.........

                        I was scouting out my first real lease that I paid for with my own money. I had always heard about hunting in the Texas hill country and now I had a 1000 acres to hunt off of HWY 71 just south of Llano.

                        The ranch had hogs and I had read a lot about hunting wild boar with their razor sharp teeth and bad dispostions. I was young and not skeered of nothing.

                        I heard a hog working a bump bucket by a pond. I eased that direction and found about a 150 lb boar hog shaking the bucket then eating the corn then repeating. It was about midday and he was out in the open acting like he was not afraid of anything.

                        There was not any cover as most cow pasture ponds are pretty much cleared for a good area around them. There was however a good sized oak between me and him and I lined up behind that and tried to close the distance. I had about 75 yds to cover and the tree was about 15 yds from him.

                        Now there was this cow that was standing up to her belly in water in the middle of the pond that saw me. She would alternate looking at me and looking at the hog. I moved when the hog was facing away and stopped when I was afraid he would catch my movement. The cow watched intently switching her attention between me and the hog.

                        It took about 20 minutes to get beside of that oak tree about 15 yds from the soon to be very dead pig, the first that I would have ever shot at. Just as I raised my bow to shoot the cow's motherly instinct must have kicked in because she charged out of the water and ran at the hog. The hog ran off leaving the cow standing there where the hog had been seconds ago. I wanted to kill her more than I have ever wanted to shoot anything.

                        To add insult to injury as I walked back to camp I came across a 100+ lb sow with about six 30 ish pound little ones with her. I spooked all but one of them and they ran off and stopped at about 30 yds looking back at the one piglet that had not noticed them leaving. It was about 15 yds from me head on. I figured I would shoot over the pigs head and run an arrow through the neck and into its chest. The pig would squeal, mom with rush in and I would get her too. Well I hit the little pig dead center in the forehead. The arrow ricocheted off of its forehead and I do not think the arrow has hit the ground to this day.

                        All of the hogs ran off. I was left standing there thinking that this bow hunting is going be tough. I was right. It took me 4 yrs and switching to a compound for a while to kill my first animal.
                        Last edited by M.E.B.; 06-23-2014, 08:28 PM.

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                          #57
                          Back when I was about 33 and Chris was 13 I bought him and Dusty a .243 to kill their first deer with. We were hunting a lease near Llano that my wife's family had hunted for many years. I knew of a spot on a wide creek that hogs liked to bed down in. The three of us were on the top of the creek looking down into the brush trying to find the hogs. I had killed several in this creek before. I had two favorite ways of finding them. The first was by hearing them snoring and easing in for a shot. I had an evil streak in me that made me enjoy being the boogy man by waking them up with an arrow.

                          The second way I that I found to find the sleeping hogs is that the little piglets would act like little children and wander off when the older folks were napping. If you found the little guys out for a walk and were careful enough to not totally freak them out you could bump them just enough that they would go back to the main group of hogs and all you had to do was follow.

                          Anyhow we crept along the top of the creek and found the only two hogs that I had ever seen sleeping right out in the open in the bottom of the creek. They were laying side by side touching. They were about 125-150 lb hogs. The nearest one was black . I got on my knees and had Chris rest the rifle on my right shoulder. I laid my bow down and unsnapped my holster so I could draw my .357 pistol if the need arose.

                          Chris took about a 50 yd shot and missed. The only thing that I can figure is that the hogs were sleeping so soundly they did not know exactly what had happened or what direction the noise had came from. They did not even stand up. They just looked startled and laid there still. Now with their eyes open. I told him "Shoot again, shoot again!". He shot again and the black hog rolled over and kicked twice and it was done.

                          The other hog, cream colored, jumped up and ran into some brush. The brushy area was only about a 20 yd circle. I could see if it had exited out from any direction and it had not. I told both boys to stay there that I was going down there to try and get a shot with my Bighorn Custom recurve. Just about the time that I got close to the dead hog the second hog busted out of the brush and ran past me on my right side at about 10 yds. I had an arrow nocked and I swung on the pig and buried an arrow into its rib cage.

                          The hog ran up the creek bank and took off paralleling the creek heading in the opposite direction from the boys. I was not old and fat at the time and I ran after the hog. After about a 50 yd chase the sow turned, stood her ground and growled. It got my attention but I was young and not SKEERED of nothing.

                          I was about 6 feet from the hog and she was standing there putting on a pretty good show. I now only had 3 sharp arrows, two hogs to clean and wanted to hunt the evening hunt which was fast approaching so I reached for my .357. Remember I had unsnapped the holster? Well the .357 was not there. I don't know if you remember the scene in one of the Indy films where the same thing happend to him but the look on my face must have been priceless.

                          Well I was young and not SKEERED. I had a Gerber BMF knife. BMF stood for Basic Multi Function but it should have stood for something else because it was a BIG knife. The hog was acting like it was about to go down and I thought I would pull a John Wanye and walk straight up to the hog, stand in front of it, stab it though the neck and slice its throat with it standing there.

                          Well the walking up to the hog part went just fine. The hog however had not read the script and she pulled a John Wayne of her own. She charged me when I was about 3' away. I was back pedaling and she was gaining. After about 3 steps backward I threw the knife side armed. I was aiming for the rib cage. The knife hit the hog in the neck. She imdiately stopped. Sat down. Opened her mouth and the blood flowed. She rolled over backwards and wound up in the bottom of the creek. Before she flipped I did have time to hastly take a pic with a throw away camera.

                          And like the in the javalina story I may had peed a wee bit. I did not find my pistol until the next day. I do have pics of this too. I WILL try to post pics of all of these tall tails tomorrow.
                          Last edited by M.E.B.; 06-23-2014, 08:55 PM.

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                            #58
                            Great stories Mike

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                              #59
                              Blackwidow Bear

                              When a close friend of mine in Oklahoma said that if he had someone to go with him he would make another trip to Ontario for bear, I jumped at the chance to push him off the fence.
                              I worked my self into a lather the couple of months before we left, buying heavier limbs for my bow and loading up Carbonwood shafts with weed eater cord. That arrow, along with a 200 grain Snuffer created a bear arrow weighing in at 700 grains.
                              The road trip to Canada flew by with the four of us taking turns telling our stories and babbling about the adventure ahead. Goose Bay Lodge turned out to be as promised with a cozy 2 bed room cottage on the banks of Lake Saul. The Hunt was to be a semi guided affair with the outfitter baiting several sites and then turning them over to us.
                              We spent the next day traveling around our hunt area, marking bait sites with our GPS and hanging stands on our personal favorite baits.

                              The next afternoon after dropping off Mike Grace, one of the Oklahomans, I loaded the gear on my wampus cat with the hair standing up on the back of my neck and thinking of the adventure that waited ahead. The bait site was seven miles down an abandoned rail road bed and a million years back time. We had hung the stand in a Giant Spruce tree over looking a huge swamp. The second growth was so thick that from my stand twelve feet up the only place you could see the ground was in the small opening they had hacked to hang the bait. Everything was damp and dark under the solid cover with the ground being a combination of mud, boulders and dropped limbs, with the whole mess being covered in moss. It looked like a dinosaur could walk out at any time as I looked out over the foggy swamp.
                              With my bow hung above me I settled down to wait, telling myself that no matter what I was not shooting the first bear I saw. I was rethinking what everyone had been telling me about hunters shooting 75 to 100 pound bears because no matter what size they are all you can think about when you see the first one is WOW it’s as big as a bear.
                              The outfitter had been baiting with meat, hanging it in a toe sack out of reach of the smaller bears. I added a large pile of Texas Donuts on the ground under the bag just to add to the smell. A squirrel was having a feast of the donuts when he suddenly went screaming off across the ground, the woods turning so quiet you could hear a ringing in your ears from the silence. Looking down through the steel mesh of my stand I could see the head of a bear sticking out of the brush. I looked away not even picking up my bow. “I’m not shooting the first bear I see”. With out a sound on the moss covered ground the bear moved toward the bait. “Wow he is long but I’m not shooting the first bear I see”.
                              With a soft grunt the bear leaped on the donut pile wrapping his front legs around them as if to keep them away from anybody else. They were his.
                              With the entire bear stretched out in front of me I once again started talking to myself
                              “He sure is long. Dang he is wide across his bottom. I don’t know anything about bears, but if that was a hog he would go 300 pounds easy”.
                              Without thinking about it my bow was suddenly in my hand, fingers wrapped around the string and I was starting to get the hump in my back that makes my long arms work with a 28” draw. I was perfectly calm staring at the black giant trying to pick a spot to aim at. After a short inspection the shine of a large fly resting about even with the bear’s last rib caught my eye. As he was laying facing almost straight away from me, the over the hip shot I had read so much about looked perfect. I leaned out from the tree concentrating on the fly, feeling the muscles bunch in my back as the 66# Blackwidow came to full draw. An inch away from touching my anchor my string hit my hat. I had forgotten to turn it around. Leaning back into the cover of the Spruce limbs I turned it out of my way, noticing my heart had begun to race.
                              I slowly leaned back out into the shooting lane, reaching full draw only to have my spot, the fly, decide to leave for where ever it is that flies go, leaving me at full draw and a frazzled brain. I now had no aiming spot. Gathering the last of my self control I slowly let down, leaning back in to gather my wits and locate an aiming point on the solid black target that had suddenly grown to a 1000 pound prehistoric beast. After a short study I noticed a little tuft of hair sticking up mid bear just to on side of the spine. Leaning back into the shooting lane I was a total mess with my heart thumping in my ears, eyes blurry and both legs in full Elvis mode. “Breathe, you gotta breathe.” In my building nervousness I had forgotten to breath. Closing my eyes and taking some deep breaths I thought about all of the afternoons shooting in my yard until I couldn’t draw my bow, then waiting an hour and doing it again. That combined with the 3-D shoots every weekend made this a slam dunk.
                              Concentrating on the tuft of hair until the world blurred with only the spot in focus I began to draw my bow. With a soft thud the arrow suddenly was buried up to the feathers and the world stood still. I had told everyone that if a bear tried to get in a stand with me he would look like a porcupine before he ever reached me. I was wrong. At the impact of the 1-1/2” Snuffer the bear rose up on his back legs and stared up at me like I owed him money. I just stood there with my mouth open wondering, “What have I done now?”.
                              After the longest 5 seconds of my life the bear dropped down on all fours and started walking away like nothing had happened. Apparently once he reached the brush the arrow snagged on something because then all hell broke loose. Letting out a bone chilling roar the bear began thrashing around in the second growth knocking down trees as big as my wrist before taking off in a semi circle of about 50 yards. Still holding my bow out with my left hand I followed his progress by watching the second growth flopping around as he crashed through it in a full out gallop. Suddenly it was quiet. Very quiet. Very, very quiet, and time for a decision. It was getting dark in a hurry. Do I wait an hour as I normally do when I shoot something and make the ½ mile walk out to my four wheeler in the black dark of the north country swamp, or do I go now and hope I don’t spook the bear I think is laying only fifty yards away? With all the valor of a 6 year old school girl I scooted down the tree and trotted out of the forest. Man my 4 wheeler felt good as I sped away down the abandoned track.
                              Returning to my truck I headed back to Mike to find him setting on a nice 150 pound bear he had whacked with his muzzle loader. After loading his bear we headed for the lodge to gather some help.

                              Returning to the bait sight I searched the place the bear had been laying for blood. That’s when the second best sound you can hear came to me from down by the swamp. It was the friend who had got all this started, Ralph Moses. “I got blood. I got lots of blood.”
                              After a short and gruesome trail with blood everywhere where the bear crashed through the second growth Ralph froze in front of me, saying the best thing you can here after a shot. “There he is.” After the major ordeal of getting the ATV down to the swamp and the bear pulled across to it, it was official, I had my bear.

                              With the elimination of the popular spring season Ontario bears go mostly unhunted, as September is also Moose and deer season. Our group of four hunters were the only ones booked at Goose Bay and their 80 square mile hunting area. The area was not hurt even though all of us took a nice bear. My bear weighed in at 325 pounds dressed and made a beautiful rug and a memory that will last a life time.
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                                #60
                                Great story Buff.

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