For me any really memorable shot/s involve hunting partners or someone else. Iíve just always found things more memorable and enjoyable when done with others. One of my most memorable shots was one that, thankfully, I didn't fire.
Shots can be memorable for many reasons but one Iíll never ever forget happened one night when about 6 of us were sleeping in an old log cabin on the back side of a friends property in the northern part of the state. I was about 15 at the time and we were hunting whitetails late in the season.
The old cabin had an old pot bellied stove in it for heat and when it was totally dark you could see some small holes in it that let a little bit of light out into the room. It was kind of like a little mini northern lights show.
One of the guys there that night by the name of John had gotten cold and had stoked the stove up a little, around 2:00 a.m., and hadnít gotten back to sleep yet. Now mind you, olí John did some weird things at times and I had always thought he wasnít really the brightest bulb in the string. He picked 2:00 in the morning to pull another one out of his bag of ďtricksĒ.
Seems that, according to what he told us later, he saw either a rat, a squirrel, or something about that size walking around in the cabin. This evidently was more than he could stand. The bad thing was that olí John happened to be sleeping next to where some of the guns had been leaned up in the corner, and one of them was his. About the only good thing I can think of is that the stove was against one wall and John at least waited until the rat was by the stove and not between a couple of sleeping bags. Evidently, without thinking, olí John thought the rat needed to die at that very moment.
In a pitch dark log cabin, about 12íx15í at the most, in the small streaks of light being emitted by the old pot bellied stove, olí John drew a bead on that rat with his 300 Savage, while all of the rest of us were sleeping, and tripped the trigger when his target got into one of the small beams of light coming from the stove.
After all was said and done we never did find the rat but we did find that 6 guys can come out of a dead sleep, and their sleeping bags, thrashing and fighting each other, thinking the world had just come to an end. I think it took about 5 minutes for everybody to calm down and it took a little longer than that to convince everyone that we shouldnít string up a rope and lynch olí John. Someone got the lantern lit and the room looked like a bomb had gone off. Sleeping bags, clothes, boots and just about everything in the cabin were scattered around like the jolly green giant had picked the cabin up and shook it.
The next day it seemed kinda funny, but at 2:00 in the morning the only thing funny was that nobody had a heart attack. For the rest of that trip someone always made sure no guns were within reach of where John was sleeping. One more late night varmint hunt and that 100 year old cabin would probably have been destroyed.
Itís kind of strange how we tend to forget some really memorable things until something like this refreshes our memory. The videos in my head are replaying the mountain goat standing broadside, taking 3 shots as I lay prone across a small log, and the blood running down the white hair, while he never even flinched. I can see a big 6 point bull elk taking three 338 win mag 200 grain slugs at 90 yards before he finally stayed down. I can see the deer I shot this past season and how everything seemed to go into slow motion at the shot as he dropped his hind end and came over backwards in slow motion. Itíll take me an hour or two to get all of the images replayed in my mind but again, thanks for helping me remember. [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img]
Ahhh there you are Grimmer man [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img]
Thanks , I realize that after your surgery tha t may have been a tough type [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/wink.gif[/img] but you can handle it [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/laugh.gif[/img]
I'm sitting here just wondering , out of all the folks here this is all the " memorable shot " stories we can get ?
Roy is not going to give his coon dog story unless yall cough up some more , please !
Besides that, I promised one more ( you will all enjoy calling me a liar on this one [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/blush.gif[/img] )
I am convinced that many have experienced shots that go outside the " norm " . So ....................share them [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/tongue.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/blush.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/laugh.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/wink.gif[/img] [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/tongue.gif[/img]
Back in the b.c. days ( before children [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/laugh.gif[/img] ) My wife and I had quite a few horses and rode on a regular basis .
One day a friend of mine and I were riding and of course we were in our " wannabe cowboy mode " that is to say we had on boots ,jeans and hats . Due to lack of funds our firearms were not very supportive of our roleplaying . He had a ruger 22 auto and I was sporting a nickel plated "Saturday night special" in .38 cal with a 2" bbl. Hey ! it was my stepfathers and it had more firepower than my H&R 22 revolver . I had even faashioned a leather holster and was wearing it on a long belt and tied down on my mid thigh .
Well after a long ride we found ourselves walking single file across a levee on mom and Docs place . Tall willows grew along the levee and slightly overhung the levee.
I was in front and was slouching in the saddle letting Grayboy pick his way back to the barn when a redwing blackbird bailed out of the top of a willow about 5 yards in front of me trilling as he went . Without thought the revolver was drawn and fired as it cleared the holster .( I had been shooting off my horse for some time and he simply stopped walking when I would shoot )
The bird exploded !!( my only experience with wadcutters and blackbirds [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/laugh.gif[/img] ) . Without looking back at my friend I holstered my pistol and kept riding . After a few feet he spoke and said " I don't want to hear it " and of course I didn' speak of it for years .
Missouri gun season 2003 opening day I was hunting out of a tripod stand set in the middle of a terraced CRP grass area. The grass was head high, but with the terraces and the elevation from the stand the view was pretty good. I had seen about 12 or so does that day but had not shot since I was waiting for a good buck. These deer were coming from neighboring farms after being spooked.
At noon I spotted a buck coming through the grass. Through my scope I could see that he was mature but his rack was mostly broken off. I didn't want to shoot him with the 3006AI, but though that he would make a mighty fine trophy for my Blackhawk .41 Mag. About the time I got the hogleg out, he decided to bed down and I couldn't see him due to the high grass. I kept watch on that spot and an hour and a half later he stood up, revealing only his head. I carefully rested the revolver across the railing of the tripod and aimed at his head--he was looking at me now. Squeeeeeze the trigger, Sam. The .41 cracked and the buck dropped out of sight! I made my way over there and discovered that my bullet had taken him right between the eyes! I lasered back to the stand and came up with 68 yds.
Not exactly long range but I thought it was pretty good for an open sighted revolver and a small target. This big boy had broken off his main beams a couple of inches in front of the brows, and had part of one G2 left. When I skinned him he had bruises and punctures all over his neck and the front of his chest. I would like to meet the buck that did the damage!
The critters have to win every time, I only have to win once.
A long time ago my father and I were floating down the river fishing and shooting the occational squirrel. He spotted one very far, I only saw it because it ran across a limb and stopped. He told me to take a crack at it, no small feat from a moving boat. After the sound of the .22lr A-Bolt had subsided my father said "Too far" and I had time to reply "Yeah" before we heard the bullet smack the Fox squirrel and see it fall. Upon retrieving it and throwing it to my dad a perfectly mushroomed CCI bullet fell into the boat from the head where it had failed to penetrate all the way through.
Back in my early teens, the prices for pelts were up pretty fair around our place in the country. So being the interprising young folks that we were, my bud and I decided to start bringing is some extra cash. We had a ton of coons around our place and we found that some sweet corn on a piece of plywood would draw them right out into the open just after dark. This made them easy targets for our .22's.
WEll one particular cold rainy evening, my pop decided to drive us around in the truck verses, us having all the fun ourselves. So off we went with a spotlight out both windows. It wasn't to far into the back pasture we spotted several sets of eyes headed up a big oak tree and pop gunned it. When we got there we found that one was a huge old boar coon and he had situated himself right in the fork of a big limb. Well pop is about 20 yds away shining the light and telling me to shoot it in the head. Easier said than done when you really can't see just whats, what, however the old coon gave me a break and looked up. I saw the underside of his throat and squeezed. WEll there was no doubt that I hit him as he comes tumbling down through about 20 feet or so of branches, and hits the ground with a resounding thud. However he wasn't quite down for the count. Ol pop grabbed him up by the tail and back to live he comes. So as anyone would do in this situation he dropps him immediately and steps back. WEll my bud is now holding the light, and pop is hollering for me to grab a hammer from the back of the truck and finish him off. So I grab the hammer, and hand it to him as I am still toting the rifle looking for the others up in the tree. I hear a blood curdling scream only to look and see the big coon has latched ahold of pop's coverall leg. He always wore those old cotton coveralls just about everywhere.
Well needless to say, my bud and I were immediately hysterical in laughter, which made holding either of the spotlights still nearly impossible. HE is hollering and screaming and trying to knock the thing off with the hammer, and screaming for us to come help and hold the light on it. all the while doing a jig that would have made Jed Clampet proud. We, were pretty much useless at this point, and he finially did make contact and dispatched the old coon.
In the aftermath and clearing the tears from our eyes, we noticed that his coverall leg was pretty bloody, and got very concerned. However, after looking the coon and pop over, we found that is wasn't all pops blood as we had thought.
The initial shot had hit the coon right at the base of the lower jaw and gone through the upper section effectively breaking both halves. THe coon was trying as best he could to chew up pops leg but with both halves broken he didn't accomplish anything. However his claws on the other hand did make a pretty good impression on the inside of his leg.
I have to say, I sure miss ol pop and all the things we did together. He passed 20 years ago this month. and as has been mentioned, the films are still as clear as they were that cold rainy night.