What’s your spookiest hunting experience?

My father and his family were stockmen, running a meatpacking company in Portland, Or in the early 1900's. One of teh things I was taught about stock is that any of them can kill you. They're all big, strong, hard as a rock, and mostly pretty quick. Domesticated, yes, but a streak of the wild runs through all of us. We all have a picture in our mind of a cowboy carrying his '73 Colt. He had a reason: protection against stock gone wild. Elmer Keith demonstrated it once, fell off his horse, foot tangle in the stirrup, horse runnin at top speed through the woods, as only a spooked horse can. Elmer saved himself; pulled his 44 and shot the horse. A man near our home in Central Washington kept a few head of buffalo as a novelty - one of them went mad one morning and killed him. A neighbor stepped into his pasture where he kept a mule - the mule went nuts and nearly killed him. Stock animals can be dangerous, a wise man carries his large caliber pistol.
Not a deer story, I was a coon hunter pleasure and competition so one night I go by myself to a new place that a gentleman said I could go hunt. I dropped tailgate pointed my dog out. She hit the ground ran in there about 200 yards and came treeed . I set my Compass went to the tree saw the coon, took my 22 rifle and knocked the coon out. Dog finished killing the coon and we start walking out about that time. This dog rolled over tail between her legs and looks right past me and about the same time it was like you threw ice water on me, at that time the bulb on my helmet blew out. I reached my side and grab my spotlight. Soon as I turned it on it blew out she was still rolled up in a pile. Every hair on me was standing straight up. I knew there was something there behind me and it wasn't anything I knew of !
now keep in mine 250 nights a year this dog got hunted and wasn't scared of anything. Well, at that time I would leave the parking lights on my truck in case I got off course a little bit. I would see my truck parked in the woods well by the time I got to my truck , I was really wanting to put her in the front seat with me, but I put her in the dog box drove to the gate and wasn't sure I wanted to get out and unlock the gate. The next day I called the landowner and asked him what in the heck was back there. He started laughing said you must've found the old slave cemetery back there in the back why do you ask? I told him my story, I told him it was OK if I didn't go back anymore lol . Yeah I found the boogie man
 
My father and his family were stockmen, running a meatpacking company in Portland, Or in the early 1900's. One of teh things I was taught about stock is that any of them can kill you. They're all big, strong, hard as a rock, and mostly pretty quick. Domesticated, yes, but a streak of the wild runs through all of us. We all have a picture in our mind of a cowboy carrying his '73 Colt. He had a reason: protection against stock gone wild. Elmer Keith demonstrated it once, fell off his horse, foot tangle in the stirrup, horse runnin at top speed through the woods, as only a spooked horse can. Elmer saved himself; pulled his 44 and shot the horse. A man near our home in Central Washington kept a few head of buffalo as a novelty - one of them went mad one morning and killed him. A neighbor stepped into his pasture where he kept a mule - the mule went nuts and nearly killed him. Stock animals can be dangerous, a wise man carries his large caliber pistol.
I had a cousin kicked in the head by a mule and killed him right there.
My daughter was in the pasture and a horse ran up behind her, when she turned the horse kicked and caught her in the side of the face, dang near killed her
 
I think the poster was saying some u tube expert was saying they aren't aggressive. Not him. Or maybe I read this wrong. In any case, I have had cottonmouths follow me 20-30 feet before giving up. Probably because I'm the one running away! Never been close enough to actually smell one. Hope to never have that experience. Unless it's in a cage.
I'm SOOOOO happy we don't have snakes here in Hawaii. Well we do but they're non-venomous we call them fake friends.
 
ut cottonmouths aren't aggressive, territorial, or prone to attack intruders! Right. So, I am supposed to believe some U tube "expert" that told me all of this and insulted me (in print), claiming he was an expert on cottonmouths. Asked me if I had video evidence of an aggressive cottonmouth!
Well, I have experienced very aggressive cottomouths more than once, and in my experience, the cottonmouth is very much more prone to show aggression than a rattlesnake.
I grew up around a guy from MS who has some YT videos playing with moccasins. If that's him, don't believe a word he says, he's just crazy 😂 I saw him swim under water and come up and grab a moccasin off a log one day. Snake never got angry. If it was anybody else, they would have been bit. But, seriously, all the moccasins I ever ran across never acted aggressive unless you got right on 'em.
 
Bad Medicine Country

In the 1800's, white east-side "explorers" in the Washington Cascades often hired a local Indian as a guide, Yakamas having commonly journeyed across the Cascades to visit West-side Indians. One military group seeking to explore Mt. Rainier found their Indian guide refusing to accompany them onto the eastern slopes of the mountain. Their guide said that that land was dangerous and of evil repute among Indians. He called it "Bad Medicine Country". No Indian would go there.

I spent a lot of time backpacking in the Washington Cascades, between the Goat Rocks and Snoqualmie Pass. I hiked the Cascade Crest trail and many of the east-side trails that approach it, and often bushwhacked up and down the steep hills, across the streams, over the ridge-tops. As a trained mountaineer, I was cautious and careful, aware that help might be a long time coming were I to suffer an injury. A bad idea to travel alone in the mountains, justified for me by necessity and experience.

I learned the beauty of sunlit green, white and blue daytime panoramas of the high alpine areas and the cooler darker feel of the lower woods. In the evening, I drop down lower in the cover of the trees, making camp, making dinner, eating, and watching the woods around me. Wind moans through the far treetops, the fading light and the unknown sounds of the close woods convey the vacant loneliness of the wilderness. You realize that nature is indifferent to you, offers neither solace nor care, offers the sharp edge of primordial fear.

South of Chinook Pass, I'd been near the top of Seymour Peak where the vegetation gives out, able to gaze down the east side of the peak, a 1000 foot vertical drop of naked rock, one of nature's dramatic scars. High up on the west side, I'm picking my way down a steep clearing, knee deep in skunk grass, 20 yards in any direction from the scrub fir that covers most of the peak. It's hot and the sweat rolls down my forehead and into my eyes. I pause to wipe it away, suddenly become aware of the hair rising at the back of my neck. My hand drops to the grip of my revolver, and I turn to surveil the surrounding tree line, ready to draw and fire. There is nothing discernably out of the ordinary, but the warning at my neck continues. Nothing for it but to continue going down, pivoting continually, watching my back. As I exit the clearing at its bottom, the eerie feeling fades, and I work my way back down to camp on Dewey Lake. This is my first experience of my own Bad Medicine Country.

The next one happened on the Crest Trail, south of the White Pass, on the south side of Hogback Mountain a bit below Shoe Lake. The position affords a southeast view of Bear Creek Mountain at the east end of the Goat Rocks, Clear Lake, and an occasional glimpse of the sun glinting off the silvery water of the North Fork of the Tieton River far below. Ahead, a sharp shoulder of the mountain blocks the view to south, making with the mountain proper a pocket to my right that enfolds a dense copse of spar pole Larch, shaded from the sun. A small rillet runs down through the copse and exits left. You can't see into the copse, only the fading ranks of the Larch and darkness in daylight, and the suspicion of a presence. As I approach, once again the hackles on my neck rise in warning, and again my hand drops to the pistol butt. I'm on my toes, looking everywhere all at once, half afraid. Bad Medicine Country. Fifty yards down the trail, on the other side of the shoulder, the feeling fades and I move on down to McCall basin and camp.

A year later, a companion and I hiking the same little area have the same experience. Weird, but repeatable.

It's in the same area, early Spring, cold, many feet of snow covering the ground. This time, I'm working my way up the south end of the Hogback Mountain from the North Fork. There's dense cloud cover and ground mist swirling around. I come onto what might have been a small pond under the snow, and the same eerie feeling grips me. Same program, except that, having no particular destination, I turn around and leave the way I came. I'd had a good climb up as it was, no need to tempt fate.

Ten years later, my Father, driving up the North Fork of the Tieton River road, directly below my location of that Spring, crossed paths with a grizzly bear, the full Monte, dish face, round body and ears, 3 inch claws. Master of everything. Bad Medicine.

My final experience with Bad Medicine Country came in full summer and broad daylight, roughly between Old Snowy and McCall Basin. I'd hiked up from the North Fork, onto the Crest Trail and wound around Elk Pass toward Old Snowy, a well-known peak in the Goat Rocks. The trail is a 3 foot wide boulevard on an arete, to the west a steep drop down to stream level, to the east a similarly steep drop down into the North Fork drainage. Looking east down to McCall Basin, I could see that I might with care and my ice axe negotiate the slope and save a mile or so on my return.

So I stepped off, first edging 200 feet down a steep snowfield to a smooth rock flat that terminated in a steep dropoff to the east. A V-shaped cut through the dropoff about thirty feet wide, fifteen feet deep and 150 feet long gave on to some woods leading down to my camp. All went well until I entered the cut, where I walked into a horrible and unfamiliar stench, accompanied by, guess what, rising hackles. The smell wasn't exactly that of a decaying carcass, but similar, with a bit of a whiff of barnyard. I am alert and fearful. Nothing visible and nothing showed as I passed along the cut, hand on gun butt. Very Bad Medicine.

I don't think my Bad Medicine Country was the same as that of the old Indian guide. His was a semi-vertical environment that offered numerous real objective dangers, an environment ventured into only by fools and mountaineers. Mine was not Bad in the sense of the land being dangerous, but in the sense of a presence, whether of a dangerous animal or an eerie spirit I can't be sure.

My years of cruising the wilderness are behind me. The memory of the sometimes scary traverses of uncharted steep and unstable slopes have faded somewhat. But these "Bad Medicine" experiences remain clear in my mind, and I shudder as I recall them, as I shudder to recall the timber wolves howling their midnight warning over the vast Tieton River drainage. It's nice to be safe at home. Though I still carry a pistol.
I truly enjoyed reading this. Your chosen words and the way you described the landscape and the eerie feelings that hit you while being in the Bad Medicine Wilderness reminded me of the way the great western writer "Louis L'Amour " wrote in his novels that I loved to read in my childhood and early teens. I tried to get my hands on every book that he ever wrote because once I started reading them I just couldn't put them down until I finished them, more often than not in one sitting. 👏
 
I was working in my shop one night on my hay truck.
Bay door on my shop was open and a nice night.
I was laying on my back wrenching over my head when I felt this fuzzy thing brush up against the side of my head, turned enough to see black hair and think, oh it's just scarlet my black cat. Went back to work and felt a nudge and a rub again this time I turned and I was nose to nose with a half grown skunk.
I froze, the silly thing rubbed it's face on mine and walked away. I was done for the night 😂
Funny thing is that it came back several times during the summer and come right up to me if I was working in the shop 🤷🏼‍♂️
Something similar happened to me although I was working on my Honda SxS in my garage and a skunk strolled in like he owned the place, looked around and left. I was motionless for quite a few minutes 😅🤣.
 
Was back in the Bob Marshall on horseback guided hunt. One evening when we got back to the spike camp the cooks 8 yee old son was acting as wrangler. He took my horse, still saddled and was going to put it in the corral. He was on the horse when it reared strai vertical. It came down on the young man whose had was on a rock ledge. The horse whole hind quarter was on the head. The horse was stone dead! Miraculously one of my partners full of adrenaline rolled the horse off the pinned youngster. The boy was semiconscious and In shock. i moved the lad into the cook tent and into a sleeping bag. The outfitter had two Doctors in ano spike camp 5 miles away. A guide and myself rode in the dark to secure their assistance. The 4 of us returned back to our camp at 2 in the morning. They diagnosed the lad had a fractured check bone and possibly a skull fracture, but his vitals were good and they kept him comfortable with mild sedation. The next morning werode out the 7 hours to where could get to a phone. A helicopter rescue was performed. Found out latter the lad had concussion, a fractured facial bone and did have a small crack in his skull. After care in Great Falls Montana he fully recovered.
 
Good thing it didn't strike upward! 🫢😗
I had a similar experience this past summer. I was working in a small cabin I use for a tool shop and went outside to relieve myself. I was in the middle of my business when I feel something move under my shoe. I glanced down to see I was standing on a small 4 ft grey ratsnake while at same time I was lifting my foot and trying not to wet myself. Fortunately, they're not venomous or aggressive for the most part. The snake crawled off and I shook my head in disbelief.
 
I had a similar experience this past summer. I was working in a small cabin I use for a tool shop and went outside to relieve myself. I was in the middle of my business when I feel something move under my shoe. I glanced down to see I was standing on a small 4 ft grey ratsnake while at same time I was lifting my foot and trying not to wet myself. Fortunately, they're not venomous or aggressive for the most part. The snake crawled off and I shook my head in disbelief.
I know folks will disagree, but I don't like or trust snakes. Any of them. Both the crawling kind or the two legged variety. 😉
 
I had a similar experience this past summer. I was working in a small cabin I use for a tool shop and went outside to relieve myself. I was in the middle of my business when I feel something move under my shoe. I glanced down to see I was standing on a small 4 ft grey ratsnake while at same time I was lifting my foot and trying not to wet myself. Fortunately, they're not venomous or aggressive for the most part. The snake crawled off and I shook my head in disbelief.
It's funny how in that moment, ****ing all over yourself while attempting to get away would be perfectly acceptable. However, people have that so ingrained (like not peeing on themselves) that it still enters the mind "don't pee on yourself!" While you're trying not to die from a venomous snake
 

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