My dad got me started by buying me a pellet gun when I was 11. After bringing home a few squirrels with that, he went out and got me a .410. NOthing was safe from me then. ;D My brother-in-laws dad got me started in bowhunting when I was 15. Over the years my addiction grew and grew and grew until I became the messed up person I am today.
Post by BigCountryBarnes on Jul 7, 2005 13:04:50 GMT -5
My dad got me a bb gun when I was around 7. Then I got the 20 guage at 11. Its all progressed from there. My dad never has hunted, but has no problem with me hunting. So I always tagged along with my uncle. He liked having someone to go out with, and I liked hunting.
My father was always a hunter and fisherman...and my mother liked to hunt squirrels and fish herself... Some of my earliest childhood memories are of following my father into the woods and carrying his squirrels...and setting on a creek bank with my parents and a coffee can of worms, holding an old cane pole...or helping Mom and Dad pick blackberries and sand plums along Bird Creek.... I was raised in an "outdoors family"...to me no one "started me"... it's just the way it always was.
Seems to me that "Time" is merely an artificial concept, created by man, with which to hassel himself.
When I was just a boy, my mothers father was partially disabled and he always hung around the house. Wedged between the Frigidaire and the cupboard was this old Stevens single shot shotgun - 12 gauge. My grandfather had these wonderful hunting stories. They usually started out with something like - we were hunting rabbits and my one brother had a double barrel and every time he saw something - he would shoot twice. So my grandfather would offer to trade guns. Only he would hand him a empty gun. Then when the rabbit went out - all you heard was click! They would all get a good laugh out of that.
After he died, I found a picture of him sitting on his favorite chair with a beer in one hand and a trophy deer rack in the other. The story was that he was up at camp by himself. He was hunting one afternoon when he heard a crack of thunder and then it started to snow. The next morning when he got up - there was 3 feet of new snow on the ground. He crawled - gun in hand, under the pine tree branches to get behind the camp - back into the woods - because the snow was so deep that you couldn't walk upright. I guess when he got back to his hunting spot and stood up - there was the buck. He shot the buck and dragged it back to camp. Since he never owned a automobile, he then loaded up all of his hunting gear into a old army duffel bag and dragged the deer home - 6 miles through the snow.
A neighbor snookered him out of the antlers by telling him that if he gave the neighbor the antlers that he would make knife handles out of them and that he would give him one of the knives for the antlers. You can guess the rest. The neighbor got the antlers mounted and passed them off to his family as his own deer. We never saw the antlers again.
I did go small game hunting twice with my family before I was 13, but my dad - the tightest man on earth, refused to spend his hard earned money on a shotgun and so he refused to take me hunting. When my dad's dad died, he told my dad that unless my dad took me hunting that year - he wasn't going either. Grandpa Steve was a real stand up guy.
Well grandpa died one hot September day, picking potato's at my uncles house. Today is the anniversary of his death. I think about Grandpa Steve often and I wonder what would have happened - had he not died. Would he have taken me hunting or would he have stayed in the camp like the year before.
The saddest part is that both of my grandparents were good hunters - yet I never got to go hunting with either of them.
That year, after grandpa Steve died, I got his hunting coat and pocket full of .410 shells and his old bolt action .410 Stevens shotgun. I didn't get much game with that gun, mainly because there was no shells for practice and the only time you shot was when a rabbit went whizzing by. I did shoot my share of red squirrels with that shotgun before I moved up to a 20 Gauge Mossberg shotgun that my dad bought with my money that I earned one summer by working in a local park on a Summer Youth Employment Program.
If I would have known that my dad was going to buy me a shotgun with my money, I would have saved all my money and bought a used Remington over a new Mossberg. That gun jammed more then it shot.
I guess I taught myself how to hunt, partially from the stories that my one grandfather told me and partially from a desire to go hunting that was unquenchable. Some people learns how to hunt - by someone teaching them how to. I learned because I never gave up and I learned by my mistakes. If I would have had all the deer and rabbits and grouse and turkeys that I saw when I hunted when I was a kid, I would have my own television show right now.
The hunting 35 years ago was much better then what it is today.
It was nothing to walk back into the Game Lands and see 100 deer before lunch. It was nothing for dad and grandpa and Uncle Bob to go out and shoot 4 rabbits each in a morning of hunting small game. Or for my grandpa Steve to get two grouse with his .410 shotgun.
One year - when I went into 9th grade. My grades were really poor and my dad took my license away from me and he claimed to have had burned it in the coal stove. I was crying pretty hard for the next couple of weeks. One day while we were out logging, my uncle Bob struck up a deal with my dad, where he would give me back my hunting license if I brought up my grades.
I quit Spanish and the rest of the grades came up high enough that I passed everything and I got to go hunting and from that day on - I don't ever remember failing another high school class.
So I guess I can credit my hunting career to my Uncle Bob that took up for me and was able to get me permission to go hunting.
I don't think that it was so much - that my grades were so bad, I just think that my dad was cold hearted and didn't want me there. My dad would often tell me that I was not wanted and that I was not welcome to be there. His mother was a cold hearted woman who was very cruel to her children and I think that the mental abuse when he was a kid was all he knew about parenting and that he used her as a role model and that he didn't know how to act and that he was all out for himself and that when he dies - I won't even shed a tear.
I guess most people have nothing but good memories of their parents. All I have is bad memories. If I had to wait until my dad took me hunting, I would still be waiting.
All of my hunting accomplishments are not due to his training me how to hunt but in spite of him, where I showed them that even a kid with no tutoring can persevere in spite of someone that refused to go out of his way to take a kid hunting or buy a kid a warm coat or shoes or gloves or a gun or the basic necessities of life.
I worked from the time I was 5 years old, cutting grass and doing odd jobs to help the family out. Not many kids today could make the same claim. When I cut grass, I gave the money to my mom to help the family out. I never kept a penny. To get money to go to the store or something, I would pick up pop bottles.
You had to save a lot of pop bottles to save up $5 for a youth hunting license. It was another $3.00 for a doe license.
You had to really want to hunt to save your money all year to get enough money together to buy both a hunting license and a doe license and a box of .410 shells.
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Oct 11, 2017 12:28:22 GMT -5
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Dec 12, 2017 23:26:09 GMT -5
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Jan 10, 2018 23:29:04 GMT -5
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Apr 22, 2019 1:49:14 GMT -5
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May 6, 2019 8:47:56 GMT -5
gemihur: I have been in tombs that were more raucous than this forum.
Sept 10, 2019 16:24:47 GMT -5
gemihur: Seriously folks hunting season is on us. The allow 'urban archery' in my county! Does with bows, I call it. Let's stir up the old hunting excitement. Come On!
Sept 10, 2019 16:26:58 GMT -5
gemihur: Anyone planning to take down some whitetails this year?
Sept 10, 2019 16:27:48 GMT -5