Funny,weird or just plain crazy camp stories anyone?

OMG, where would I start!! The first funny story I can think of is Colonel Mustard! A long story short a good friend owed another friend payback!! Anyhow the night before opening day when he was a little sleepy from the day he took a squeeze bottle of mustard and filled his underwear!!! The next day he left at daylight to go hunting with his dad.... We found out a few days later he thought there was something wrong as every time he had to go it was bright yellow!!! I guess it all dried or something, not sure and didn't ask!!! LOL
 
Many years ago my cousin had this habit whenever he would drink of drinking too much and when he would wake up after passing out the first thing he always did was remove his ball cap and rub his forehead. Well he passed out in a lawn chair one day on our annual spring fishing trip up to a buddy's hunt camp. We removed his ball cap and cut the bill off of it. A couple hours later he woke up and true to form tried to remove his hat. We came unglued laughing watching him swipe time after time to get his hat and keep missing as there was no bill to grab....it really was hilarious.
 
The group I hunted with, we would bring pellet pistols with for evening fun. We shot at a cardboard target and then taped it onto the guy's hat. you know him, the one that always passes out after drinks. HOLEY CARP was he ever po'd when he came to. Oh we woke him and were all pointing (i know not smart) our pellet guns at the target. I sure miss those hunts.
 
Deer turds in a glass bowl on a doily in the middle of the camp table - seems like a nice way to start off the season...
 
I have posted this before in a thread started by dogger. I think the story fits with the theme of this thread so enjoy.


One of the most memorable moose hunting trips I had occurred at Babine Lake north of Smithers, B.C. I had drawn a limited entry hunt tag for a bull moose that year.

My friend and hunting partner had a cabin at Smithers Landing. We would usually team up with another group of hunters from the lower mainland who owned a cabin a few doors down the lake from us. We would keep in touch throughout the year and plan to go to Babine for a week or 10 days for our annual hunt.

Our hunting always involved pre-dawn trips by boat to remote areas several miles from the cabins. We would be dropped off individually or in pairs and we would return to the where we were dropped off around noon. The afternoons were reserved for camp chores like gathering firewood and potting a few grouse or trout. We would leave camp again around 4:00 pm for an evening hunt somewhere across the lake.

It was mid October and we were at the lake about a week before the general open season. The weather was quite miserable, cold and wet and windy. After a few days of hunting our local favorite spots with no luck, the group from the other cabin decided to head up to Morrison Arm and camp overnight. It started to snow as they headed up the lake.

I will spare you the details of the group being charged by a grizzly and sleeping on the boat under a canvass awning in the snow. To add further bitterness, one of the parties consumed a quart of vodka and passed out. Tempers flared and friendships were severely strained.

The following day, the weather moderated somewhat and by mid afternoon the skies cleared and the thermometer edged toward double digits. My hunting partner and I had returned to our cabin around 2:00pm and were sitting out on the deck having a bit of lunch when we saw the crew from the other cabin returning from Morrison Arm. As they motored past our cabin, waving and yelling to us, we could see that they had all 4 quarters of a moose in the boat with them.

We wandered over to their cabin and helped them unload and we gave them a hand raising a large tri-pod from which to hang and skin the quarters of the moose. They were a pretty happy bunch and the successful hunt had gone some distance toward erasing the dissention amongst the crew. As luck would have it, the moose was standing on shore about 3 miles from the cabin as the crew was returning home from their night of misery.

We were invited over for supper that night and we gladly accepted the invitation. As we arrived we noticed that all 4 quarters had been skinned and wrapped in cheese cloth. A big blue tarp had been draped around the upper half of the tri-pod to keep the rain off of the meat.

During supper, the individual who had consumed the bottle of vodka the previous night became rather nostalgic. He described hunting trips from years past and illustrated how the times had changed with Limited Entry hunts and shortened seasons.

In the middle of his tales and yarns, he excused himself for a minute to go outside to water the lawn. About 30 seconds after he had walked out of the cabin, he burst through the front door, rushed into his bedroom and emerged with his old Cooey single shot 20 gauge and a fist full of shells. He rushed back outside while the rest of us sat there rather dumbfounded and somewhat curious. There was a brief silence and then a shot.

During the years I hunted at Babine, I was always impressed with the amount and diversity of wildlife in the area. We had seen wolves, grizzlies, black bears, wolverine, marten, moose deer, porcupine and all kinds of water fowl and upland game birds. However, there was one small creature that does live around Smithers landing that I had been unaware of up until the firing of that fateful shot.

As we sat in the cabin wondering just what the hell was going on, the fellow with the shotgun entered through the front door. He did not need to say anything. We all knew instantly what he had shot at, and missed. What he learned can be described several ways.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
The more you stir it the more it stinks and if you keep stirring it you will get some on you.
Do not shoot at skunks. (Especially if they are just wandering around inspecting your moose
 
that is very funny. I don't usually laugh out loud on gunnutz, but this blurb made me spew orange juice on the desk.
the spank said:
Many years ago my cousin had this habit whenever he would drink of drinking too much and when he would wake up after passing out the first thing he always did was remove his ball cap and rub his forehead. Well he passed out in a lawn chair one day on our annual spring fishing trip up to a buddy's hunt camp. We removed his ball cap and cut the bill off of it. A couple hours later he woke up and true to form tried to remove his hat. We came unglued laughing watching him swipe time after time to get his hat and keep missing as there was no bill to grab....it really was hilarious.
Click to expand...
 
Brno8x57 said:
I have posted this before in a thread started by dogger. I think the story fits with the theme of this thread so enjoy.


One of the most memorable moose hunting trips I had occurred at Babine Lake north of Smithers, B.C. I had drawn a limited entry hunt tag for a bull moose that year.

My friend and hunting partner had a cabin at Smithers Landing. We would usually team up with another group of hunters from the lower mainland who owned a cabin a few doors down the lake from us. We would keep in touch throughout the year and plan to go to Babine for a week or 10 days for our annual hunt.

Our hunting always involved pre-dawn trips by boat to remote areas several miles from the cabins. We would be dropped off individually or in pairs and we would return to the where we were dropped off around noon. The afternoons were reserved for camp chores like gathering firewood and potting a few grouse or trout. We would leave camp again around 4:00 pm for an evening hunt somewhere across the lake.

It was mid October and we were at the lake about a week before the general open season. The weather was quite miserable, cold and wet and windy. After a few days of hunting our local favorite spots with no luck, the group from the other cabin decided to head up to Morrison Arm and camp overnight. It started to snow as they headed up the lake.

I will spare you the details of the group being charged by a grizzly and sleeping on the boat under a canvass awning in the snow. To add further bitterness, one of the parties consumed a quart of vodka and passed out. Tempers flared and friendships were severely strained.

The following day, the weather moderated somewhat and by mid afternoon the skies cleared and the thermometer edged toward double digits. My hunting partner and I had returned to our cabin around 2:00pm and were sitting out on the deck having a bit of lunch when we saw the crew from the other cabin returning from Morrison Arm. As they motored past our cabin, waving and yelling to us, we could see that they had all 4 quarters of a moose in the boat with them.

We wandered over to their cabin and helped them unload and we gave them a hand raising a large tri-pod from which to hang and skin the quarters of the moose. They were a pretty happy bunch and the successful hunt had gone some distance toward erasing the dissention amongst the crew. As luck would have it, the moose was standing on shore about 3 miles from the cabin as the crew was returning home from their night of misery.

We were invited over for supper that night and we gladly accepted the invitation. As we arrived we noticed that all 4 quarters had been skinned and wrapped in cheese cloth. A big blue tarp had been draped around the upper half of the tri-pod to keep the rain off of the meat.

During supper, the individual who had consumed the bottle of vodka the previous night became rather nostalgic. He described hunting trips from years past and illustrated how the times had changed with Limited Entry hunts and shortened seasons.

In the middle of his tales and yarns, he excused himself for a minute to go outside to water the lawn. About 30 seconds after he had walked out of the cabin, he burst through the front door, rushed into his bedroom and emerged with his old Cooey single shot 20 gauge and a fist full of shells. He rushed back outside while the rest of us sat there rather dumbfounded and somewhat curious. There was a brief silence and then a shot.

During the years I hunted at Babine, I was always impressed with the amount and diversity of wildlife in the area. We had seen wolves, grizzlies, black bears, wolverine, marten, moose deer, porcupine and all kinds of water fowl and upland game birds. However, there was one small creature that does live around Smithers landing that I had been unaware of up until the firing of that fateful shot.

As we sat in the cabin wondering just what the hell was going on, the fellow with the shotgun entered through the front door. He did not need to say anything. We all knew instantly what he had shot at, and missed. What he learned can be described several ways.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
The more you stir it the more it stinks and if you keep stirring it you will get some on you.
Do not shoot at skunks. (Especially if they are just wandering around inspecting your moose
Click to expand...

Me thinks cheese cloth and shunk spray not a good combo,lol. Is this fellow still alive? I bet he has very Limited Hunts now,lol.
 
We were back at a hunting camp. Kind of a dreary day, some of the guys decided to make coffee. Go into the cupboard and find a jar of instant. While making it, one guy says 'This must be old coffee, it won't dissolve.' Another guy chimes in 'Just mash it with your spoon.'. 'No, this coffee tastes like shhhhttt!'. They proceed to the water kettle and pour it into the sink. The water was loaded with mice crap!!!!
The one guy runs out purging and we laughed for quite a while.
 
I was on a backpack sheep hunt with a couple of good friends. They are 10 years younger than me and kind enough to put up with my wheezing as we hiked. 25k or so in we came upon a outfitted Sheep camp (horses wall tent etc).

The guys at the sheep camp were great - they fed us some real food and shared their warm tent for a night cap. Afterwards we sent up our single man tents in the trees just outside their camp. In the morning we woke at dawn to make some miles into a basin where we would spend a few days. One of the guys noticed a border collie dog tied to a tree - so went up and started scratching him. "Rocky" absolutely loved the attention.

It was at this point when my buddy said, "Rocky sure is sticky". I noticed that he had a bit of a brown tinge.

I asked, "what do you suppose that brown stuff is?".

We all came to the same conclusion at the same time. Rocky had found all of the deuces that the sheep camp had laid over the previous days.

Try to wash that off without soap.
 
My uncle told me a funny story about my grandpa the other day.

He apparently loved to play practical jokes on his brothers while out hunting. And apparently one evening back in the 1940's he'd shot a deer but couldn't find it, so he woke up extra early the next day and found it in a small clearing, frozen solid. He then decided he was going to play a joke on his brother that was hunting with him that morning and propped the deer up on its frozen legs, cleaned the snow off so it looked like it was just standing there in the cold.
He then went back and found his little brother and they started their hunt, saying that he hasn't found his deer from the night before yet. So after a short while, they "happened across" this deer in a clearing and tells his little brother (armed with a .22) "shoot! Quick, before he runs off! Aim for the neck!"

Haha I guess he was shooting and shooting and my gramps kept saying "you missed! Come on, shoot!". Then finally I guess his brother, after about 8 shots got all pissed off that he kept "missing" and started swearing up a storm, and then figured out something was up when this deer hasn't moved. Either that or when gramps nearly keeled over laughing. Apparently he'd hit it every time in the neck so he only lost a roast out of it, but gained a funny story lol.
I wish I could have been there that day, I can just see that New Brunswick temper flaring up and the "tabernak!"'s starting, haha.
 
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