"The" Moment?

[crazydave]

Each trip now seems to be more memorable after something like that happens, i don't know how to describe it except that it changes a guys perspective on whats important in life.

Enjoy every moment out there you can everybody.

 

[AR15meister]

Great posts.

I have had several moments where the sun is shining just right, the wind stops, I am nice and warm and not hung-over and just sitting there away from the hustle and bustle of life and work and I just feel at peace. That is what I love about hunting. As much as I like the fast action of a duck hunt there is just something about stalking into the woods in the darkness at 5am and sitting for 30 minutes listening in pitch black before the sun comes out, alone, quiet, thinking, etc. Big Game hunting to me is more religious and Zen than anything else I do in my life.

Whenever I come back from a weekend of hunting I am happy for a week. It puts life in perspective for me. I have a lot of hobbies and I the only one I couldn't live without is hunting and it is precisely because of the "moments" being described here.

One final note, I have hunted deer for 6-7 years now and last year I was given the opportunity to hunt in northern Alberta. I had shot 2 does on the last day of season in previous years for meat to bring to our annual wild game men's dinner but mostly I was always after a large buck. I had never even seen one. Day one of my trip I went in early and set up with my friend in a ground blind in a great spot. We sat for about 4 hours which was enough for me and we left to grab some breakfast and warm up. A few hours laterwe went back to the spot but my friend said we should split up. I told him I wanted to go back to the morning spot since I was familiar with the way in and would be ok to walk out in the dark (it was back pretty far in the bush). He said ok and that he had a great spot he was going to try. I went in and sat for 2 more hours. I had a spike come by my blind so close he scared me and I knew I was good to go as far as my scent and hiding place. I felt a rush of confidence and watched the woods intently. About 20 minutes later it was 4:40pm and I was looking from side to side when about 150yards away, standing on top of a Ridge I saw a large deer. It wasn't dark but it wasn't very light either in the woods. I lifted my .308 up to my shoulder and the scope was zoomed out so I grabbed the zoom and zeroed in. The rack wasn't really visible but it was outside his ears so I knew he was big. I aimed and let one shot go. He stumbled and was gone in a flash. I knew I had hit him pretty well. I told my friend via text to wait a while, he had heard the shot, and we would go in after him as he was so big I didn't want him to spook and run away from us in the woods with the darkness coming in. After about 45 minutes my friend had walked in and I looked at him through my binoculars as the deer was shot right on the trail you use to walk in to the blind. My friend pumped his fist. I got up and walked slowly up to my friend. It was basically dark at this point. When I got to the place I though the deer was shot at there was blood all over the snow (which was 2 feet deep). My friend said I must have hit him hard. We followed the blood for about 20 yards but fanned out in case he jumped up and ran. All of a sudden I hear my friend, not whispering say "you shot Bambi's Dad". I walked over and there was the buck. He was a 12 point and scored 160". I couldn't believe it. we dragged him out to the trail and I asked for a picture. I had hunted hundreds of hours and put in a lot of time to get to this point and now I had just shot a buck, on public land without a guide that many people wait their entire lives and never even see (I am from Toronto and never grew up hunting I only started when I was around 21-22).

That was a moment for me. Not because of the trophy but because I felt that my favourite Hemingway quote, the guy who made me want to hunt, had proven true. I had the buck mounted in a euro style mount and I had the quote below engraved on a plaque which I have yet to affix below the mount. A lot of people didn't understand and thought I was just trying to sound manly (I am from Toronto). It doesn't matter to me what they think; nobody watches you or hears about the hundreds of hours of work and early wakeups and long walks, they only hear about the trophy. Well, as well all know, it is and also isn't about a trophy. I had the meat shipped home and we ate the deer at our Wild Game Men's Dinner. We hired a professional chef who is also a dear friend of mine and specializes in wild game to prepare the deer. The main course was Venison Tartar (raw Venison). We also had a lot of other delicious courses all from the one buck (I was the only hunter successful this past year on a buck). We brought the mount and all drank to the buck. It was really great. Another great moment.

"Now it is pleasant to hunt something that you want very much over a long period of time, being outwitted, out manoeuvered, and failing at the end of each day, but having the hunt and knowing every time you are out that, sooner or later, your luck will change and you will get the chance that you are seeking"- Hemingway, Green Hills of Africa.

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[jjohnwm]

Congrats on your buck...that's a beautiful, classy mount, and a great story.

 

[Deerdr]

ARDENT, I know exactly the feeling, and it brought back some memories of my youth on The York River, near Boulter Ontario (BANCROFT) where my Great Grandfather Homesteaded. I remember well my first grouse, rabbit, smallmouth bass, and eventually a whitetail. Hard to describe the feeling, but it is very good! Jim Mansell

 

[rookie wildcat]

Okay, Nice reading so I guess I can throw out a few...

When anyone asks this question of me, my first "moment" that always sticks in my mind isn't my "first" at all. I remember just turning 16 (I know this because this was the first season I could hunt myself, season started last Friday of Oct and I turned 16 on Nov 3rd), trekking through the woods during an early snowfall. There was already about 3 inches of snow down, making tracking nice, (if I could find a track, then I did)! I started tracking thinking as I am going along that I know where this deer is going. The trail made a WIDE circle and wound up back in a large hayfield next door to my house. As I broke the woodline and stepped out into an unbroken expanse of snow white (I am sure in my memory that it glowed ever so gently) across the field. As I stopped, I could hear the wet snow flakes actually landing on the ground. I have never been so at peace, I just sat down and became one with it. I must have sat there an hour, completely giving up on the hunt. I can never forget this, and during times that I have had very high stress coupled with insomnia, I use this memory to calm down.

This next was actually my first. My first deer, my first buck. I was hunting with my younger brother (it was my birthday and I had just turned 16), beautiful fall day and we had seen nothing, not even a grouse or a rabbit. We were walking an animal track and had decided to head back, after I took a leak. While I was doing so, we heard a rustle in the bush off to our left. We went quiet and I figured it was a grouse, so I zipped up, broke open my 20ga and swapped out the slug for birdshot and waited. The noise seemed wrong for a grouse, but I certainly didn't expect a deer to be that close to us, until this nice little buck stepped out right in front of us, not more that 15yds away!! He was still feeding away on acorns and had no idea we were there, I quietly opened the shotgun and loaded a slug again. Took aim at a perfect broadside, and fired. He came up on his hind legs, turned away and bounded into the woods. I was terrified, exhilarated, shocked, I don't know what!! I could hear this animal in the brush breathing heavy and I knew it was waiting for us to move before charging us. Then things started to quiet down...so we walked forward and saw the deer. It was still moving a bit, so I shot it in the head with another slug. It moved again, so I shot it with a load of birdshot, in the head. I was standing right over it and it continued to move. So I took the .22 from my brother and shot it in the head again, every time it moved! (I now know that it was only relaxing from the energy of the actual projectiles that were hitting it, but I didn't know it then)
I had never deer hunted alone before, always with my father and the animals were shot at 75-100yds, never that close and the animals were all DEAD when we got to them, Dad always did the gutting and had never shown me how. I sent my brother home for my Dad while I watched the animal, hoping no bears were around. My Father got there (about 200yds off the road), it was dark but he gutted the deer by flashlight (STILL not showing me how!). It took both of us to haul him out to the truck and my Dad was pretty upset that I had shot him so many times in the head, making the rack virtually useless except as antlers.

My father has two older brothers. They all hunt. Once, when I was a boy, maybe about 10, I was allowed to tag along with my father and his brother. We went to a bait site, sat down, and waited. a nice buck came out along the tree line through a bunch of downed poplars, but stayed right on the woodline, about 150yds away. My uncle shot him, perfect broadside. NOTHING!! Fired again, again, no effect. Kept firing and the buck just stood there, head down, not moving. completely unaware we were there, it seemed. After emptying his rifle, my uncle got up in disgust and ran out to chase the buck off. Still no reaction!! My father and I got up and went out to meet him and we all walked up to the deer. MY uncle started laughing, then my father. I had no idea what was going on until they showed me. The deer had been shot to rags. 7 holes in and out. The first one must have killed it STONE DEAD and it got hung up on a large limb which held it up and wouldn't let it fall. Needless to say, there was no shoulder meat, and no ribs left! That one is still told around the fire when we get together.

 

[kamlooky]

When I asked my daughter on her 18th birthday what she wanted.
My first deer.
Three days later, her pappie delivered.
Two legal four point muley's and neither spooky.
I told my youngest to go git ready. You know what to do.
I also told her that she needn't be worried if she decided not to shoot.
That was fine by me, this was her moment to choose what she wished to do.
The two muley's split and I followed one. It stopped and the cross hairs were
on it.
I waited and waited. The buck moved a bit and so did I. Back on with the cross hairs.
I waited some more and then I heard the shot. This one I had bolted and that was fine
by me. One was enough this hot day..........I hope.
Skiddaddled back and there she was.
Didja git it?
Dunno?
What?
Dunno.
Where did it go?
Dunno?
Fer gawwds sake. Which way did you point yer barrel?
Over there.
You reloaded?..........Yup.
Hookay, watch just in case.
So mosey over I go and wandered a few yards up the hill.
There was the four point, tongue all hanging out.
Hayya Kid, grab the knives, the camera and cut yer tag.........whoooooooot.
Dun her pa proud....................................

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[Fretman]

I don't often reply to these threads mainly because I can count on one hand the number of times I have been big game hunting. but here is one instance that I believe will define my hunting for the rest of my natural life.

I were hunting near Jenner Alberta on private land with two fellas who I did not know very well. this was also my first time ever going after deer with a rifle. we had been hunting for two days solid with nothing to show for it but a single ring-tail. the other two guys were older and more experienced than I was, so I was relegated to the back seat of the pick-up truck. this was road hunting with a little bit of exploring off-road. we left the road onto the pasture down a gentle dip, back up the other side and onto the rise when we startled a small herd of mule deer. I think there were two bucks and two does. the front seat passenger jumps out his door, glasses the herd with his scope and yells to the driver who is also glassing with his scope "two bucks, two does, take the does!!!" and he just starts unloading with his 30.06. must have emptied his magazine in two or three seconds and managed to tag one of the does on the ass end. he starts swearing and making a real scene and I'm not sure what the hell he was getting mad about. if anything he should have been mad at himself.

at this point in my hunting career, I had never heard a deer vocalize. to be honest, I did not know they were capable of such a thing. to avoid sounding like an aid worker in ethiopia, it was amongst the most heart wrenching and gut-churning sounds I have ever experienced. consider for a minute I work in acute care/psychiatric nursing at the Peter Lougheed Centre in Calgary. I'm not a cryer either, but I was nearly in tears. I could see this doe, on the other side of a deep coulee, just trying and trying to get up and join the herd. even thinking back now, I can hear the sound. it was...its tough to describe. the shooter of this particular deer was still swearing up a storm. he started climbing back in the truck, saying to whoever was listening, "lets just leave it guys. come'on, lets go. can't believe this...lets get outta here!" almost as though it was the deer's fault for walking into his bullet or something. I was sickened. I could not imagine I at one time thought of this guy as an ethical hunter. he even described himself as such. I got my 30/30 and started walking toward this deer, which was very much alive. it was a steep walk down one side of the coulee, and up the other side. all the while, this doe was calling out this mournful wailing sound. I dropped a live shell into the chamber and remember looking into this doe's eyes. its gonna sound corny, but if she could have spoken to me, she would have said, "I know what you have to do. please do it." I delivered a mercy shot and put my tag on the animal.

I was so full of anger I had to put my gun down. I wanted to sucker punch this waste of skin who called himself a hunter. but he was bigger than me, and we still had another whole day together. I knew from that day forth, unswervingly, what kind of hunter I was going to be. I was not EVER going to be like this guy had shown himself to be. that was the last time I ever saw/hunted with this sad excuse for a "hunter". at the end of the trip, I made my feelings known.

these events are burned into my brain and even thinking back, its surreal. my anger was burning hot. I see a certain type of suffering where I work, but to see this type of suffering willingly caused and then disregarded in such a way. it made me hate people who call themselves "hunters" but do not espouse an ethical way of hunting where respect for the animal is as important as making sure you fill the gas tank before leaving town.

not an uplifting post like Ardent, but made in the same spirit. it remains my most vivid memory of "the moment"

Great post I am a Psychiatric Nurse too.

 

[Fretman]

One of my best memories is when I was a young man about 21 I was a complete greenhorn hunter out with two very experienced hunters. I told the guys at one point there was three deer up on a hill more than a mile away. They could not see them with their eyes and teased me that I was hallucinating until they used the spotting scope and confirmed exactly what I had told them. That made me proud that somehow I had been helpful to two experienced hunters and it made me realise the importance of paying attention and being aware of unusual form and movement in your environment. By the time we got to the deer it was too dark too shoot but we returned there the next day with success. It was a "maybe I am a hunter moment." Great thread my friends!
P.S I wish my eyes were still that good!

 

[Fretman]

It is almost as though it is these primordial "mists" from which such majestic beasts are created, as mist dissipates for the disciplined prepared hunter whom has been waiting since dark.

 

[Aniest]

For me, hunting is almost the very essence of existence: I have never went hunting and was not joyful. Why? I have learned that for me joy is not measured on 'bagging an animal' but on the relaxation and 'moments' I have every time I go. Yes, some moments stand out a lot more than others; but I have been blessed and honoured to be joyous on every hunt.

I remember two of my step father. One where, when I was young and he teaching me to shoot a shotgun, let me try to shoot a bird going across in front of me at a bit over 100 yards: I never hit it of course, but got away with a lesson and calling him (jokingly) an ass. The second time, a few months later, borrowing his double trigger side-by-side shotgun and accidentally putting both fingers in the trigger guard (thus pulling both triggers when I pulled the one): I had a slightly late bead on that bird at 60 yards and blew half of its tail feathers out. I collected a bunch of them to show him later that day, and to this day he will occasionally ask if I have a "hand full of tail feathers to bring home": that was over 23 years ago.

I remember years ago climbing a tall crest of at least 500 yards, being so tired, but the view of many miles of crystal-laden snow being awe-inspiring. As others said of their experiences, I could only stand in the snow in admiration for the wonders of nature's breadth, in the crisp blue sky, and that even in mirrored & tinted glasses the world seems so painfully vibrant. I still hike to that spot on occasion, remember that day, and somehow never find that amazement since: that spot has had its moment and I have realized there are other spots who's moments are yet to come.

Last year I had an antlerless moose tag and I was almost done my hunting vacation when I decided one late afternoon / evening to hike 3 miles down a road with 6 inches of wet snow. When I got close to the end I realized I only had 25 minutes of hunting time left and I still had to get back those 3 miles. I remember the exhaustion was hard, I mean just HARD that day: I had worked a lot in the weeks up to my vacation, I had hiked and scoped (a monocular actually) miles and miles that week, and I was starting to let work creep into my mind.

And 600 yards off the road into property I had permission, standing like tall black angels on a white blanket of 12" of snow, were two moose. I set my monocular on them, guessing 600 yards out, as they watched me like hungry hawks on a mouse: one antlered and one antlerless. I felt like a starved mouse too, being sooo tired, but my mind was clear. So I got bold: I started a bit of calling and moving at a crisp pace into the foot of snow towards them. The male moose started to get a bit upset as I came forward, but it was working: the cow was frozen, facing straight at me, watching me come forward! As I moved, grunting and thrashing the snow a bit, the male made a few grunts and pawed the ground...

At 300 yards I figured my luck was drawing thin as the male started to leave, showing me only his rear end. I stopped, knelt down, and then it happened: it was like people say about a car accident, the way time and existence melt into one, like an angelic hand reaching into your very being... and every cell of my body went quiet, the 'transcendence' of sorts happened as I could hear my heart beating with a slow pound, all that was was gone from my mind, only instinct of training and a crosshair on a chest: a trigger was pulled somewhere "out there", and that 3/10ths of a second that felt like forever was gone.

And so was the antlerless moose: a 300 yard face on shot went through one lung, the liver and into the abdomen dropping it dead almost instantly. There was no thrashing, no running, nothing. When I got to that cow it was dead and the male was gone. I collapsed onto the dead moose and almost cried for the moment: I called for a 4x4 truck to load it. When field dressing it later I found the bullet, a Barnes TSX flawlessly opened, in it's colon (literally, no sh!t... and no pun... just inside the pelvis inside the colon): I have that cleaned bullet on display at home. I have put into the freezer, for that one moose, almost everything one could eat from it; and what I could not was either donated to someone who could use it, or offered to the wilds (guts and some bones left for the ravens and coyotes).

I have never been a 'range guy" so I have never before or since made a shot that was basically elevation perfect and slightly right (forgot the slight wind) of target at that distance. I am one of those guys that I can do 3 MOA on the range and sub-MOA on animals in the field with the same rifle. I know, if presented again, I could not make that shot again: that place has had its moment.

I could never ask or wish for more moments like these, but as long as I can hunt and own firearms I know they will come. That is also why having firearms ownership is so important to me. I think as long as we all go enjoy our sport, have firearms ownership, these stories will continue.