"The" Moment?

Ardent

Ardent

CGN Ultra frequent flyer
Rating - 100%
818   0   2
Location
Northern BC, Coastal BC, or Africa. Depends on the
On a sentimental kick, I just built a study in my basement and I'm unpacking my hunting relics and photos for the first time all together. Unpacked an aged, torn aerial photo of the farm I grew up on and it brought some memories up.

Any one, or special few moments in hunting, stand out for you as so incredible they really seemed a departure from life as usual? The stuff you never forget.


For me, there are a few.

About 13 or so years old, with my Cooey Model 60, getting kicked out on a family member's ranch to clean up the gophers. We routinely shot crows and pigeons on our poultry farm but this was the big country, sections of land. The trust extended to me and finally opening the fresh box of 50 Federals I was given was a moment I'll never forget. I remember how the spent cartridges smelled, the first gopher I hit, how the sun felt, the dry soil you name it. All I can hope is I'm able to let my sons experience the same feelings.

Another would be deer hunting with my shotgun on our farm, about 18 years old. I had to do it on my own then, Grandfather was the only hunter and he wasn't getting up early anymore, so I got up at about 4:30 and walked out to my perch on a knoll overlooking one of the meadows. Felt like a man that day, going solo, and had a beautiful coastal Blacktail buck walk right into my sight lane, close. Probably the biggest coastal Blacktail I've seen, and a big coastal Blacktail is oddly enough high on my list for a trophy example, as they're so rare. It was just legal light by then, very cool and dewey, just a beautiful morning. Lifted my Winchester shotgun and put it low on his shoulder, and he just stood perfect broadside. Didn't pull the trigger, and no regret. Was a funny moment as I could have enjoyed quite a bit of "Glory" back at the house having set out to collect a buck on my own, but I didn't even mention it to my family or friends. Never talked about it in any detail to anyone to this day I don't think, only now so many years later realizing it's not a failure on my part, some guys are just too beautiful, came to easily, to take. I know today I'd take the shot in a heartbeat, so something's changed in me, and it's almost regrettable. I just was so impressed with him, and surprised how easily he appeared immediately in my shooting lane, seemed too easy. Just enjoyed the hunt even though I didn't "succeed", sure felt like a success of a different sort however.

Finally, another gopher hunting memory, older then about 21 years old, riding a quad with my brother on the back, returning from the gopher hunting grounds. We were on a farm my family owned overlooking the Sheep River in southern Alberta, ripping down a gravel road far too fast. Warm summer night, air felt amazing, my brother terrified on the back, for whatever reason I detached from life in general right there and felt completely relaxed. My brother didn't feel the same as it was pinned. Never experienced another moment quite like it, strange thing.

I took my brother to Africa a couple years ago, and we relived a few of those feelings, they're so hard to capture and can't be created, it just has to happen. But not even my biggest hunts compete with those odd memories, that's the important stuff I need to keep in mind for my sons. As a last aside, every hunting morning feels just a bit special to me as well. Something about cool mornings, up really early, and a tinge of excitement to come.
 
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"
 
No, that's a great post. Your most memorable moments aren't always good. I have the good fortune of leading the hunts I go on, as I'm the most senior hunter left in our family, and I only hunt with close friends or family. The idiots are out there and I'm grateful not to have to know them.
 
When a wild animal knows it is over they have no doubt left in their mind. The only question is how ugly it will be. I base this on taking out two moose with broken backs (railroad bycatch). Caved in their heads with an air hose; they had only the use of their front legs therefore could not get at me. Both struggled until the gladhand on the hose was lined up with their temples. Then they both quit and let it happen. Stopped bawling and rested their heads on the ground. That sort of stuff sticks with you and is the main reason a clean kill shot is the only way to go.
 
I have "The moment" every time I am out hunting...It never fails, every time I go out, there is a moment when the sun shines through the trees, the wind goes completely silent, and there is not a sound other than the odd squirrel or song bird. Its those moments that I live for.
 
Ardent......I have had several of these moments flying and I'm sure you have too. I've had times hunting when I didn't know if I would survive and other times astounded by the beauty of the area. I have been held breathless by the beauty of a leopard laying 20 mtrs from me, enthralled watching a grizzly grub for gophers and marmots on a mountainside and held in awe watching goats navigate a sheer cliff as if it were flat ground. This is one of the best parts of hunting, watching dall sheep lambs play, grizzly cubs play, or lion cubs, or I have seen 2 huge sable bulls on their knees in full combat, watching from a blind as 4 giraffe come to the water to drink. The early morning mists over the equitorial rain forest in the Congo, the blazing red sunsets in Botswana............this IS what it's all about !!
 
Last edited:
Indeed, those morning mists are special and those I've enjoyed in the Amazon, Northern Canada, or Africa are no less special than one on opening day in Ontario I'm sure. It was a misty, dewey morning as well with my coastal Blacktail day come to think of it.

And PS your Congo photos a little while back lit a fire in me. So many hunts and so little time.
 
As mvarley84 observed, "the" moment happens all the time. A few stand head-and-shoulders above the rest in my memory:

My first real, honest-to-God hunt with grown-ups. I was an accomplished air-gun and .22 hunter of rabbits, squirrels, crows, sparrows, grasshoppers, bumblebees and numerous imaginary critters that no-one else seemed able to see :))), and was characterized by some of the neighbours as "that blood-thirsty little bastard", although never within earshot of my dad! This was a serious rabbit hunt, complete with a beagle. I was 12, accompanied by my dad and a friend of his (the beagle's owner), and I was carrying my dad's old Ithaca 37 Featherweight, which still lives in my safe to this day. Several shots and several rabbits had been taken already, and I was itching to show the adults that I was worthy of having been invited. Finally, it happened...the dog was across the field, a rabbit had run right in front of me and stopped in perfect position, and I was the only one with a clear shot. I hefted the 37, an old friend which I had previously fired hundreds of times. I lined up on that cottontail, and stroked the trigger...then pulled it...then yanked it...then frantically yanked some more...heard my dad whispering "Shoot! Shoot!"...watched the bunny run under a bush and out of my life forever...and only then remembered that the safety was on! I tried to chuckle about it with everyone else, but it chewed on me, and has periodically taken further bites out of me for the past 43 years.

Buck fever dropped in for its second visit a couple of decades later. I had at this point taken a few black bears over bait, and was hoping for a real bruiser. When a real bruiser stepped out, at roughly 40 yards or so, I calmly lined up on him, in broad daylight, shooting off a solid rest, from a comfortable seated position...and missed...by several feet! Later that afternoon a few test shots showed that the sights were still dead on. Won't be forgetting that one anytime soon...

A beautiful Quebec caribou bull that stopped its meandering walk right next to a boulder that I had just ranged, and then dropped to its knees after a perfect shot, then plopped over dead to a second perfect shot a moment later provided another of "those" moments...but not in a completely good way. After practicing all summer at extended ranges (at least by my standards), I had to be convinced to take the shot by a comrade, who finally swayed me by pointing out that if I didn't intend to shoot at that range, why did I practice it? That seemed to make sense at the time, so I did it, but I doubt I'll ever let it happen again. To this day I feel like I cheated myself of the experience of hunting that caribou by mailing in the shot from afar.

A gemsbok ran over 100 yards after having both lungs completely pulped and several ribs broken by a 300gr .375H&H slug, then received a finishing shot when we walked it up. "The" moment came when I approached the last couple of feet. I found myself actually rubbing and cleaning the palm of my hand on my pants before hesitantly touching my first head of African game, as though it were a priceless painting or a fragile piece of art, not to be touched with less-than-clean hands.

But probably the number one "the" moment, the "most the" of all of them for me, came after my first and only Cape buffalo. Several days of walking and wading had culminated in a close range (less than 20 yards) shot in thick tall grass, at a bull who stood and looked at me with a decidedly unimpressed and impatient air about him. The entire episode, from first sighting to two quick shots to the approach to the finisher to the hands-on was certainly less than 120 seconds, probably closer to 90. I spent the next several minutes unsuccessfully attempting to choke back tears, having just successfully fulfilled a dream that I had been talking about, visualizing, planning and obsessing about for over four decades. To say that I was overwhelmed is putting it mildly.

This is a great idea for a thread, Ardent. I enjoy revisiting the non-trophy-photo thread regularly as it's updated, and I hope this one will provide the same sort of lasting and ongoing good reads.
 
Very interesting read. I do not post a lot but would like to share a few "moments" as well. First time ever hunting white tail, I was 14 years old being taken out by a neighbor as none of my family hunted. The guy dropped me on a cut line and told me to wait there for him. It was a cold snowy November morning. I was not there more than 10 minutes, and the biggest 6X6 buck I have ever seen walked out 30 yds in front of me and stopped broadside. I took a knee, steadied my shot, and pulled the trigger, and shot clean under the deer. We found tracks, a couple hair, and nothing else. That is a "moment I can remember like it was yesterday. I have had lots of other great experiences, but nothing like the next 2.
Last September, for my son's 12 birthday, I took him on a moose hunting trip with 4 close friends. We spent 8 days in Northern Mb. The hunt consisted of 8 days of scouting by boat and quad. 1 day in particular, we set out with a friend to our satellite camp 30 km out on the lake. We had searched and walked several bays and islands. Came upon a horse shoe shaped bay, and my friend opted to walk the ridge and my son and I would stay in the boat and call / fish. The bay was about 400yds wide, with extreme elevation on each side. There was dense forest in full fall color with rock faces jutting out intermittently, the water was glass, with cool weather but the sun was warm and bright. My son was fishing with success, and for a period we just sat, in absolute silence, the boat gently floating along with the current, and I remember thinking there was nowhere else I would want to be, and no one I could wish to share that moment with more. The feeling of serene comfort in that moment is hard to describe. When we returned to our main camp, the other guys had tagged a bull moose. My son and I were unable to fill a tag, he caught fish and harvested many chickens, but it is an experience that he has talked about almost weekly for the past year.
For deer hunting this year, we shared another moment, being 12 he was able to carry his own rifle and tag. We had several opportunity and it was getting late in the season, I told him his deer was his decision, but he would hesitate every time we seen a deer, and not have an opportunity for an ethical kill. Early one morning after a fresh snowfall, we were walking a trail in some rolling hills, hoer frost was on the trees, and we came over a hill and observed a 3 year old doe quartered away from us eating about 100 yds. We took a knee and he asked if it was a good deer " they are all good buddy" was my response. He looked for about 30 seconds, flipped of his safety and fired. We walked over to where we had seen her and found a great blood trail, and found her 50 yds away. His shot was a perfect double lung shot, and as he posed beside her for a picture, I had a moment that would be hard to describe.
I could share story after story about experiences I have had outdoors with my son. Taking a kids hunting is an experience that has produced the greatest memories I have, and eclipse all others. Great thread
 
Special times were with my Dad hunting chicken. I was always in awe of him when he would drop a couple of Imperial Special Long Range shells in his old Tobin and close it up. I knew then he meant business. Man, did those old hulls ever smell nice.

Modern times? Would be times hunting whitetail with my friend Jerry F., stopping for a lunch, cooking some sausage over a fire, having a coffee. Most times, we didn't get any deer, but that never seemed to matter.
 
My father and I used to hunt this widow's farm in Ayer's Cliff. A beautiful place, the land started out high by the road and farm house, but sloped steeply back to Lake Massawippi. It was about a 2hr drive from home.

This one year, he couldn't make opening day because of work obligations. I was working evenings. I came home Friday night and flipped on the tube and was rather down on the fact that I would not be able to satisfy my months-long urge to get out. It was around 2AM when it occurred to me - "go by yourself!" So I began frantically assembling my gear and I hit the road about an hour later.

I was in the woods before light and picked what I thought would be a good spot. At 7:10, a little 3-point marched into my shooting lane, about 150 ft away. It wasn't the best shot - I broke both shoulders and he took off on his hind legs. I searched for an hour and was utterly disgusted. I started heading back up to the truck and a spot of white caught my eye - there he was lying dead on the far side of a large, fallen tree. My first buck! He was about 100 yards from where I shot him, but he had made a 90 degree turn off of his original flight path. I dragged him back up as far as I could before I nearly passed out from exhaustion - into the low end of a sloped hay field. I made my way back to my truck at the farm house and drove it back down to pick up my deer. The whole time I was thinking "I hope I can make it back up..." This was a 2-wheel drive Ford Ranger, on all-seasons.

I wrestled him into the back and started back up the hay field. No way. I had to back down and then turn to put the truck parallel with the end of the field. I got a good run and then turned 90 degrees and just made it up over the hill. The next obstacle was an inclined section of trail, about 75' of which was 1' deep mud. Stuck. I started rummaging through the piles of debris you find at the edges of most farm fields - tree boughs, planks of old wood, small stones... I worked for 2 hours and hadn't made any progress. I had an idea. I emptied my pack sack and used it to haul 2 very large stones. I placed them in my tire tracks about 10' behind my wheels. Reverse, clutch, bounce, 2nd gear, GO!! I was out!

The juxtaposition of having killed my first buck, alone, and working my ass off to get him out, including getting stuck, is such that I will never forget it. Though I suppose no one forgets their first.
 
looch said:
My father and I used to hunt this widow's farm in Ayer's Cliff. A beautiful place, the land started out high by the road and farm house, but sloped steeply back to Lake Massawippi. It was about a 2hr drive from home.

This one year, he couldn't make opening day because of work obligations. I was working evenings. I came home Friday night and flipped on the tube and was rather down on the fact that I would not be able to satisfy my months-long urge to get out. It was around 2AM when it occurred to me - "go by yourself!" So I began frantically assembling my gear and I hit the road about an hour later.

I was in the woods before light and picked what I thought would be a good spot. At 7:10, a little 3-point marched into my shooting lane, about 150 ft away. It wasn't the best shot - I broke both shoulders and he took off on his hind legs. I searched for an hour and was utterly disgusted. I started heading back up to the truck and a spot of white caught my eye - there he was lying dead on the far side of a large, fallen tree. My first buck! He was about 100 yards from where I shot him, but he had made a 90 degree turn off of his original flight path. I dragged him back up as far as I could before I nearly passed out from exhaustion - into the low end of a sloped hay field. I made my way back to my truck at the farm house and drove it back down to pick up my deer. The whole time I was thinking "I hope I can make it back up..." This was a 2-wheel drive Ford Ranger, on all-seasons.

I wrestled him into the back and started back up the hay field. No way. I had to back down and then turn to put the truck parallel with the end of the field. I got a good run and then turned 90 degrees and just made it up over the hill. The next obstacle was an inclined section of trail, about 75' of which was 1' deep mud. Stuck. I started rummaging through the piles of debris you find at the edges of most farm fields - tree boughs, planks of old wood, small stones... I worked for 2 hours and hadn't made any progress. I had an idea. I emptied my pack sack and used it to haul 2 very large stones. I placed them in my tire tracks about 10' behind my wheels. Reverse, clutch, bounce, 2nd gear, GO!! I was out!

The juxtaposition of having killed my first buck, alone, and working my ass off to get him out, including getting stuck, is such that I will never forget it. Though I suppose no one forgets their first.
Click to expand...

My first buck was shot a 2 hour hike into the mountains from the truck, I was alone. I had shot a couple does before, but we always dressed them and drove the truck up to them and I always had help. Obviously not an option here. I didn't know how to debone or anything like that. I did two loads that day and came back in the morning for the third. It was an incredible amount of work, knowing what I know now I could have deboned properly and done it in one load!

As for "the moment" I think part of the reason I love hunting so much is I have a half dozen "moments" every season. It's just so peaceful getting out in the crisp fall air, right at dawn. Complete silence and peace, looking for game. I used to do a lot of rock climbing, ice climbing and mountaineering. I saw some pretty incredible country, but when your climbing you are very objective focused and you're always moving. You rarely ever get to sit back, relax and take in the awe inspiring scenery. Where as hunting you get to take it all in and be one with nature.
 
mvarley84 said:
I have "The moment" every time I am out hunting...It never fails, every time I go out, there is a moment when the sun shines through the trees, the wind goes completely silent, and there is not a sound other than the odd squirrel or song bird. Its those moments that I live for.
Click to expand...

When I was a young lad, there were lots of these moments, before the event of the ATV.
Ban these suckers, and the world will be a better place. At least for me, it will!:D
 
trebor2880 said:
When I was a young lad, there were lots of these moments, before the event of the ATV.
Ban these suckers, and the world will be a better place. At least for me, it will!
Click to expand...

Willmore Wilderness Park in Alberta is more than 4,500 square kilometres of mountain heaven directly up the Rocky Mountain chain from and adjacent to Jasper, open for hunting, and it is no motorized vehicles. An absolute blessing; foot, canoe, or horseback only. The way it should be. :)
 
Ardent said:
Willmore Wilderness Park in Alberta is more than 4,500 square kilometres of mountain heaven directly up the Rocky Mountain chain from and adjacent to Jasper, open for hunting, and it is no motorized vehicles. An absolute blessing; foot, canoe, or horseback only. The way it should be. :)
Click to expand...

Amen. God Bless Alberta!
 
Ardent said:
Willmore Wilderness Park in Alberta is more than 4,500 square kilometres of mountain heaven directly up the Rocky Mountain chain from and adjacent to Jasper, open for hunting, and it is no motorized vehicles. An absolute blessing; foot, canoe, or horseback only. The way it should be. :)
Click to expand...

Don't forget mountain bike!
 
One of those "moments" for me happened a few years ago.

I was injured in a accident that just about took my good arm from me, no one new if i was going to get use of it back.

Two years of rehab later i went out hunting and managed to shoot a decent buck, at that moment i was overcome with emotion, not about the fact i had just shot A deer, but the fact that i was lucky enough to be able to continue doing what i enjoyed most!
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom