Your first big game ... with what and when ?

1983 Cow Elk, 30-06 03a3 Springfield. As we were essentially self taught I didn't know how to clean it. I caught lots of fish before that so thought it must be similar. Heard you shot it in the head to finish it off, and it just seemed to keep twitching so I ran out of ammo. My Dad and buddies tracked me by the shooting. Many laughs and learnings since then.
Elky….
 
1966, with a Churchill No1 mk3*. Still have the rifle. I hunted whitetail in 1965, but can't recall if I got one. I also hunted with a bubba'd CZ Mauser with a $10 scope, later rechambered to 8mm-06. Also used a Canadian Centennial 30-30 carbine, while my buddy used my matching Canadian rifle. Nowadays, I am top dog with a 1957 Model 94 .32 Winchester Special. I came across a nice old NAACO 30-06 that might get some daylight time next Fall.

You'd never guess that I am pretty much old school. :)
 
My first Deer is a bit of a bittersweet memory for me, great in the fact that I had taken my first deer, but a lesson hard learned that haunts me to this day.

It all started on a mid-November day back when I was 13 or 14. I had come home from high school to find the power was out at the house for whatever reason and my father was still away at work, leaving me to fend for myself. With the power out, I decided I'd throw some hamburgers on the BBQ for supper that night. I slid open the patio door and stepped out onto the deck to spark up the BBQ and get it warmed up, while lifting the lid a quick flick of motion caught my eye in my peripheral vision. My head swung to and was immediately paralyzed as there in full view not 35 feet away was a massive 8-point buck (his tines were all nearly 10-12 inches tall) feed away with a couple does in the back yard, and to my delight, it seemed none of them had noticed me or the commotion of my BBQ antics.

The adrenaline came on hard as excitement and panic swept over me, I gingerly crept my way back inside the house and when in the clear, made a mad dash to the cabinet to retrieve my Savage 99 in .250 Savage. I loaded up a full magazine and rushed back to the patio door to see if the buck with his crown of antlers was still happily grazing. To my disappointment, he was gone, but I spotted one of the does ambling into the brush. I knew that our quad trail was just a little ways into the brush patch she went into and gambled that they would cross it to continue on, and snuck out and around to the beginning of the trail.

I rounded to the corner of the trail and looked down a long straight-away and bam, there he is! I dropped to one knee and leveled my Savage at him at peered through the scope. He was standing almost completely facing away, but slightly quartering away because he spun his head back to look at me. Looking back now, I knew that this was a terrible shot with a low chance of success, but with the adrenaline pumping and excitement my foolish mind picked a spot behind his front leg and when he started turn his head, I cut loose the 250 Savage.

He lurched, stumbled, and then vanished in a flash of brown and white into the thick timber, the does scattering at the sound of the shot and then only silence.

Darkness falling quickly, I ran back to the house to get a flashlight, and returned to where he stood when I shot. Blood and hair was on the ground all around the site and found more blood on the spruce trees where he had evaporated earlier. Rifle slung across my back I started to climb through the brush to track him, I made it 20 feet in and up a little ridge when he stood up again not 15 feet away and started to bolt. I frantically pulled at the rifle slung across my back in effort to get another shot off, but once again, he disappeared. I picked up his blood trail again and tried to quietly follow, but spooked him one more time and could hear the brush crashing as he effected his escape. Now in pitch blackness with only my little flashlight, my wits gone, and my father returning home soon I decided to break off my pursuit and return home to tell my tale.

With great excitement I retold my story to my father, who although happy to hear was troubled to hear that he was still on the loose. We went out again and looked at the sign and he decided that it was best we leave him for the night and try not to push him too far from home.

The next morning I skipped school and we set out in search again for him. After a few hours of wandering around the old cutover I lost him in we found him slumped over an old deadfall. The cheers soared high into the frigid air, but were short lived. He was still very warm and the ground very freshly kicked up where he lay. It became evident that he didn't pass until very late into the night, possible a hour or so before we found him. I was crushed. I had taken a huge buck as my first, a deer that many veteran hunters would be envious of, but I made a very poor shot and that poor deer suffered immensely because of it.

We set to field dressing and discovered the result of my actions. The bullet had entered very far back, perforating the gut bag, just nicking the top of his one lung and found the bullet in the hide on the outside of his far front leg. He essentially drowned in his own sh!t, and it was all my fault for rushing it and making a very poor decision.

I considered hanging it up right then and there, my disappointment in myself weighed like a ton of bricks on my shoulders. I eventually decided that my love of hunting and the outdoors was too great to leave alone, and instead took the experience as a very hard learned lesson. I never want to relive that experience, and as such, I have let countless animals walk on than risk a low probability shot. In the moment it sucks, but it is far better than the feeling of shame and regret I felt by felling my first buck. Luckily, I've kept good on my promise to myself. Everything I've pulled the trigger on has either dropped where it stood, or made it no more than 40 yards before piling up and expiring.

Hunting is an experience like nothing else, but respect must be given to animals we hunt above all.
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I loved your story, thank you for sharing it. This year will be my first year hunting.
 
My first was a whitetail doe in 1991 with a .270 M70 Ranger. Only deer I've ever taken solely by tracking & stalking.

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I was 12. 1996. My dad and I were hunting antelope out of a 77 GMC camper van. He got one early in the morning and we found another small herd after we got dads gutted and loaded. I singled out the one in the back of the pack and started shooting. I was leaning over a fence post and shooting. Dad was watching from the van and calling out my shots as they hit the dirt. I remember it being very windy. I remember him saying aim 5 feet up and 8 feet left after watching my last impact. I took one more shot and the doe dropped. I paced it off at 432 yards. Looking back it wasn't the most ethical hunt/shooting session but it started my love of hunting as well as wild meat. I was using a lh savage 308 that i still have and that has accounted for a lot of game over the years. I think that's where my username came from.
 
Started hunting in my late 20’s in Northern BC. The only successful hunts I’d been on always ended up with what ever I was calling in waking straight towards my hunting buddy. First time was a nice, young 4x4 bull elk that my wife dropped at 35 yards with a 270.

Was finally able to get my first this past December on the last day of whitetail season. Skipped out on work to take in the last day of the season, and was able to harvest a 3x3 meat buck with my 7rem mag at 325 yards. Shot hit in the neck and dropped him where he stood. Forgot how “fun” it was trying to load a deer into a 1ton truck with no help lol
 
Immature bull moose 200 yards ,30.06 Winchester push feed ,Winchester 180 grain silvertip ammo .On a Buddy’s recommendation I climbed 20 feet up a spruce tree that over looked a treeless grassy meadow . Two shots and he dropped about 50 yards from his position .
Leavenworth
 
At Age 13 I shot my first deer during the gun hunt in November with my dad standing on the watch by my side. Used a Remington model 31 with 00 Buckshot at about 15 yards. The dogs were hot on its trail — ran to the top of the ridge we were on and stopped broadside. A few years earlier I had watched my dad shoot a nice 8 pointer at the same spot. Listening to the hounds coming — the anticipation, excitement, adrenaline — love it.
 
1973, whitetail doe. I was 15 yrs old, and my family hunted deer the same way we hunted rabbits. Push the bush and shoot 'em on the run. I borrowed my brother's .303 #1 SMLE that was "sporterized" by having some of the excess wood cut off. I had sighted in and practised, sorta, by shooting at a cardboard box a couple of times. Hit the box, so I was "ready". We were "party" hunting, which was acceptable practise way back then, different times. The person on stand was expected to shoot whatever deer came out and the bush pushers would put their tags on the second or third deer. After a few unsuccessful bush pushing sessions and one memorable miss, I was finally on stand again and a doe broke cover and was running hard from left to right at about 120 yards. Missed completely, too far in front the first shot. Reload quick! corrected my lead, swing with, and I connected on my second shot, the doe went down hard and skidded on her nose. Then a small buck broke cover, and ran by on exactly the same trail at the same speed as the doe. I was so excited that I had shot a deer that the other 8 shots in that old 10 shot magazine were just noise. My brother in law was the first on the scene. He asked me what I shot. I pointed excitedly at the doe. He said it sounded like a battle had just happened. When my brother came up to join us, he asked what all that shooting was about. Brother in law announced "we may have a problem he's got eight deer laying here!" Brother sputtered and said "we don't have that many tags!" It was a a memorable moment. One was enough, and the first one was very good!
 
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