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trash talk

swing n fling said:
Im having a hard time following? If going through the heart, breaking a leg and watching the deer go down in 25-30 yards is a bad shot I guess I'd love to learn from you what I can do better next time. If you're typing in the sarcasm font, Its not showing up on my end.
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Is this not a trash talking thread?! Just saying that’s tricky advice to give to a newbie “wait for the quartered toward.”
 
neonomad said:
Is this not a trash talking thread?! Just saying that’s tricky advice to give to a newbie “wait for the quartered toward.”
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It is indeed. Reading is hard isn't it? Im not sure where that quote was from, but it wasn't me. I didn't give any advice, much less “wait for the quarter to”. I said I like to shoot them forward, which has nothing to to with quartered to, (this deer was slight quartered away) it has to do with shooting them forward on the body, tucked in tight to the leg where all the good stuff is. It does sometimes end up crowding into and or breaking a leg and it does take a stout arrow and head to feel good about it. I'm confident in that shot with my arrow set up, so that's great for me. If I was shooting 400 grains and expandables I wouldnt be doing that. Tracking is stressful, Id rather watch them go down. Middle of the lung shots take longer to bleed out than front of the lungs or front of lungs and heart, much less a deer three wheeling with a hole in the front of both lungs and his heart. They don’t do well. I wasn’t planning to catch leg, especially how much I did but I was planning to be just off of it. Turns out I was an inch too far forward and a couple inches low on this one. I would have rather stayed just off this leg and caught the top of the heart. The damage these arrows can do continues to impress me year after year. This is the exit side (right) leg. Entry side leg didn't get hit. IMG_6595.jpeg
 
Horn said:
^^^ Michigan.

What y'all got?

Michigander and proud of it :tonguewink:
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The year was likely 1972, I was 10 years old and at our family hunting camp for opening weekend of rifle season. I was still way too young to hunt myself (in those days minimum age was 14) but my dad had been bringing me along for opening day and the weekends of rifle deer season since I was about 8 years old. I sat with him during mornings and walked among the pushers in the afternoon on the deer drives that were so popular in those days.

On that day while pushing a lowland thicket I came across a fresh walking deer track speckled with blood in the snow and I followed it through to end of the drive. During that drive my dad, who was also pushing, bumped and wounded a buck using his pistol during the course of the drive (he rarely carried his rifle while pushing on a drive). When we gathered together at the powerline at the midpoint of the drive, I told my dad what I had found. Since he knew the blood trail he was on was a fresh track and certainly a buck he took that one and told me and my cousin (my age) to follow the unknown track I had discovered since it was paralleling the one he wounded.

We slowly followed the walking track in the snow weaving through some pretty thick lowlands with me in the lead. The only weapon we had between us was my new wrist rocket I had received that summer and was carrying in case I saw a rabbit while walking. Nevertheless, in my youthful exuberance, I was carrying it “locked and loaded” with a ¼” ball bearing. :tearsofjoy:

At one point I bent down to push my way under a pine bough and when I came up through to the other side there was a totally exhausted 8 point buck bedded literally right at my feet. I hauled that slingshot back and shot that buck right in the butt. :tearsofjoy: He jumped up and ran off in front of us, and btw, scared the crap right out of me.

After composing ourselves my cousin and I continued on the track. We came out to a county road only to find the buck had crossed the road and was now laying in the ditch on the opposite side of the road. He was totally spent and just laid there with his ears laid back like a po’d cat. I did mention that neither of us had a weapon right? Well the two of us grabbed a 6” diameter log that was laying nearby and between us we tried to club the buck to death. Despite this he just laid there, too spent to get up and simply looked annoyed at these two young humans who were dropping this log on his head.

About that time I saw my dad enter the roadway up several hundred yards away. I ran down to him yelling and trying to explain to him about the 8 point in the ditch but he was preoccupied with trying to tell me his story about how he had pushed his 6 point past another hunter who had shot it and tagged it. Finally I got him to understand that the 8 point was simply laying the ditch down there unable to get up. “It’s really laying right in the ditch?” he asked as the realization hit him.

We ran back down there and he pulled his pistol to dispatch it. I remember him saying “That’s a decent rack, someone in camp may want to mount it. I think I better shoot it in the neck.” He took point blank aim and missed! The percussion from the .357 persuaded the deer to his feet and it started stumbling toward a nearby river. We all ran around to cut him off before he could get to the water and he fell again. Dad walked up and muttered “To H with the rack” and plugged him right between the eyes.

It was quite an adventure for a young lad like myself that will never be forgotten and one of many stories from 4-5 decades of hunting I enjoy telling around a hunting camp fire over a barley soda or two. :)
 
boyne bowhunter said:
The year was likely 1972, I was 10 years old and at our family hunting camp for opening weekend of rifle season. I was still way too young to hunt myself (in those days minimum age was 14) but my dad had been bringing me along for opening day and the weekends of rifle deer season since I was about 8 years old. I sat with him during mornings and walked among the pushers in the afternoon on the deer drives that were so popular in those days.

On that day while pushing a lowland thicket I came across a fresh walking deer track speckled with blood in the snow and I followed it through to end of the drive. During that drive my dad, who was also pushing, bumped and wounded a buck using his pistol during the course of the drive (he rarely carried his rifle while pushing on a drive). When we gathered together at the powerline at the midpoint of the drive, I told my dad what I had found. Since he knew the blood trail he was on was a fresh track and certainly a buck he took that one and told me and my cousin (my age) to follow the unknown track I had discovered since it was paralleling the one he wounded.

We slowly followed the walking track in the snow weaving through some pretty thick lowlands with me in the lead. The only weapon we had between us was my new wrist rocket I had received that summer and was carrying in case I saw a rabbit while walking. Nevertheless, in my youthful exuberance, I was carrying it “locked and loaded” with a ¼” ball bearing. :tearsofjoy:

At one point I bent down to push my way under a pine bough and when I came up through to the other side there was a totally exhausted 8 point buck bedded literally right at my feet. I hauled that slingshot back and shot that buck right in the butt. :tearsofjoy: He jumped up and ran off in front of us, and btw, scared the crap right out of me.

After composing ourselves my cousin and I continued on the track. We came out to a county road only to find the buck had crossed the road and was now laying in the ditch on the opposite side of the road. He was totally spent and just laid there with his ears laid back like a po’d cat. I did mention that neither of us had a weapon right? Well the two of us grabbed a 6” diameter log that was laying nearby and between us we tried to club the buck to death. Despite this he just laid there, too spent to get up and simply looked annoyed at these two young humans who were dropping this log on his head.

About that time I saw my dad enter the roadway up several hundred yards away. I ran down to him yelling and trying to explain to him about the 8 point in the ditch but he was preoccupied with trying to tell me his story about how he had pushed his 6 point past another hunter who had shot it and tagged it. Finally I got him to understand that the 8 point was simply laying the ditch down there unable to get up. “It’s really laying right in the ditch?” he asked as the realization hit him.

We ran back down there and he pulled his pistol to dispatch it. I remember him saying “That’s a decent rack, someone in camp may want to mount it. I think I better shoot it in the neck.” He took point blank aim and missed! The percussion from the .357 persuaded the deer to his feet and it started stumbling toward a nearby river. We all ran around to cut him off before he could get to the water and he fell again. Dad walked up and muttered “To H with the rack” and plugged him right between the eyes.

It was quite an adventure for a young lad like myself that will never be forgotten and one of many stories from 4-5 decades of hunting I enjoy telling around a hunting camp fire over a barley soda or two. :)
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That’s awesome! So glad you took the time to write that up, thanks for sharing! Haha
 
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