Do you have a hunting regret? I have one that has haunted me for more than 3 decades.
In about 1986 I was hunting with my dad, little brother (12), uncle and cousin (17). We were at our sacred family elk hunting grounds in Montana. I was about 14.
My dad and uncle love to hunt elk. Our favorite family spot is pretty remote and therefore, holds a lot of elk. In 1986 it also held a lot of deer. Our camp is about a 2 hour hike almost straight uphill, and we have to pack in our own water. My dad and uncle's philosophy was always, "Why would you shoot a deer back here? You can shoot a mule deer next to the road! This is an elk hunting trip." With that philosophy in mind, they granted conditional permission to shoot a deer, as follows: "If you shoot a deer back here, you have to eat the liver, raw." I knew it was an idle threat, but at 14, it still made me worry a little.
Early in the week my dad and uncle were successful in taking a couple of small bulls off the mountian. Late Wednesday night we went down to town to get more hay for the horses. After getting the hay we hiked back up the mountain in the dark. I also carried in a couple gallons of drinking water on my back. About 2/3 the way up the mountain I realized that I no longer had my hunting rifle. I had set it down somewhere on the trail below me and I wasn't sure where. I was so tired from three days worth of hunting, packing elk, and carrying water on my back that I couldn't bring myself to go back down the mountain and look for my rifle in the dark. I opted to go back down in the morning and find it in the light.
The next morning I headed back down the trail with my dad and found the rifle only about 100 yards from where I had discovered it missing the night before. As we got back into camp about 8:30 a.m., we heard a shot from over the hill where my little brother and cousin had gone to hunt. My heart dropped a little. I knew hearing that shot meant and that I had missed an opportunity, maybe even a chance at a big buck.
About 10 minutes later, my brother and cousin came back into camp having a really strange argument. My 12 year old brother (on his first hunt ever) was sobbing his eyes out screaming, "He shot a doe! He shot a DOE! I'm not going to eat the liver!!!!" My cousin on the other hand, had his hands spread really wide and was screaming, "Its THIS BIG! It's THIS BIG!" As the dust settled, we tried figure out exactly what had happened.
My uncle had previously told my cousin that the way you tell which buck in a group is the biggest is by looking at which buck's horns go out the widest from his rump. My cousin and brother had had a group of deer walk out below them in the basin. There were a number of bucks in the group. My cousin said that there were two really big bucks. The one he shot and another that was, "a really tall buck with 7-8 points on each side, not quite as wide as the buck I shot". My little brother (who was hunting with open sights) had been focused the buck that, to him, appeared to easily be the biggest buck. When the deer next to it dropped, he got confused and thought it was one of the does in the group tumbling down the mountain. He immediately envisioned himself having to eat the liver raw for participating in the harvest of a mule deer doe so far from the roads. The intensity of the situation got to him and he burst into tears. Because of the confusion they both just came back to camp to get help without even going down to examine the deer.
Back at camp we tried to get everything sorted out and then all trucked out to find out who was right. Was it a huge buck, or a doe? As it turns out, my cousin had shot a really heavy 30 1/2 inch wide, very old, slick 4X4 with a white face and a roman nose. Its teeth were almost gone. It was a really nice buck, especially for Montana standards. I was then left to task of being pack mule (again), and spending the next 32+ years pondering why I left my gun on the hillside the night before, and regretting the fact that I didn't go get it that night. For years I have wondered exactly how big the buck next to my cousin's was. I have put myself there and shot it a thousand times in my mind. And in my mind, he was definitely HUGE! Unfortunately, there is no going back. I will never know how big he really was.
I will say, though, that I have never left my gun on the hillside again!
Feel free to share a hunting regret if you have one.
Have a great weekend!
-Soup
In about 1986 I was hunting with my dad, little brother (12), uncle and cousin (17). We were at our sacred family elk hunting grounds in Montana. I was about 14.
My dad and uncle love to hunt elk. Our favorite family spot is pretty remote and therefore, holds a lot of elk. In 1986 it also held a lot of deer. Our camp is about a 2 hour hike almost straight uphill, and we have to pack in our own water. My dad and uncle's philosophy was always, "Why would you shoot a deer back here? You can shoot a mule deer next to the road! This is an elk hunting trip." With that philosophy in mind, they granted conditional permission to shoot a deer, as follows: "If you shoot a deer back here, you have to eat the liver, raw." I knew it was an idle threat, but at 14, it still made me worry a little.
Early in the week my dad and uncle were successful in taking a couple of small bulls off the mountian. Late Wednesday night we went down to town to get more hay for the horses. After getting the hay we hiked back up the mountain in the dark. I also carried in a couple gallons of drinking water on my back. About 2/3 the way up the mountain I realized that I no longer had my hunting rifle. I had set it down somewhere on the trail below me and I wasn't sure where. I was so tired from three days worth of hunting, packing elk, and carrying water on my back that I couldn't bring myself to go back down the mountain and look for my rifle in the dark. I opted to go back down in the morning and find it in the light.
The next morning I headed back down the trail with my dad and found the rifle only about 100 yards from where I had discovered it missing the night before. As we got back into camp about 8:30 a.m., we heard a shot from over the hill where my little brother and cousin had gone to hunt. My heart dropped a little. I knew hearing that shot meant and that I had missed an opportunity, maybe even a chance at a big buck.
About 10 minutes later, my brother and cousin came back into camp having a really strange argument. My 12 year old brother (on his first hunt ever) was sobbing his eyes out screaming, "He shot a doe! He shot a DOE! I'm not going to eat the liver!!!!" My cousin on the other hand, had his hands spread really wide and was screaming, "Its THIS BIG! It's THIS BIG!" As the dust settled, we tried figure out exactly what had happened.
My uncle had previously told my cousin that the way you tell which buck in a group is the biggest is by looking at which buck's horns go out the widest from his rump. My cousin and brother had had a group of deer walk out below them in the basin. There were a number of bucks in the group. My cousin said that there were two really big bucks. The one he shot and another that was, "a really tall buck with 7-8 points on each side, not quite as wide as the buck I shot". My little brother (who was hunting with open sights) had been focused the buck that, to him, appeared to easily be the biggest buck. When the deer next to it dropped, he got confused and thought it was one of the does in the group tumbling down the mountain. He immediately envisioned himself having to eat the liver raw for participating in the harvest of a mule deer doe so far from the roads. The intensity of the situation got to him and he burst into tears. Because of the confusion they both just came back to camp to get help without even going down to examine the deer.
Back at camp we tried to get everything sorted out and then all trucked out to find out who was right. Was it a huge buck, or a doe? As it turns out, my cousin had shot a really heavy 30 1/2 inch wide, very old, slick 4X4 with a white face and a roman nose. Its teeth were almost gone. It was a really nice buck, especially for Montana standards. I was then left to task of being pack mule (again), and spending the next 32+ years pondering why I left my gun on the hillside the night before, and regretting the fact that I didn't go get it that night. For years I have wondered exactly how big the buck next to my cousin's was. I have put myself there and shot it a thousand times in my mind. And in my mind, he was definitely HUGE! Unfortunately, there is no going back. I will never know how big he really was.
I will say, though, that I have never left my gun on the hillside again!
Feel free to share a hunting regret if you have one.
Have a great weekend!
-Soup