That photo is still an awesome trophy.
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Was sitting in a spot once watching a few fallow for a while before deciding which one to shoot finaly decided to take a shot raised rifle and just as i shouldered it the fukn scope fell off and didnt have any tools to put it back on so just sat and watched the deer
Took a guy out last week who had never shot a deer,but had a nice rifle and scope on top.Done about 3 trips hunting in the last 4 yrs.So to give him the best chance,i left my t3 at home.We walked about 2 ks up a river bed edge of matagari and gorse.I said we might see or hear a stag or 2.Well just on dark a stag roared,well buggar me a stag and 4 hinds appeared about 150 mtra away,i said to Silvio,watch this.I put my hands together and let out a good mean roar.The stag turned and started trotting towards us.Silvio,panics fk he s charging us,I said well fkn shoot him.20 mtrs away the stag stops and steers at us standing on egde of matagari. I said to Silvio,shoot him,Silvio says oh I got to get rifle ready,wtf are you doing I said,oh bolts in the pack with the mag.A 10 pointer gives a grunt and turns away running towards his girls.I was didn't know wether to laugh or cry.But there was lessons learnt on the way back to the truck.
Good luck next time Silvio.
Up the Waimana in early '90s, coming back over to the car parked at the (rangers?) hut on the road after a couple of nights over the hill. About 50yds short of the road a hind ran across the track chased by a foxy sized dog, so surprised all I could do was fumble with the bolt trying to get one up the spout as she ran back toward me and into the muzzle, nearly knocking rifle out of my hands. All the 2 lads behind me could do was piss themselves laughing.
On his four previus trips I found out he walks all day with one up the spout with the safety on.I said didn't you take any notice of yr fal rules.After I finished with him,i think he was to scared to put the bolt and mag in his rifle.
Hunting a loop in the Orongorongo water catchment ballot, decided with it being fairly thick bush it was best to have one up the spout on half cock. See nothing all day except some sign, sit down to have a drink and a snack. Never reloaded the gun after taking off again as i figured i wouldn't see anything so close to where we came in. About 25m down from where we sat down was a huge stag on the track presenting a perfect side shot.....would've easily nailed it had the gun been on half cock but he was a wise old bastard and wasn't hanging around for me to cycle the bolt. Was 16 at the time and I'm still gutted i didn't bag that stag.
Had a mate do exactly that to me - twice. The first trip was into Fiordland where we managed to spot 3 hinds on a slip. I said to him, "I'll take the one on the left, you take the one on the right. On the count of three... ready? One... two..." CLICK! WTF??? He recycled the bolt. "One, two...." CLICK!! After another failed attempt we spent a few minutes working out the problem, applied a solution and eventually shot two of the three hinds on the slip. It was my mates first deer.
The second time it happened we were hunting Fallow. We spotted two bucks upwind about 500m away and stalked in to around 100m then lay in wait as they fed towards us. Same scenario... "you're on my left so take the deer on the left, I'll take the one on the right. Ready...? One, two..." CLICK!! WTF??? Again???? Did you not learn from the last time??? The bolt was fixed much faster this time around which was just as well because the deer were now just 50m away. We did the countdown - his timing was always half a second out... impatience. My stag dropped on the spot but his one bolted into some hideous scrub. A follow up shot put him down but we determined later the first shot had hit him, placement wasn't the best obviously. I'd gutted my buck and was ready to go but half an hour later my mate was still trying to locate his animal in the scrubby shit. I went back to where we shot from and directed him through the scrub but he soon lost his sense of humour as I entertained myself by getting him to walk back and forth through bush lawyer, matagouri, rosehip and broom. It took him about 15 mins to work out I was taking the piss. Served him right for being so stupid for getting it wrong twice. He did manage to locate the buck eventually and we filled our freezers.
Stalked up to a mob of bull tahr, literally got within 5-10 metres crawling in the tussock. Went to line up a shot on a good bull, clean missed at 10 metres. I was nervous as and didn't realise how close I got. Climbed for hours to get to the tops. Gotta laugh.
Years ago possum shooting and a mate whoed never shot a possum wanted a go. So possums up high almost underneith we were and mate lines up pulled trigger and bolt comes out hits him in the eye.
He'd not closed it thinking rifle was ready. I think it was an old Toz.
Talk about laugh.
I've never managed to forget rifle, bolt or ammo but I did once go bunny shooting without the mag for my 22. Spent a couple of hours very awkwardly single feeding each round (which fell through the empty mag-well if you fumbled them) and needless to say getting a lot less rabbits than my mates.
Got half an hour out of Dunedin on a trip to Haast once when one of the guys pipes up from the back seat "uhh... I think I forgot my boots" :wtfsmilie:
I know that during a south westland tahr hunt a forum member brought frozen meat with him, a couple of days in it wasnt thawing so he put it in a bucket of water from the stream, when he got back from hunt he had a big ice block with his meat frozen in the middle.of it and then had to sit there trying to chip it free
Was hunting off Clements once and saw a spiker resting about 20 metres away. He must have heard me because he got up and walked slowly towards me but went behind a huge tree trunk. I dropped to one knee, leaned against a small tree and when he emerged from behind tree I went for a neck shot from about 6 metres. It turned and ran away. All I found was a tiny bit of hair on the ground. Think I aimed at centre of neck but bullet was lower than line of sight.
I have had lots of balls ups...neck shot deer that drop on the spot but get up and walk off while you chase down his mates for a shot(recovered but still a balls up).......counting chickens before they hatch small bush clearing two yearlings feeding.....80 ish yards peice of piss I thought .I will shoot the first in the atlas joint and carry it whole downhill to pickup and shoot the second in the shoulder as it bolts and take the hind quarters and back steaks off that......first one lifted its head just as the trigger broke and I got nothing.
Listening to mates with no sense of direction and spending a night out unprepared needlessly.
Also coincided with the lighter I had been lighting my smokes with all day running out.got a fire eventually but it wasn't good.
Learnt from that one....two forms of fire lighting minimum and don't listen to mates.
"Missing" a deer almost as soon as I entered the area only to almost trip over it on the way out....there was two but I only saw the one I shot and then the one that ran.
ALWAYS FOLLOW UP THE SHOT!
More than a couple of times hunting with a partner they have called a miss and I have insisted we go follow it up and found a dead deer....more times than found nothing.
After a forum long range shoot missed 3 or four easy shots on close animals and had wound down the elevation but not the 10 or more moa of windadge I had on 308!
There is no doubt many more but there is all the successes too.
As long as you are learning from the cockups and not repeating them you are on a win.
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Crawled out of my Hammock at 2am last weekend to go take a suddenly very urgent nocturnal poo.
Went wandering off into the broken Wilding pine regrowth on flat country in nothing but long johns and a headlamp that only works when you hold the wiring just the right angle, in search of a rock or log under which to deposit an offering.
After venturing further and further from camp, the right stump presented itself and the job was done.
Then, oddly, the very steady and reliable northwester seemed to be coming from the wrong direction. Hmmm. Now all the trees looked the same, and the local featureless topography offered nothing in terms of reference or familiarity. Panic set in. The gusts grew colder and the headlamp wiring seemed to become even more finicky.
I stood next to the turd log and pondered my next move.
The broken storm cloud permitted little in the way of light to pass, and though there were glittering windows of night sky showing, the friendly face of the moon was nowhere to be found.
I contemplated shouting at the top of my lungs, for salvation by those at camp who were soundly sleeping through my ordeal, but the shame of being rescued from a toileting exercise was too great to bear.
I silently thought about my unusual plight, and the legitimate danger I might encounter by blundering wildly off in search of camp, estimating that I was already at least a few hundred metres from the fading warmth of my sleeping bag.
I was about to start a toilet paper breadcrumb trail expedition from the turd log, when, to what felt like the North, in a larger gap in the churning cloud, shone the Southern Cross, incontrovertible evidence of my folly.
The Northwester blew once again from the Northwest, and the headlamp decided it would function properly for a little while, and forty minutes after naively waddling out into the darkness, I very stealthily slipped into my Hammock and lay awake, hoping nobody had heard my departure and arrival and was subsequently aware of the eternity between.
This was the story of how I once (last weekend) got lost taking a shit and found my way home by Celestial Navigation.
I went 1 better than @Dan
Camped high in South Westland at altitude with a mate chamois hunting.
Wet and foggy evening.
Pulled on boots to go out for a poss.
Didn't do up the laces and stood on the laces and tripped face forward.
Full gave plant into rocks
Didn't even have time to put my hands out
My mate heard a noise and came out to find me a bit confused and lost.
Must have had the piss some time maybe before I tripped
Should be "full face plant "
Ok so poo story it is. I was woken at some unearthly hour by my hunting buddy @Puffin roaring at Harold (the local stag that had eluded him for many years). I jumped up thinking it was time to go, ate my breakfast in a rush only to find out it was midnight. Back to bed woken again, time to go this time back soon for breakfast. By this stage I have no idea what the plan is and we head off towards the roaring Harold. Now I’m a man of routine and by this time I’ve done my morning ablutions. We are right in close to Harold, he’s roaring and I’m “moleing” Puffin I just gots to go, so I duck off, job done Harold’s gone quite, Puffins not happy and Harold was never heard from again.
I've got two.
The funny: first centerfire rifle was a 243 Remington woodsmaster. Went for a quick hunt just behind the small town I grew up in. Not far but once I hit the bush I went to fit the mag and realised I had left it at home. Had the ammo in my shooting pouch but just could not be arsed going home for it. It was a bit wet and If I'd gone home I wouldn't come back so single shot it was. Didn't see anything either.
The bad: On a trip to Stewart island back in the mid 90's and had my favourite rossi 92 357 carbine. Ideal and confident if something popped up it would be in trouble.
Got dropped of on the beach by the dinghy and proceeded to load it as once you were in the bush they could be there.
Cranked one up the spout and whilst pointing it at the ground went to let the hammer onto the half notch. I fecked this up badly as I must've had my finger on the trigger as well as letting the hammer fall as it went off. One shot into the ground. Not happy.
The worst thing was follow onto the next day I bloody did it again! I was that angry with myself I nearly threw the rifle into the sea.
Don't understand how I did it as I'd done it countless times before and cant get my head around how I did it not once but twice in two days.
Had a good friend of mine come down and stay one weekend , she ended up bringing he partner down who is a heli pilot and a very experienced hunter.
He wanted to shoot some of the " huge wallaby " that are in canterbury
Ended up coming across a mob of Fallow including quite a nice buck
Bailed out of the truck and took a nice rest on a tussock
Chambered a round , fired and scoped my self and missed
Chambered another , fired and scoped my self again and missed
Chambered another round , gave up couldnt see for the massive amounts of blood pissing out of my forehead
Turned around looked at him and received the biggest look of disappointment ive ever seen
Bagged a few Wallaby and a Fallow later that day
Still receive a large amount of shit to this day
Have a nice scar as a reminder for him to fire shit at me
While living in CHCH many moons ago, I took up trip to the Ureweras with the old man. We both wore the good old lace up bullers back then. After a good successful trip, I headed home. Next trip was a weekend up around Lake Sumner. Got to the carpark Friday night and went to put on the footwear to find I had two left boots. Somehow I managed to wear them all weekend. The old man still cracks up and reckons I must have just walked around in circles all weekend :)
Two years ago I had 3 German hunters with me on a fly in tahr trip.
Four fine days and two of the three had shot a decent bull tahr and chamois buck.
Nick the third guy had shot and lost a bull tahr because he took a typical european meat shot and the bull jumped off a cliff !!
Anyway last night there I arranged to take Nick out really early and try and get a bull we had seen before the helicopter arrived around 11am the next morning.
The plan was he and I would get up early and pack most of our gear so that if we were running short getting back to the pick up location we would be mostly sorted.
Nick ( and the other 2 ) didn't have an alarm and they had gotten used to hearing me wake early and have breakfast and coffee and we would go hunting.
Nick was in a tent on his own.
So last throw of the dice and its really hard to get Nick awake and going that morning.
Turns out he had heard me get up at 2am for a piss and thought it was time to get up and go hunting.
So he had packed up all his gear and his tent and was all ready to go when he realized it was only 2:30am.
Well seems he was up he thought he would walk up to the saddle and wait for me where we would be going through after the bull tahr when it was time.
He sat there for a couple of hours at about minus 10 degrees very cold and miserable frozen to the stones he was sitting on.
Nick gave up and came back down to camp, pitched his tent and had just been trying to get back to sleep for half an hour when I rolled him back out of bed and back up the hill.
He never did get a bull tahr on that trip.
But he was a great guy to have on the hill and always a fun around camp.
Hopefully he will be back in the next few years and he will get first crack at a bull .... and no bloody meat shots !!
This one is from the "varmint hunting" side . . . it's probably my most consequential missed shot.
It happened MANY years ago when I was courting the girl who eventually became my wife. One cold snowy winter afternoon she, I, and her mother were sitting in their living room when her little sister came running into the house yelling "Skunk! Skunk by the chicken house!". Since skunks are chicken killers, this one had to be disposed of. So, I inventoried the firearms available:
A .22 semiautomatic with a bent barrel (scratch this one)
An old 12-gauge double barreled shotgun with 2 triggers
A .22/.410 over/under single shot (the best choice)
Although there were a number of 12-gauge shells, there was only one .22 round. I loaded the .22/.410 and went outside. The skunk was just crossing the yard when I took careful aim, fired, and missed. Well, it's up to the shotgun now.
As I was loading the shotgun, I was informed that one of the barrels didn't work (no idea which one). So I loaded both barrels and resolved to pull both triggers.
Meanwhile Mr. Skunk had crawled under an iron-wheeled farm wagon. We tried to move him out with fireworks, but the strong wind kept us from getting them lit. Finally I crawled under the wagon, pushing the shotgun ahead of me. Mr. Skunk and I fired simultaneously.
There wasn't much PHYSICALLY left of him, but there was plenty of odor lingering on -- on me in particular. I finally came to the conclusion that it was necessary to resume breathing.
My faithful girl stayed by my side on the way back to the house (notably, on the upwind side). As we neared the house, her mother stuck her head out the door and said that we had to go to the pond and break the ice so the cows could drink. Now, that ice was about a centimeter thick, and the cows could have easily broken it themselves, but she REALLY didn't want me in the house (I can't say I blamed her). So we broke the ice, and then I headed home (probaby stunk up the car, but by then my nose wasn't smelling much of anything). My mother was not amused.
Most of our "dates" ended up working with animals in some way . . .
Zeko
Misaventures happen to everybody....... But some people wont admit it because of thier ego's at stake.
Almost a hunting story.. went out for a scallop dive once...woke up early, gear in the car... gear out of car on boat... put across sound in slow boat .... anchor down... prepare tank BCD reg....gear up... @#$%^&*!!!!!! left my fins at home.
But into the water any way, paddled around the boat and sunk down on the anchor line and got a feed moving around using the anchor.
Was damn hard work ....
Bush hunting the roar with mate. Long walk in staying a few nights.
We take all meat so shoot one animal each, each year.
Mate shoots cracking stag just under 300 DS, deer roaring well. Competition ensues.
Last day, hunting a roaring stag for an hour through the bush, see him but can’t get the shot, he’s walking his beat always moving.
Come over a ridge and see the back three quarters of him sticking out behind a tree, everything but the head, now or never.
Blam!
The big old hind drops, hit right where I was aiming.
Decent stag crashes off from 50 meters further away.
My problem is deciding which hunting disaster to talk about. The one still doing the rounds in the family is the wallow story. I was hunting the ridge above Bealey Spur up towards Jordan saddle (by myself). Got close to turn back time and saw a hind beside a wallow about 500m downhill. Went home and told the father in law and we both came back a week or so later. Was surprised and elated to find the hind in the same spot. FIL was having trouble spotting the hind so I loudly acknowledged his eyes were failing with age. Understandable and I was really very gracious about it. We decided to get closer by sliding downhill to lose some height. About halfway down on the face opposite us my FIL spots 2 chamois (neither of us having shot one before). I insisted we let them quietly pass as we were after venison. Got a bit closer and the hind that had been patiently stationary with just some head movement had transformed into a shrub beside a small wallow...the wallow was mortally shot by me in my self-loathing. My FIL enjoyed the following hours by telling me what an idiot I was...and still does to this day, 20 years later.
That’s a cracker yarn
I rested my 22 on a live hotwire to take a 80m shot.
Nicely lined up and...
"That looks just about NNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHFUCKKKKKKKKK"
People have long forgotten about the wallet thing. I feel it pales in comparison to you smuggly boasting to your father in law about his inability to spot a hind, which is plain as day standing exactly where you left it a week earlier, haha. I look forward to bringing it up in his presence