arizonaguide
Member
Here's a hunting story I have "mixed pride" about:
I grew up in Alaska.
My cousin (16yrs) was visiting from California (city boy) and my Dad and I (12yrs old) did a fly out hunting trip for Caribou along the Talketna River, Alaska.
After we landed along a river sandbar, and offloaded our stuff, we made camp.
Then with plenty of light left, my Dad said he was gonna go hunt along the valley's ridgeline, and that I should take my cousin along the River and see what we found.
We walked for about 40minutes, when about 250+yds away I see a Big BULL caribou.
It was my first real hunt for Bigger game (that August was my 12th birthday, present Ruger M-77 in .243), and the "buck feaver" set in quickly...combined with the fact the "great Alaska (12yr old) Hunter" was set on impressing my older "cool surfer dude" cousin.
With trembling hands I centered the .243 crosshairs on the Caribou's chest, and fired.
And watched in the scope as the caribou pulled his front leg (where I hit him) up to his chest in pain.
Suddenly Buck Fever turned to horror when I realized I had only wounded him.
With tears in my eyes, I aimed a little higher, and shot again.
This time he dropped.
The shame of not making a clean kill became even worse.
As we hiked around the brush to where the Caribou was shot...we came to realize that what we couldn't see at first was he was out on a sandbar, with raging rapids between us and him.
Not only did I NOT make a clean kill, (causing the animal to suffer)...but NOW we realize that we can't even get to him. I returned to camp upset as hell, and even with my Dad telling me "not to worry that the Bears would use him"...it was no consolation.
At the time, I didn't believe him.
Lesson I learned: Situational Awareness...and make the RIGHT shot the first time, for the animal's sake.
So, I didn't sleep well that night...and that turned out to be a blessing.
Because about 10pm(?) I hear the rattling of pots outside the tent. The pots were 50yds down along the river, (as you NEVER keep food in the tent).
I (being awake) slide to the tentflap with the my .243, to see(in the dusky light) a HUGE brown bear messing around with our cook pots (face in a pot). I wake my Dad, and he says "go back to sleep...it's probably a porcupine".
I said, "No Dad...I'm looking at him...but you better wake up with that .300 weatherby..cuz this .243 aint gonna do the job!"..so ticked off he wakes up and moves beside me and looks out the tent flap. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he looked at the Bear, then looked at me with approval.
So, we make a plan.
I will fire a warning shot over the Bear's head with the .243. Dad will hold on him with the .300...and if he charges he'll at least get the first shot of .300 Weatherby. (try to break him down...shot to shoulder/hip...50yds is CLOSE!!!)
So, I fire a warning shot.
Instead of spooking, the bear stands up on his back legs, and sniffs and "woooofs"!
(at this point my cousin wakes up with a scream from the noise of the shot)
Dad still doesn't fire, and says "fire another one"....which I do.
Finally, at this shot the Bear decides to go ahead and leave.
My cousin is freaked, and barely gets to the tent flap...just in time to see the Big-ass Bear blaze across the rapids like they were NOTHING.
My Dad said "good job, Son" and we went back to sleep.
(I knew the bear would eat well when he found the Caribou).
And, I finally felt better about life...and slept like a baby the rest of the night.
I grew up in Alaska.
My cousin (16yrs) was visiting from California (city boy) and my Dad and I (12yrs old) did a fly out hunting trip for Caribou along the Talketna River, Alaska.
After we landed along a river sandbar, and offloaded our stuff, we made camp.
Then with plenty of light left, my Dad said he was gonna go hunt along the valley's ridgeline, and that I should take my cousin along the River and see what we found.
We walked for about 40minutes, when about 250+yds away I see a Big BULL caribou.
It was my first real hunt for Bigger game (that August was my 12th birthday, present Ruger M-77 in .243), and the "buck feaver" set in quickly...combined with the fact the "great Alaska (12yr old) Hunter" was set on impressing my older "cool surfer dude" cousin.
With trembling hands I centered the .243 crosshairs on the Caribou's chest, and fired.
And watched in the scope as the caribou pulled his front leg (where I hit him) up to his chest in pain.
Suddenly Buck Fever turned to horror when I realized I had only wounded him.
With tears in my eyes, I aimed a little higher, and shot again.
This time he dropped.
The shame of not making a clean kill became even worse.
As we hiked around the brush to where the Caribou was shot...we came to realize that what we couldn't see at first was he was out on a sandbar, with raging rapids between us and him.
Not only did I NOT make a clean kill, (causing the animal to suffer)...but NOW we realize that we can't even get to him. I returned to camp upset as hell, and even with my Dad telling me "not to worry that the Bears would use him"...it was no consolation.
At the time, I didn't believe him.
Lesson I learned: Situational Awareness...and make the RIGHT shot the first time, for the animal's sake.
So, I didn't sleep well that night...and that turned out to be a blessing.
Because about 10pm(?) I hear the rattling of pots outside the tent. The pots were 50yds down along the river, (as you NEVER keep food in the tent).
I (being awake) slide to the tentflap with the my .243, to see(in the dusky light) a HUGE brown bear messing around with our cook pots (face in a pot). I wake my Dad, and he says "go back to sleep...it's probably a porcupine".
I said, "No Dad...I'm looking at him...but you better wake up with that .300 weatherby..cuz this .243 aint gonna do the job!"..so ticked off he wakes up and moves beside me and looks out the tent flap. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he looked at the Bear, then looked at me with approval.
So, we make a plan.
I will fire a warning shot over the Bear's head with the .243. Dad will hold on him with the .300...and if he charges he'll at least get the first shot of .300 Weatherby. (try to break him down...shot to shoulder/hip...50yds is CLOSE!!!)
So, I fire a warning shot.
Instead of spooking, the bear stands up on his back legs, and sniffs and "woooofs"!
(at this point my cousin wakes up with a scream from the noise of the shot)
Dad still doesn't fire, and says "fire another one"....which I do.
Finally, at this shot the Bear decides to go ahead and leave.
My cousin is freaked, and barely gets to the tent flap...just in time to see the Big-ass Bear blaze across the rapids like they were NOTHING.
My Dad said "good job, Son" and we went back to sleep.
(I knew the bear would eat well when he found the Caribou).
And, I finally felt better about life...and slept like a baby the rest of the night.
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