What's the funniest hunting related story you've either been involved in, or heard of?
Back in the late 70s and through the 80s, I guided deer hunters in the mountains of Western Maine. On one of the hunts, I had a client from Brooklyn, N.Y. The night before his hunt, we got about 6 - 8 inches of light, fluffy snow. The perfect kind for tracking. Dawn broke with a few flurries coming down, a light, but steady breeze, and about 30 degrees F. While driving in to the hunting area on one of the logging roads, I saw the track of a heavy buck crossing the track, and immediately parked the rig and we got on his trail. The buck was only about a half hour ahead of us, and moving in a generally straight line through the hardwoods. After a short time on the track, I saw where the deer had relieved himself and he left behind a fair amount of shiney, moist brown droppings. My client immediately asked, "are they fresh?". Well, I always carried a jacket pocket full of chocolate covered raisins for snacking on the trail. As I stooped down, I palmed a handfull of them, and pushed my closed hand down into the snow, and slowly brought it back up to chest level. I squeezed the mixture of the raisins and snow in my hand, slowly opened it up, took a sniff, and told him that they smelled fresh, but, there's really only one sure way to tell. At that point, I popped them into my mouth, took a quick chew or two, and immediately spit them out, and pronounced them as extremely fresh. My hunter immediately lost his breakfast, and kept telling me he thought I had to be crazy.
We ended up getting his buck about 1 1/2 hours later, a 237# 10 pointer, still in his bed.
Back at camp that evening, my hunter made it a point to tell all the other guides that he was sure I was crazy for eating deer droppings to see if they were fresh. Of course the guides knew what was going on, because they're the ones who got me on that trick the first year I hunted with them. They kept on telling him that there's no more sure fire way to determine the droppings freshness, other than watching the deer deposit them. All evening my hunter kept shaking his head, muttering "these guys are crazy. These guys are crazy". I only wish I could have seen the look on his friends faces, back in New York, when he told them the story.
Back in the late 70s and through the 80s, I guided deer hunters in the mountains of Western Maine. On one of the hunts, I had a client from Brooklyn, N.Y. The night before his hunt, we got about 6 - 8 inches of light, fluffy snow. The perfect kind for tracking. Dawn broke with a few flurries coming down, a light, but steady breeze, and about 30 degrees F. While driving in to the hunting area on one of the logging roads, I saw the track of a heavy buck crossing the track, and immediately parked the rig and we got on his trail. The buck was only about a half hour ahead of us, and moving in a generally straight line through the hardwoods. After a short time on the track, I saw where the deer had relieved himself and he left behind a fair amount of shiney, moist brown droppings. My client immediately asked, "are they fresh?". Well, I always carried a jacket pocket full of chocolate covered raisins for snacking on the trail. As I stooped down, I palmed a handfull of them, and pushed my closed hand down into the snow, and slowly brought it back up to chest level. I squeezed the mixture of the raisins and snow in my hand, slowly opened it up, took a sniff, and told him that they smelled fresh, but, there's really only one sure way to tell. At that point, I popped them into my mouth, took a quick chew or two, and immediately spit them out, and pronounced them as extremely fresh. My hunter immediately lost his breakfast, and kept telling me he thought I had to be crazy.
We ended up getting his buck about 1 1/2 hours later, a 237# 10 pointer, still in his bed.
Back at camp that evening, my hunter made it a point to tell all the other guides that he was sure I was crazy for eating deer droppings to see if they were fresh. Of course the guides knew what was going on, because they're the ones who got me on that trick the first year I hunted with them. They kept on telling him that there's no more sure fire way to determine the droppings freshness, other than watching the deer deposit them. All evening my hunter kept shaking his head, muttering "these guys are crazy. These guys are crazy". I only wish I could have seen the look on his friends faces, back in New York, when he told them the story.