Sweet:

Bet they look at each other with anticipation when someone asks "So how did you two meet."

Love at first sight.

44marty wrote:

Love at first sight.

Buh-dumdum!

Good one....that shouldda been onena Vince's zingers....

stovepipe wrote:

44marty wrote: Love at first sight. Buh-dumdum! Good one....that shouldda been onena Vince's zingers....

Certainly reminiscent of something that would have happened to me. Great story OV1.

Cheers, Vince

that is a great story Im sure the picture takes pride of place.

The girl in the tree reminded me of a bow-hunting incident. I was in a tree stand one afternoon when I saw a squirrel hunter making his way through the woods. Figuring that my voice would spook deer faster than just his walking through, I sat and watched him come closer. As he got to the base of my tree he leaned his rifle against a bush and got ready to use my tree as a urinal. Deciding that enough was enough, I said "Don't do that." He must have jumped three feet into the air and looked all around for the source of the voice. I was too busy trying not to fall out of the tree laughing when he finally saw me. Once he had realized the situation his response was "Damn, I thought that was the voice of God! Not sure I need to go as bad now!" We would see each other occasionally in a local coffee shop after that and would always laugh about his "visit from God".

The stories about the various latrines also reminds me the first deer trip my father, two of his brothers and I made to Michigan. We were camping on a little 40-acre patch of private ground surrounded by miles of state ground that had been owned by a friend of my dad's for years. There had once been a cabin on it but had been burned down by kids partying. Once we had set up camp I looked around for a place to dig a pit for our necessary functions and found an old cane-bottom chair in the remains of the cabin. A little knife work to cut out the bottom and we had a customized "throne" encased by a piece of canvas on three sides to break the wind. Of course you needed to be a mite careful sitting and getting back up since my handiwork did leave some pretty rough edges of caning sticking out in strategic places.

The old boy who owned the ground camped out with us and on the second night we were all sitting around the fire when we heard something of fair size crashing through the brush and growling. It would come close and growl then retreat for a ways before starting all over again. The landowner wouldn't admit to being deaf as a post, so made a lot of comments about us "tenderfoots" hearing things. Dad, my uncles and I finally grabbed our handguns and flashlights and poked out into the brush to see what was going on. Whatever it was would stay just ahead of us and continued to growl until we went back to camp and it finally left.

The next day, while eating lunch, the landowner pointed at the .44 on my hip and asked if I could really hit anything with it. When I said that I could, he set a bean can down the dirt trail and told me to show him. After I had rolled the can a couple of times, my uncles decided to get in on it. The older of my uncles was a bit of a collector, so he had loaned the younger one a Herter's .357 that he had just acquired but hadn't yet fired. When it was the younger uncle's turn to try for the can he squared away, took dead aim and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Looking at us in disbelief, he tried again. Still nothing but a click. Slowly a look of horror crossed his face as it dawned on him that he had been playing tag the night before, in the dark, with something ballsy enough to growl and challenge us - with a gun that wouldn't fire. The look on his face was priceless and had us just about wetting ourselves with laughter.

That was the last time he ever used a firearm that he hadn't tested for himself.

Gas to the spot: $20

Food and site fee: $30

Look on buddies face after click-no-bang after chasing dangerous game in the dark the night before?: PRICELESS.

SSL wrote:

...Once we had set up camp I looked around for a place to dig a pit for our necessary functions and found an old cane-bottom chair in the remains of the cabin. A little knife work to cut out the bottom and we had a customized "throne" encased by a piece of canvas on three sides to break the wind. Of course you needed to be a mite careful sitting and getting back up since my handiwork did leave some pretty rough edges of caning sticking out in strategic places.

This brings to mind a joke that could very well have come into being right after you made your thunderbox seat mate...it goes like this...

Ma was in the kitchen fiddling around when she hollers out.... "Pa! You need to go out and fix the Crapatorium!"

Pa replies, "There ain't nuthin wrong with the crapper."

Ma yells back, "Yes there is, now git ya arse out there and fix it."

So......Pa wanders out to the Crapatorium, looks around and yells back, "Ma! There ain't nuthin wrong with the crapper!"

Ma replies, "Stick ya head in the hole!"

Pa yells back, "I ain't stickin my head in that hole!"

Ma says, "Ya have to stick yur head in the hole to see what to fix."

So with that, Pa sticks his head in the hole, looks around and yells back, "Ma! There ain't nuthin wrong with this crapper!"

Ma hollers back, "Now take your head out of the hole!"

Pa proceeds to pull his head out of the hole, then starts yelling, "Ma! Help! My beard is stuck in the cracks in the toilet seat!"

To which Ma replies, "Hurt's, don't it ?!"

Cheers, Vince

Yep...something pretty much like that!

Coffe thru the nose!

One morning was up answering natures call....got me this little folding stool, legs like a TV tray with a toilet seat that snaps on. Handy lil thing.

I'm tucked behind a bush reading Shotgun News and some kids ride by ona 3 wheeler, I waive, they kinda waive back and the back legs give out. I go feet over tea kettle backwards into this pucker-bush and get thorned up really nice all over my nether regions. Kids on the 3-wheeler saw this and fell off laughing. I had to get help outta this thing. Good thing there werent no rattlers in it. Took forever to live it down, lil longer to get all the stickers outta my shorts.

thats too funny. Ive sat up trees in Stewart Island watching for whitetail and observing loopy trampers can be fun. they barrel along the tracks so fast Im sure they dont see much. my buddy had 2 young ladies do the biz under his tree and I sat on a log about 10' above a tramping track to watch a good open area off to the side, a group of 10 trampers trotted right under me and not one of them noticed me sitting just above thier heads.

Elvis wrote:

observing loopy trampers can be fun. they barrel along the tracks so fast Im sure they dont see much. not one of them noticed me sitting just above thier heads.

I got one of my first deer this way, in Vermont. I was up a tree watching over a trail that several doe had left in the fresh snow. Along comes a "hunter" following the tracks at breakneck speed. He never looked anywhere but directly down at the tracks. As he was passing underneath me by my tree, a buck stepped out to watch him leaving, about 60 yards behind him. I'm sure the "hunter" was much more surprised at the sound of my rifle than the buck, as the deer was dead when he hit the ground (never heard the shot).

Always watch your back trail.

Ominivision1 wrote:

After talking to my brother-in-law last night on the phone I just remembered another story to add to this list. But I think it worked out because he and that gal in the tree have been married 22 years now and have 4 kids.

Just goes to show that a good advertising campaign will work every time

back in the early 60s, my BIL and I were hunting chucks on dirt roads of pa. in my black Studebaker Lark. spotted one about 150 yds down at the edge of a mowed hay field, BIL laid my 600 Rem (6 mm) up on the roof of the Studebaker (yes, illegal as hell) while I watched chuck with binocs. BANG, chuck never moved, then I heard, " HOLY FXXX!! I SHOT A HOLE IN THE ROOF!" big scope, short barrel pointed into edge of roof. little bit of bondo, a little sanding and some black spray paint, almost as good as new.

The posts on pheasant hunting brought to mind my first experience with the ring-neck. I was in my first year at the University of Windsor when my best friend infected me with the hunting bug. It started with ducks and geese in September and then the 2 day pheasant season opened in October. We spent the weekend before getting permission from farmers around where we intended to hunt having scouted the corn stubble fields and seen a decent number of birds. Hens were not allowed to be shot.

Opening day it rained so hard with driving wind we didn't even get out of the car. My friend had a mixed breed long haired dog who wasn't afraid of the guns and retrieved ducks okay so we had him along to see if he would flush birds. Next day was cloudy and cool so we loaded the dog into his car and headed out to the first field. Two steps into the stubble and we knew we had our work cut out for us as our boots quickly acquired a heavy coating of mud. Within 10 minutes the dog, whose lower half had an apron of mud, gave it up, went back to the car and laid down beside it. We went on and the first bird flushed..... a hen. This was repeated at least a dozen times. After walking a mile through muddy fields we made for the road and walked back to the car. We left our boots and the dog in the open trunk and went back to his place skunked.

The story is over. That winter we were walking a frozen river looking for rabbits in the brushy banks. We decided to cut across a wooded area to avoid a bare area ahead. Just as we went over the bank at least two dozen male pheasant burst out of the cover in front of us. We couldn't shoot as the season was closed but we figured we had found the perfect spot for next season. unfortunately that theory was shot when we found out that the area we stumbled upon was an MNR stocking release point. They had signs posting the woods everywhere but on the river.