# Tell Me A Story



## jlofthouse16 (Oct 18, 2021)

When I was a youngster Dad had two guns. A 30-30 long tom and a 22 single shot. Well I got my first bb gun at age 6. Only once did I shoot something I should not have. The whooping I got for that taught me well. When I was 12 Dad said I could take the 22 and go hunt at will. When I hit 16 I got a deer license. Came opening morning Dad and I both got on the ol horse and rode out on the hills hunting. Only had the one rifle. Well we saw a deer and dad said jump down, so I slid off the horse and he handed me the rifle. He quietly said: "Hold low it shoots a little high." So I pulled a fine bead on that critter and cut loose. Killed a deer the first time I had ever fired anything bigger than a 22 rimfire. 

Now that's my story and I am sticking to it! Lets hear yours.


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## taxidermist (Sep 11, 2007)

Once upon a time there were three little bears....... Well, you know how that story goes.


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## Bax* (Dec 14, 2008)

Some of you may know that I had an unusual upbringing in the 80s. My dad was a man born two centuries too late and fancied himself a mountain man and ran trap lines and was called upon by animal control regularly to catch nuisance animals that they couldn’t handle or were too busy to deal with.

This meant that I had many opportunities to tag along on his adventures with my coonskin hat looking like Scut Farkus.

One thing my dad prized more than anything was land access and regularly negotiated with land owners to remove nuisance animals in exchange for hunting access.

A local farmer who had a decent corn field for silage for his milk cows was particularly fond of my dad and gave him unlimited access to his property in exchange for year-round trapping of raccoons and skunks who loved to eat his corn.

As a result of this access, my dad would take me to this farmer’s property regularly and let me shoot my pump BB gun and had me shoot cans from various ranges. Finally he wanted me to start “hunting” muskrats with him along the canal banks.

Whenever we went out, we had our trusty yellow lab Annie with us. She was the best dog in the whole wide world and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise… but I digress. Annie was getting up there in years and although she loved to hunt, her body didn’t. Swimming was especially hard on her.

One of my most cherished memories is the first muskrat I shot. As soon as I hit him in the head with my .177 pellet, he started the death dive. And I yelled out to my wonderful dog Annie to go get that daggum muskrat. And even though she didn’t swim much anymore, she jumped in and grabbed that muskrat and dropped it at my feet.

It was the first time I’d had my dog retrieve an animal for ME and not my dad. It was the perfect hunting experience for me. And I believe that Annie knew what that muskrat meant to me, otherwise I don’t think she would’ve ever made the effort to retrieve it for me.

I guess what I’m trying to communicate is the magic of a boy and his dog. It’s something so pure that words can’t really articulate what we experience. And unless you were a boy with a hunting dog, you likely won’t understand the full importance of that memory. 

Of all the dogs that've come and gone in my life, Annie was the dog of dogs and I miss her every time I think of her.

Here is a pic of baby Bax* and Annie


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## caddis8 (Sep 10, 2007)

Bax* said:


> Here is a pic of baby Bax* and Annie


That's fantastic. A boy and his dog.


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## jlofthouse16 (Oct 18, 2021)

Bax, Thanks for sharing.


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## bthewilde (Feb 8, 2018)

My first deer was at 14 right before sunset, and mere steps from our Family's big green Excursion. My Dad was born and raised in Wanship, but Las Vegas had seduced him out after law school in 1990 with a promise to double his current salary. As a country boy living in the city, he regaled us with tales of hunting and fishing from his childhood. We'd go out camping and fishing when possible, but not hunting. I was the only one of his kids that expressed any interest in it. Dad's had 2 rifles, a Marlin .22 lr, and a Springfield .30-06 that my Grandfather gave him after making the stock himself, as a graduation gift from his undergrad. I begged my old man for YEARS to take me hunting, finally at 14 he signed me up for hunter safety and arranged to hunt on some land that belonged to his Childhood friend outside of Chalk Creek. I counted down the days! 
Day 1 & 2 went by w/o any bucks, but I remember day 3 still like it was yesterday. We'd wondered around unsuccessfully and hadn't seen any deer. The sun was setting and Dad told me it was time to call the hunt. As we got to the car, my 10 y/o little brother said "there are some horns Dad!" and I spun around and located a decent sized 4 point, chambered the Springfield, and let fly. Coincidentally, it was my first time shooting the rifle and in hindsight I am not sure what my Dad was thinking? But the deer dropped, and my Dad said "Holy s*** you got him." 
I learned a lot that night, watched my Dad set to work carving up the deer by lantern light with his Buck 110 my Grandpa gave him when he finished Law School. That knife had never seen any action, but was still sharp as a razor. I don't know to this day what my brother was thinking though, as he plunged a stick into the entrails and burst the stomach all over him. He subsequently threw up, and has never expressed interest in hunting again. We got the deer strapped onto the top of the Excursion by some small miracle, Dad always had weird "Farmer Strength" we called it, and drove off into the night. 
It is still one of my favorite hunts, and adventures with my Dad. We've had a lot of them! But the pictures from this trip are still under the glass on his desk to this day. I can't get him to come out with me now though, he says he's gone soft and prefers the beach these days.


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## 3arabians (Dec 9, 2014)

bthewilde said:


> My first deer was at 14 right before sunset, and mere steps from our Family's big green Excursion. My Dad was born and raised in Wanship, but Las Vegas had seduced him out after law school in 1990 with a promise to double his current salary. As a country boy living in the city, he regaled us with tales of hunting and fishing from his childhood. We'd go out camping and fishing when possible, but not hunting. I was the only one of his kids that expressed any interest in it. Dad's had 2 rifles, a Marlin .22 lr, and a Springfield .30-06 that my Grandfather gave him after making the stock himself, as a graduation gift from his undergrad. I begged my old man for YEARS to take me hunting, finally at 14 he signed me up for hunter safety and arranged to hunt on some land that belonged to his Childhood friend outside of Chalk Creek. I counted down the days!
> Day 1 & 2 went by w/o any bucks, but I remember day 3 still like it was yesterday. We'd wondered around unsuccessfully and hadn't seen any deer. The sun was setting and Dad told me it was time to call the hunt. As we got to the car, my 10 y/o little brother said "there are some horns Dad!" and I spun around and located a decent sized 4 point, chambered the Springfield, and let fly. Coincidentally, it was my first time shooting the rifle and in hindsight I am not sure what my Dad was thinking? But the deer dropped, and my Dad said "Holy s*** you got him."
> I learned a lot that night, watched my Dad set to work carving up the deer by lantern light with his Buck 110 my Grandpa gave him when he finished Law School. That knife had never seen any action, but was still sharp as a razor. I don't know to this day what my brother was thinking though, as he plunged a stick into the entrails and burst the stomach all over him. He subsequently threw up, and has never expressed interest in hunting again. We got the deer strapped onto the top of the Excursion by some small miracle, Dad always had weird "Farmer Strength" we called it, and drove off into the night.
> It is still one of my favorite hunts, and adventures with my Dad. We've had a lot of them! But the pictures from this trip are still under the glass on his desk to this day. I can't get him to come out with me now though, he says he's gone soft and prefers the beach these days.


Lol, good story. I’ve often wondered how many hunters were turned away by a green gumbo experience. Ive had my share of encounters with it and while always horrible it’s never crossed my mind that it’s not worth it. My little brother on the hand had an experience that bent him over a rock once and we can barely get him to apply anymore.


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

3arabians said:


> Lol, good story. I’ve often wondered how many hunters were turned away by a green gumbo experience. Ive had my share of encounters with it and while always horrible it’s never crossed my mind that it’s not worth it. My little brother on the hand had an experience that bent him over a rock once and we can barely get him to apply anymore.


An oldie, but a goodie:


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

I worked two places in the Arctic Ocean, one on the BP desalination plant and then the only offshore oil platform in the Arctic (at that time), North Star. Made two jobs in January. It was friggin cold let me tell ya.








January 27, 2008 This is as bright as the day will get that time of year.









Huge process building made in Korea and then towed across the Pacific Ocean to the North Slope.









Bear-proof doors to get in and out of the plant. Lots of polar bears and some brown bears.


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## wyogoob (Sep 7, 2007)

The Arctic Ocean went biserk and pushed a huge wall of ice, 40 ft tall, up against the offshore platform. I worked on the damage assessment.









Standing on the 36 ft level.









I commuted to work everyday across the frozen Arctic Ocean in an airboat . At -60° F you better be dressed warm.









Those were the days.


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## Critter (Mar 20, 2010)

wyogoob said:


> The Arctic Ocean went biserk and pushed a huge wall of ice, 40 ft tall, up against the offshore platform. I worked on the damage assessment.
> 
> View attachment 151878
> 
> ...


Sounds alot like Rock Springs Wyoming 

Sent from my SM-A426U using Tapatalk


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## jlofthouse16 (Oct 18, 2021)

Thanks to all for sharing.


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