Tell a hunting or fishing story

[dang]

I told this one last season when it happened but I’ll tell it again here. This past December, 2022, a buddy invited me to join him on a managed hunt on Cumberland Island. It was easily one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stepped foot on to hunt, and more importantly, it was very new habitat to me. The costal swamps and marshes choked out with palmettos and covered up in an ancient live oak canopy are a far cry from the mountains and hills that I call home. We camped for three and a half days and covered some serious miles. I had an absolute blast.

Our walk in to where we hunted in the mornings started around 4am each day, and took nearly an hour. We would strike off down one of the main access trails about 2 miles before cutting down a long narrow side trail that eventually necked down tight as it cut through a swamp, surrounded by water on both sides, before it came out on the other side at the dunes.

It was the second morning of the hunt, and the fifth time we had made this trek down the same trail. The weather was warm for December and there was a bit of misty fog in the air. We downed our coffee, loaded up our packs, and started hoofing it back to get settled in and wait for the sun. As the trail narrowed, my buddy took the lead and I fell in behind him. He was sporting a small backpacking headlamp with a very dim green light. I had a brighter lamp, but chose to dim mine back and switch to green as well. We dropped down into the section of trail that crossed through the final swamp and stopped for a minute to grab a drink and catch our breath. While we settled, my buddy turned to me and said ‘hey …is that a set of eyes up there?’ I flipped my light to the bright white setting and shined about 100 yards up the trail. The fog in the swamp and made it hard to see. I flipped back to red and said ‘i don’t know man, I think it may just be a spider on a log or somethin’. We drank a few more sips and continued onward, him in the lead, me behind, back in the zone, head down staring at the dim lit dirt three feet in front of our feet. 100 yards up the trail my buddy came unglued, jumping back into me and stumbling past me yelling “gator! Gator!”

Apparently that spider on a log turned out to be one single eye on the head of an 11 foot alligator laying halfway across the trail and completely blocking our path. My buddy stepped about a foot in front of its head before realizing what it was, like one would do with a log he’s about to step over. We collected ourselves at what felt like a safe distance and debated what to do next. Turning around was not an option. After a quick brainstorming session, we decided hitting the gator in the head with logs until it moved was the best course of action.

The whole ordeal took about thirty minutes and the routine went something like this; My buddy, with the dim headlamp would point his muzzleloader at the gator from about 25 yards. I would retrieve a live oak log, sneak up to 15 yards and huck it at the gators head! Bonk! It would clock the gator, and I would turn and run back to a “safe distance”. Every time I clocked him good he would rear up, hiss, and make this big bellowing growl. Sometimes he would take a step, sometimes he would turn and face us, opening his mouth real wide. Eventually I clocked him hard with a good shot and he slithered off into the swampy water just off the trail. As soon as he cleared, my buddy and I took off sprinting and never slowed down until we hit the dunes!

That evening we called the hunt around grey light to get back through that swamp before black dark. We were on edge, but still managed to chuckle when we hit the part of the trail with 20 live oak limbs scattered around it. My favorite part of the whole experience was sitting around the fire later that night at camp recounting the adventure from that day. My buddy waited till then to tell me that every time I slung a log at the gator, when I turned to run, my bright white headlamp would completely blind him leaving him sightless with a muzzleloader pointed in the direction of the sounds that gator was making. I also found out after the fact from some of the old timers on the island that gators ain’t slow. Definitely one I won’t forget.

 

[dang]

I’ve got one more - a shorter story from around 2017. It was April and my buddy and I made plans to turkey hunt a local WMA in the morning. He rolled into my place around 3am. We drank some coffee standing in the driveway and loaded up into my truck to hit the road. The driveway at my old house was lined with crepe murtles (sp?). To get out I always backed between tree 2 and tree 3. I crank the truck, throw it in reverse, back it on up ….and BANG! smashed right into the door of his Silverado. Evidently he parked in between those two trees. We got out, took a look at it…..it wasn’t good.

I looked at him, he looked at me, paused for a minute…..and he says “ain’t doin nothin bout this now, let’s go kill a turkey”
And off we went…

 

[sprewett]

I told this one last season when it happened but I’ll tell it again here. This past December, 2022, a buddy invited me to join him on a managed hunt on Cumberland Island. It was easily one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stepped foot on to hunt, and more importantly, it was very new habitat to me. The costal swamps and marshes choked out with palmettos and covered up in an ancient live oak canopy are a far cry from the mountains and hills that I call home. We camped for three and a half days and covered some serious miles. I had an absolute blast.

Our walk in to where we hunted in the mornings started around 4am each day, and took nearly an hour. We would strike off down one of the main access trails about 2 miles before cutting down a long narrow side trail that eventually necked down tight as it cut through a swamp, surrounded by water on both sides, before it came out on the other side at the dunes.

It was the second morning of the hunt, and the fifth time we had made this trek down the same trail. The weather was warm for December and there was a bit of misty fog in the air. We downed our coffee, loaded up our packs, and started hoofing it back to get settled in and wait for the sun. As the trail narrowed, my buddy took the lead and I fell in behind him. He was sporting a small backpacking headlamp with a very dim green light. I had a brighter lamp, but chose to dim mine back and switch to green as well. We dropped down into the section of trail that crossed through the final swamp and stopped for a minute to grab a drink and catch our breath. While we settled, my buddy turned to me and said ‘hey …is that a set of eyes up there?’ I flipped my light to the bright white setting and shined about 100 yards up the trail. The fog in the swamp and made it hard to see. I flipped back to red and said ‘i don’t know man, I think it may just be a spider on a log or somethin’. We drank a few more sips and continued onward, him in the lead, me behind, back in the zone, head down staring at the dim lit dirt three feet in front of our feet. 100 yards up the trail my buddy came unglued, jumping back into me and stumbling past me yelling “gator! Gator!”

Apparently that spider on a log turned out to be one single eye on the head of an 11 foot alligator laying halfway across the trail and completely blocking our path. My buddy stepped about a foot in front of its head before realizing what it was, like one would do with a log he’s about to step over. We collected ourselves at what felt like a safe distance and debated what to do next. Turning around was not an option. After a quick brainstorming session, we decided hitting the gator in the head with logs until it moved was the best course of action.

The whole ordeal took about thirty minutes and the routine went something like this; My buddy, with the dim headlamp would point his muzzleloader at the gator from about 25 yards. I would retrieve a live oak log, sneak up to 15 yards and huck it at the gators head! Bonk! It would clock the gator, and I would turn and run back to a “safe distance”. Every time I clocked him good he would rear up, hiss, and make this big bellowing growl. Sometimes he would take a step, sometimes he would turn and face us, opening his mouth real wide. Eventually I clocked him hard with a good shot and he slithered off into the swampy water just off the trail. As soon as he cleared, my buddy and I took off sprinting and never slowed down until we hit the dunes!

That evening we called the hunt around grey light to get back through that swamp before black dark. We were on edge, but still managed to chuckle when we hit the part of the trail with 20 live oak limbs scattered around it. My favorite part of the whole experience was sitting around the fire later that night at camp recounting the adventure from that day. My buddy waited till then to tell me that every time I slung a log at the gator, when I turned to run, my bright white headlamp would completely blind him leaving him sightless with a muzzleloader pointed in the direction of the sounds that gator was making. I also found out after the fact from some of the old timers on the island that gators ain’t slow. Definitely one I won’t forget.
View attachment 1228284

Great story!!!
I love them barrier islands, have hunted on Sapelo 4 years and it Nevers grows old. Makes me think hunting in Jurassic Park.

 

[dang]

Great story!!!
I love them barrier islands, have hunted on Sapelo 4 years and it Nevers grows old. Makes me think hunting in Jurassic Park.

Yeah it does. I’ve committed to my buddy to continue going back every year.

 

[Lukikus2]

Shot a four point one morning with a 30-30 that shot a foot high (I found out later). Hit him below the spine and above the vitals. Had no more shells and forgot my knife at the jeep. Saw him lay down in a blowdown and gave him a few hours. Went down to check him because I never saw any movement. He jumps up and comes running straight at me grunting. I screamed at him holding the rifle like a club to whack him with. He takes off down the mountain with me on his tail all the while turning around and trying to charge me at times. He runs down a trail that goes below me and I find a bowling ball size rock and hit him in the head. Knocked out but not dead, me with no knife. I did have my belt on. True story.

 

[wvdawg]

Back in my younger days I loved to fish for "goggle eyes" - rock bass - in the slow moving waters of the South Branch of the Potomac River. Would use a minnow seine to catch hellgrammites by rolling over rocks in the riffles. Slid the hook under the top of their hard collar with the head pointing up the line. They would craw out of the fish's mouth and up the line after the catch. Multiple fish on each one. Had a real good day once catching 18 fish on one hellgrammite!

 

[NCHillbilly]

Back in my younger days I loved to fish for "goggle eyes" - rock bass - in the slow moving waters of the South Branch of the Potomac River. Would use a minnow seine to catch hellgrammites by rolling over rocks in the riffles. Slid the hook under the top of their hard collar with the head pointing up the line. They would craw out of the fish's mouth and up the line after the catch. Multiple fish on each one. Had a real good day once catching 18 fish on one hellgrammite!

Those hellgrammites will bite the peediddle out of you, too. And rock bass are fun to catch for sure.

 

[JonathanG2013]

My dad used to live closed to Lake Sinclair in Milledgeville. We used to go down Dam road NE and park. We would walk down the dirt hill on the powerline down to the dam. We would walk along the bottom of the dam below where the gates were and then would cross the wall to fish the Oconee River. Back then you could do that. Now I think that people are now allowed on that side across the river. My dad would bring two 5 gallon buckets and spinning rods. We would fish along the rock wall of the river and walk down. As soon as I would cast the cork would flow down river and go out out side. The little 8 pound line would sing with a cat on he end of it. In no time we would fill a bucket of cats. We stopped a little bit down the river for lunch and would have sandwiches. After lunch we found a shallow pool on the river with gar. My dad grabbed a joined minnow bait and threw it out. About a 5 foot long gar it it. It took about five minutes to get it in. That was the big fish of the day. We finished by filling the second bucket with fish. We walked back through high grass and on the way back a jumped a big buck and scared me to death. My heart was racing. We crossed the wall. Where we were there were rocks from the flood gates where it dumped water. We would go along the rocks. You had to be careful where you went because the rocks were slippery when wet. I went to step over a branch and slipped and landed in a little pool that was formed from erosion on the other rocks that a few gar were in. My dad was laughing so hard, that he about peed his pants. Luckily no rods were broken. We finally made it back to the truck and back home to clean the fish. Had a great fish fry that night.

Miss my dad. He passed away in 2014.

 

[1eyefishing]

The 1st hunting story that comes to my mind Is one that I think about regularly.
Hunting/fishing/outdooring was ingrained in me by my grandfather and my uncles at a very early age. My father fought to escape the backwoods all his life and that left my relatives teaching me that realm.
I'm guessing I think of these two uncle's daily, and if not, then on an average of one they over the long term for sure.
They were both wild of will, pranksters, and risk takers. They would do things like take me out at night coon hunting on the 90 acres behind the house, get me thoroughly turned around and ditch me for the night. Or stop and throw a live possum in the camper shelled back of the pickup for me and my cousins to wrassle with on the way to an early morning hunt... They both died young and have been in my memories for decades.
One of my earliest and most profound hunting memories is Gary and Bobby taking me deer hunting one day on public land. I'm guessing I was about 15.
Upon parking the truck at the end of a woods road, I was instructed to take a fire break down to a foodplot and find a seat near the edge but not on the edge where I could cover any action on that opening. The Uncles said they would take off in other directions.
After some time sitting off the food plot, 'something' started working over a small sapling on the far side. It started with a shake and increased to a commotion that a buck would make if he was horning a sapling. It was a racket no hunter could miss., But I could not see hide nor hair of a deer near there. It continued for longer than I guess a buck would have.
There was a very large popular within a few feet of that sapling, and I've had the feeling all my life that Uncle Bobby was behind that poplar with a 6' forked stick working on the sapling, pushing and pulling and whacking, trying to get a young nephew to take an ill advised shot into the brush with 3" mag 12 guage buckshot.
Shortly after all the excitement was over, Uncle Gary came down the fire break to retrieve me from my post which I had been told not to leave til they came and got me.
After a debriefing of my experience back at the vehicle, not a word of admission was ever spoke by these two.
But i've always felt like I passed a test and that memory rides with me on every hunt.

 

[Deerhead]

One morning while deer hunting, I was sitting on the side of a hill overlooking a creek up against a big oak tree. Had my knees were bent up and my rifle resting on them. All of a sudden, I see a hawk flying OK dive bombing me 10 ft away and coming fast. I ducked behind my rifle and he flew by my head. Not sure what he thought but wow that was close.

 

[Nicodemus]

I told this one last season when it happened but I’ll tell it again here. This past December, 2022, a buddy invited me to join him on a managed hunt on Cumberland Island. It was easily one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stepped foot on to hunt, and more importantly, it was very new habitat to me. The costal swamps and marshes choked out with palmettos and covered up in an ancient live oak canopy are a far cry from the mountains and hills that I call home. We camped for three and a half days and covered some serious miles. I had an absolute blast.

Our walk in to where we hunted in the mornings started around 4am each day, and took nearly an hour. We would strike off down one of the main access trails about 2 miles before cutting down a long narrow side trail that eventually necked down tight as it cut through a swamp, surrounded by water on both sides, before it came out on the other side at the dunes.

It was the second morning of the hunt, and the fifth time we had made this trek down the same trail. The weather was warm for December and there was a bit of misty fog in the air. We downed our coffee, loaded up our packs, and started hoofing it back to get settled in and wait for the sun. As the trail narrowed, my buddy took the lead and I fell in behind him. He was sporting a small backpacking headlamp with a very dim green light. I had a brighter lamp, but chose to dim mine back and switch to green as well. We dropped down into the section of trail that crossed through the final swamp and stopped for a minute to grab a drink and catch our breath. While we settled, my buddy turned to me and said ‘hey …is that a set of eyes up there?’ I flipped my light to the bright white setting and shined about 100 yards up the trail. The fog in the swamp and made it hard to see. I flipped back to red and said ‘i don’t know man, I think it may just be a spider on a log or somethin’. We drank a few more sips and continued onward, him in the lead, me behind, back in the zone, head down staring at the dim lit dirt three feet in front of our feet. 100 yards up the trail my buddy came unglued, jumping back into me and stumbling past me yelling “gator! Gator!”

Apparently that spider on a log turned out to be one single eye on the head of an 11 foot alligator laying halfway across the trail and completely blocking our path. My buddy stepped about a foot in front of its head before realizing what it was, like one would do with a log he’s about to step over. We collected ourselves at what felt like a safe distance and debated what to do next. Turning around was not an option. After a quick brainstorming session, we decided hitting the gator in the head with logs until it moved was the best course of action.

The whole ordeal took about thirty minutes and the routine went something like this; My buddy, with the dim headlamp would point his muzzleloader at the gator from about 25 yards. I would retrieve a live oak log, sneak up to 15 yards and huck it at the gators head! Bonk! It would clock the gator, and I would turn and run back to a “safe distance”. Every time I clocked him good he would rear up, hiss, and make this big bellowing growl. Sometimes he would take a step, sometimes he would turn and face us, opening his mouth real wide. Eventually I clocked him hard with a good shot and he slithered off into the swampy water just off the trail. As soon as he cleared, my buddy and I took off sprinting and never slowed down until we hit the dunes!

That evening we called the hunt around grey light to get back through that swamp before black dark. We were on edge, but still managed to chuckle when we hit the part of the trail with 20 live oak limbs scattered around it. My favorite part of the whole experience was sitting around the fire later that night at camp recounting the adventure from that day. My buddy waited till then to tell me that every time I slung a log at the gator, when I turned to run, my bright white headlamp would completely blind him leaving him sightless with a muzzleloader pointed in the direction of the sounds that gator was making. I also found out after the fact from some of the old timers on the island that gators ain’t slow. Definitely one I won’t forget.
View attachment 1228284

If he had wanted you, he would have run you down, especially as close as you got to him.

 

[Buckstop]

I was walking back to the truck after a deer hunt about 11:00 one morning on some prime land in Screven County in the late 2000's. It was early November and the rut was going strong. Had been one of those crisp, calm and clear mornings with lots of movement and bucks cruising and chasing, but never the right opportunity. Was strolling down a long straight grass road with mature thinned pines on one side and an old dried up flag pond on the other. The old pond was thick and had about a ten yard border of matted blackberry briars that stood about shoulder high along the road. While heavy deer trails emptied out of it every few yards, you could see nothing in that wall of briars.

About 100 yards from the truck, I heard a deer stand up immediately to my left in the briars within just a few feet. I froze and realized that it wasn't bolting when it started rubbing brush. Within a couple seconds a big-bodied, wide tall 8pt stepped 2/3's the way out the briar tangle standing broadside, staring down the road in the other direction. I was close enough to reach out and touch him, about two feet away. He was all bristled and rutted up and looking for me. He stood there for about 20 seconds looking away the whole time. Then he slowly turned his head and stared down the road in my direction, like looking straight through me. I could count the ticks on his ears.

At that point what had seemed like just a very cool happening on one of the funnest hunts of the year, finally dawned on me that he was way too close and my rifle was still on my shoulder. He slowly looked up and when our eyes crossed he blew, whirled and thankfully ran the other way. Even though I knew he was about to spook out, I still about jumped out of my boots when he blew. Never even thought of trying to shoot him. Never saw him again.

 

[NE GA Pappy]

back in 1983 ( i know that because it was the year my first daughter was born), a friend and I went deer hunting in Oglethrope county. I went out a ridge where a line of pines and oaks merged and climbed up in the stand. My friend told me he was going on around the oak stand to the other side, about 200 yards away and overlooking a river bottom. Just as I got settled down and him enough time to get in his tree stand, I heard him fall out of his stand. He didn't yell, just the sound of him falling and hitting the ground.

I climbed down out of my stand and started over his way, but I didn't yell or anything, just in case I was wrong about him falling. I met him about 1/2 way to his stand, coming to me in a hurry. He said... 'are you hurt? I heard you fall' I said 'No, I didn't fall, I was coming to check on you. I thought you fell'

Turns out it was the first time either of us heard a turkey come of his roost and land in a pine thicket. Turkeys weren't in wide supply back then, and none when I was growing up in the hills

 

[bighonkinjeep]

About a half century ago I was fishing off a dock on Lake Lure N.C.. A kid comes down to the lake puts on his life jacket, gets in a canoe and paddles out of the cove. About an hour and a half later the kid comes back with a canoe full of trout and unloads em onto the bank. Probably a dozen or so nice ones. I hadn't caught a thing and didnt see any fishing gear so I asked how he caught 'em. He said he was paddling along and saw em swim to the top, so he turned his paddle sideways and whacked 'em and they'd come floating up.
They sure didnt want my bait.

Now everytime I see one of these survival shows on TV with people trying to make fish spears, shoot em with a bow etc. I wonder if a club or.fish whackin stick wouldnt be much more efficient...

 

[Danuwoa]

Last week was a rough one at work. Rough enough that when my alarm went off yesterday morning for me to get up and go squirrel hunting I turned it off and decided to get some more sleep. I needed it.

I finally headed out yesterday afternoon. It was hot but the creek bottom I was in was cooler and there was enough breeze that it was tolerable. I still hunted. Didn’t see a dang single squirrel. Saw some deer. Had some crows drop in on me and take an interest in me for a little bit. Other wise not much was going on.

It was sure nice to be in the woods hunting though and I had a good time. Came back to the house recharged and in a great mood. Post up them squirrel huntin stories and pictures if you got em.

 

[sprewett]

Was thinking about another one yesterday as I was roasting in the sun looking for a pig to send to the dirt.
Back in Upson and Crawford county my step dad, Papa Tom, and I were in Big Rack hunting club. It was probably around 92' so I would have been 12 and we along with Jimmy Wright and Dale Shipp were heading into an area we called the Tall Pines for the evening hunt. We were slowly making our way in because the dirt roads were rough. All of sudden Jimmy's little Ford Ranger comes to an abrupt stop with Him and Dale about near falling out of the truck reaching for rifles and motioning to us giant antlers. Van (my step dad) holler get the gun. I asked which the rifle or shotgun but he didn't answer so I grabbed the Browning A Bolt Medallion chambered in 270. We went down in the woods to the passenger side of the truck and was easing down when all of a sudden comes a GIANT running down a drainage ditch about 10 yards in front of us. He was full throttle I was begging Van to shoot but he didnt know exactly where Jimmy and Dale were so he couldn't, sadly. As I saw the deer my jaw fell to the ground. I had seen big bucks before but never a non-typical in real life and alive! It had two giant drop times along with a top load of antlers. The buck had also been eating well it was a very larger bodied deer. Finally the deer made a hard left turn running away from us in a direction we were certain that the others weren't because we heard them back at the truck. Then I heard that ole 270 come to life! I thought yes sir but the deer kept running. Again, Van blasted another one to see the deer keep running without missing a lick. I was perplexed as to why the crap the deer was still running after Van, an incredibly good shot, done sent two down range. He never hit the deer it got a pass and to my knowledge noone ever pulled that deer off the property. We had 12,000 acres if I remember correctly and never saw him again. I'll never forget that day and it was the first time I saw buck fever really get to a man that otherwise is a crack shot. To this day I have only ever seen one other deer that was larger and it wasn't a non-typical.

 

[sprewett]

The 1st hunting story that comes to my mind Is one that I think about regularly.
Hunting/fishing/outdooring was ingrained in me by my grandfather and my uncles at a very early age. My father fought to escape the backwoods all his life and that left my relatives teaching me that realm.
I'm guessing I think of these two uncle's daily, and if not, then on an average of one they over the long term for sure.
They were both wild of will, pranksters, and risk takers. They would do things like take me out at night coon hunting on the 90 acres behind the house, get me thoroughly turned around and ditch me for the night. Or stop and throw a live possum in the camper shelled back of the pickup for me and my cousins to wrassle with on the way to an early morning hunt... They both died young and have been in my memories for decades.
One of my earliest and most profound hunting memories is Gary and Bobby taking me deer hunting one day on public land. I'm guessing I was about 15.
Upon parking the truck at the end of a woods road, I was instructed to take a fire break down to a foodplot and find a seat near the edge but not on the edge where I could cover any action on that opening. The Uncles said they would take off in other directions.
After some time sitting off the food plot, 'something' started working over a small sapling on the far side. It started with a shake and increased to a commotion that a buck would make if he was horning a sapling. It was a racket no hunter could miss., But I could not see hide nor hair of a deer near there. It continued for longer than I guess a buck would have.
There was a very large popular within a few feet of that sapling, and I've had the feeling all my life that Uncle Bobby was behind that poplar with a 6' forked stick working on the sapling, pushing and pulling and whacking, trying to get a young nephew to take an ill advised shot into the brush with 3" mag 12 guage buckshot.
Shortly after all the excitement was over, Uncle Gary came down the fire break to retrieve me from my post which I had been told not to leave til they came and got me.
After a debriefing of my experience back at the vehicle, not a word of admission was ever spoke by these two.
But i've always felt like I passed a test and that memory rides with me on every hunt.

Awesome story, I know you were grateful to have men like that in your life to share the passion of the outdoors with. Thanks for sharing!

 

[RamblinWreck88]

Checked out a new spot this morning. Had about 5 squirrels in the area, but only one of them got close enough to me. He was headed down the tree. He stopped when I raised my rifle, and I put one through his noggin. As I tried to approach the other squirrels, I sat down and had some turkeys get within about 15 yards of me. I saw their heads over the hill. A few clucks and they were gone. Glad to get in the woods, though. First outing with the rifle (this season); perfect shooting so far (one shot), so I'll enjoy that while it lasts.

 

[bullgator]

Back in the mid 80's I had been deer hunting for a few years and invited one of my skydiving buddies to go with me. Since we both had made lots of skydives at the Lagrange airport both of us knew bad weather comes up quick down there.

Since my buddy was a Green Beret I figured he new what he was doing but he shows up with his $6K Italian over/under shotgun as a weapon so already he's off to the wrong start.

This was back in the "early days" of Army/Navy store BDU's and the "permanent stands" we had built were spikes driven into the tree for steps and cantilevered wood stands just about big enough your butt didn't lop off the sides when you sat down but your legs did. The one I put him in was probably 30 feet off the ground but no safety harness, rope, etc. You just had to man up and not fall. We were stupid back then.

I get him settled in with his expensive shotgun and head off to my stand. It's early gun season so it's still pretty warm at 5 pm and I look to the west and here it comes and I could tell it was going to be a big one. There was a line of clouds out in front of it and they were moving fast. I do some quick mental calculus and figure if we get down now we can make it back to camp before the storm hits us.

I get down and hustle it up to go meet him but by the time I get to his tree the storm is on us. The tree tops are doing circles and all kinds of other machinations, lightning is striking all around us and there's my buddy, still in the stand, holding his "lightning rod", his poncho flapping all over the place in the wind and I'm screaming at him to get down out of the tree. Meantime the flapping poncho is distracting him from getting his expensive shotgun on his shoulder with the piece of rope I gave him to use as a sling because he was totally unprepared with respect to gear and a gun.

He finally gets his "stuff" wrapped tight enough to get on the spikes and start coming down the tree but it's spinning, swaying and dead limbs are starting to come down so he's taking it real slow. Meanwhile that poncho is still giving him fits and the storm is on top of us.

All of a sudden his rope sling breaks and that priceless Italian shotgun starts falling end over end and I'm thinking that's the end of that shotgun. It hits the ground barrel first and the barrel buries itself in the dirt about 6 inches and the gun is sitting there sticking up out of the ground. That was the motivation he needed and he skinned down out of that pine in record time.

We were drowned rats when we got back to camp but I couldn't stop laughing at him once it was all over but while it was happening I had visions of that broomstick pine tree snapping off below the stand with him in it because the storm was that bad.

Just to be clear……you and your buddy had clothes on under the ponchos……right?