Memories You Can Never Forget

[Hunt anything]

When I shot a buffalo out of a herd of about 200, at the shot the herd ran off but when he did his death bellow the heard came thundering back enveloping us in a cloud of dust. When the dust cleared the herd was about 50 yards away in a semi circle like Native Americans surrounding a wagon train in those old western movies.

 

[Ragman]

Made some new ones today. Brought my 80 year old father out to Manitoba for our first time fishing catfish. What a day…over 30 fish of which maybe four were under 20 pounds. Our arms are toast right now!

 

[Hogpatrol]

First day of Pennsy deer season, sitting on a fall on top of Tuscarora mountain, my father a hundred yards away on the next saddle, I shot my first whitetail with his 30-30 Stevens bolt action rifle. He heard the shot and hustled over, shook my hand, said "I'll show you how to gut them". He pulled out his Barlow and made short work of it. It lay in some good size rocks. I wrapped a rope around it's neck and gave a tug. "I looked at him and said "It's stuck". I'll never forget his chuckle and reply; "He's not stuck. He's heavy". An hour's drag down the mountain, I had new respect for the old man who had done it many times. He was a disabled WW2 vet with a leg that had no feeling from the knee down. While up on the mountain, in the cold, he would take off his boot and sock to make sure his foot wasn't getting frostbite. He was the toughest man I ever knew.

 

[Proneshooter]

Seeing my Father in his dress Navy uniform, returning home on leave. First season hunting pheasants in South Dakota watching literally 100's of roosters getting airborne, with my gun broke open and my shock at seeing so many birds ( after 25 years, still hunting with the same landowner). Making a good shot on my first Cape Buffalo. Watching my wife take her first African animal. Best one: Giving the son of my best friend his first hunting rifle, the look on his face will always be etched in my mind.
I came to realize many years ago, my closest friends all have come from shooting or hunting together.

 

[MS 9x56]

I thought I grew up in the mountains (upper end of the Allegheny’s in southern NY state) until I was stationed in Germany and went to Garmisch at the zuchspitz (highest peak in the German alps) I got off the bus and scanned up that mountain side. The higher my gaze went the further my mouth hung agape. I had that “we ain’t in Kansas anymore Toto” moment. Life has never been the same for me since.

 

[Newboomer]

I thought I grew up in the mountains (upper end of the Allegheny’s in southern NY state) until I was stationed in Germany and went to Garmisch at the zuchspitz (highest peak in the German alps) I got off the bus and scanned up that mountain side. The higher my gaze went the further my mouth hung agape. I had that “we ain’t in Kansas anymore Toto” moment. Life has never been the same for me since.

Laying a load of hay in July. Dad pitching up to me on one side and Old Francis on the other side. Hotter than the hinges of hell, thinking I'm going to choke to death on hay chaff or from the lack of a drink. After the load was full and I finally came down, a good swig of ice cold home brew brought me back to the land of the living.

Conversely, the crunch of sled runners under a good jag of pulp, the squeak of harness and the tinkling of bells, the snorts of hard working horses. About -30 degrees, trees freezing and popping and me running along behind trying to stay warm. There was a steep pitch of about a quarter mile on that sled road where I had to bridle up and hope to hell it held. It broke on one trip and we had a real old Nantucket Sleigh Ride down that hill. Luckily my team was fast and we made it alright. Warmed me right up quick trying to keep the horses on their feet.

 

[Kevin Peacocke]

This post I battled with, was trying to put one memory ahead of the other, but there have been thousands, impossible. So I have chosen one, the very earliest one. It was some time before I was 18 months old, because that is when we left the farm. My two sisters and I, they were one and two years older respectively were playing in the sand driveway with the maid, whom I later learned was called Lydia. She was teaching us a game where you scoop out a row of holes and throw a couple of stones in the air and depending how they land in which holes it has some meaning. She sang a song as she did it. I can see that vividly even now - how does that happen?

 

[Daveboone]

Many...Most recently...The look on my wifes face when she saw her first African wild game (Zebras), or the first tracks from Zebra we were pursuing.... (she was very excited for me to get a Zebra rug for her). My first glimpse of a wild bear coming in to my stand...
My first White tail buck sneaking through the swamp below me on a wet, cold november morning...
The first wild Bald Eagle I saw in NY. Flourescent red and blue northern lights in the very early morning winter sky when I was delivering papers....I was astonished, and a bit frightened at first, until I realized what they were).

 

[MS 9x56]

4th of July canoe fishing trip with my son a couple of weeks before he deployed to Afghanistan. He was fighting a large heavy fish and a bald eagle flew over the canoe not 20 feet above us and let out a scream just as it passed over us. I damn near capsized the boat. I netted that fish a 7 lb walleye that now resides on the den wall in my sons house. Made for an unforgettable trip for both of us. If you have never heard an eagle scream up close it gives me goose pimples just thinking about it.

 

[PARA45]

I have some wonderful memories, but if I had to choose one, this is the one. When I was 8 years old or so, and lived in Nicaragua, my great grandpa Papa Beto turned 100 years old, and wanted to go duck hunting with us. I remember my uncles talking about it, and the plan was to take him with us to celebrate his birthday. Papa Beto was shooting a 12 ga, SxS shotgun. He sat on one of those metal with canvas collapsible stools, with me next to him. Sun started creeping out of the horizon, and the ducks started flying, and I saw Papa Beto lift the shotgun, shoot, dead duck, and he is on his ass on the ground from the recoil of the shotgun. We helped him up, and we all laughed about it. Ducks come flying again, he lift the shotgun again, shoots, dead duck, and he is once again on his ass on the ground. By now we are all, including him are laughing hard about this. He looks at me, and and with a grin tells me to help him that he was done, that this was a young men game. He sat next to this huge Guanacaste tree (monkey-ear tree or elephant-ear tree, I had to look up the English name) and smoked his cigars while we continue to hunt. He passed at the age of 103. Four generations were out hunting that morning, I was the youngest. I still remember him telling my cousins and I stories of when he was a kid, and I can still remember the aroma of his pipe. I loved that man.

 

[MS 9x56]

I have some wonderful memories, but if I had to choose one, this is the one. When I was 8 years old or so, and lived in Nicaragua, my great grandpa Papa Beto turned 100 years old, and wanted to go duck hunting with us. I remember my uncles talking about it, and the plan was to take him with us to celebrate his birthday. Papa Beto was shooting a 12 ga, SxS shotgun. He sat on one of those metal with canvas collapsible stools, with me next to him. Sun started creeping out of the horizon, and the ducks started flying, and I saw Papa Beto lift the shotgun, shoot, dead duck, and he is on his ass on the ground from the recoil of the shotgun. We helped him up, and we all laughed about it. Ducks come flying again, he lift the shotgun again, shoots, dead duck, and he is once again on his ass on the ground. By now we are all, including him are laughing hard about this. He looks at me, and and with a grin tells me to help him that he was done, that this was a young men game. He sat next to this huge Guanacaste tree (monkey-ear tree or elephant-ear tree, I had to look up the English name) and smoked his cigars while we continue to hunt. He passed at the age of 103. Four generations were out hunting that morning, I was the youngest. I still remember him telling my cousins and I stories of when he was a kid, and I can still remember the aroma of his pipe. I loved that man.

Good times with family hunting and fishing are the best

 

[fourfive8]

This post I battled with, was trying to put one memory ahead of the other, but there have been thousands, impossible. So I have chosen one, the very earliest one. It was some time before I was 18 months old, because that is when we left the farm. My two sisters and I, they were one and two years older respectively were playing in the sand driveway with the maid, whom I later learned was called Lydia. She was teaching us a game where you scoop out a row of holes and throw a couple of stones in the air and depending how they land in which holes it has some meaning. She sang a song as she did it. I can see that vividly even now - how does that happen?

I call those short photo memories and I do not know how that works in the brain. But they are real. The earliest memory I have? I was probably between 18 mo and 2 +/-. Our front yard was bare except for a straight path of flat stones leading from the dirt road to our front door. My photo memory is toddling across that bare dirt front yard- maybe a total real time of 15 seconds. Also, the memory is in black and white not color. Go figure