Your favorite grandpa/daddy hunting story

My dad and uncle hunted in Lottie inside the levee northeast of what would become sherburne. Dad said it flooded real bad one year and he and my uncle took a pirogue to a ridge and were in trees 60 yards apart with their bows. They had to haul out 7 deer in an evening.



My dad claims he bought a recurve (his first bow) and the next day killed a 7 point while standing on a stump in 3 rivers.

I only hunted with my dad a few times. He died of cancer when I was 12. My granddad took me duck hunting down around Johnson Bayou. It was a guided hunt out of the old Chateau Charles motel. A front comes thru while we are in the blind and you could see it unfold as it makes its way south. One of the coolest things I had ever seen. It rains hard for about an half hour and the temp drops about 20 degrees. I was maybe 14. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pint of crown royal. He takes a snort and passes it to me. Good times.

Me and my grandfather were duck hunting. Had a decent morning, and around 10:00 or so, the birds slowed down a bit. We decided to trade guns for the next group to try to shake the funk. Almost immediately, a big group of gadwalls come in, and we proceed to kill 5 ducks out of 6 shots, one of which was (at least in my eyes at the time) an 80 yard shot by gramps on a bird getting out of the pocket (bird landed at least 100 yards away on the spoil bank, dead as a door nail).

Miss hunting with him. Love memories like that

I was probably 13 or 14 at the time

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I only hunted with my dad a few times. He died of cancer when I was 12. My granddad took me duck hunting down around Johnson Bayou. It was a guided hunt out of the old Chateau Charles motel. A front comes thru while we are in the blind and you could see it unfold as it makes its way south. One of the coolest things I had ever seen

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i had a similar story. my step dad and I finished up a squirrel hunt and rode with my step uncle. while we waited for him we saw the wind from the front come in from down stream and it cooled off really quick. my step dad made a fire with some business cards in his wallet until my uncle showed up. i dont remember if we killed anything but it was cool to see the front come in like that.

Mine is short.

Saw my 70yr old grandfather simultaneously shoot both barrels of his WW2 12 gauge that had a metal butt plate as a shoulder pad, into a squirrel' s nest in a tree above his head. Thought it was going to be the hammer that nailed him into the dirt. That nest disintegrated for the record.

My cousin was 16 and bigger than my grandfather, when he tried to shoot 1 barrel and he almost spun in a complete circle.

The barrel was in too bad a shape when I was old enough to shoot it. I would really like to look at getting it restored.

The earliest hunting memory I have was when I was 4 or 5 and my paw paw and me were squirrel hunting. He was hunting and I was packing around an old H&R pardner crack barrel 410 with nothing in it just to have something to pack.

He would always pack a few shells for me to shoot at cans and junk like that, but on that day while we were making our way back to the truck we saw an armadillo making his way through the woods. He gave me a shell and helped me load my gun and point it toward the armadillo. At the crack of the gun that dillo must've jumped 10 feet in the air like it had blew up. He hit the ground running like a bolt of lightning, I was amazed and paw paw was laughing his arse off because he knew it was about to happen.

He's older now and doesn't hunt anymore but I attribute a lot of what I learned about the outdoors to him since my dad worked overseas in the oilfield for a month at a time all through my childhood.

Not hunting but fishing.

My dad was very tight with money. VERY. He had a very good job and was successful but would not spend on small comforts.

We were in the mountains fly fishing. He refused to buy a pair of waders. Said he would just wear my extra pair. Problem was I towered over my dad. I'm 6'4" and wear a size 13. He was 5'7" and wore a size 7.5.

I kept telling him he was being ridiculous and to just buy a pair of waders. Told him no telling how many times he was going to fall. Nope, too Stubborn.

Any way, we get to where we were going. He's working his way to the water and takes his 1st step into the water, his foot slips and he falls in. Completely, head under, everything. Now this was the end of October and the temp was in the low 30s.
Well, he had already bought a license so he was going to fish. Took the waders off drained them dries out his clothes the best he could and puts the waders back on.

Gets in the water again and is moving downstream a little ways. Falls again.

My brother and I are sitting there just laughing. He was pissed.

We finally had to leave. He still never bought waders. I finally gave him a pair a couple of years later.

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A buck was bedded up in the tree top so he shot it. Sat down to wait and in a bit he could hear the dogs... here comes a BIG buck - shot it too. He never got an invite to come hunt again.

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I bet they were some kind of pissed. Lol

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I bet they were some kind of pissed. Lol

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You know it. He said no one would talk to him afterwards. It was a quiet ride back to his truck.

Neither of my grand paws hunted but my Dad took me from times before I could remember. I’ll share two of my favorite deer hunting memories him and I shared.

Before I was old enough to hunt Dad would let me tag along and sit at the base of his ladder stands. I had a small pocket knife and I would carve on any stick I could reach around the base of the tree. When I was good he would drop me a candy periodically and when I was making to much noise he would drop acorns on my head. We didn’t see many deer while hunting back then nor did Dad harvest much. We hunted palmetto hardwoods and seeing them through there isn’t easy, as most would know. One evening hunt as I sat perched below his ladder carving some fine toothpicks for him I heard something coming making a ruckus. I looked up and saw his rifle barrel easing forward toward the direction of the noise so I plugged my little ears, heard the shot and then silence. I looked back up and saw Dad sliding down his ladder like a firefighter. When he hit the ground he grabbed my shirt by the shoulder area and basically drug me to his kill, a big spike. He was so pumped he grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me so fast while yelling “I got us one” that he didn’t realize when he let me go I would fly about 6’ lol. An experience I’ll never forget.

Second story is my first. Dad thought I wasn’t ready for a rifle so he allowed me to hunt with a 20ga and buckshot. He would space ladder stands out in the same palmetto woods mentioned earlier close enough for us to see each other. Pre cellphones we had walkin talkies to communicate. After crippling a handful he decided it was time for me to start shooting slugs. Fast forward about 2 seasons of still not killing or giving up and walking in one cold morning in the dark he stopped, turned and looked at me and said, today is the day and YOU WILL kill a big doe this morning. I made that hunt with more confidence than anything. Sure enough, a little after 7:00 a big doe came slipping through. I lined up the bead and shot but she started running in circles so I shot again and she dropped. In the clearest words I could spit out I told me Dad over the walkie talkie that she was still moving and he said, “son shoot her again we ain’t loosing this one”! So I did and I flagged him to come meet me. We got up to her all ecstatic and suddenly she became a he and we both realized I killed a button buck that was slap full of slug sized holes. My hand hurt from the high fives he gave me and my face hurt from all the smiling I did.