Dad and I were deer hunting one day. It was late morning and I was still hunting through an area of thick pines (same place I got a nice 8pt. this year) and I saw dad moving still-hunting the same area up ahead of me. I got the idea to see if I could sneak up on him. (Smart ass teenagers...) After about 75 yards of hide and seek he dropped to one knee beside a pine tree. He didn't know I was anywhere around until I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "hey". Scared the crap out of him. Good thing I was too big to whip. I still LMAO when I think about that day. Dad's gone now but it's a great memory that I'll always cherish even though he was pretty embarassed.

One of Dad's best bucks.

Great story. My dad wasn't really into hunting. While I was in the desert he promised we would hunt when I returned. Said he wanted to get a goose with me. We found ourselves on an island out in the river. Some birds landed in the decoys. We each took one shot, both with 10 guages. At the same time we said "I got mine". Then looked at each other cause there was only one goose on the water. My dad will be gone 5 years on the 28th of this month. Still miss him terribly, and miss hearing him tell the story about how we got "our" goose together.

Gary, Great post idea...I have a huntin' photo of me standing next to my dad's shotgun (Browning Auto 5 12 gauge aka Browning A5) holding 2 pheasants and a rabbit and a squirrel and the shotgun is about as tall as me...really funny when if you ever meet me you'll see that I am well over six feet tall...six foot 8 inches actually.

The buck in the photo is also another great memory with Dad. He shot this buck a little low from about 200 yards. He tracked him for about an hour and then lost the blood. We went back together and tracked for another 4 hours before we found him still barely breathing. That buck doubled back on his own blood trail and that was the most difficult thing to sort out that you can imagine. if he hadn't strayed to one side of the trail we wouldn't have ever figured it out. We still had a hard time mentally grasping that he had doubled back for well over 100 yards... clever buck.

Great posts guys! My most memorable hunting trip with my dad was around 1983, when he took his biggest buck. We were working our way along a ridge in NW Montana and I was about 10 yards behind him. I see him stop and start glassing the base of a downed tree with roots sticking up everywhere. From my angle, I can see a good sized set of antlers in front of the roots, about 20 yards in front of my dad. He kept raising his binoculars, looking at the buck and lowering them again. He did this several times, and all I'm thinking is "Shoot! Shoot!". Finally he raised his old 03-A3 and shot. The bucks antlers slowly lowered out of my sight and I ran up to my dad to congratulate my dad. He told me that from his angle, the buck blended in so well that he was not sure what he was seeing. He was finally able to make out the buck and take the shot. I'm sure if it had been a young buck, he would have blown out of there. This was an old buck who has probably sat in that spot while others have walked on by. His body was massive and I think his antlers had began to decline in size. My dad scanned these pics of us with his buck. Not the best quality pics, but I was sure happy to see them again.

My dad and I took two beautifull 8 pointers 24 hours apart from the same stand.The stand was an old piece of farm machinery parked in the edge of a field.he took his deer on saturday mine was on sunday.I almost did not hunt that day as I needed to be at a job 200 miles away the next morning.I still remember those two deer hanging in the tree together.The one I shot is mounted on the wall in my office my first deer and the best I have taken.

Just about any hunting time with dad is great, hes still around but im stuck working two jobs so dont get to hunt together much anymore..sucks cause as a kid those were the best times Ever. I remember one time while duck hunting me and my brother and my dad and his friends found a racoon hiding up in tree. I was probably only 13/14.. well i saw the coon and got first shot-nothing, then my brother shot-nothing. This went back and forth several times. My dad was stuck on other side of swampy area and we hear him yell "hey those are my steel shells-whats all that shooting...wellthat was one expensive coon and the dog had to finish it off,. The tough times of learning. My first deer kill is clear in memory as well. I was sixteen-first year allowed to hunt deer. Opening day me and dad out in stand together only about an hour and a few deer run up on us and the one stops..dad tells me shoot, i shoot and nothing deer just stands there not doing anything,,he yells shoot again, I shoot. Deer dropped right in tracks, he was so proud it was great. we got down-I shot deer right in eye-not sure how that happened. It was a spike buck but my dad had never taken a buck on that property and been hunting it probably 10-15 yrs..It was awesome. Only a raccoon and spike deer but those were the days. I'll really dread the day it comes when I lose the old man

My Dad died when I was 2 mos. shy of 10 years old. He was 42. there were five of us kids. My mother remarried 2 years later, but my stepdad was never really a hunter(though never tried to discourage me). From my late teens to mid-twenties I hunted and trapped with the man whose daughter I eventually married. Learned a whole lot from him in those years, but for the most part I'm a self taught man, and don't really have any hunting pics with either of my dads.
Gary,
I really like that pic of you and your dad. Between the background, the deer, and the grizzled old hunter in buffalo check, you'd swear that was a pic of a great north woods patriarc taken right here in N.H. The pic makes you feel like you know the man.

Renster

i can remember in the early 80's we bowhunted and he would put me somewhere and he would go on his way.he was a vietnam vet and fearless i was around 11 or 12 and noise in the dark was still a BIG concern to me. i soon figured out i could usually see the glow of his cigerette in the dark...i was safe!
now i know why we never killed anything

I remember rabbit hunting with my dad when I was about five, I had my trusty BB gun gun with me,I got to shoot one if he was sitting still, dad and I were standing about 40 yards from a stock pond the dogs were running the rabbit in our direction, wasn't just a minute he ran up and stopped on the pond bank, dad said shoot him, I asked if I could use his gun, he just smiled and said OK I took the gun a mossberg 20,GA dad got behind me and when I fired that dang thing knocked me flat on my butt, I know now why he got behind me, to catch the gun so it didn't hit the ground I can still hear dad laughing, got my rabbit though

one of many memories

As I sit here, reading all of these posts, more and more memories shared with my dad and two younger brothers come to mind. Of the thousands of hours we have spent in the woods together, I can't think of one single favorite memory with my dad... there are hundreds. Shooting multiple deer at the same exact time on opposite sides of the property; hiking 8 miles before sun-up into the best big buck country in the state, only to get there and have one of us say something funny and spend the morning laughing uncontrollably; falling in trout streams twelve miles back; the list is endless.

I would say one of my first, best memories was when I was 7. My dad was bow hunting on the fram we hunt. It was afternoon and we were located in wide open hardwoods on the edge of an overgrwon pasture. My dad was up in a tree 50 yards behind me and to my left. I was 6 foot up in an ancient platform stand in an old apple tree overlooking the pasture. The other guy we were hunting with that weekend was going to slowly walk the mountain behind us and push whatever was on it to us. It was fridgid and I was wishing the one piece all blaze suit I had was just a little warmer. It was getting dark, and I started to hear nearing foot steps in the frozen leaves behind me. I knew the other guy was supposed to be coming from that direction around that time, but still, I remained motionless. The footsteps got closer and closer and closer and closer until they were right under me then they stopped. I remember being so afraid to move that I didn't even want to breath. All of a sudden I hear from behind me up in his tree stand my dad loudly whispering something to me. At this point in time, I still wasn't sure what was standing underneath me (keep in mind, I was sitting on a platform stand six feet off the ground). After about a minute of whispering, my dad finally says in a normal voice (which at dusk in the deer woods sounded like an atomic bomb going off) "Josh! Look down!" I looked down infront of the stand and there (2 or 3 feet away) stood the most beautiful 8 pointer I have ever seen and will probably ever see. He looked to the left, to the right, behind him (in the direction of the driver) then trotted off down through the pasture and disapeared into a stand of pines 150 yards away. That was over 15 years ago and I still remember like it was yesterday.

Well... no real big memories as dad got sick when I was 6 years old and passed just before I turned 8. I do know he loved the outdoors. He had a flat bottom boat for fishing and a beagle for rabbit hunting. I remember going to the hunting club and running the dog on some rabbits, what sticks in my mind was hearing the dog on trail barking away.

Our last hunt togather my Dad and I headed out into the beutiful black hills of South Dakota ( behind our ranch ). We both had buck tags, but he enjoyed the expiriance with me more than shooting a deer. We had seen many nice bucks and several doe's about 2 miles into the hunt. We were looking for an old buck that some of the old ranchers had named ol' white horn. He had the whitest antlers you ever saw, like they never fell off and just bleeched out. Finally after about 4 hours of hunting I saw him, 300 yards out and feeding through the tree's. He had 3-4 doe's with him so a sneek would be tough. My dad said to keep a tree in between the deer and myself and start to close the distance. He stayed back to watch the fun.

I got within 200 yds before my excitement got the best of me, and wamo!!! I missed the buck completely!!! My dad said to me as I walked back to talk about what happend, That was a good buck, he was just smilling as big and he could. He asked me what I thought of the shot and what did I do. I loved the way he would teach, he never asked what went wrong or told me I missed, he just asked what happened. And ya know it made me think about it and prepair myself for the next hunt that much more. Later that day we were hunting closer to home and following a game trail by the state park fence. I looked up and saw 2 calf elk coming right for us, two draws over. I told my dad to stay on the trail and keep low something big was coming. He got down on one knee and looked straight ahead, just waiting to see what it was. The elk crested the knob in front of him and ran straight over the top of my old man. Now it probably wasn't the safest thing to do, but my old man got up, dusted himself off and said, nobody will believe that!!! Those two elk just seemed to dance on his body for awhile before heading off over the next ridg. That was the funnest hunting season we ever hunted. We both ended up shooting meat bucks for the freezer, but we did it togather and lived in every moment.

Lars

Great post.......My dad died in 2003 and it still hurts.My dad had no one around to teach him to hunt and he learned on his own.He was pretty good from the stories I heard through the years as he furnished table fare for his mom and sister a many a day.From about 5 years old on I was attached at his hip.He had rabbit dogs,bird dogs(quail) and some of the best around.I remember several doctors and lawyers coming in from Durham,a big city,to hunt behind those bird dogs.He started deer hunting in the 80's.Many a discussion,and lesson was learned about character on those hunts.The most memorable would have to had been my first buck.I remember standing over the cow horn when he got to me and hugging my neck and telling me how proud he was.I will be forever greatful for the time afield we had,the lesson learned,and the paitence he had to let me tag along even when it meant he wouldn't have a chance to get a deer.(I had a bad habit of fidgeting and singing in the stand)Thanks !

those of you that had fathers to hunt with are lucky. I enjoy reading your posts and hope my daughter can have good memories to share and a passion to carry on but I'm a self taught hunter for the most part. My dad was a city slicker and the closest he got to being an outdoorsman was shooting 18 holes every sunday. After my parents split up and we moved to Oregon I did hunt with my uncles my first couple years but they weren't real serious or talented when it came to hunting so when I turned 16 I picked up a bow and made my mom take me. She grew up a country girl but didn't know the first thing about hunting but she would do anything for me. I remember her driving me up into the woods when I saw a little forky standing about 30yds away from the dirt road I talked her into taking her 77 olds delta 88 up and I made her stop the car so I could make my shot. It was my first time ever shooting at an animal with a bow and I was shaking miserably so the shot went low and was a clean miss but I'll never forget my mom being willing to do that for me. I'm sure if I had got him she would have helped me clean him and put him in the trunk of the car.

My father was a mean drunk who liked to bully people, however my father in law of 35 years taught me what it is to be man, he taughht me to fix "stuff", took me hunting and fishing and became the Dad I never had. I hold no ill feelings for what my father was and have moved on. If you have a great Dad call him and let him know it.

I don't know if I'll remember the hunts we have shared more or just the 2 weeks a year we use to spend at the hunting camp. We live 4 hrs apart and as everyone knows with a teenager at home and work load I haven't been able to go for the last 5 years. But after reading this and thinking about all the time I have missed with dad. I'm makeing plans to go this year, this will be my first year in the mountians with just a handgun. I also think I'll miss the times we just sat on the porch of the cabin and talked and the times we sat around with the guys and played hearts and joked around before hitting the bed. To me there is more to hunting than just taking game and I know most of you will agree with that. We always took a couple of deer apiece and it was great ribbing whoever had the smaller buck, but the other times were more special to me.

My father passed away at age 85 in 2004. We had not hunted together for the past 30 yrs or so. However, when I was a youngster, my dad took me hunting many times. He was the best woodsman that I knew and was the very best shot with a model 94 30-30 that I have ever encountered. We lived in New Mexico & he loved the high mountains. We hunted mule deer every year.

He bought me my first rifle, a 22, when I was eight. I knocked-out his tracks on every hunt before I was old enough to carry a "deer rifle." When I was 12 or thirteen, I was allowed to hunt deer for the first time. I did not get a deer. The next year my dad, my uncle & I were hunting together. I managed to head off in a different direction & stubbled into a mule deer. One shot from the 30-30 nailed my first deer. But then I was alone & while I had watched others field dress a deer, I had never done it. However, I attempted to gut that deer & got the job done (poorly but done.) Then I pulled the deer down hill as far as far as I could -- ended up leaving it in the shade of a tree & backed off a little ways to sit & wait for my Dad to find me.

The last time that I had seen him, he was hunting in the opposite direction about 1 1/2 miles away. However, I had no doubt that he would find me & I did not want to leave the deer. Within a couple of hours I heard my name shouted from the top of a nearby ridge. I was certainly a welcome sound.

Hunting with my father are some of my fondest memories.

Don't know if I can single out one "best" hunting memory with dad, there are so many great times we spent together.......but one of the most memorable was one of his last hunts. Dad had serious heart problems and medically retired long before he was retirement age......he could still hunt, but couldn't do the hard work that comes along with success...........my brother and I took over that part. In 2005, dad drew a once in a lifetime antelope tag in Oklahoma......I told him when he applied for the hunt that I'd go with him if he drew the tag. We headed west with our 4 wheelers in tow and arrived at the hunt area the day before the hunt. The rancher took us around the property and showed us where dad could hunt.......we were there before daylight the next day. I had hunted antelope previously and showed dad the ropes......we would ride the 4 wheelers almost to the top of hills, then get off and walk to the top to glass for goats.......we got close a few times that morning, but couldn't quite close the distance to a buck he wanted to take. By late afternoon, he was worn out.......I told him to take a rest and I started checking draws.......I found a satellite buck up on a big hillside and knew there had to be another buck around.......I found the dominant buck with about 30 does in a wide draw........they were 500 plus yards upwind and slowly feeding up the draw to me. I slipped out and got dad, told him I wasn't sure if the antelope would feed within range before dark, but it was the best shot we had........so, we snuck into an area near the top to the draw, sat down behind a big yucca and started glassing the herd........it worked, they does were feeding towards us, slowly closing the distance. Finally, the lead does were about 200 yards out, I told dad he needed to think about killing the buck if he wanted that one as I figured the lead does were just a few minutes from getting downwind.......I kept giving him updates on distance via a laser rangefinder......He dropped the buck in it's tracks at 200 yards and the celebration began. I field dressed the buck, loaded it on my 4 wheeler and we headed to the truck.......by the time we got the 4 wheelers loaded on the trailer, it was nearly dark........the buck wasn't huge, just average for the area, but he was a fighter and was the dominant buck in the area as evidenced by the number of does he had and the scars on his horns.........a true trophy.

Dad died the next spring while we were on a turkey hunting trip.........he went quickly....talking to us one minute and gone the next. I miss him, but I have lots of great memories of times with him.


Thanks Dad!

My Dad never hunted but when I was a kid he did take us out to kill tin cans and milk jugs back home in Texas. After I joined the Air Force when he and my Mom used to visit us or my family and I would go home to visit and we always made it a point to go shooting. He was an Air Force vet and shot pretty good for an old dude.

He just died in Aug of last year and I kept his old 22lr and 38 short revolvers.

My Dad died at the age of 35 in a car wreck. I was just 14 at the time, this was 1964. We had been hunting together since I wa 10 years old,(he got me a Savage 22mag over a 20 ga for Christmasthat year). We mostley hunted cotton tales and phesant back in Illinois. He was in the habit of bringing several friends from work and hunting on my granfathers farm near Ludlow, Ill. A phesant would fly up and everyone would shoot then argue over who acrually shot it. When I was thirteen I had gotten tired of the arguing and asked my grandfather if I could borrow his Winchester model 12, full choke 12 ga w/30 inch barrel. This gun was as tall as I was, sure enough a pheant went up and every one else shot but missed. When I cut loose with that model 12 the phesant dropped like a rock; no arguing this time. I still remember the grin on my dad's face when I got back with the phesant. I still miss him to this day. Thanks for bringing back the memories.

A couple of years ago, I invited my Dad out for a winter goose hunt . We got up and went to a local cafe for breakfast and then onto a winter wheat field that I had scouted previously. We set the blinds out, set the decoy spread and got ourselves and dogs concealed. Right on que, a large flock lifted up followed by another and another until the sky was full of birds rising from the watershed lake.
I set Dad's blind in front of and off to the side of my blind so he could have first shot at anything coming in . As if on a string, all 200-500 birds set their wings and begin to drift right into our laps . As birds actually began to land amongst us, I saw Dad sit up in his blind and stretch his arm out and stroke the belly of a landing goose . Neither of us fired a shot.

My dad was not into hunting. He was into fishing. My granddad was the one that started me hunting. I remember as a youngster spending Christmas vacation with my grandparents. Granddad and I would get up before the sun broke and ease into the woods and wait on the squirrels to start moving. He would carry a 3 shot bolt action 12 gauge JC Higgins shotgun, that was given to me but was stolen from my parents house, or a single shot 22 Stevens. He taught me how to be patient when hunting and to respect life. We would shot just a couple squirrels and then go to house where a hot breakfast was waiting. We would have fresh fried squirrel with rice, brown gravy and biscuits for lunch. I can close my eyes and smell those wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen. There were too many geat times to select on favorite or mose memorable hunt. They all were.

Gary, my dad was with me when I got my very first handgun buck with my 6 1/2" M29 way back in 1974!! I was still hunting all day trying to drive deer to him but to no avail. As we stood at teh bottom of a small grove of Hemolcks, we hear another drive coming from the opposite direction. We moved slightly up the hill to watch the ravine when all of a sudden we say a bunch of deer sneaking our way and we saw a few racks in the bunch. He took the first 6 pter that came clear and teh rest of the deer scampered off. As we walked toward his deer, we didn't another big 8pter that was trying to sneak past us. As I heard teh comotion when looked I drew in one motion and hit him middle chest. I heard the 'whump' and he lerched but kipt going. My next shot unzipped his belly and we had a real mess in teh woods, but by now he was just thrashing. I was oblivious to how big he was as I kep shooting at his to finish him. I was lucky. It turned out he as 21" inside and perfectly symetrical. Its amazing how adrenaline blocks things out. He's on my wall and I remember that hunt like it was yesterday. My dad's still alive but doesn't hunt anymore but he still gets a kick out of my rifle and pistol collection. He grew up with lever guns and just passed my great grandfathers original Marlin 1893 32 Speical down to me. It is still beautifully case hardened (98%) and the hi-luster blue barrel is absolutely beautiful.

Every time I get to hunt with my DAD is a special moment for me, but by far the best was Wyoming 2006 my first mule deer.

I killed my first deer hunting with my dad on Christmas day in 1967. After having lunch at my grandmother?s house with all of my mother?s family we went to my Aunt Pauline?s house for our usual Christmas afternoon deer drive. We did not have any dogs with us that afternoon so we decided to do a man drive.

There was an old dry lake behind my aunt?s house that was grown up with pine trees, briars and honeysuckle. Everyone except the drivers took a stand on the ridges on either side of the lake. My dad and I took a stand together, sitting on the ground with our backs to the same large pine tree. We often did this if we were hunting with other people. I guess my dad was still a little concerned about how I would handle myself if a deer popped up between me and a driver.

We had not been there long when a young deer popped up on the end of the ridge we were sitting on. It stood still for a minute or so and then continued down the trail that would lead it to the tree we were sitting under.

This all took place before the days of open doe seasons and bucks were the only legal targets. This deer appeared to be a doe so we had not raised our shotguns and had no intention to shoot.

When the deer got about ten yards in front of us it suddenly made eye contact with me and stood on its breaks and spun to its left to go down the ridge. The sun was breaking thru the pine trees and hitting the ground at this spot and my dad thought he saw spikes between the deer ears. As the deer leap to its left my dad leaned over and whispered ?Son I think it?s a spike?.

Suddenly the deer spun completely around and ran back across in front of me, my dad later told me he thought the deer smelled my cousin who was stationed at the bottom of the ridge. As it did this all that was running in my head was spike!

I threw up my twenty gauge, leveled the bead on the edge of the buck?s chest and pulled the trigger while he had all four feet in the air. When his front legs hit the ground he did a complete summersault and landed back on his all fours and began to crawl straight away from us leaving a blood trail a foot wide.
It was only then that I realized that my dad had said that he thought it was a spike and not that it was a spike. I turned looked at my dad and said ?I hope you are right?.

He jumped up and ran to the buck to see what it was because the way it fell we could not see the top of its head. We were both relieved when he flipped its head over and we could see that he had three inch spikes. This was my first deer and a great extra Christmas present.

This was also the first and only deer I ever killed with my Ivey Johnson 20 gauge. Another special note is that the Christmas before when I got my shotgun my granddaddy gave me a 20 gauge slug. It was an old paper shell with wax on the outside. That was the shell I used to kill my first buck. I had been carrying it around for a whole year without a chance to use it until that afternoon.

My dad has been gone almost four years now and I miss him every day but even more so during deer season.

Chasing mule deer in southern new mexico. He never killed a deer while I was with him but the camping and hiking were memories I will always treasure.

Don't know I have a favorite but special memories with my father entailed fishing and hunting endeavors. Lucky for me, my dad was a serious hunter/fisherman and I grew up in a household of hunters -- two older brothers. Back in those days we enjoyed the four seasons -- hunting, fishing, baseball, and basketball. As a kid growing up in rural MO, dad took me hunting and fishing all the time. I was blessed!

Pheasant hunting. Never missed an opening day in 20+ years till my folks moved to California. As far as big game hunting goes, I'm hoping my best memory is going to happen this fall. I am finally going to be able to go big game hunting with my dad for the first time. He is coming out for an elk hunt in October with his 300 Weatherby, which is going to be my gun some day. I love that rifle, and can't wait to get my dad on an elk with it. Hope it all falls in place for him. I got my wife a bull two years ago. My dad just wants a cow.

all of them

Think he is to young to start making memories??

Just found this forum, awesome, didnt know this existed. Ill get to posting specific handgun hunting stuff soon, but for now browsing this forum for the first time i saw this thread and figured id add mine. Not exactly a favorite memory, but the one that sticks out. I was maybe 11 or 12 hunting muleys with my dad, and we spotted a couple big mature bucks fighting. Problem was, thry were on private property, posted no hunting no trespassing. We sat and watched them go at it and i was begging my dad to go ask the land owner for permission. Worst he can do is say no, so why not ask? He refused, saying it would be a waste of time. The next day we see 2 guys dragging a buck iff that property, so we went to see it. Awesome buck, i think a 7x8 if i remember correctly. Definitely one of tge pair we watched the other day. I asked them how they got permission. The reply... "oh we just knocked on his door this morning and asked and he said go ahead." 20+ years later and i still make sure to flip the old man some crap about it from time to time

I am very glad so many of you have good stories to tell about hunting and fishing with your dad.
After my dad's 200 day hunting trip across Europe in 1944 and 1945, he had no further interest in shooting. I guess he had used up his lifetime allowance of 30-06 ammo through a BAR during those 200 days.

Bob

I began "hunting " with my Dad when I was just big enough to walk. Probably very loud in the fallen leaves but he usually found a way to get a limit of squirrels or the occasional deer. Don't seem to remember as many deer back in the 1960's either. As I grew older, I shot my first squirrel with a 410 shotgun at the ripe old age of 5! LOL. For the next 35 years I was blessed to hunt and do most things outdoors with my Father and our friends (his friends and my friends all together, a novel concept I know!). We had many seasons together and I treasure them all. My 11 year old Son shot his first deer last November and I felt a real circle of life moment. I would have loved for these two to have met, however it wasn't to be. My Father passed on 3 weeks before my Son's birth. All is well, I have plenty of stories to entertain my Son with about his Grandfather at deer camp and while woods walking and scouting.

I know this was to be about my favorite story but I am very fortunate to have a lifetime of stories, still unfolding! MK

I remember one gorgeous fall day my brother and I got to tag along with my dad on a walk through up at Smokey Fredrickson's, lookin'for some grouse. When dad pulled up Doug and I bailed out of the car and ran over to grab a handful of grapes, purple and fragrant in the crisp fall air, just as we grabbed a bunch, one of us did, the other in the process, BOOM, dad's 12 ga side by side Ithaca lit both barrels, we two youngster just about soiled our linen right then and there, Dad was a teacher and he was a demanding teacher, but even for him, this was just a little over the top, tho in fact he was right, the grapes weren't ours and we hadn't asked permission to take some and we had also violated one of dad's cardinal rules, -nobody in front of the gun- but sheesh, we let loose of the grapes and got behind the hunter in short order and nothing was said. In truth, which we found out years later, the gun discharged on its own when dad closed the action. he didn't reload, we hunted dry-gun the rest of the day, and when he got home ,dad tore down the action and determined that there was some "lint " in the action that caused the sear to release with the closing of the action. He knew how much us two boys loved to tag along and how infrequently we got to do it, so rather than call it a day at the start, we hiked our little legs off thru the brush anyway. He taught me a lot about hunting.

I know this is an old thread, but...

My dad taught me just about everything I know about hunting, fishing, and trapping. My brothers, our father, and I were always outdoors and always together. We hunted deer, turkeys, predators, and fished. Dad was blessed to do a lot of hunting in Alaska and Canada for sheep, moose, goats, and bears. He shot dang near everything with his Win. Mod. 70 .270 but he always took his .338 as a back up rifle. That .338 traveled a lot of miles but was never used to kill anything.

When dad got too old and sick to hunt anymore, he divided all his guns up between my two brothers and I. Among other rifles, I receieved his pre 64 mod 70 in .338. The rifle was built in 1959, "carried much and fired little".

In October of 2016, I went elk hunting in New Mexico with that rifle and killed a nice bull with it.

So, even though I was fortunate to hunt with my father a lot, including a caribou hunt and a blackbear hunt, one of my favorite hunts with him was one on which he was not physically present.

Lost him this January at age 83, after a long battle with cancer. I'll forever miss him.

All of them.....

Nope.....Start 'em young

My Dad was a squirrel hunting machine, almost always hunting them with a rifle of some kind. The times I got to tag along for that are some of my best memories.
Dad will have been gone 9 years in August.
My older brother was my hunting mentor as far as deer hunting. He taught me all I know about that. This will be my first year hunting without him, he passed on April 29.