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What are some of your favorite memories of hunting or fishing as a kid?

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  • What are some of your favorite memories of hunting or fishing as a kid?

    What are some of your favorite memories of hunting or fishing as a kid?

  • #2
    It's kind of funny. Reading this question I was trying to pick out a story, but every time I thought of one to type out I would think of a "better" one. And then I realized that is what is so great about hunting and fishing. Form so many great memories doing it. Even a terrible day of fishing or hunting usually results in great memories. As a kid there were years where I literally either went hunting or fishing all 365 days, so I have quite a few memories...I love hunting and fishing with friends and girlfriends or whatever, but hunting or fishing with a family member is on a whole different level. So...I'd just say in general fishing and hunting with family members, especially those that are no longer alive, are my greatest memories as a child.

    Comment


    • #3
      Didn't start hunting until I was maybe 23 or 24.. Hmm. I'll have to check my HTE card on that.
      City kid and fishing happened mostly, but not entirely on vacations.
      Looking back on it, everything about it was special. Early mornings on the banks of a lake. Dad rowing so we could troll for pickerel. Getting old enough that I could just wander down to the lake with a rod and be gone for the day and not get caught up in vacation 'activities'. Most of the memories I have of my grandfather.. it's all fishing.

      Comment


      • #4
        I had a couple miles of trout stream all to myself, with a big deep culvert-pool right at the far corner of our backyard. Thirty-five years later, I can still remember specific trout, what I caught them on, and what the weather was doing that day. Mainly, though, I like to think back on just living there, how it felt on Saturday mornings when I'd get up before everyone else, slurp down a bowl of cereal, stuff a bologna sandwich inside my shirt, and just head out. No need to carry a water-bottle; I had the crick. Sometimes I carried a little tackle box and bait-can; other times I just poked a couple of extra hooks in the sleeve of my shirt and fished all day with whatever I could find under rocks and logs. And when I didn't have all day, that culvert pool was a blessing. Sometimes I'd go down and fish for a half-hour before school; I could always hear the bus when it crested a hilltop about a half-mile away, giving me time to run back to the house, put my fishing pole back in the garage, and get on the bus. Anyway, I could write a book on that crick and what it was like to grow up beside it (and maybe I will, one of these days).

        The crick was also a highlight when my big brothers would visit. They were out of the house by the time I was five or six. One brother was married with a little boy; the other one was in the Marines. Every time they came home, they'd come fishing with me -- and they realized that even though I was the little brother, I was the resident expert out there and they let me lead the way. My brother the Marine still has all the letters I wrote him when he was stationed in Beirut; most of them are all about the crick and the trout I'd been catching, but I'd always tell him, too, about any deer I'd seen or grouse I'd flushed (we called them partridge, back then; he still does, which I kind of like).

        My older sisters loved it out there, too. Along with the crick, we had acres and acres of woods -- none of them ours (our family homestead, that I'm always mentioning as the hunting property we own now, was about twenty miles away), but none of the farmers out there minded us using it. We were always going berry-picking and just roaming around. Funny story: Mom and Dad always planted a huge garden and we were always chasing away the woodchucks. One summer my brother came home from the Marines and bought a new .22-250. He shot a lot of woodchucks that summer, mainly in the farmers' alfalfa field, but there was this huge one in our garden that he missed probably five or six times. The man could shoot, no doubt about it, but this chuck just seemed to live a charmed life. About a week after he went back to North Carolina, my sister and I were in the house one afternoon when we saw the big chuck out there, munching away. She went and got our Dad's old open-sighted single-shot .22, lifted up the living room window, and shot the chuck clean through the skull (it was probably fifty yards from the house to the garden, and the chuck was a ways into the garden). I don't know if she'd ever even shot anything before, besides tin cans. I couldn't wait to tell our brother, which I did in the very next letter. And, of course, it's still one of the stories I like to tell when we all get together nowadays.

        Comment


        • #5
          I had a dream world childhood with the parents of my mother. Both my Grandpa
          and Grandma were hunters and fishermen, had a wonderful little shack cabin in
          northern Michigan where I spent many fantastic early years during the mid 40's
          and 50's ! In the spring it was mushrooming, bluegill fishing and me just being
          allowed to wander and explore the wilds around the cabin. In summer it was
          trout fishing a little creek with Grandpa. His patience with me was second to none
          as I tromped on the banks and put all the fish down probably hours after we left !
          Fall was spent enjoying the wonderful colors of autumn leaves and more fishing.
          I was of course not old enough to carry a gun, but spent many hours in the woods
          there deer hunting as a tag along with Gramps.

          I can not possibly pick one memory that was better than the other during this time
          of my life, it was all one marvelous time of enjoyment for this kid then ! When I was
          not in the north with my grandparents I was at the river or mill pond close to home,
          I was like a little tramp without a home and I am sure I caused some bad times for
          my mother as she rarely knew where I was once my little feet hit the floor in the
          morning and the door closed behind me. My entire love of the outdoors is the
          result of my Grandparents and them allowing me to grow as I wished, but also
          with strong moral leadership from both. Even at my advanced years today, those
          days are the most important and when other things become cloudy to me now, it
          is those years that keep my memory strongest. I have never been happier than
          I was in those young years. Thanks Grandpa and Gradma, I love you !

          Comment


          • #6
            You folks are just reaffirming my move out of the City of Brotherly Love. My oldest was 10 when we moved here and my 7 year old boy knows nothing else. The wife and I were just discussing whether he's ready to just be cut loose to wander the creek fishing by himself. It's just out back, but when the big creek is up, it's up, but we should be on top of that anyway. Someone'd have to walk all of 70 yards to take a really good look. He still occasionally has that fish that he just can't get loose.. which is really my last hang-up on it.

            It makes me intensely happy to see that his life is as outdoorsy as the favorite brief moments of my childhood growing up here:
            Attached Files

            Comment


            • #7
              Originally posted by JM View Post
              It's kind of funny. Reading this question I was trying to pick out a story, but every time I thought of one to type out I would think of a "better" one. And then I realized that is what is so great about hunting and fishing. Form so many great memories doing it. Even a terrible day of fishing or hunting usually results in great memories. As a kid there were years where I literally either went hunting or fishing all 365 days, so I have quite a few memories...I love hunting and fishing with friends and girlfriends or whatever, but hunting or fishing with a family member is on a whole different level. So...I'd just say in general fishing and hunting with family members, especially those that are no longer alive, are my greatest memories as a child.
              Yes, the memories created are really what makes any activity special. When you think about it, the enjoyment of anything as it is happening is by definition fleeting. But memories last forever. That's what I always tell people when they ask why I keep the racks from bucks, or the beard and spurs from gobblers, etc. - it's for the memories. Every time I look up at them on the wall, the feeling of that hunt comes rushing back as though it just happened.

              Comment


              • #8
                Originally posted by bowhunter75richard View Post
                I had a dream world childhood with the parents of my mother. Both my Grandpa
                and Grandma were hunters and fishermen, had a wonderful little shack cabin in
                northern Michigan where I spent many fantastic early years during the mid 40's
                and 50's ! In the spring it was mushrooming, bluegill fishing and me just being
                allowed to wander and explore the wilds around the cabin. In summer it was
                trout fishing a little creek with Grandpa. His patience with me was second to none
                as I tromped on the banks and put all the fish down probably hours after we left !
                Fall was spent enjoying the wonderful colors of autumn leaves and more fishing.
                I was of course not old enough to carry a gun, but spent many hours in the woods
                there deer hunting as a tag along with Gramps.

                I can not possibly pick one memory that was better than the other during this time
                of my life, it was all one marvelous time of enjoyment for this kid then ! When I was
                not in the north with my grandparents I was at the river or mill pond close to home,
                I was like a little tramp without a home and I am sure I caused some bad times for
                my mother as she rarely knew where I was once my little feet hit the floor in the
                morning and the door closed behind me. My entire love of the outdoors is the
                result of my Grandparents and them allowing me to grow as I wished, but also
                with strong moral leadership from both. Even at my advanced years today, those
                days are the most important and when other things become cloudy to me now, it
                is those years that keep my memory strongest. I have never been happier than
                I was in those young years. Thanks Grandpa and Gradma, I love you !
                It's too bad more kids couldn't experience that kind of childhood today, but that's a whole 'nother topic.

                Comment


                • #9
                  Originally posted by Okwaho View Post
                  I had a couple miles of trout stream all to myself, with a big deep culvert-pool right at the far corner of our backyard. Thirty-five years later, I can still remember specific trout, what I caught them on, and what the weather was doing that day. Mainly, though, I like to think back on just living there, how it felt on Saturday mornings when I'd get up before everyone else, slurp down a bowl of cereal, stuff a bologna sandwich inside my shirt, and just head out. No need to carry a water-bottle; I had the crick. Sometimes I carried a little tackle box and bait-can; other times I just poked a couple of extra hooks in the sleeve of my shirt and fished all day with whatever I could find under rocks and logs. And when I didn't have all day, that culvert pool was a blessing. Sometimes I'd go down and fish for a half-hour before school; I could always hear the bus when it crested a hilltop about a half-mile away, giving me time to run back to the house, put my fishing pole back in the garage, and get on the bus. Anyway, I could write a book on that crick and what it was like to grow up beside it (and maybe I will, one of these days).

                  The crick was also a highlight when my big brothers would visit. They were out of the house by the time I was five or six. One brother was married with a little boy; the other one was in the Marines. Every time they came home, they'd come fishing with me -- and they realized that even though I was the little brother, I was the resident expert out there and they let me lead the way. My brother the Marine still has all the letters I wrote him when he was stationed in Beirut; most of them are all about the crick and the trout I'd been catching, but I'd always tell him, too, about any deer I'd seen or grouse I'd flushed (we called them partridge, back then; he still does, which I kind of like).

                  My older sisters loved it out there, too. Along with the crick, we had acres and acres of woods -- none of them ours (our family homestead, that I'm always mentioning as the hunting property we own now, was about twenty miles away), but none of the farmers out there minded us using it. We were always going berry-picking and just roaming around. Funny story: Mom and Dad always planted a huge garden and we were always chasing away the woodchucks. One summer my brother came home from the Marines and bought a new .22-250. He shot a lot of woodchucks that summer, mainly in the farmers' alfalfa field, but there was this huge one in our garden that he missed probably five or six times. The man could shoot, no doubt about it, but this chuck just seemed to live a charmed life. About a week after he went back to North Carolina, my sister and I were in the house one afternoon when we saw the big chuck out there, munching away. She went and got our Dad's old open-sighted single-shot .22, lifted up the living room window, and shot the chuck clean through the skull (it was probably fifty yards from the house to the garden, and the chuck was a ways into the garden). I don't know if she'd ever even shot anything before, besides tin cans. I couldn't wait to tell our brother, which I did in the very next letter. And, of course, it's still one of the stories I like to tell when we all get together nowadays.
                  Let us know if you ever write that book. It'd love to read it.

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    Originally posted by jcarlin View Post
                    You folks are just reaffirming my move out of the City of Brotherly Love. My oldest was 10 when we moved here and my 7 year old boy knows nothing else. The wife and I were just discussing whether he's ready to just be cut loose to wander the creek fishing by himself. It's just out back, but when the big creek is up, it's up, but we should be on top of that anyway. Someone'd have to walk all of 70 yards to take a really good look. He still occasionally has that fish that he just can't get loose.. which is really my last hang-up on it.

                    It makes me intensely happy to see that his life is as outdoorsy as the favorite brief moments of my childhood growing up here:
                    That doesn't look like a fun place to live. Lol It's entirely up to you, but in my estimation, 7 seems a bit young for a kid to be fishing by themselves. But I don't have kids, so what do I know.

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      I was/am much younger than most of my siblings, and my dad worked full time like most fathers, so a lot of my childhood outdoors memories involve my next-oldest brother, who is 8 years older than me. There are too many to recount them all here, but a couple stand out in particular. When he was in high school and would have a snow day during Jan. and Feb., we would often go rabbit hunting together. He'd carry his .22, and I would use a pellet gun. There were some good patches of brush within a short walk of the house, and we could usually find bunny tracks somewhere in the fresh snow. We'd follow them until they went into a brushpile and didn't come out, then one of us would stand off to one side covering the likeliest escape route, and the other would start busting brush, trying to flush the rabbit out. We got pretty good at it, and generally knew what the other would do without communicating. Quite a few bunnies came home with us after those outings. Missed a lot too, especially me with my pellet plinker. I graduated to a .22 as well in later years, which increased my success rate.
                      A lot of other memories involve trapping with my brother, starting when I was about 8 or 9. He had to go to school (I was home schooled), so we would get up at about 5 in the morning to check traps by flashlight. I have never been a morning person at all, but I was always excited to get out of bed to see what we had caught. I can tell you one thing - nothing wakes you up faster than almost stepping on an unhappy raccoon in the dark! As anyone who has done it can attest, the sight of a pair of glowing eyes really gets your blood pumping when walking up to a set location. Of course, sometimes those eyes belonged to a skunk or possum, but that's life. I mostly hunt, fish, and trap by myself these days, through both choice and necessity, but I wouldn't trade the experiences shared with family for anything.

                      Comment


                      • #12
                        Originally posted by jcarlin View Post
                        You folks are just reaffirming my move out of the City of Brotherly Love. My oldest was 10 when we moved here and my 7 year old boy knows nothing else. The wife and I were just discussing whether he's ready to just be cut loose to wander the creek fishing by himself. It's just out back, but when the big creek is up, it's up, but we should be on top of that anyway. Someone'd have to walk all of 70 yards to take a really good look. He still occasionally has that fish that he just can't get loose.. which is really my last hang-up on it.

                        It makes me intensely happy to see that his life is as outdoorsy as the favorite brief moments of my childhood growing up here:
                        He'll be 8 in a couple of weeks. I'm torn on it myself. We'll be getting a lot of hours on a lake this weekend camping right on the banks, and bringing a small flotilla of boats and kayaks we'll launch from a private ramp and dock that come along with the particular site we rented.
                        We'll see how he handles himself and the fish.
                        He knows the couple hundred yards centered on the house pretty well. Knows what he can wade and what he can't and has his own couple of preferred honey holes. In most conditions the current is pretty mellow with sunfish along the banks and the slower pools and smallmouth, rock bass, and chub scattered along the stony flats. He also spent a year on the swim team and the summers in our pool. I'm not real worried about Nature taking him. I'm maybe more concerned about 2 legged predators, but that might just be my own hang-up.

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          Originally posted by huntfishtrap View Post
                          I was/am much younger than most of my siblings, and my dad worked full time like most fathers, so a lot of my childhood outdoors memories involve my next-oldest brother, who is 8 years older than me. There are too many to recount them all here, but a couple stand out in particular. When he was in high school and would have a snow day during Jan. and Feb., we would often go rabbit hunting together. He'd carry his .22, and I would use a pellet gun. There were some good patches of brush within a short walk of the house, and we could usually find bunny tracks somewhere in the fresh snow. We'd follow them until they went into a brushpile and didn't come out, then one of us would stand off to one side covering the likeliest escape route, and the other would start busting brush, trying to flush the rabbit out. We got pretty good at it, and generally knew what the other would do without communicating. Quite a few bunnies came home with us after those outings. Missed a lot too, especially me with my pellet plinker. I graduated to a .22 as well in later years, which increased my success rate.
                          A lot of other memories involve trapping with my brother, starting when I was about 8 or 9. He had to go to school (I was home schooled), so we would get up at about 5 in the morning to check traps by flashlight. I have never been a morning person at all, but I was always excited to get out of bed to see what we had caught. I can tell you one thing - nothing wakes you up faster than almost stepping on an unhappy raccoon in the dark! As anyone who has done it can attest, the sight of a pair of glowing eyes really gets your blood pumping when walking up to a set location. Of course, sometimes those eyes belonged to a skunk or possum, but that's life. I mostly hunt, fish, and trap by myself these days, through both choice and necessity, but I wouldn't trade the experiences shared with family for anything.
                          Good stuff.

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            Originally posted by bowhunter75richard View Post
                            I had a dream world childhood with the parents of my mother. Both my Grandpa
                            and Grandma were hunters and fishermen, had a wonderful little shack cabin in
                            northern Michigan where I spent many fantastic early years during the mid 40's
                            and 50's ! In the spring it was mushrooming, bluegill fishing and me just being
                            allowed to wander and explore the wilds around the cabin. In summer it was
                            trout fishing a little creek with Grandpa. His patience with me was second to none
                            as I tromped on the banks and put all the fish down probably hours after we left !
                            Fall was spent enjoying the wonderful colors of autumn leaves and more fishing.
                            I was of course not old enough to carry a gun, but spent many hours in the woods
                            there deer hunting as a tag along with Gramps.

                            I can not possibly pick one memory that was better than the other during this time
                            of my life, it was all one marvelous time of enjoyment for this kid then ! When I was
                            not in the north with my grandparents I was at the river or mill pond close to home,
                            I was like a little tramp without a home and I am sure I caused some bad times for
                            my mother as she rarely knew where I was once my little feet hit the floor in the
                            morning and the door closed behind me. My entire love of the outdoors is the
                            result of my Grandparents and them allowing me to grow as I wished, but also
                            with strong moral leadership from both. Even at my advanced years today, those
                            days are the most important and when other things become cloudy to me now, it
                            is those years that keep my memory strongest. I have never been happier than
                            I was in those young years. Thanks Grandpa and Gradma, I love you !
                            HFT, those days would be impossible to realze in today's world. Too much modernization, too many wierdos out
                            waundering around, too many other things going on with technology. I am so grateful to have lived my early years
                            in the 40's and 50's, even if it does mean that now I am in my closeing years, I would not trade them in order to
                            be younger today !!!

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              Originally posted by bowhunter75richard View Post
                              I had a dream world childhood with the parents of my mother. Both my Grandpa
                              and Grandma were hunters and fishermen, had a wonderful little shack cabin in
                              northern Michigan where I spent many fantastic early years during the mid 40's
                              and 50's ! In the spring it was mushrooming, bluegill fishing and me just being
                              allowed to wander and explore the wilds around the cabin. In summer it was
                              trout fishing a little creek with Grandpa. His patience with me was second to none
                              as I tromped on the banks and put all the fish down probably hours after we left !
                              Fall was spent enjoying the wonderful colors of autumn leaves and more fishing.
                              I was of course not old enough to carry a gun, but spent many hours in the woods
                              there deer hunting as a tag along with Gramps.

                              I can not possibly pick one memory that was better than the other during this time
                              of my life, it was all one marvelous time of enjoyment for this kid then ! When I was
                              not in the north with my grandparents I was at the river or mill pond close to home,
                              I was like a little tramp without a home and I am sure I caused some bad times for
                              my mother as she rarely knew where I was once my little feet hit the floor in the
                              morning and the door closed behind me. My entire love of the outdoors is the
                              result of my Grandparents and them allowing me to grow as I wished, but also
                              with strong moral leadership from both. Even at my advanced years today, those
                              days are the most important and when other things become cloudy to me now, it
                              is those years that keep my memory strongest. I have never been happier than
                              I was in those young years. Thanks Grandpa and Gradma, I love you !
                              I think I just barely lucked out, being a kid the in early-to-mid 1980s. That was about the end of that more carefree time, it seems. Once those child-murders in Atlanta happened, and then all the publicity surrounding the Adam Walsh case, everything changed. Rightly so, of course, but it's still a pisser.

                              Comment

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