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

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  • #16
    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.
    Agreed.

    Comment


    • #17
      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 !
      Yes, you are most correct Tioughnioga, it was a wonderful period, my childhood, no worries, no bad things to
      have to be concerned with, complete freedom of mind and spirit. Used to ride my bike 6 miles out to my
      grandfather's when I was 10-14 years of age to shoot sparrows with my BB gun, never even thought of any
      dangers........wonderful times !!

      Comment


      • #18
        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.
        Those are the things to remember that makes life more bearable in today's world when a bad day whackes us
        up side the head !

        Comment


        • #19
          All you guys have already nailed it. There are so many, many wonderful memories from my life outdoors, I'd be hard pressed to pick the top one hundred. My dad started taking me on real fishing trips as soon as I was old enough to stop squirming long enough for a morning of catching bull bream in the swamp lakes of south Alabama. He and I were sitting by the same tree when I killed my first buck at age twelve. There have been days in the spring turkey woods when things have been so right I wondered if I were still on this same old planet. I am a fanatic salt water fisherman and have had days that rich folks can't afford at any price while fishing from the local pier.

          I need to thank you, hft, for asking this question because it has given me the opportunity to make one more gratitude list. I've had such a rich life in the outdoors that I should be ashamed of it, but I'm not. When life treats me shabbily, I can reach back and wrap myself in a warm blanket of good memories woven with the fabric of family, good friends and the bounty of nature.

          Comment


          • #20
            Originally posted by pineywoods View Post
            All you guys have already nailed it. There are so many, many wonderful memories from my life outdoors, I'd be hard pressed to pick the top one hundred. My dad started taking me on real fishing trips as soon as I was old enough to stop squirming long enough for a morning of catching bull bream in the swamp lakes of south Alabama. He and I were sitting by the same tree when I killed my first buck at age twelve. There have been days in the spring turkey woods when things have been so right I wondered if I were still on this same old planet. I am a fanatic salt water fisherman and have had days that rich folks can't afford at any price while fishing from the local pier.

            I need to thank you, hft, for asking this question because it has given me the opportunity to make one more gratitude list. I've had such a rich life in the outdoors that I should be ashamed of it, but I'm not. When life treats me shabbily, I can reach back and wrap myself in a warm blanket of good memories woven with the fabric of family, good friends and the bounty of nature.
            Well said pineywoods and well worded with warm feelings. And I second your thanks to hft for putting the question
            out there so all of us could give our own thanks for our memories in this matter and well done by all who responded,
            it was heart warming to read the memory recall of all !!

            Comment


            • #21
              My favorite fishing memory as a kid was when I was 10 years old, a little shrimp, and at a church event we all went to one of the member's property to swim, hunt, or fish, or eat and talk. Well, I loved fishing then and do now, and so I went fishing in the lake by myself. I threw the line in, and in no more than 5 minutes I had a whopper fish on the other end. I was super excited, and one of the big cocky teenage boys came up to watch. The large bass was halfway out of the water when the line snapped! I looked at the teenager boy in horror and he looked shocked. All he said was, "Whoa. That was a big fish." and you could tell he was impressed and shocked at the same time. A memory that I'll never forget.

              Comment


              • #22
                When I was 16, Dad sent my little brother and I to find and cut down our Christmas tree. My brother took his gun and trusty squirrel dog, Sam. I had a carpenter's handsaw.

                We drove to a wooded area near home and started trekking up a hill to look for a suitable cedar. Soon into it, Sam caught the scent and cornered a squirrel in a hollow at the base of a tree.

                We figured to get that squirrel to come out so I cut a long flexible limb, stripped it smooth and proceeded to get on my knees and with two hands work it up into the hollow. A few feet in I poked something soft and the squirrel started fussing. So I started goosing him real good, working that stick in and out, twisting, and otherwise making that hole miserable for him. Of course the dog was barking the whole time at the hole and with all that noise it's a wonder that I even heard the metallic click behind me.

                Knowing my little brother, and fearing the worst, I turned around to see that he had his single-shot 20 gauge cocked and pointed at the hole, not seeming to care about my two hands on the stick being in the way! Needless to say, I stopped the squirrel harassment to gently threaten to kill him if he accidentally shot my hands! My brother wisely let the hammer down and backed off.

                So, I returned to making that hole hell for the squirrel, again working that stick. Then suddenly I felt warm fur brush the back of my hands and I jumped back as the squirrel decided to vacate the hole! Sam was on him pretty quick and it was a terrible noise as squirrel and dog went after one another. Somehow the squirrel got loose but made the mistake of running up a small tree and in short order my brother dropped him with a quick taste of #8 shot. Sam was back on it to make sure it was a goner. As we praised Sam for a job well done we noticed blood on his nose where that squirrel had bit him through the nostril. My brother was glad to see it saying it made Sam just hate squirrels all the more.

                We placed the squirrel in an empty plastic bread bag, I grabbed the saw, and we went on to harvest one of my most memorable Christmas trees.

                Comment


                • #23
                  Originally posted by pineywoods View Post
                  All you guys have already nailed it. There are so many, many wonderful memories from my life outdoors, I'd be hard pressed to pick the top one hundred. My dad started taking me on real fishing trips as soon as I was old enough to stop squirming long enough for a morning of catching bull bream in the swamp lakes of south Alabama. He and I were sitting by the same tree when I killed my first buck at age twelve. There have been days in the spring turkey woods when things have been so right I wondered if I were still on this same old planet. I am a fanatic salt water fisherman and have had days that rich folks can't afford at any price while fishing from the local pier.

                  I need to thank you, hft, for asking this question because it has given me the opportunity to make one more gratitude list. I've had such a rich life in the outdoors that I should be ashamed of it, but I'm not. When life treats me shabbily, I can reach back and wrap myself in a warm blanket of good memories woven with the fabric of family, good friends and the bounty of nature.
                  That was a great read Country Road, thanks!

                  Comment

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