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Memories Of Your First Hunting Trip......

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  • Axxe55

    Retiretgtshit stirrer
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    Lost in East Texas Elhart Texas
    I can remember some of my first hunting trips as a youngster. For the first part of my life, I grew up in and around Houston. My father would take my brother and I to the gun ranges as youngsters and taught us how to shoot at an early age. But, living there, we didn't have the opportunities to go hunting. Fast forward a few years after my grandfather passed away in 1974, and my father inherited the family farm and we moved here in 1975. Wow! We had land to go hunting on! And all sorts of hunting. Deer, rabbit, squirrel, dove, quail, ect. Our father never was a hunter himself, but he had no objections to anyone hunting as long as it was done in an ethical and respectful manner, and that was what he taught us about hunting. He would even lend a hand at helping us become better hunters, and to help us get ready to hunt. Like helping us build deer stands and finding the best spot for them. Many times he spent time with us sighting in rifles, or spending time planting cover crops in the fall that would attract deer that season. He would reload ammo for us to use for hunting, He bought us rifles and shotguns to use for hunting.

    By the time the mid 1970's rolled around, visions of deer hunting were a huge thing for me. Those times spent in a deer stand, shortly before daybreak, or for a time in the evening for a while before the sun set, were some happy times of my youth. The very first deer I took, was feeling I almost can't even put into proper words. A lot of emotions all at one time. Satisfaction, exhilaration, respect and even a touch of sadness as well. I remember going to tell my father about the deer I killed, and him helping me to field dress my first deer.

    Even though my father didn't hunt himself, hunting gave us time together, all three of us, learning, and preparing for hunting. Dad passing along his own thoughts and opinions about hunting, and teaching us the value of ethics, respect, and responsibility about hunting, and maybe even just life in general. They are some fond memories I have to this day, and much of what my father taught us, shaped our lives in the past years after leaving home.
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    jamesmrj

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    I too grew up in Houston. My first memory of hunting (dove) was bird-dogging with my brother (he was probably 5-6 and I was probably 7-8) for my dad and grandfather. We were hunting the parking lot of the construction company that he worked for at the time. This was somewhere around beltway 8 on the west side of Houston. I remember hunting for the downed birds among all the assorted construction equipment.

    This would have been around '88 or '89. Nothing but city around there now.
     

    baboon

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    Out here by the lake!
    My dad didn’t care about hunting or much for guns. Being the youngest of 5 boys he was their bird dog. WWII might have been his aversion to guns.

    When I wanted to start hunting my dad was fine with it. Neither parents were ok with dogs, but I was allowed the first dog. My first dog was a Brittany Spaniel that I trained to hunt.

    My dad actually took me out hunting twice. I remember it was very cold with the wind blowing. My dog was as miserable as my dad. When I called off the hunt, we ended up in a bar eating chili.

    It’s funny growing up how different I was from my dad & older brother. I was all about the great outdoors. They were all about cars & airplanes.
     

    cygunner

    Devil's Den - Gettysburg
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    Cypress, TX
    My father loved to hunt. He kept good bird dogs and loved to hunt the quail that were abundant in our area at the time. I inherited the love of dogs, horses and guns from him. When I was 9 I received a perfectly worthless Mossberg bolt action .410 shotgun for Christmas (still have it around here somewhere). At 9 you don't pattern anything, you just shoot it. We went quail hunting that afternoon and wonder of wonders I managed to slightly wing (barely)a rapidly departing quail. After much effort by the determined dog, occasionally encouraged by my father with his choice of language, the cripple was recovered and euthanized by breaking its neck. I later learned this odious task myself. That night I heard my parents talking in the kitchen. My father said that damned quail would be recovered if it took until dark. To this day, although my mother sold out when my father passed away, I could walk to within feet of where this took place. Another lesson learned. Speaking of breaking a quail's neck to kill it. I once had an idiot cousin whose father had not paid that much attention to him decide the way to kill a crippled quail was to shoot it again at point blank range. I intervened as I was fond of eating quail. He then gifted me with the few cripples he managed to scratch down. My father and uncle had a deer lease but he would never take me because he said my crazy cousins were going to shoot somebody someday and he would not want it to be me. He was hell on gun safety and hunting etiquette.
     

    deemus

    my mama says I'm special
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    Backwoods OK, my dad carrying my grandpa's Remington Model 12 pump 22, I was age 7. We (my dad) killed a couple rabbits, a squirrel and two dove. We took the quarry back to grandpa's house and my granny cooked it for dinner. Best dinner ever.

    I wanted that gun so badly. But being one of 40+ grandkids it was never going to happen. So when I happened upon one at a gun show about 20 years ago I bought it. I have shot it a couple times. But really its just a relic from my past that brings back so many memories like that one I mentioned above, that gives me warm fuzzies. Trying to decide which grandkid I will give it to.
     

    baboon

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    Out here by the lake!
    On of my uncle was totally into hunting & fishing. He had a wood & glass gun cabinet that I use to drawl over as a kid. When I had gotten older I figured my uncle hadn't hunted in years so I'd offer to buy his guns. He had an old Marling lever action in .35 Remington that I thought was the crown gem in his collection. Turned out my one cousin ripped off the guns & pawned them for dope money. I never wanted another lever action since that!
     

    ZX9RCAM

    Over the Rainbow bridge...
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    The Woodlands, Tx.
    First deer hunt was in 1966, I was 8 years old.
    Out on the ranch, driving around our allotted pasture, my dad spotted a small buck.
    It was about 100 yds away, I took out the .222, and missed.
    The deer took off and my dad started rattling the horns he carried.
    It stopped, now about 185 yds away.
    I settled down, squeezed the trigger, and dropped it.
     
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