Throwback Thursday

[Big Fin]

OK, since we have the weekly Friday music thread, I think we need to start a "Throwback Thursday" thread.

Here is the gig. You post a pic, doesn't have to be a hunting pic; can be anything that tells a little about you, your interests in life, or something/someone that has a story that impacted your life. Can be of you, your family, or people you know.

The pic and story must be at least ten years ago and for us old geezers, at least fifteen years ago. Extra points if the pic was taken on a Polaroid. I'll start.

WInter, 1989, Carson City, Nevada. I was 24 years old and running a snare line at night, after working at the CPA firm all day, trying to earn a few extra bucks to pay off student loans. Needless to say, I was the only CPA in that national firm who was moonlighting via a trap line.

Ended up with about ten cats and a dozen gray fox. Cats brought about $350 each, gray fox about $20 each, and the coyotes I was shooting were about $25 each. With gas at about $1.00 per gallon, I was making as much money running snares at night as I was making sure the debits equalled the credits. Not sure if that is a testimony as to the high fur prices of the day or the paltry pay that a junior accountant earned while being an indentured servant.




Wish I had some of the pics of me and my uncle when we really trapped a lot. In good seasons we would get over 100 beaver, one winter had over 500 muskrats, and between us and our separate lines, we would usually have over 100 mink and 50 red fox.

My wife let me use the apartment kitchen for my skinning shed. I knew she was going to be a good wife, once she agree to that idea.

Next.

 

[JohnCushman]

This is me rocking my mullet in High School circa 1988 before I enlisted in my senior year and had to shave it all off for reserves while I was still in school

 

[jryoung]

Camano Island (Puget Sound) circa 1980.

 

[dexnrex]

1986 Late season doe hunt in N.E. MT. My buddy recently sent me this photo and still remembered how jealous he was that I had found a dead buck and not him. I didn't remember, but he said I cut the antlers off with a hatchet. I do rember the shot on the doe though, running balls out about 10 yds. below me on the river bank. I shot her right in the ticker. Great blood trail in the fresh snow. We were entirely self taught through trial and a whole lot of error. No bowhunter ed in those days.

This will be the first year of hunting for my oldest son. He won't be taking shots at running deer and will have a quiver with a broadhead guard.

 

[NV_ARCH3R]

Me, in the early 80"s during my first life as a Nevada Buckaroo, Best times of my life too!

 

[Wally Dog]

The buck I COULD HAVE shot 1980 Owyhee County Idaho

 

[2rocky]

Me, in the early 80"s during my first life as a Nevada Buckaroo, Best times of my life too!

You aren't Claude Dallas are you?

 

[NV_ARCH3R]

You aren't Claude Dallas are you?

No, was in the country when that all happened

 

[kansasdad]

Nairobi Kenya c1968. Myself, Dad, one of my twin brothers, and my sister. The tusk I am holding is the "working" tusk, the other longer thinner one Dad always called the "fighting" tusk. The working tusk is missing a pretty big chunk of ivory as the PH "backing up" my dad shot the tusk as the dead-on-its-feet-elephant reared back to collapse in his tracks. My dad wore out literally more than a handful of soles off his elephant ear shoes he had custom made from this bull. I have the shoes, but sadly my feet are just a little too large to wear comfortably. Ditto the hippo hide shoes.

 

[BuzzH]

Spent a fair bit of time with this Character...my grandfather, hunting, fishing, etc.

I well remember this day, 17-18 years ago, when Gramps was in his late 70's. It was kind of a miserable day, but we decided to hunt anyway. Rainy and not very nice. Gramps shot a model 70 winchester in 300 win. mag for over 50 years. Even in his later years he was a very good shot...and with a b-tag in his pocket, this doe didnt have a chance at 100 yards.

Later that same day, with about 15 minutes of light left, I looked across a draw and saw a cow elk standing in a small opening about 250 yards away. Because of the shadows, and late hour, gramps was having a hard time seeing it. Finally, I told to look at a large larch snag on the sky-line. He said he could see that. I said just below it in the opening, theres an elk there. He says, "Oh, yeah I see it now"...he took a quick rest on the side of a tree and one shot through the shoulder and that was that. My grandfathers last elk...

He continued to hunt until he was 84, and took some more deer and antelope.

One of the funniest stories, I was probably about 15-16 at the time and we were out in the spring shooting gophers, etc. We drove up this old road that went up a creek bottom and there was a hippy looking guy with his wife or girlfriend camped in a ratty looking tent and camper. We stopped and the hippy guy walks up to the door of gramps truck and strikes up a conversation. Apparently, he and his lady friend had a contract to plant trees. The hippy guy was resting his hands on the door frame and right in mid sentence of some yarn gramps was spinning, my gramps looks at the guys hands, that were about black with dirt, and says, "Jesus Christ, you ever heard of soap and water?"...not one to let it go, he continues to tell the guy, "that just because you're camped in the woods doesnt mean you have to be grubby". Then to ice the cake, he starts giving the guy instructions on how to build a bathtub/sweatlodge in the creek....

I was in the passenger seat, about passing out from laughter....

You cant buy that kind of humor.

Yep, 100% character...and some of the best times of my life.

 

[jryoung]

That's good stuff right there. I never got to hunt with my grandpa, but growing up there was a group of guys with a cabin near ours that had long given up hunting for the bottle. They were there every year without fail and hosted some great gathering of folks on the hill. One year when I was 12 I convinced my Dad to let me steal a full size "elvira" coors light cardboard cut out from a grocery store in town. We brought her up and put her on the deck of their cabin and after she danced with on of the guys all night I'm pretty sure he took her to bed along with his handle of Black Velvet that was nearly polished off.

If I only had a cell phone with video camera back then.

 

[A-con]

1st deer, 1968 / or was it 69 ?



Backpacking before backing was cool, 1971 in what is now called the John Muir wilderness. Back then it was just "way back in the mountains".

 

[Brandenbowhunter]

Those are great!

 

[webejmn]

Unfortunately, we had no camera when I was young. All my pics and videos are etched in my mind. Like the monster mule deer grandad shot up on the finger in Tabiona UT off of Tabby Mtn. Dad and all the uncles , cousins were out runnin' the woods and gramps says you come with me and we will show them how to hunt. Sat on that point for about 30 minutes and here goes this huge muley scootin' through the trees about 200 yards out. Gramps shot and no deer. I said where did he go. He says he's dead behind that tree lets go get him. Sure enough we get down there and he's there, head shot. I was 12 and totally amazed at the shot. That old 6.5 Jap was a shootin rifle in gramps hand. Anyway so many good stories no pics to back them up. Retro Thurs. Great Idea Randy! Sure miss dad and grandpa. Had a lot of good times with them.

 

[cowboy]

Great Idea Randy! Sure miss dad and grandpa. Had a lot of good times with them.

How true - damn allergies are acting up again after reading thru the above and remembering all the old outings of hunting/fishing/camping etc. with Dad and Grandpa.

 

[jryoung]

1st deer, 1968 / or was it 69 ?

Tell us about that Model 99, and do you still have it?

 

[Big Fin]

Since it is Thursday, I thought I would post another throwback.

Summer of 1972. I was seven. In the boat with me is my Mom's youngest brother, Jimmer, who is all of a year older than me. Resting on the back seat is an Arco coffee can full of garden worms dug from a worm bed Grandma kept in her back yard just for the pupose of obtaining fishing bait.

Location was a family homestead in northen Minnesota, just outside the big town of Marcell, population 88. Mom's side of the family settled there around 1915. The first winter there, they lived in a tent on the banks of this lake. Grandma died in 2004 at the age of 102, so there must have been something good about spending a northern Minnesota winter in a tent.

Our family, aunts, uncles, cousins, second/third/fourth cousins, still own the few cabin sites on this little 1,500 acre lake. It is a place that I always go back to and one of my son's favorite places on earth. So quiet and so much a trip back in time.

Something about being six or seven years old, spending entire summer days on the dock, watching the bluegills and sunfish sneak from the lilly pads and cabbage weeds to engulf your worn, then swim off for cover. We would catch them by the hundreds, with Grandpa having a rule that if you kept them, you got to clean them. As kids, we cleaned them with no hesitation, if it meant we were allowed to fill our basket with them.

Not sure how many kids today walk around with a Rapala fillet knife hanging from their belt, but for us and our buddies, it was standard accessory in the summer time. In our pockets were always a small box of plain hooks, some split shots, and usually a small bobber. You just never knew when you might get the chance to join someone on a quick fishing trip, so best not be ill-prepared.

Our jeans always smelled slightly of fish slime and worm juice. Worm dirt and fish scales covered our hands, considered a sign of a kid staying out of trouble, not of filth or uncleanliness. Shoes were always torn and usually wet from chasing frogs, minnows, leeches, or crawdads, all consider bait of the greatest magnitude, and caught in great numbers by this group of hooligans, where upon capture we would place them in the aerated minnow tank Grandpa had built us from an old lift-top ice cream cooler.

On big days, we were allowed to row across the little bay to the virgin ground untrammeled by the masses of kids fishing from the few docks found along this shore. Across the bay lived fish of great myth. Bass as big as my dog, northens that might tow us around the lake, and walleyes big enough to take your arm off at the shoulder. Never caught one of those mystery fish, but I spent endless summer nights dreaming about them.

Hard to beat the innocence of having a little lake nearby to hone your swimming skills, to teach you respect for water and weather, and give you the inate ability to disregard masses of skeeters in pursuit of fish, a talent that has since waned as I have aged. A lake with a great family name like Big Ole, taken from great.great, grandfather's first name, Olaf.

A place that gives you a sense of home like nowhere else. Where when you return, nothing has really changed, even if it has not stayed the same. Where the memories of childhood make you smile and give thanks for all who made it such a special time of life.

I hope every kid has a place like this to escape the suffocating conformity of society; to get dirty and get bit by a bee; to solve disputes with other kids in a manner not requiring a twelve-step manual with parental/teacher supervision; where they will have no TV and will be far more entertained; where they can learn about life and death and how one is fed, both fish and human, by something that dies. Mostly I hope he/she is provided the freedom to be a child in a place where childhood will stay with you no matter how old you grow.

 

[HUNTMAN]

July 4th 1988. Shark fishing with Dad. 300 yards off shore. Didnt swim in the ocean for years after that night. Great thread.

 

[jryoung]

Back in December of '85 my friends and I came across an injured screech owl on the way to school. Amazed, confused and perplexed at the same time we found a shopping bag on the side of the road and put the owl in it and took it to school. I think the office secretary nearly fainted when we opened the bag, but they took it from there.

Three weeks later Larry Broder from Fish and Game (who had a daughter at our school) came to release the owl after rehab. We got on the local news and our pictures in the paper. Pretty grand event for a 9 year old.

 

[seidelm]

I recently made a photo book for my father with some of his old pictures along with the ones that I took on our hunts. Here is one I really liked. Pretty sure these kids played with sticks, rocks, and fists at times!