When Men were Men

[OntarioHunter]

1981 I shot this big bull over a mile from a long abandoned logging road. I pulled it down the mountain myself. After a fifty point turn I managed to back my '53 Chev stock up to a cut in the road. The bull stuck halfway through the stock rack tailgate. I was about to chop the tailgate up with a Pulaski when I conceived the idea of using the adse end to pry the tailgate up and out of the stake holes. Pry it up a bit, stick a rock underneath, and go to the next stake. Eventually it came loose and I pulled the whole works onto the bed. Then the tailgate gave up the elk. You can see it tied to the left side of stockrack.

It was so steep I had to tie up the bull to dress it. Then kicked him loose and watched him fly through the air end over end for twenty yards. I turned him around and got him started downhill again. The third tine on the left side hooked my wool pants and I rode the bull down the mountain for about thirty yards before it slammed into a tree.

I was not smiling because I was too tired.

The bull was shot on the ridge above this cliff. I kept it on the crest of the ridge all the way to floor of the valley.

Edit: Looking for the original photo today I found a second one Dad took from a different angle. The hole in left leg of my pants is clearly visible where the bull hooked me when we went for a toboggan ride. Long underwear is visible through the tear. Thanks for the memories.

 

[johnp]

Here is a photo of the good ol days back in 1963 .
Deer camp in Forest co. Wisconsin, a few years before I was old enough to hunt. My Dad on the left, my uncle Al ( he bought the 160 acres for winter logging in 1951 for $800.00 ) Camp icon Barney. He was 91 years old his last year going to camp. When Barney shut off the old Coleman lantern he would be snoring before the old style mantels stopped popping. On the right is my cousin Ted who shot this big drop tine buck when he was 16 , the biggest buck ever taken at the "Shack" !

 

[shrapnel]

My dad when he was in the Philippines during the war. I have very few pictures of him as cameras weren’t common during his life. He was born in 1910 on the frontier in Montana…

 

[3855WIN]

I’ve posted this before. My Grandad on the far left. Around 1960 and probably a dog hunting party that occurred on Eglin AFB.

 

[FairWeather]

Love seeing these old photos. It’s neat to think about how much more plentiful the game animals were back then, too.

Sadly, I don’t come from a hunting family, so no photos to contribute. My grandfather used to hunt when he was young, but that was out of necessity growing up on a farm through the depression.

My dad thinks I’m an immoral idiot for hunting. When I told him I was going out deer hunting, his response was “knife or spear? Anything more isn’t hunting, it’s assassination. The animal deserves the chance to kill you right back.” Don’t think he grasps the ethics of a humane kill.

 

[HighDesertSage]

My father in the Yellow Mules near Big Sky just before he went into WWII…


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That's a cool picture. Any idea on the breed of the dog?

 

[shrapnel]

That's a cool picture. Any idea on the breed of the dog?

That is Windsor, my dad’s Great Dane. He boarded it with some people when he left for the war and Windsor jumped a fence and was never seen again.

Great men and Great Danes…

 

[TheGrayRider]

Around 1985, running deer dogs in the swamps of South Louisiana. Never killed much but had a lot of fun back then.

About 1/2 of these men have transferred over to the happy hunting grounds. Happy hunting, TheGrayRider.

 

[Northwoods]

My grandpa was as tough as they come.

 

[Moserkr]

Nov. 11, 1932. 45 Mallards. My great-grandpa, the Reverend, and a friend. Mobridge, SD area.

 

[Moserkr]

Great grandpa on his 83rd birthday. Ive hunted those same hills years later, closest I ever got to hunting with him. Still have his camo from that picture.

 

[BenP]

My dad and my granddad (my mom's dad) don't have an exact date but I think it was the early 80's. Picture is remastered from a Polaroid.



My granddad snuck up on some ducks on the river one time just to open fire on some poor guys decoys. He also couldn't swim and would walk out on the ice to the very edge to retrieve ducks he had shot.

 

[shrapnel]

One more of only a few pictures I have of my father. My heroes have always been cowboys…

 

[Four22]

This kinda sums it up. The collage is from his funeral. Grandpa was a heck of a man. I miss him dearly.

 

[Djfan]

You all have great heritages.

I'm 3rd generation Wyoming, but none of them hunted. Dad hated it. Grandma used to give him the .22 and tell him to return only when he had dinner. He joined a monastery at the age of 14 to get away from the cold, hunting, and the fact that grandpa was doing time for robbing a bank. I went fishing with him once. He sat and read. It's all good. He was a great man anyway.

 

[Southern Elk]

My dad and granddad both chopped cotton and picked cotton as kids in Mississippi. They tell stories about using a hoe on rows 1/2 mile long, getting to end and feeling good about yourself, then turning around only to see the next row. They picked cotton until their fingers bled. Schools would turn out during harvest season, so the kids could go home and help on the farm. All of this in the 100 degree heat and humidity. We have gotten soft.

 

[Deleted member 18333]

We have gotten soft.

Ain't that the truth. Hell, I heard a guy just the other day bitchin about someone using a check at the grocery store.

 

[2rocky]

My dad and uncle are 2nd, 3rd from the left in the back row. 1962 Sonoma County CA. Story is after a group deer drive hunt as they were heading back to the ranch, the dog "Jill" jumped out of the truck and ran to a tiny patch of brush on the outer edge of the canyon they had just hunted. She jumped 4 bucks out of the bruch patch and they got all 4.

Dad said that truck was coming down the hill, fishtailing on the dry grass. He got the gate open at the bottom of the hill just in time for them to come sliding through. Then at the bottom, the story got told... A bottle of Early Times came out and Charlie Hall (the tall stocky fellow on the right) took three or four good swallows and hands the bottle to "Steiny" (Center 2nd row, ballcap and jean jacket) . Steiny follows suit for one and a half swallows, sputters and grimices and says " It looks a helluva lot better when you drink it Cha' than it tastes when I do!"


Dad is 81 now and my uncle is 78. 13 years ago they helped me pack out elk camp 10 miles in the wilderness during a snowstorm so that toughness is bred in 'em...

 

[geetar]

This kinda sums it up. The collage is from his funeral. Grandpa was a heck of a man. I miss him dearly.

I had a great uncle who was more like a grandpa to me and he had a cub cadet mower like that. Good times riding around on it.

 

[Southern Elk]

Ain't that the truth. Hell, I heard a guy just the other day bitchin about someone using a check at the grocery store.

Pretty sure most of the men mentioned here would be pissed by people wasting their time and not caring about it.

Edit: I won’t speak for others, but my grandfather who died at 82 five years ago was the toughest man I’ve ever known and wouldn’t tolerate people wasting his time. Oh, and he used a debit/credit card.