Best true tall tale

[OldBroad44]

What's your best true tall tale that is related to guns, hunting, or outdoors adventures? It can be something you did or something you heard, as long as you genuinely believe it's true.

Here's one told to me by my dad. He was a teenage boy, and it was during the great depression. The family was his parents, six kids, and two field hands. They had a farm with crops, a big garden, cattle, and chickens. Dad was the main hunter, and was expected to bring in enough game to feed the family of ten for the equivalent of at least one day per week. One of his brothers was the fisherman, and was also expected to feed the family for the equivalent of one day per week. The rest of the food came from the garden, field crops, and livestock. The family was fortunate compared to most. But there was close to no money. So ammo was scarce and precious.

One day Dad had no ammo, and went to his own dad. His father gave him two shotgun shells. Several others saw the interaction, and so knew Dad had just two shells. Dad went to a pond where he expected to find geese. Here's how he told it:

"The trick," Dad explained, "was to try to line up the shots so as to get more than one animal per shell. I managed to line up a shot that took down two geese with that first shell. Then I headed into the woods. And a rabbit jumped away right in front of me. I really shouldn't have spent the last of the shells on just a rabbit, but I was impulsive, and I shot the rabbit. But then I saw some fluttering in the leaves behind the rabbit. There had been a covey of quail behind the rabbit that I hadn't even seen, and I got six of them. Everyone knew I had gone out with just two shells. And I came back with two geese, a rabbit, and six quail."

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[Kruel J]

"I put 5 rounds into one hole at 300 yards"

I've heard that one just a few too many times.

 

[ZigZagZeke]

My dad grew up with a Stevens Favorite single shot .22 as his hunting rifle. He and his 4 brothers would practice shooting every day. This was around 1915 or so. He told me once that he and his brothers used to hold up kitchen matches and have one of the other brothers try to light them with a .22 bullet from one of their rifles. They were apparently successful because he and all his siblings survived to adulthood.

One year in deer camp dad and his co-workers had just got done unloading the pack horses and settled down to cook dinner. One guy had been hearing of my dad's shooting prowess from the other guys, and as they sat around the fire a blue grouse could be seen working its way along the edge of the a canyon about 100 yds out. The guy says to dad, "Ron, why don't you just take that .30-30 and shoot its head off? Then it won't spoil the meat. Dad picked up his Marlin .30-30 and proceeded to do exactly that. He said it was the luckiest shot he ever made, but he let on like it was normal and expected.

 

[ZigZagZeke]

My dad grew up with a Stevens Favorite single shot .22 as his hunting rifle. He and his 4 brothers would practice shooting every day. This was around 1915 or so. He told me once that he and his brothers used to hold up kitchen matches and have one of the other brothers try to light them with a .22 bullet from one of their rifles. They were apparently successful because he and all his siblings survived to childhood.

One year in deer camp dad and his co-workers had just got done unloading the pack horses and settled down to cook dinner. One guy had been hearing of my dad's shooting prowess from the other guys, and as they sat around the fire a blue grouse could be seen working its way along the edge of the a canyon about 100 yds out. The guy says to dad, "Ron, why don't you just take that .30-30 and shoot its head off? Then it won't spoil the meat. Dad picked up his Marlin .30-30 and proceeded to do exactly that. He said it was the luckiest shot he ever made, but he let on like it was normal and expected.

Dad was something of a trick shooter. I know for a fact that he was good at hitting moving targets thrown in the air with a .22 rifle. Clay pigeons, ceramic plates, glasses, baseballs, etc. were no problem for him. He said when he was 12 he would go through 500 rounds of .22LR every week.

 

[OldBroad44]

Here's one I heard from an Alsea, Oregon old timer. When he told it, he used specific names for the family, the boy, and the deputy sheriff, and told me a lot about the deputy. So I believe it's a true story. It dates from an era of duress, I think WWII. It concerns a family in Alsea Valley, which is in the middle of the coastal mountains west of Corvallis. There was a mother with several children, her husband away to war. The family was surviving almost entirely on deer poached by the seventeen-year-old, the oldest boy. Everyone knew the family was struggling, and the kid was the primary provider.

One night the boy went out and took a deer, as usual, and put it in his battered old pickup truck and covered it with a load of wood he carried for the purpose. When he was driving home on the highway, however, he got pulled over by the local deputy sheriff. The boy got out and stood next to the load of wood as he talked with the sheriff. The problem was one of his tail lights was out. But the smell of deer and blood was powerful. The boy was terrified. How could the deputy possibly not smell the deer? Then the kid looked down, and noticed, to his horror, that the carcass had leaked enough blood so that some of it had leaked through the bed of the truck right next to the deputy's feet! "Don't look down. Please God, don't look down," the boy was praying.

The deputy chewed the kid out for the tail light. But then he said, "Well, I'll just give you a warning this time," and turned and went back toward his car. The kid was elated, but also a little smug. He had kept his cool and fooled the deputy.

But then, as the deputy got in his car, he called out this parting shot, "Now you drive carefully. And get that load of wood home before it bleeds to death."

 

[Kruel J]

Here's one I heard from an Alsea, Oregon old timer. When he told it, he used specific names for the family, the boy, and the deputy sheriff, and told me a lot about the deputy. So I believe it's a true story. It dates from an era of duress, I think WWII. It concerns a family in Alsea Valley, which is in the middle of the coastal mountains west of Corvallis. There was a mother with several children, her husband away to war. The family was surviving almost entirely on deer poached by the seventeen-year-old, the oldest boy. Everyone knew the family was struggling, and the kid was the primary provider.

One night the boy went out and took a deer, as usual, and put it in his battered old pickup truck and covered it with a load of wood he carried for the purpose. When he was driving home on the highway, however, he got pulled over by the local deputy sheriff. The boy got out and stood next to the load of wood as he talked with the sheriff. The problem was one of his tail lights was out. But the smell of deer and blood was powerful. The boy was terrified. How could the deputy possibly not smell the deer? Then the kid looked down, and noticed, to his horror, that the carcass had leaked enough blood so that some of it had leaked through the bed of the truck right next to the deputy's feet! "Don't look down. Please God, don't look down," the boy was praying.

The deputy chewed the kid out for the tail light. But then he said, "Well, I'll just give you a warning this time," and turned and went back toward his car. The kid was elated, but also a little smug. He had kept his cool and fooled the deputy.

But then, as the deputy got in his car, he called out this parting shot, "Now you drive carefully. And get that load of wood home before it bleeds to death."

Ah, different times.

My friend and I got pulled over after a long day of fishing back in about 1992. He was speeding, but not badly. We were both seniors in high school, and had celebrated the days catch with a beer or two. When we got pulled over I had an open container in his truck. We both got out as instructed to do so, and as I did I "dropped" my open beer into the ditch. After some questioning, the LEO noticed the can and saw the foam coming out of the can's mouth. He looked at me and said "Fishing was that good huh?"

I replied "Yes sir".

He said "Go home son".

We did. And ate and had another beer.

 

[Member 5605]

Too many stories, none of which I'm proud of.

 

[Andy54Hawken]

So there I was....
My first trip out to the 1838 Rendezvous in Riverton Wyoming.
Now the year before , my buddy Dave went there..had great time and spent a large amount of time telling folks about : "What a great shot my buddy Andy is..."

So as I said there I was ...on the firing line....the new guy with a fancy rifle...lots folks talking to me as I load and generally doing the casual and not so casual :
"lets check the new guy out , to see if he is a idiot" kind of goings on
The rules for the first shoot were simple...
One shot...at a "Bear" ...the bear being a metal silhouette of a standing bear behind some brush...not much showing of said "bear"...
Hit or miss...distance about 80 yards or so....

Now before the shoot , I was busy with our museum....showing guns , talking history etc...
And I had to hustle to the range to get to the shoot on time....

So as I am taking to the folks on the range and loading...
Down goes the powder...now patch and ball...DAMN...that ball slid down way too easy ...WTH..?
I take a look at the round balls in the bottom of my bag...
.50 caliber.... .490 in size ...well that's great....but my Hawken which I am shooting is a .54 that uses .530 round balls.... slight difference in size , that will make a miss more likely....

I call the rangemaster over , and explain what happened and asked if I could shoot the load out , re-load and shoot for score...he agrees and I thank him....

As I bring up my rifle to shoot ...he asks what am I aiming at ...I reply "The bear"....Boom goes the Hawken...and Clank goes the Bear....

By the end of the day ...they way I heard the story was that I loaded a .36 round ball in my .54 and made the shot....Kinda like that kids game of "telephone"....

Man dd I have a lot to live up to , shooting wise , that Rendezvous ....
Andy

 

[Stomper]

I was a M60 machinegunner at the time, loaded down with 600 rounds of belted 7.62 NATO in my ruck. My AG and team leader humping 400 rounds each. It was rank with scorpions, bushmaster & tree snakes, and other critters that'd ruin your day, if not take a bite and carry bits of you off into the bush to eat it.

Physically, the worst part was the heat and humidity, or maybe it was the smell of jungle decay, and 30 dirty & sweaty dudes after 15 days in triple-canopy. Strangely, in retrospect that was the easier part. By far the worst part was land-nav (pre-GPS) under triple-canopy... nothing makes your mind ache more than fighting back thoughts of failing your mission and becoming "the lost patrol", coupled with what you missed the most "back in the world" and what you wanted to do first thing IF you get back there.... Charlie-Mike, beatches, Charlie-Mike!

We did our assigned "thing", and managed to schlep back. We were skinnier, and ravenous for a frakin' pizza.... and some sweet, SWEET sleep. After debriefing, weapons maintenance, and signing more "reminder" NDA's (musta signed a couple dozen of those over time... LOL), scarfing down food (no pizzas, but turkey-gravy over mashed potatoes sufficed... LOL), green or orange kool-aid to wash it down, and "shelf-life" milk (no refrigeration there at the time). After that, I slept for two days straight.

Two weeks later, we received a warning order for another mission, and we began training for the expected scenerio.... rinse, repeat, hang out to dry.... the beat goes on.


I learned two major life lessons going through all of that (starting at the tender age of 17) that has carried with me to this day, now well ensconced in my 50's.

1.
Where your mind goes, your body will follow.

2.
You don't know peace 'till you've had suffering.

(When I did a 3-yr tour as a Drill Sgt, I POUNDED that onto the troops that I pushed.... I hope it helped)



I was forged and tempered, and made mentally and physically stronger (I dare say stronger than most, even today) but a little part of me (that I sometimes miss) died as well. I have ABSOLUTELY no desire to EVER go back to that part of the world again... not even for vacation.


That's all I have to say about that.

 

[OldBroad44]

My mother's sidearm was a Colt Woodsman Target .22. She used it for everything from hunting rabbits to self defense. I had left home. One Christmas when visiting the folks, I convinced my mother that she really needed a better caliber for self defense. So she bought herself a Christmas present--a Colt 1911 Government Model .45acp--and the day after Christmas, Mother and I went to an indoor range so she could try out her new gun. She was worried about hitting the target at all. It had been more than a decade since she had done any shooting, and her eyes had deteriorated. She now had to wear trifocals.

We went to an indoor 25 yard range. Knowing Mother would not want me hanging over her shoulder watching her, I left her at one end of the range and took my Colt .357 to the other end. After a long and pleasant session, I headed back behind the other shooters toward Mother's position. As I went, I heard several comments about the little old lady at the end. When I reached Mother's position, I saw why.

Mother had spent the entire couple of hours shooting at just a single man-shaped target. The five inches center mass was simply a ragged 5-inch hole, with all the rest of the holes extending the pattern of holes out to about 7 inches.

"Well," I said to Mother. " You obviously could see the sights clearly enough."
"Actually, I can't see the sights at all," she said. "I'm just pointing the gun."

After having done no shooting for years, Mother had shot a several-hundred-round group of 7 inches offhand at 25 yards with an unfamiliar gun by point shooting.

 

[Andy54Hawken]

"I put 5 rounds into one hole at 300 yards"

I've heard that one just a few too many times.

I can do that....if you put a big enough hole out there for me to shoot at...
Andy

 

[teflon6string]

WARNING: Don't read this if you have any sort of humane feelings for animals just being... animals.

A military buddy of mine (last century) used to entertain dozens of us with outrageously colorful tales of his exploits growing up in rural NE Texas. We assumed that John applied generous helpings of artistic license to these stories, and he knew it, usually offering to "swear on a stack of bibles."

One tale comes to mind today, given the topic, involving a neighbor's horse that kicked John when he was 8-10 years old, sending him flying and injuring him pretty good.

Swearing that he would get even, John was eventually able to pump up his pellet rifle again... once his cracked ribs healed. Every day after school he would sit and wait for that horse to let his (ahem) maleness extend and dangle down the way they often do. ZAP with the pellet gun, resulting in much bucking and noisy distress. He got in a few shots every day before supper time, though fewer and fewer opportunities presented themselves as the week progressed. Imagine that.

So on day 8-9, John came home from school, grabbed his trusty Crosman Powermaster 760 and headed next door. No horse. But there was a tractor with a shovel working where the neighbor was topping off a large mound of dirt behind the barn.

We all dismissed this as "another one of John's stories" until three of us were in Memphis for some training and drove over to Quitman TX to go hunting at his dad's place. There, tacked up on the wall in John's room (exactly like a varsity sports jersey... 'cept different) was a tiny leather jacket with a scuffed horseshoe print on the back. John summoned his dad, who told us the exact same story - with great delight and fatherly pride. Holy Crap!

Note to self. Never piss John off.

 

[Ura-Ki]

So, Me and My brothers and my 2 Cousins are staying all summer long at the Grand parents farm/homestead and we all have really nice .22s and we are always having some sort of challenge! The 2 cousins are quite a bit older and have been shooting a lot longer, so my Brothers and I are always trying to get better and better so we can take on our cousins. One day, were all sitting around in the shade next to an old lumber mill pond, its one of those glorious summer days in OryGun, not to hot, cool breeze, and a sack lunch Grand Mother made for each of us! Were sitting there with our rifles leaning up against a tall tree enjoying the day, and my Oldest Cousin decides to set up the next challenge. He walks all the way around the old pond to the other side and starts setting up old beer cans and other garbage he finds along the way, after he comes back, we commence to shootin! My brothers and I are having quite a time, we have never shot any thing that far, let alone with a .22! it took several rounds and a bit of Fun natured "Coaching" from the Cousins, but we all started to get hits as we found our range! After a box of 50, we were getting pretty good, and I was starting to feel a little cocky! I called out a particular can and said Watch this; I didn't aim at the can, I aimed at the surface of the pond and fired! That 40 gr bullet splashed off the water making a nice fountain and smacked that can perfectly! Every one was cheering and laughing and claiming how lucky I was to make the shot! Next thing you know, every one else is trying it, no body is connecting! I took my last swig of pop, took aim and fired again, and again, a perfect hit! I don't know how far the other side of the pond was, I would say probably over 100 yards, and quite a challenge for any one with a .22, especially a bunch of kids! But we did it, and every year the shooting challenges got more and more difficult and we figured out how to make them! By the time I was a senior in high school, All 5 of us were able to shoot dragon flys out of the air on almost every single shot! I sure do miss being a kid with his .22 and those shooting challenges!

 

[Jonnyuma]

I like this thread... thank you @OldBroad44, very entertaining.
@Ura-Ki's pond story reminded me of something kinda similar from my days as an 0351 Dragon gunner in 29 Palms.

We were in the field and had a live-fire training day... someone high up had invited a news crew to do a story and get some file footage, very unusal.

Although we had in the past blown up surplus Jeeps, APCs, 6-bys, etc, today we had plywood targets of Soviet tanks to shoot at. Unfortunately, the M47 Dragon (a wire guided, shoulder-fired 140mm rocket) needs something more substantial than plywood to arm and detonate the shaped-charge warhead so most of the targets just got knocked over with the rocket exploding further downrange.
When I finally got my turn (this was about my 10th live-fire Dragon, probably 2-3x more than anyone else in the platoon) I knew what to do...I shouldered my launcher, got the range, yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE" and launched it. I guided it down to one of the fallen targets and silly-smacked it off the plywood to arm the warhead and by the time it reached the next plywood "T-72", my intended target, it was armed and ready to blow the living sh*t out of it... which it did.
The nice newslady took her camera crew and went home shortly after that... it was hot and they had gotten what they'd come for... fire, fury, 'splosions and splinters. A good day.

 

[Flingpoo]

Coast Range, roughly twenty minute encounter with "A man dressed in all black" watching from a small grove of alder saplings and waist high grass, on his haunches, a field being plowed on a July afternoon.

 

[Geardo]

Coast Range, roughly twenty minute encounter with "A man dressed in all black" watching from a small grove of alder saplings and waist high grass, on his haunches, a field being plowed on a July afternoon.

?

 

[clearconscience]

My dad worked for the CIA overseas in just about any and every country. Good, bad and indifferent.
Korea, Monrovia, Middle East, Brazil, Cuba, Guam, who knows where else.

He had many wild stories.

None that could be verified though.

 

[Flingpoo]

?

Curious, bipedal wild man.

 

[Geardo]

My

Curious, bipedal wild man.

Squach? Or crazy person?

 

[Flingpoo]

Hard to say. My son was working the hay fields with his gramps in the coast range a few years back. Gramps (who is vocal about not believing in the big guy) saw what my son described as a man dressed in all black, watching them from a small clump of trees and waist high grass. My kid relates that gramps said "WTF is that?". He is always armed with a rifle for coyotes etc. The fella was clearly sitting on his haunches watching them, July, 80 degrees, no trespass signs everywhere. The old man never raised the rifle, but never took his eyes off the visitor and kept working the tractor. After around 20 minutes my son noticed the watcher was gone. The only conversation they had about the encounter was when they headed out, "If you ever tell anybody what we saw, your crazy".