How did you get started hunting?
Posted: Fri Apr 28, 2006 1:48 pm
I must have been about 10 years old the first time my dad took me out pheasant hunting. He didn't let me carry a gun at the time, but it was a great time for a 10 year old kid running through the underbrush and exploring the area.
When I was about 12 years old, I went hunting by myself for the first time. I took my trusty 12 guage that I'd been practicing with for months and headed out to bag my first pheasant.
I was walking along the brush that borders the creek bed about a mile from the house. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakeable sound of a pheasant flushing from cover. It surprised me, because I really thought that I was going to be walking around for hours and not see a thing...yet, I had only been out for about 15 minutes! I raised my barrel and didn't even look at the bird before it had bird shot knocking it out of the air.
I went to recover my freshly killed trophy and when I grabbed it, I immediately noticed that it was a hen. Hmmm..I wondered what Dad would think of this. I took the bird home (it was dead, so leaving it was not an option). I carried the bird home and excitedly showed it to Dad. He was none too pleased that I had killed a hen and sent me on my way to clean it. Needless to say, that was the last hen that I killed...but still a day that makes me happy and proud to be a country boy!
When I was about 12 years old, I went hunting by myself for the first time. I took my trusty 12 guage that I'd been practicing with for months and headed out to bag my first pheasant.
I was walking along the brush that borders the creek bed about a mile from the house. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakeable sound of a pheasant flushing from cover. It surprised me, because I really thought that I was going to be walking around for hours and not see a thing...yet, I had only been out for about 15 minutes! I raised my barrel and didn't even look at the bird before it had bird shot knocking it out of the air.
I went to recover my freshly killed trophy and when I grabbed it, I immediately noticed that it was a hen. Hmmm..I wondered what Dad would think of this. I took the bird home (it was dead, so leaving it was not an option). I carried the bird home and excitedly showed it to Dad. He was none too pleased that I had killed a hen and sent me on my way to clean it. Needless to say, that was the last hen that I killed...but still a day that makes me happy and proud to be a country boy!
