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Best story contest WINNER CHOSEN

scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
edited March 2006 in General Discussion
The final selection. for best story giveaway I have chosen....drum roll please....a story that made me remember my youth.....touched my sense of nostalgia...and made me realize I might have a grandson myself someday.
I wanna be the grandpa who goes fishing and hunting and teaches my GS or GD the lessons of the outdoors. so I chose fishermanBens story.
please email me with your particulars and we will get this fine rifle out to you soon.
Watch my posts when we get close to 1000 there will be another exciting contest and equally exciting prize. Thanks to all who submitted stories
ScottOk Im no lawyer but heres the small print. the person who submits the best story will win a cheap .22 (cobray single shot) I will chose my 3 favorites from all submitted and then put them back on for a vote. you have from now untill the time I reach 500 posts to submit the stories. please feel free to include fiction and non-fiction on any topic you like. embellish (BS) all you like, there are no points for accuracy or truthfulness. Pictures to illustrate the point receive high marks. You need not be 18 to enter but you must have the rifle transfered into the name of a parent or guardian if you win. Any local or state rules must be followed a current ffl must be provided for transfer and the shipping is on me too!! Best of luck scott


  • tazzertazzer Member Posts: 16,837
    edited November -1
    Cool Scott I will be putting on my thinking cap.[:p][:p]
  • bobskibobski Member Posts: 17,868 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    email me. i will c&p it to your email, or search my '4 shots, 3 squirrels' thread here in gb gen discuss room.
    Retired Naval Aviation
    Former Member U.S. Navy Shooting Team
    Former NSSA All American
    Navy Distinguished Pistol Shot
    MO, CT, VA.
  • sheepdipsheepdip Member Posts: 3,124
    edited November -1
    OK here's mine:

    This is a once and a lifetime opportunity for a Civil War Militia Sword, produced c1860, owned by Captain Andrew Gill of the Colorado Territorial Militia, a man who orchestrated the massacre of 150 Cheyenne and Arapaho at Sand Creek in 1864. This beautiful sword and scabbard are fresh from a Beverly Hills Estate and have never been on auction before! The pommel is a Knight's head crowns a hilt of l

    never mind , just kidding
  • sam77757sam77757 Member Posts: 162 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    my nephew would love that 22 so here is my story!!

    The night we moved into our 1921, two story home was cold and stormy-a bad combination for being in new surroundings without the comfort of power, heat, phone or a security system. We had arranged for all of these, but in typical fashion for the various companies we had to choose from, everything was late. So as both night and the temperature fell, we decided to go to bed early. Under the warm blankets everything was fine...until.... It was in the middle of the night when I woke up to the sound of footsteps climbing our staircase, just outside the door to our bedroom. I bolted upright, looking through the banister trying to see if there was a figure coming upstairs while simultaneously shaking my husband awake. He sat upright and heard the steps too: shoed feet on the wooden steps. My mind recalled the conversation I had with the previous owner of the house who had to evict her ex husband from the house when he refused to leave, claiming it to be his own. Before finally leaving, he did a lot of damage and sold off every removable piece of appliance and hardware from the house. I realized that he could still have a duplicate key (we hadn't had an opportunity to change the locks yet), so I fully expected to see him appear at the top of the landing with a weapon of some kind. As the seconds ticked away and the footsteps climbed higher, they mysteriously faded away before reaching the top of the stairs. We waited in silence for a minute, our hearts pounding, fully expecting to see or hear something that would send us both over the edge. When nothing happened, I decided to investigate, and in true horror-movie style, I went downstairs with a flashlight saying "I'll be right back!" While my husband cowered in bed, I checked every door and room for any sign of entry and finding nothing out of the ordinary, I went back to bed. This was the first of many similar experiences that happened to us and to guests staying in our home. Over the years that we have lived in this house we have heard footsteps and crashes that we cannot explain. Our TV has turned on by itself many times, untouched objects have moved while we were looking at them (including a flashlight that flew across the kitchen), and doors have opened all by themselves. My husband thinks we have a ghost living with us. For comfort's sake, I still prefer to believe that it's just unexplained phenomenon waiting for a logical explanation.

  • GuvamintCheeseGuvamintCheese Member Posts: 38,932
    edited November -1
    Sorry, but I only write essays for H&K's.[:D] Good luck everyone, cant wait to read them.
  • bpostbpost Member Posts: 32,217 ✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    I can't type fast enough to get my line of BS down on paper. Thats my story; I'm sticking to it.

    The End

  • RosieRosie Member Posts: 14,525 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    I was born in a powder house in Accoville WV on 12/9/1941. It is now 2/28/2006 and a lot of thing happened between those dates. [:)]
  • Flyin_PaulieFlyin_Paulie Member Posts: 857 ✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    It's about time somebody brought the wild animal thing out in the open. For quite some up here we have had an ongoing problem with wild jackrabbits atacking everything. They even tried to bring down my 135 pound dog and the only thing that saved her, was me being there with a twelve guage and a long knife.

    I will attach the following for your information:

    The jackalope is an antlered species of rabbit, unfortunately rumored to be extinct, though occasional sightings of this rare creature continue to occur, suggesting that pockets of jackalope populations continue to persist in its native home, the American West.

    The jackalope is an aggressive species, willing to use its antlers to fight. Thus, it is also sometimes called the "warrior rabbit."

    Jackalopes possess an uncanny ability to mimic human sounds. In the old West, when cowboys would gather by their campfires to sing at night, jackalopes would frequently be heard singing back, mimicking the voices of the cowboys. Jackalopes become especially vocal before thunderstorms, perhaps because they mate only when lightning flashes (or so it is theorized).
    When chased, the jackalope will use its vocal abilities to elude capture. For instance, when chased by people it will call out phrases such as, "There he goes, over there," in order to throw pursuers off its track. The best way to catch a jackalope is to lure it with whiskey, as they have a particular fondness for this drink. Once intoxicated, the animal becomes slower and easier to hunt.

    Jackalope milk is particularly sought after because it is believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac (for which reason, the jackalope is also sometimes referred to as the 'horny rabbit'). However, it can be incredibly dangerous to milk a jackalope, and any attempt to do so is not advised. A peculiar feature of the milk is that it comes from the animal already homogenized on account of the creature's powerful leaps.
  • eastwood44mageastwood44mag Member Posts: 2,655 ✭✭
    edited November -1
    2 mangled fingers, so I can't type much.

    Maybe next time.
  • Rebel_JamesRebel_James Member Posts: 4,746
    edited November -1
    I could tell that story about the weekend I spent with a SuperHOT girl, whips, chains, handcuffs, and whipped cream....but...oh..I almost forgot the cherries....

    DAMN....It would be a sure winner! BUT NUNN WOULD POOF IT!
  • Bolivers WifeBolivers Wife Member Posts: 1,972 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    um lets see I write poems and stories....however I think any of the ones I have already wrote would get your thread I will refrain[:D]
  • scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
    edited November -1
    Good stories. please keep them comming!! don't worry about the poofs just use metaphors Melly
  • guns-n-painthorsesguns-n-painthorses Member Posts: 7,041
    edited November -1
    When we bought the small acrage we knew the common things in life were about to change, and with the first kid on the way it was going to get interesting. So with all the money we could scratch up, we put an offer on a 10 acre farmsted. Not much, and old 2 bedroom farmhouse that had been added on to, a small tool shed, and the best part, an old hiproof styled barn! The old barn was just like the ones you see in all the movies, cow stachions, grainery, tie stalls, and a huge haymow, you know, the type where you climb the old wooden ladder that's right in the center of the barn to get to. This barn was my retreat to sit and enjoy a Swisher Sweet cigar as the wife said no way to smoking in her new house. So OK, I'm cool with that. So I would just smoke in the barn. And cats! You know if you have a farm, you have cats. Even if you don't want them, you have cats. Anyway, back to the barn. The barn had power at one time but had long ago been cut off for some reason unknown to me. So if it was dark out, I would take my little maglight with me as I would go out to enjoy a smoke. So we have an old barn with no lights, at night, in the middle of nowhere, with me and my little maglight, and all these stupid cats. So here I'm sitting enjoying my fine cigar, in the dark, in the old barn, with all these stupid cats laying around me. It's a great moment, all quiet and peaceful, cat's purring, cigar smoke floating lightly around, when all of a sudden a noise from the haymow. I froze, the cats froze, the smoke froze! Was I hearing things? No way! The cats heard it too! Now I'm pumped! But wait, no weapon! OK quick, look around, there's got to be something I could use to dispatch this invader. Looking around with my little mag light, a old 2x4, nope, too long. There's an old piece of pipe, 10 inches long, nope, too short. Wait, there's the pitchfork!!! Perfect! All the time I'm selecting my weapon the rustling and banging above my head in the haymow is getting louder. What could it be? A skunk? A racoon? A bobcat? I take one last look around the barn before I start my climb up the ladder to make sure my choice of weapon is the right one. And where did all them cats go? So I start my slow climb up to the haymow with my trusty little mag light in my mouth and a pitchfork in one hand and the ladder rung in the other. It's quiet again. As I climb my head just gets level with the haymow floor and I sweep my head around to shine the maglike to find the intruder. As I swing back around I'm face to face with a........... floating orb!?!?!? Holy Sheet!!! Scares me so much I drop the pitchfork. So now here I am, with no weapon, a rapidly dimming mag light, face to face with this unearthly object right in front of my face. It moved left, it moved right, up, down, all the time getting no futher than 1 foot from my fear locked body. No wait,,,, what the,,,, It's my poor old momma cat with a plastic mayo jar stuck on her head!! The poor ol gal, I could see her meowing in there, but the sound wasn't coming out! By now I'm laughing so hard I'm about to fall off the ladder. So with the cat in one arm and the very dim maglight still in my mouth, down the ladder I go to remove the jar. I sit down and pull the jar from her head, then relax and enjoy my victory smoke and notice all the stupid cats are back.

    True story. Happened to me. Not a c&p.

    Got Guns?
  • Bert H.Bert H. Member Posts: 11,280 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    A "True" Fish Story

    (author's note; this story is now about 10-years old, and the "wife" is now the "Ex")

    "What's the Worst Thing You Did as a Kid?
    by Bert Hartman

    Hmmm. Since my wife claims that I am still just a "big" kid (I love practical jokes. and she is too many times the unfortunate recipient), maybe this one still qualifies.

    About five years ago, I took a couple of Navy buddies of mine to the Columbia River for a sturgeon fishing trip. As luck would have it, we were quite successful that day, and I brought home a nice five-footer (the legal size on these is 45"- 66" slot limit). If anyone is familiar with a white sturgeon, you know that these are very TOUGH fish to kill, and they can survive out of water for several hours (just as long as they aren't baking out in the sunlight).

    Anyhow, it is about a 3-hour trip from the Columbia River back to my home, and the fish was in the boat's fish well for the entire trip back. When I arrived home at about 6 p.m., the wife was off shopping somewhere (go figure!). Knowing that she had never before seen a live sturgeon, I decided to keep this one alive and kicking until she got home. So, I filled the bathtub in our guest bathroom about half-full of water (I live in the country and have my own well, so the water is pure), and then I put that armor-plated critter in the tub. Knowing that these fish are very light sensitive, I pulled the shower curtain and killed the lights. I then washed up, grabbed a beer (maybe two), and sat my kiester down in my favorite recliner. and it didn't take long before I was sawing logs.

    A few hours later, unbeknownst to me, the wife slinked home and came in through the back door (probably trying to hide something from me that she had bought during her shopping excursion). Anyway, she was in need of using the head (bathroom for you land lubbers), and because the guest bathroom was much closer to the back door, she headed there. Once she got in the bathroom, she turned on all the lights (the overhead and the heat light), the exhaust fan, and then proceeded to do her thing. As she was sitting there tinkling, she noticed that the shower curtain was pulled shut and decided to reach over and yank it open (she always tells me to leave it open after use so it gets aired out). Well, needless to say, Mr. Sturgeon was NOT impressed with being rudely intruded upon, and decided he wanted out of the tub. and right now! I was instantly and very rudely awakened by the sound of hideous screaming, and tremendous splashing and thumping. I jumped up out of my recliner, (still half asleep), ran down to that end of the house, flung open the bathroom door, and there was my poor wife in the far corner, with her skivvies still around her ankles, the sturgeon on the floor trying his best to swim across the linoleum, and water splashed all the way to the ceiling! I am here to tell you, I almost died laughing on the spot! Well, needless to say, my poor wife started screaming obscenities at me that would and did make this old Navy submariner blush! She would have killed me right then and there if it had not been for that five-foot sturgeon thrashing on the floor between the two of us. Needless to say, I did manage to barely survive that incident, and my only true regret is that I didn't get it all on film."
  • Flyin_PaulieFlyin_Paulie Member Posts: 857 ✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    A woman was very distraught at the fact that she had not had a date nor any sex for quite some time.

    Feeling something was wrong with her, she decided to employ the medical expertise of a sex therapist.

    Her MD recommended that she go see Dr. Chang, the well known Chinese sex therapist. So she went to

    see him.
    Upon entering the examination room, Dr. Chang said, "Okay take off all your crose...Now get down and

    crawl reery fass to other side of room." So she did. Dr. Chang said, "now crawl reery fass to me." So she

    did. Dr Chang slowly shook his head and said, "Your probrem vewy, vewy bad. You haf Zachary Disease.

    Worse case I ever see, That why you not haf sex or dates."

    Confused, the woman asked, "what is Zachary Disease?"

    Dr. Chang replied, "It when your face rook Zacchary rike your *."
  • gearheaddadgearheaddad Member Posts: 15,125 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    That's one of the funniest stories I've ever heard!!!!!
  • Bert H.Bert H. Member Posts: 11,280 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    quote:Originally posted by gearheaddad
    That's one of the funniest stories I've ever heard!!!!!

    The really cool part, is that it is not a ficticous tale... it really happened[:D]
  • gearheaddadgearheaddad Member Posts: 15,125 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    The true stories are always the best and the most unbelievable!!!!
  • Henry0ReillyHenry0Reilly Member Posts: 10,829 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    quote:Originally posted by Bert H.
    A "True" Fish Story

    (author's note; this story is now about 10-years old, and the "wife" is now the "Ex")

    It kinda makes a guy wonder if the events of this story contributed to her becoming the ex.
    I used to recruit for the NRA until they sold us down the river (again!) in Heller v. DC. See my auctions (if any) under username henryreilly
  • Wild OkieWild Okie Member Posts: 1,280 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    A true story.

    Four Day Pass.
    By M.L Morgan

    I joined the army in 1975. I joined for two reasons . My dad served and from his stories of Korea and the way he talked about his time in service. I guess that gave me the want to serve also . The other reason was my life was going no where in the little town of Princeton Ind. One day I went to the recruiter and signed up.
    I was 17 a high school drop out. (I got a degree in business some years after I got out.)
    My dad signed a waiver and I was in boot camp on my 18th birthday. I struggled through basic but, I made it. A.I.T wasn't so bad .I trained as a 13bravo10. Cannon cocker/ground pounder. I reported in to my permanent duty station in a 109Sp 155 firing battery . We later were the first unit in the states trained on the 109A1 Sp 155 howitzers . My 1st sergeant told me years later that when I reported in he thought it was a joke. That on of the officers had put their kid up to a little leg pullen. I always felt like he was testing me every day every dirty hardest job he could think of I would hear my name. I never failed him and I don't believe he ever wanted me to. About six months in I was picked to go to N.B. C. school. I made e-4 in a year and about 3 mounts that was moving up the ranks fairly quick.

    After hours and hours of training ( There for awhile I thought that the barracks and a bed was a myth that I had read about.) it was time to put it all to the test. I was a perimeter guard on the golden BB. Man all the brass were there from a Two star 3rd core general down to the chief of firing battery .(SMOKE). The two star was asking the questions . He ask me a question and in my best stern and forceful voice I answered . Then he took a step toward me .Immediately I said HAULT. He ask me another question . I answered .He took another step HALT SIR! Now I'm torn from about almost pissen in my pants and being pe\od that he is messing with me . He ask me another question . I answered the question in a stern and somewhat agitated voice . He took another step but this time before he reach mid step I lock and loaded my M16. I think it surprised Him .Not that it did it .I did it so quickly and without hesitation. HALT SIR ! Then he ask me a question that would never have expected . He said specialist Morgan you wouldn't shoot me would you . I look him dead in the eye and to this day I do not know how I came up with the answer I gave him. SIR I WOULD SHOOT MY MOTHER IF SHE TRIED TO CROSS THIS WIRE. Well you can just imagine . Smoke, first sergeant , Battery Commander, Battalion Commander ,and the Command Sergeant Major all were there and all were beaming with delight. I think I caught the two star off guard too. They skipped the next two guards and went to the gate.

    There were some three day passes but I was the only one to get a four day pass.
  • zipperzapzipperzap Member Posts: 25,057
    edited November -1
    Hmmmmmm. Toss up at the moment ... UFO or ghost?
    I'll sleep on it![:D]
  • thunderboltthunderbolt Member Posts: 6,018 ✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    Hello! I'm thunderbolt's son and Dad told me about the contest. I do not currently have my own account on GB, so Dad let me enter my story on his. You can call me Thunderson. I hope you enjoy my story.

    The Leprachaun

    Despite his name, Lucky Mclellan was never one for having good fortune. It seemed that wherever he went, trouble and heartache were always at his heels. He was a short, stocky man with curly hair as red as the setting sun. He also had a mustache and a short beard. His appearance drew him attention that he really did not want to have.
    Lucky was a full-blooded Irishman, and for some reason that made most folks treat him differently. Many were just plain old nasty to him. He tried harder than anyone to live peacably with those around him, but time and time again people would start trouble with him. In every town he went, there was always at least one person who wanted to have a little fun at his expense. Sooner or later Lucky would get tired of bearing the ridicule and would confront the heckler,but he always backed down before it came to a gunfight. Lucky was a God fearing man and tried to do what was right. After each failed confrontation Lucky would gather his few possessions and would mount his horse, heading for the next town.
    Due to his size,and the fact that he was Irish, Lucky eventually became known as the Leprachaun. It was a name his various hecklers used to ridicule the poor little man. It was a name that crawled all over poor Lucky. He took alot of abuse over the years, but one day they finally pushed the Leprachaun a little too far.
    It had been six months since Lucky had moved to a little town called Ashwood. He managed to meet some good people in this town and Lucky eagerly befriended them. There was even a young lady that he had his eyes on. For once in his life, Lucky was happy, and had decided to settle down. He managed to buy himself some land a few miles out from the town, and built himself a house. Lucky had just finished hammering the last nail into the roof of his house, when he saw his friend Angus riding toward his place. He had come to see if he wanted to go to town with him. Lucky agreed and the two headed for Ashwood.
    The two headed immediately for the diner, partially because they were hungry, but also because Lucky wanted to see Rachel. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. She owned the diner and Lucky visited it often. She had a kind heart along with her beauty. The two of them spent alot of time talking in that diner. Lucky even felt that she might care for him like he did her.
    Lucky and Angus had just sat down inside when the door opened behind them, and Lucky's past walked in to pay him a visit. It was Aaron Jones and a few of his riders from a couple of towns back. Aaron was one of the worst of Lucky's hecklers. He had even tried to shoot him a couple of times, but was too drunk to aim.
    "Well If it isn't the Leprachaun. I've been trying to track you down for some time. You know your pretty hard to find, especially considering your so ugly. I can't believe you left out without saying goodbye. Well I'm here to teach you some matters."
    Rachel stepped out of the kitchen to see what was going on. Lucky looked into the face of his persecutor.
    "I don't have a quarrel with you Aaron. Let me live in peace."
    Aaron was about to pick a fight with Lucky, but then he saw Rachel. He decided she would probaly prove to be more entertaining to pursue her than it would be to pick on Lucky.
    "I not ready to deal with you. Why don't you tuck your little Irish tale between your stubby little legs and get out of here. I'll find you later on."
    Lucky looked at Rachel and decided to stand his ground.
    "I'm staying for dinner. You can do whatever suits you, but leave me alone."
    Aaron then punched him in the face and had his men throw him outside. Angus got up to help his friend, but Aaron drew his gun and shot him in the leg. Aaron and his men laughed at Lucky, and then turned their attention on Rachel. Meanwhile Lucky picked himself up and made his way to his wagon. He was just about to leave for his house when he realized something. As much as he desired peace he would never have as long as he kept running away, and he definitely wouldn't be able to face Rachel if he didn't go to her aid. He knew what kind of man Aaron was, and his intentions toward Rachel certainly were not honorable. It was time for the Leprachaun to make his stand.
    He took his double-barreled shotgun out of the back of the wagon, said a quick prayer, and headed back to the diner. Lucky saw that Aaron's men were standing outside the diner, but Aaron was nowhere to be seen. He then heard Rachel scream and realized what was going on. Lucky aimed at one of Aaron's riders and fired on him. He fell to the ground with a moan. Lucky swiftly fired the second barrel and floored another one. He the dropped the shotgun, and dove in front of a wagon to avoid their fire. He then drew his pistols and let the waste their ammo. When their fire stopped and he knew they were reloading he bolted out from the wagon and fired upon the remaining men. Not a one of them managed to reload in time. Lucky wiped all of Aaron's riders
    Lucky called into the building and challenged Aaron to come out, but the coward wouldn't come. Lucky knew if he walked inside that door he would probably never walk out, but Rachel and Angus were in there. He had to help his friends. He reloaded his pistols and prepared to finish his fight.
    "If your too cowardly to face the Leprachaun, I guess he'll have to face you!"
    With those words Lucky burst through the door and stood face to face with Aaron who was holding Rachel in front of him with a gun to her head.
    "Put the guns down Leprachaun, or I'll kill her right here. It would be a shame to mess up something so pretty."
    "Lucky help me. I'm afraid."
    "Don't worry Rachel, he's not going to harm you. He's here for me.
    "You win Aaron. You win." Lucky said as he set his guns on a table."
    He shoved Rachel out of his way and aimed his gun at Lucky.
    "Time to die Leprachaun!"
    Right as he was about to shoot, Angus threw his knife and lodged it in Aaron's gun hand. Lucky grabbed one of his pistols and turned it on Aaron.
    "Please Lucky, don't shoot. I was just kidding.
    "It didn't seem that way to me" Rachel said.
    "I think you ought to finish him" said an angry Angus.
    "You get your sorry self out of Ashwood and don't ever let me see your face here again, because if I do, I will kill you."
    "Okay Lucky, whatever you say."
    Lucky turned to Rachel and asked if she was alright and she ran and hugged him.
    "I'm just a little shaken up. Thanks for saving me."
    While they embraced each other, Aaron tried once again to attak Lucky. He lunged at him with Angus' knife. Lucky turned just in time and shot him at point-blank range. Aaron Jones died there on the floor within seconds.
    "I suppose he learned his lesson" said Angus.
    "And what was that?" Lucky asked.
    "Never mess with the Leprachaun."
    Lucky eventually marriedRachel and lived out the rest of his days in peace.
    The End
  • Ox190Ox190 Member Posts: 2,782 ✭✭
    edited November -1
    I've got one but it would definitely get poofed...let's just put it this way. Last weekend in Vegas I managed to win $7k well Saturday night I got pretty lit. Spent $2200 in a Gentlemen's Club. Let your mind wander.
  • scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
    edited November -1
    were getting close to the end....not enough stories so far (the ones here are great) so I will sweeten the pot...I will pay the shipping too!! at my current pace of uneducated opinion slopping I should reach 500 by this comming weekend
  • fishermanbenfishermanben Member Posts: 15,370
    edited November -1
    I told this one a while back to my archery buddies. It was a hard one to tell, and is still a hard one to read.

    Hunting With Grandpa

    When I was born and through my adolescence I had both of my Grandfathers. My Grandpa John had grown up on a farm, was young, lived on a lake, and was always hunting or fishing. My other Grandfather was quite a bit older. Grandpa Fred used to fish, and quail hunt frequently; however, age was catching up to him and instead of being outside he preferred to spend his summer days in air conditioning watching the Cubs, and his winter days watching the Bears and Illini. He was never real active to begin with.

    Both of my Grandfathers lived in the same town, and when I went down to visit family, I wanted to spend all of my time at my Grandpa John's on the lake. I could BB-gun hunt, fish, shoot my bow, boat, swim, and ski. I would always have fun. It was a paradise for a boy.

    My Grandpa Fred came from a long line of lawmen, gamblers, and bankers. He was the luckiest man I ever knew. At the card table, he always had a horseshoe stuck up his *. It didn't matter the game, he'd get aggressive when he'd have nothing, and it would turn into gold. Those who didn't know him would question his integrity. Everyone that did know him would stand up and say, "If you're calling Fred a liar, you can leave." He was highly respected by all of the people in the community--rich and poor. He was generous in all aspects, but he was a shark at the table.

    My Grandpa Fred really did wish I'd spend more time with him, and I knew that. I'd be at his house in town, sometimes we'd play gin for hours, but in truth I wanted to be at the lake. I would get bored out of my mind at Grandpa Fred's house. I could smell the lake from town. I'd ask to go out to the lake and could see a look in my Grandpa Fred's eyes that was some kind of disappointment. I remember once he said to me, "Ben, don't worry. I know you just want to be a boy. Don't feel bad. Go fish." But his eyes told another story. He really wanted to be involved with me like my other Granddad. It hurt him that he couldn't.

    Every year I would go on my family's bow-hunting trip with my Grandpa John. If I got a deer, I'd call and tell my Grandpa Fred. By the time I got home, the whole town would know about my hunt. I'd walk through the door, and he would exclaim "THERE HE IS!!!" His voice would beam from the anticipation of me coming through his door. It was like he had been waiting for days to see me.and he had. He would demand pictures to show to his friends. He'd say, "Ben, I really wish I could've been there. I'm really proud of you."

    Well as time went on some unexpected things happened. Grandpa Fred's wife, my Grandma Francis, had passed away unexpectedly. Grandpa had been married to her for sixty-some years. He never thought that would happen and it left him in arrears. He was supposed to die first. It was supposed to be a "given". He moved up to my town and I'd go over to his duplex and visit him frequently. When I walked in the door it was always the same line. "THERE HE IS!!!"

    Well, seasons passed, and it was once again time for me to go on my family hunting trip. It was a horrible year. It was the beginning of November, and it was a HOT one!!! There were millions of ladybugs that hatched. You'd be walking back to camp, stripping off all of your clothes, and hundreds of the bugs would be swarming you. They'd bite, you'd smack them, and then you'd stink like the damn things. The deer weren't moving until night, and I didn't blame them. It was miserable.

    Here I had started hunting on November 2nd, it was already Sunday the 11th, and I still hadn't seen one deer from any my stands. It was my last morning hunt. After the hunt I would go back, and we'd tear down camp and head back home. The whole camp was skunked, and I didn't even see a deer from my tree.

    I went out extra early to hunt all morning. It was a perfect morning for sitting. It was incredibly serene--beautifully silent. As the fog lifted through the hardwoods, and retreated into the pines, the sun came out, and like the previous days I knew that there would be nothing. The beauty was still there, and the gifts that I had from God far outweighed "not seeing any deer". Hunt over!!!...or is it?

    Just before I was ready to come down, I could see in the distance a small buck approaching. He was a way off, but it was the first deer I had seen all week. I said a quick prayer that he would come closer. As he approached, I realized that he was going to pass without a shot. The closest he came was about 70 yards. He passed, and kept on walking. He was on a mission. He was going to the pines to bed for the day. I watched him until he was about 150 yards past me and was leaving sight. I thanked God for letting me see one deer. I wasn't mad. I was privileged.

    But then he did something really strange. He looked back in my direction, and stopped. I hadn't moved, hell, he had not even been looking in my direction. He then did something that made absolutely no sense to me at all--he turned a 180 to head back into the heat. He didn't have a reason that I could see, he just did.

    He was coming back towards me at a steady pace. At about 60 yards he slowed to a walk right off of my left side. Without standing, I drew. He took a few more steps, and at about 9 yards, I put my 100gr Thunderhead right above the star on his chest. His front legs buckled under him, and he went down. He had no cries of distress, he just laid down to die. I looked down at my watch. It was 8:00am. I got down from my tree, and used my knife to end his suffering. I left him alone for the last couple minutes of his life. It is something that I always do for the deer that feed me. I consider it respectful to let them die without a hunter standing over them waiting.

    I was so lucky. I didn't know how or why that deer turned. He was long past, and had no reason to backtrack. I dressed him on the spot, and drug him in. After stuffing his chest cavity full of ice bags, I helped the rest of the guys take down camp, and we headed home.

    I got home, and told my parents what I had done. I was on my way to see my Grandpa Fred, when my Mother stopped me. "Ben" she said. I saw tears well up in her eyes. "Grandpa Fred passed early this morning.".

    .Slowly, it all began to make sense.That morning, I didn't get my wish. Grandpa got his.He was there.It was his lucky day.

    November 11th. 11-11. 4 Aces. That old man always did have a horse-shoe stuck up his *.

    Rest in peace, Gramps.

    Fred Newton, Jr. July 22, 1914 - November 11, 1998.
  • Patriots sonPatriots son Member Posts: 915 ✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    I gotta say Ben, when I read your story, my child hood passed before me!! I have many fond memories of both Grandfathers, but had a similar situation. I sure do miss both of them, but my nephews will be handed down everything I learned from both. I appreciate your story!! Gave me goosebumps. You have my vote.
  • Dean CascioDean Cascio Member Posts: 2,301 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    As he stared at her ample bosom, he daydreamed of the dual Stromberg carburetors in his vintage Triumph Spitfire, highly functional yet pleasingly formed, perched prominently on top of the intake manifold, aching for experienced hands, the small knurled caps of the oil dampeners begging to be inspected and adjusted as described in chapter seven of the shop manual.
    Dan McKay
    Fargo, ND
  • Flyin_PaulieFlyin_Paulie Member Posts: 857 ✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    A few years ago I lived on Maui. It's a great place to live, especially if you like golf.
    I played at least two or three times a week(mostly on weekends) with a retired Air Force Sargent named Marty. Marty was kind of grumpy most of the time, but was always on time when we had a tee time. I think he loved golf as much as anybody I know. He was from Kentucky and and always had an opinion on world affairs and because of this, he got razzed all the time. This would usually result in him going on a worse rampage. To sum it up, he was most entertaining to be around.
    One Saturday morning we had played an early round of golf at Wailea and got off the course about noon. As was our usual MO, we went to the clubhouse, had lunch and several beers. We decided that we had so much fun that morning that we should play the next morning and made a 6:30 A.M. tee time. Marty said he would pick me up at 5:45 A.M. the next morning.
    I went home that afternoon and was sitting in my living room watching TV. Around 5:30 I heard the squeal of tires and looked out the front door. It was Marty in his giagantic Mercury Montery Maui cruiser. He bailed out of his car and trotted to my front door. His hair was still wet from the shower and he had this agitated look on his face. My front door was open with just a screen door separating me from the outside and so I just walked over to see what he was in panic about. The first words out of his mouth were, "Are you ready"? "Ready for what"?, I asked. Again, he shouted, "ARE YOU READY"? He was really getting agitated by this time. It finally dawned on me that he was talking about our tee time tomorrow. I was really getting a kick out the whole thing and so was my son sitting with me in the living room.
    I finally told him that I would be ready Sunday morning at 5:45 A.M., but not tonight. He got a look on his face that, to this day, cannot be described. It seems he had gone home that afternoon and taken a nap, awakening in a panic. Thinking it was Sunday morning, he showered and broke a couple of speed records getting to my place as he was "running late". All he could say was, "Oh poop!" (or something like that), then he walked to his car and drove off without further comment.
    My son looked at me and all he said was, "Dad, you have some really weird friends".
  • ripley16ripley16 Member Posts: 4,834
    edited November -1
    This story is true, with a little bit of conjecture thrown in. I think you will agree with my conclusion.

    I owned a 1976 Toyota Mark II sedan. A wonderful, comfortable car, the forerunner to the Cressida line. However, because of it's relatively high price, this model was a poor seller, and therefore quite rare.

    During this time period, (1977-1979), my father was recovering from heart surgery. Part of his regimine was to walk 5 miles a day. To entertain himself he would look for "treasure" along the roads he walked. On one of these treks he came upon a wheel cover he thought belonged to my Mark II, which had distictive covers. He presented me with his find the next time we got together by declaring "I found something you lost" Turned out I still had all four of my covers. My Dad found another cover from another Mark II. I might add I'd never seen another Mark II in the three years I drove the car.

    In 1979 I decided to trade my Mark II for a Supra. The salesman helping me at my local Toyota dealer told me "I was in luck", because the "WHOLESALER" was here that day to appraise vehicles. Lucky for me! To appriase my car he took it for a long drive. Upon returning he declared the car to be in great shape, but I was missing a wheel cover...a VERY EXPENSIVE wheel cover. He had to deduct $300 from the price because of the missing part. I was stunned. I had just washed the car and was pretty sure all the covers were there. Wow!, $300!

    Then I remembered my Dad's "gift". "Oh Yeah", I say, "It's in the trunk". The wholesaler looks at me like I'm crazy and says "Show me". I showed him, got the $300 added back in, and drove home in my new Supra. It wasn't untill I had time to put this puzzle together that I realized the wholesaler had removed the wheel cover himself in order to get a better deal. I replay in my mind many times the look on his face when I produced the "lost" wheel cover. The original was probably behind the dealership in his truck.

    Thanks Dad, for always looking out for me. In big ways and small, his love was on display, and this time had paid off with a great "GOTCHA"
  • CrittergitterCrittergitter Member Posts: 2,554 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1

    It was the last week of deer season, 1975. My dad wanted to go hunting, but could not find a partner, and would not go alone. Too many things can happen in big country with horses, hunting alone is foolish. I was in college, and couldn't miss classes, so it had to be a one day hunt. The last day of the season, do or die. We loaded up the gear on Friday night and headed up to Neinmeyer creek.

    After taking care of the horses, dad cooked up a supper and we planned the next day's hunt. We both had Springfield '03-A3's and carrying a sidearm for the ever present ruffed and blue grouse is considered mandatory around here. I didn't own a revolver at the time, so dad chose his S&W .38 spl. and handed me his S&W .22. I had carried and shot this little .22 many times, and it felt good to have this little friend as my companion once again.

    There was a good foot of snow in camp, we knew it would be deeper up the hillside, and it was. Morning broke clear and crisp, the horses got their oats, and up the trail we went. After an hour on horseback climbing up to hunting country, the horses were wading through about 18 inches of the fluffy flakes.

    Upon reaching our chosen ridge-top, we tied the horses, and traversed the ridge on foot to the steep side hills of loose gravel scree and broken pine patches where we had taken deer before. Reaching our destination, we stopped under an old snag of a pine tree, took a breather and had a look around.

    Above us and to the west was a hunter watching the draw. Another was above us to the north, doing the same thing. Below us, two groups of three hunters were slowly and carefully approaching, following tracks. There were deer in that draw, and everybody knew it. But no one was shooting, just watching and waiting. We did the same for about ten minutes. I became impatient, and slowly approached the small ridge we were just below. Then I saw it. A giant granite boulder the size of a small mansion. Those deer just had to be holed up behind that boulder, and none of the hunters could see them.

    I motioned to dad, he crawled up beside me, and he knew I was right. Snicking off our safeties, we slowly edged over the ridge, and there they were. Two four pointers, (that's 8 for you eastern hunters) and they didn't scent or see us. We fired simultaneously, and they dropped in their tracks. We tagged them, the other hunters left empty handed, and it was decided that dad would clean the animals while I went back for the horses.

    I left my rifle with dad, checked my sidearm, and trudged up the steep draw to the old snag. An easy ridge walk back to the horses, backtrack once again to the snag where I caress the revolver again, (it's a habit) and down the draw to the deer. We tied one deer on each horse, and up the draw once again, happy as two hunters can be. Last day of the season, and we both filled our tags.

    Once again at the snaggy old pine, we let the horses blow, and had a snack. We had time on our side, it was a beautiful day, and as we chatted about the singularity of our happenstance, a camp-robber landed in the tree and started squawking at the top of his lungs. For you that may not know, a camp-robber is a type of Jay, and they're pesky little fellas that steal anything they can out of your camp when you're not looking. And they're LOUD! Not being able to talk over his raucous noise, I reached for the revolver to plug him, and it was gone!

    I knew it was there before I entered the draw to load the deer, and I surmised the rope had wrapped around it and pulled it from the holster while loading the animals. We went down to look for it, in 18 inches of snow. After 30 minutes, we gave up. It was not to be found. I was heartbroken, and I knew dad was too. He had owned the handgun for many years. A black cloud had been cast over our beautifully sunny hunt.

    I brooded over that lost revolver all winter, but could not replace it, as I had no means to do so. But I do have good friends. One of them is Kenny, he was my friend then, and is my friend and business partner today. We planned a trip in the spring.

    No horses this time, we just hiked up to the old snag, and then down to the granite boulder. Just below it is where we loaded the deer the previous fall. The snow was recently melted, and the draw is not dirt, but decomposed granite gravel. After half an hour of looking, I spied the revolver about 100 feet downhill, glittering in the sun, not too worse for wear. The snow had melted quickly, and drained into the gravel. There was some rust pitting, of course, but S&W put some good deep blueing on their guns back then. The cylinder would not rotate, and the grips were parched and wanting attention. But I found the gun! Once home, I removed the wood, and soaked it in a pan of oil/solvent, working on it some every day, until I got the cylinder to turn and come out, removed the old shells, sanded and lacquered the grips, cleaned and scrubbed, and the little fella came out looking pretty nice. There wasn't an iota of pitting in the barrel. I test fired it, and it was as trusty and accurate as before.

    I gave it back to dad on Father's day.

    "A Smith & Wesson .22 just like my old one," he exclaimed, then the grin turned to a perplexed look, he studied the gun more closely, and it dawned on him.

    "This is the gun you lost last year up Neinmeyer creek! This is my serial number!"

    The look on his face is something I'll never forget. He couldn't believe it. I told him how it came back to his hand. He said it was his best Father's day ever. He still has that .22, and it's back in the original holster. Dad has killed several grouse with it since then.

    Would that guns and mountains could talk. They could tell some good stories.
  • scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
    edited November -1
    there are 13 stories (not zakary joke)posted to this thread. I liked them all especially ones that involved dad or grandpa (because I can relate) as I tried to pick thru them I came up with my three favorites they are...
    carsaleman turnabout by ripley16
    hunting with grandpa by fishermanben and
    the lost revolver by crittergitter
    Honerable mention should certainly go to thunderbolts son, BertH and wild oakie.
    As I said they were all great and I appreciate the submissions. Now....
    the number one story wins my 500 post givaway. if you feel I missed the mark please accept that these were my favs and vote for one of them. You may post your favs along with your vote. winner to be annouced friday Or sooner if no one gives a ship Thanks again and good luck
  • MN HunterMN Hunter Member Posts: 2,299 ✭✭
    edited November -1
    i liked berts.
  • whiteclouderwhiteclouder Member Posts: 10,797
    edited November -1
    That's a tough one. Critter for pure human interest, Berts for humor. Can we split a vote?

  • scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
    edited November -1
    opps, I forgot whiteclouders race car story, i really liked that one too. as I said. I really enjoyed all of them
  • scottm21166scottm21166 Member Posts: 20,723
    edited November -1
    hey why won't this topic go back to the top?
  • CrittergitterCrittergitter Member Posts: 2,554 ✭✭✭✭✭
    edited November -1
    Congrats, Ben!

    You write a good story.

    Enjoy your prize![:p][8D]
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