I would argue that hunting with a bow and arrow levels the playing field, so to speak, considerably when compared to a group of people toting shotguns.
Man Kills 35-point Buck
- Thread starter RollTide72
- Start date
I would argue that hunting with a bow and arrow levels the playing field, so to speak, considerably when compared to a group of people toting shotguns.
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The new MadJacks Sports MadJacks-nff.com :scared :scared :scared
ROFL at Jack jumping in every now and then with the new rules. :mj07: :mj07: :mj07: :mj07:
The new MadJacks Sports MadJacks-nff.com :scared :scared :scared
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If you want to "level the playing field" then go after it barehanded or at most with a knife. If you are going to use technology, why not use something that will kill it right away? :shrug: It seems to me most people who bowhunt do so because they think it's "cool."
I actually know a guy that killed a deer with just his knife, but mostly his bare hands. He jumped from the tree and landed right in the middle of its back. He wrestled it to the ground and started stabbing. Believe me, the deer got in more than a few shots! Pissed ALL over him and he stunk for a month, this was a clown that lived above me in College. The deer kicked him in the stomach and broke 2 ribs and he ended up being rushed to the hospital when he started coughing up blood in the middle of the night. He broke the deers neck, that's how he killed it.
Crazy fukcin bastard!
It has nothing to do with the criticism of hunting. I figured that would be a given. It's the dumping on one another that I was talking about.
Don't you have anyone else to bother?
I mean come on tide you have to think before you post these things. You had to know a lot of these pro abortion people were going to rip this barbaric practice:142smilie
Haha... my dad broke his arm when he was 17 doing that. He figured he could kill a deer with a knife by jumping from a tree... well he killed the deer, but he spent 6 weeks in a cast
Sounds like quite an athlete
The debate on hunting or fishing for that matter could go on forever--but to say people hunt because they were not athletes is comical.
Numerous athletes profiles list hobbies as hunting or fishing--would depend basically on area athlete was raised--probably not many hunters/fishers from inner cities but would think high % from small cities/rural areas.
---and on sending the hunters to war--I'll take the hunters with their camouflage covering my ass--and Sponge can have the- help me help me- ow ow ow protestors with their Don't tase me Bro shirts cover his---
I don't hunt, but always wanted to. This may be a dumb question. For this deer to have 30 something points,is it an abnormality? What I mean is it genetically messed up?
Don't know if they are genetically messed up but here we call them atypical. Don't think they get scored for records.
Yes they do. They are either considered typical or non-typical. There are two different methods for scoring, one for each type of rack.
I have seen some racks that were typical on one side and non-typical on the other. I was told that this was because of some type of injury the deer had suffered at some point in his life. The deer in the pic, IMO, has some sort of genetic issues.
Here is how you score a non-typical deer.
http://www.boone-crockett.org/bgRec...rea=bgRecords&type=Non-Typical+Whitetail+Deer
Good article on why deer have non-typical antlers.
http://deerfever.com/content.php?article.443
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im guessing he soberd up and deleted it...thxs though jack..i may have bashed somebody 5 times out of 1000 posts..saying none of my buddys that hunt are athletic ,shouldnt be a reason for somebody to start bashing me......ill bash people who should get bashed like a guy who posts plays of the year and say they wont post no more if it losses ..2 days later their back posting..thats a bitch and should get bashed ,dont you think?..i know the more posters the better for you,but some bashing is well deserved..btw..im glad they keep posting their plays of the year though ,ive never faded anybody until recently and that was my FADE OF THE YEAR..And made me some nice coin..keep on posting .....anyhow gl......btw u still smoking jack...why dont we try a quit thing again if you still are.
childhood tale
childhood tale
HUNTING
I?ve often thought about why men are compelled to kill animals for sport.
Is it a character weakness to destroy a creature thanks to some sadistic primal urge? Or does it serve as a valve to contain more sinister tendencies?
I really don?t know. I do know, however, that many little boys capture bees, flies, grasshoppers, potato bugs and various others insects for the sole purpose of torturing them until their eyes X. They rip their legs off. Pluck their antennae. Even cut their wings with scissors, a nation of six-year-old Mengeles, cruel kids with an executioner?s blood-thirst.
I was guilty of the same tricks. Many hours were whiled away on our Redmond farm catching bumblebees in an empty Mason jar, filling it with water, then cocktail-shaking the pollen-thick bee loco.
Why? Who the hell knows? Maybe I was getting back in the only way I knew how for my dad?s paddlings. Maybe it?s a little kid?s only control. Maybe we didn?t have enough television stations back then. Whatever it was, it was pretty pathetic as I think back on it.
And it only got worse for a few years.
I got my first BB gun in fifth grade for Christmas. I received strict orders not to shoot birds, only targets. Yeah, that lasted about seven minutes. If my parents hadn?t put the taboo on gunning down birds it might not have been such a thrill to hunt them. But knowing you?re doing ?something wrong? puts a charge into childhood disobedience. So after dinging up a few black-circle targets, I headed up our alley for game: sparrows, mockingbirds, robins, blue jays, cardinals--the indigenous birds of Dallas.
I?m ashamed to say I shot hundreds of them from fifth-through-eighth grade. I had friends who did the same thing. My brothers, too. We stalked ?em, winged ?em, killed ?em, and tossed them in the bushes. It was sick, embarrassing behavior. But we couldn?t stop.
My only excuse is that we acted out of ignorance, out of that drive to break away from authority. It was a twisted catharsis. Teenage boys have carried this visceral hum since the discovery of fire. Killing the father, Freudian separation, whatever psychological blather-spin you want to put on it, this behavior is age old. Vandalism, stealing, fighting, shooting birds these are young, hormonally amok manifestations that brand male adolescence. Hopefully, it?s as bad as it gets.
In eighth grade something happened to me that changed my thinking in regards to knocking birds off limbs.
My dad had always enjoyed hunting, as did my brother Jeff. I mean real hunting, shotguns to dove and duck, rifles to deer. I?d tagged along on the bird hunting but never tracked any sort of animal until my dad took me deer hunting for the first time.
We went for the weekend, staying in a friend?s cabin. After Saturday passed, nobody in our party of five had spotted a buck. The second day, I was paired off with my dad and we sat silently in our blind (a wooden structure about ten feet off the ground) while the other men and my brother were doing the same thing somewhere far away from us.
The afternoon folded into dusk, my dad and I whispering the light away. It was nice spending time with him, probably the longest one-on-one we ever spent together.
Finally, after not spotting a thing in two days, we saw a deer venture into a clearing about 60-yards away.
My dad lifted his rifle, fit the butt to his shoulder, and peered into the scope.
?I can?t tell if it?s a buck or not,? he whispered nervously. (Shooting a female deer was against the law.)
I squinted, trying to help, but the combination of dusk and distance made identifying antlers impossible. ?I can?t tell,? I whispered back.
My dad stuck his eyeball even tighter to the scope to ascertain the sex. ?Damn, I just can?t tell.? He frowned. ?There?s something happening on top of its head, I think.?
There it sat: the question of whether it was a buck or doe. To shoot or not to shoot.
As I watched my dad strain into that scope I sensed he really didn?t want to pull the trigger. I know I was already at that point. The deer seemed so peaceful, innocent, standing in that trail, its head alertly shifting toward the slightest movements and sounds.
BOOM! The rifle exploded.
The deer dropped to the ground without a kick.
It was one hell of a shot by my dad. I was impressed he hit it from such a distance. But watching the deer lay inert on the earth made me wish he hadn?t pulled the trigger.
?C?mon,? my dad said, ?let?s go see what I killed. I pray to God it?s a buck.?
My dad kept repeating his prayer as we scrambled down from the blind and ate ground toward the dead animal. When we were ten feet away my dad sighed, ?Thank gawd, it?s a buck.?
I saw the antlers and the blood flowing from its shoulder right above its heart. It was the perfect entry shot, exactly where a hunter is supposed to aim.
My dad didn?t speak for a few minutes. I could see he wasn?t proud of himself. Finally, he shook his head at the glassy-eyed beast and said, ?I?ll never do this again. I feel bad for taking its life. I don?t mind killing birds, but this ... this is a thing of nature.?
I couldn?t reply. I?d never seen nor heard my dad feel shame for something, not in this magnitude anyhow. I just sat there staring at the buck?s hooves while blood painted the dirt scarlet.
I remember thinking one thing above all: that my dad had never really wanted to kill this poor animal. It was all just kind of a race to him, a competition. He wanted to be the first man in our group to kill a buck. He succeeded. No one else even fired a shot that weekend.
My dad never went deer hunting again.
Quite soon after that, I stopped shooting birds.
█
childhood tale
HUNTING
I?ve often thought about why men are compelled to kill animals for sport.
Is it a character weakness to destroy a creature thanks to some sadistic primal urge? Or does it serve as a valve to contain more sinister tendencies?
I really don?t know. I do know, however, that many little boys capture bees, flies, grasshoppers, potato bugs and various others insects for the sole purpose of torturing them until their eyes X. They rip their legs off. Pluck their antennae. Even cut their wings with scissors, a nation of six-year-old Mengeles, cruel kids with an executioner?s blood-thirst.
I was guilty of the same tricks. Many hours were whiled away on our Redmond farm catching bumblebees in an empty Mason jar, filling it with water, then cocktail-shaking the pollen-thick bee loco.
Why? Who the hell knows? Maybe I was getting back in the only way I knew how for my dad?s paddlings. Maybe it?s a little kid?s only control. Maybe we didn?t have enough television stations back then. Whatever it was, it was pretty pathetic as I think back on it.
And it only got worse for a few years.
I got my first BB gun in fifth grade for Christmas. I received strict orders not to shoot birds, only targets. Yeah, that lasted about seven minutes. If my parents hadn?t put the taboo on gunning down birds it might not have been such a thrill to hunt them. But knowing you?re doing ?something wrong? puts a charge into childhood disobedience. So after dinging up a few black-circle targets, I headed up our alley for game: sparrows, mockingbirds, robins, blue jays, cardinals--the indigenous birds of Dallas.
I?m ashamed to say I shot hundreds of them from fifth-through-eighth grade. I had friends who did the same thing. My brothers, too. We stalked ?em, winged ?em, killed ?em, and tossed them in the bushes. It was sick, embarrassing behavior. But we couldn?t stop.
My only excuse is that we acted out of ignorance, out of that drive to break away from authority. It was a twisted catharsis. Teenage boys have carried this visceral hum since the discovery of fire. Killing the father, Freudian separation, whatever psychological blather-spin you want to put on it, this behavior is age old. Vandalism, stealing, fighting, shooting birds these are young, hormonally amok manifestations that brand male adolescence. Hopefully, it?s as bad as it gets.
In eighth grade something happened to me that changed my thinking in regards to knocking birds off limbs.
My dad had always enjoyed hunting, as did my brother Jeff. I mean real hunting, shotguns to dove and duck, rifles to deer. I?d tagged along on the bird hunting but never tracked any sort of animal until my dad took me deer hunting for the first time.
We went for the weekend, staying in a friend?s cabin. After Saturday passed, nobody in our party of five had spotted a buck. The second day, I was paired off with my dad and we sat silently in our blind (a wooden structure about ten feet off the ground) while the other men and my brother were doing the same thing somewhere far away from us.
The afternoon folded into dusk, my dad and I whispering the light away. It was nice spending time with him, probably the longest one-on-one we ever spent together.
Finally, after not spotting a thing in two days, we saw a deer venture into a clearing about 60-yards away.
My dad lifted his rifle, fit the butt to his shoulder, and peered into the scope.
?I can?t tell if it?s a buck or not,? he whispered nervously. (Shooting a female deer was against the law.)
I squinted, trying to help, but the combination of dusk and distance made identifying antlers impossible. ?I can?t tell,? I whispered back.
My dad stuck his eyeball even tighter to the scope to ascertain the sex. ?Damn, I just can?t tell.? He frowned. ?There?s something happening on top of its head, I think.?
There it sat: the question of whether it was a buck or doe. To shoot or not to shoot.
As I watched my dad strain into that scope I sensed he really didn?t want to pull the trigger. I know I was already at that point. The deer seemed so peaceful, innocent, standing in that trail, its head alertly shifting toward the slightest movements and sounds.
BOOM! The rifle exploded.
The deer dropped to the ground without a kick.
It was one hell of a shot by my dad. I was impressed he hit it from such a distance. But watching the deer lay inert on the earth made me wish he hadn?t pulled the trigger.
?C?mon,? my dad said, ?let?s go see what I killed. I pray to God it?s a buck.?
My dad kept repeating his prayer as we scrambled down from the blind and ate ground toward the dead animal. When we were ten feet away my dad sighed, ?Thank gawd, it?s a buck.?
I saw the antlers and the blood flowing from its shoulder right above its heart. It was the perfect entry shot, exactly where a hunter is supposed to aim.
My dad didn?t speak for a few minutes. I could see he wasn?t proud of himself. Finally, he shook his head at the glassy-eyed beast and said, ?I?ll never do this again. I feel bad for taking its life. I don?t mind killing birds, but this ... this is a thing of nature.?
I couldn?t reply. I?d never seen nor heard my dad feel shame for something, not in this magnitude anyhow. I just sat there staring at the buck?s hooves while blood painted the dirt scarlet.
I remember thinking one thing above all: that my dad had never really wanted to kill this poor animal. It was all just kind of a race to him, a competition. He wanted to be the first man in our group to kill a buck. He succeeded. No one else even fired a shot that weekend.
My dad never went deer hunting again.
Quite soon after that, I stopped shooting birds.
█
PT one of a hunters biggest reasons for hunting is because of the over population of the animal. Maybe on someones farm i can agree but 9 out of 10 (around here) always comeback and say they didn't see a thing for a whole weekend:shrug: The way they talk about the over population you would think it wouldn't take more then ten minutes to bag one. Hell my brother in law came back Sunday night and again and didn't see a thing. Im not someone who iis going to go out and protest hunting. I simply just don't get it.
