WOW, Bill… that sounds like the “hunt from he**”!!!!!!!
My worst big game hunt was the 2nd time I went big game hunting out to Colorado in 1962. I went with three other guys in a school bus converted into a camper that would sleep four people. Two of the guys owned it… and the 3rd guy and me were “guests” of the first two fellas.
I was a young & dumb 26 year old fella on my 2nd big game hunting trip, but I’d been hunting small game since I was 12 years old. My “host”, Harold, seemed like a really nice guy at home… a pipe-smoking, easy-going kind of guy, but once the bus was loaded and we were on our way, all I heard out of Harold’s mouth was the “F-word” connected to every sentence. I cussed a little now and then, but this was a never ending stream of “F-this, F-that”. After a while, it got tiresome but I tried to ignore it.
The day before opening day, Harold went with me on a scouting trip in the mountains near Rifle, Colorado. We were walking along a trout stream while I looked at the fish when I saw a young porcupine come waddling out of the dense woods. He didnÂ’t seem to be concerned about two humans standing thereÂ… and I guessed he might have never seen a human being before. He was kind of a cute little fella.
I turned back to look at the trout and heard a “whump.. whump… whump”. I turned around and saw Harold picking up the 10 lb. rock over his head for the 4th time and crashing it down on the young porcupine again and again… finally killing it.
As any woodsman knows, you NEVER kill a porcupine in the deep woods because it’s the ONLY animal in the woods an unarmed man can catch and kill with a club thereby possibly securing something to eat… and the lost hunter’s eventual survival. I wasn’t happy & asked Harold why he killed it. He mumbled something about “it being there”.
The next morning, the first day of the elk season, Harold and I climbed up a big hill and he sat about 150 yards to my right on the side of the steep hill on the mountain. Just after daylight, I heard a shot far off to my left over the ridge in front of me, then about 5 minutes later, I saw a large, dark animal come up over the ridge about 200 yards to my left and start moving down, then along the trail on the hillside at my level and about 150 yards across from me. I kept watching the elk as he came closer, moving from my left to my right, to being directly across on the opposite hillside from me, I thought I could see “something”, but I couldn’t make out any antlers for SURE looking through the dim morning light through my scope.
Finally, about the time the elk got directly across from me approximately 100 yards away, I could make out his antlers, so raised my Model 70, .338 Win. Magnum, took aim through the scope and began my trigger squeeze.
Suddenly, I was shocked hear a rifle go off and it wasn’t mine… it was Harold. He had shot at the elk which was directly in front of me… an elk he could barely see. Then I heard him yell…. “I think I hit it… I THINK it’s a bull!!!”
He THOUGHT it was a bull??? We did NOT have a “cow elk” license and he THOUGHT it was a bull elk!!! The S.O.B. had taken a 250 yard shot and shot the elk right out from in front of me (and he KNEW I was there)… and he THOUGHT it was a bull?


I scrambled down the hill, across the gully and up the opposite hillÂ… and, being 15 years younger, got up on the trail directly across from my stand before Harold got there. After moving down the trail a few yards, I found hair and bloodÂ… than I ran into the elk which rose up and started to hobble down the trail, dragging itÂ’s shot-broken rear leg behind it. I raised my rifle and put the crosshairs on the back of the elkÂ’s head where it joined the neck to put it out of itÂ’s misery, flipped the safety off, touched the trigger and MY SCOPE WENT BLANK!
As I began to lower my rifle, I heard Harold’s rifle ring out just in front of me as he shot the elk in the back of the head at 10 yards. Harold had come up on the trial a few feet in front of me, stood up right in front of my rifle and his head “blanked out” my scope just as I touched my rifle’s trigger to shoot.
When I realized what had happen, my knees started shaking at the prospects of what ALMOST happened!
I was getting really disgusted with HaroldÂ… but I said nothing. But I decided to hunt AWAY from Harold and hoped heÂ’d keep his distance.
A few days later, I was sitting up on a hillside a few hundred yards above a beautiful valley and I saw someone walking through the valley. I put my binoculars on the figure and, it was Harold.
He disappeared into a clump of treesÂ… and a moment later, I hear a shot. Thinking he got a mule deer that was bedded up in the grove of trees, I got up, climbed down the ridge to the valley and walked over to the grove of trees where Harold was standing.
I looked around, but didn’t see any deer… so I asked Harold, “Where’s your deer? Let’s get him gutted and I’ll help you drag it back to camp.”
He gave me a “funny” grin and pointed his rifle off to our right. I thought I saw something laying behind some brush… and I walked over for a closer look. Harold had shot a fawn. I gritted my teeth, gave Harold one of those “You S.O.B.!!!” looks and walked away.
Needless to say, I didn’t speak to Harold the rest of the 10 day trip and hunted as far away from him as I could. The other two guys with us were Harold’s “buddies” and whle the other “guest” remained friendly, the co-owner of the bus didn’t… so I was the one who was ostracized, not Harold. But that was ok… I’d had enough.
Once we got home, I never saw Harold againÂ… and I have NEVER gone on ANY kind of hunt, big game or small gameÂ… with anyone I didnÂ’t know REALLY well!
This was my “hunt from he**”!
Strength & HonorÂ…
Ron T.