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Mike, you say only close one eye?

I almost forgot about the time a guy and I were squirrel hunting...I was packing a Pre 17 .22 S&W, 6" round barrel with Micro sights. I really regret I parted with it.
As we approached a tall Poplar that a squirrel was cutting in I told my buddy to give me the first shot with my pistol and if I missed he could get him with his shotgun.
I got directly under the squirrel that was in the very tip top of the tree...took aim. At the shot a squirrel fell out of the tree and hit the ground a few feet from us....got up and ran away....my buddy was so shocked that he never fired a shot at it. I said "why didn't you shoot?" He replied..."I thought he was dead" I replied..."the one I shot is still hanging onto the limb" about that time he fell to the ground. Dead.

Lady Luck struck again.

I just did this 2 weeka ago.
I was hunting whitetails on a farm in Kansas. I was sitting behind a sizeable cedar along a steep creekside. I heard a deer trotting up behind me. It stopped and snorted. I jumped out from behind the cedar and all I saw was antlers.
The deer bolted up the hillside, heading out into the open prairie. The only shot presented was a Texas bulls-eye. I held my breath and waited. The seconds ticked slowly by. I kept waiting for an opportunity. At about 200 he turned ever so slightly to his left, offering a shallow angle on his left shoulder. I had the cross hairs on him the whole way as he ran up the hillside.
I touched it off, and chambered another round in the fluid style that is my nature. I never lost sight of my quarry during the recoil pulse. I never needed the second round. He was already down, his left leg stabbing out the staccato rhythm of death.
I walked up to the deer, he was stone dead. Plowed right into the Flint Hills pasture.
My round had been high, catching him below and behind the eye, exiting under the opposite. He'll go maybe 130, but the mount was ruined.

It has been said that the first liar doesn't stand a chance in camps I have been in. So, I have held off in fear of ridicule and distain for an unplanned shot till now. Two years ago while hunting around Great Falls I spooked a nice two point out of his bed. He had been in a thicket below me in the bottom of a coulee. As he headed up the coulee wall on the opposite side I took a shot( later marked at 125yd). I worked the bolt as I realized I had missed. My next shot was lined up on the back bone and with a little lead I pulled the trigger. I stood there in disbelief, the buck was gone from sight. If I shoot I always check the area out just in case I didn't miss. I hiked down and thru the coulee and up the other side. Thinking the deer had made a descent into the next coolee I continued walking. Low and behold I spotted the buck. I was proud of myself thinking how my trap shooting had payed off. The buck was on his belly with legs streched out as if hit in full stride. Pleased with myself I prepared to field dress the little guy. I grabbed one antler to help roll him over. What a surprise when I realized the skull was shattered and the antlers were independent of one another. Upon looking a little closer I found my shot had hit just below the left ear and exited between the eyes. Later when the work was done my companion loaned me his range finder. The distance was 185 yards. I was intending on a back shot. I still blame the deer for the poor placement. If he hadn't jumped that one last time...Oh well. Open country hunting offers many chances and it is unlikely I will do this again, but for now it is a good memory. Good hunting,
Ron

We all seem to think that long shots with a scattergun are something of a feat - how about the short shot?

I used to hunt a lot with my Dad's pal. He used a 30" full-choke semiauto which shot some very tight patterns, would kill ducks at longest ranges efficiently. Yet, just about every time as we walked to and from the duck holes, we would flush a few korostels* - they are very small birds and they would flush at about 10 paces, fly for 20 or 25 meters and land. My dad's pal was fond of there birds and as soon as one took off, he would nail it before I could get my gun to shoulder. He never missed, which isn't exactly a feat, but what surprised me that the birds were never broken. For all I knew about shotguns, a korostel ought to be turned to minced meat if shot at that distance with that gun. "How do you do it" - I asked (I knew he used no spreaders) - "I just shoot just enough off the bird to get it with side pellets" - he said. And trust me, he meant it!

______
* Oops, don't know no English for that bird. Sorry... Its Latin name is Crex Crex... could someone please tell me what it's called in English?

I googled 'Crex Crex" and came up with "Corncrake" as the English name.
Pete

Thanks, HD & Pete. I had to look for corncrake, it is not a bird found in N. America. Found this link with a photograph & bit of interesting information ..

http://www.uksafari.com/corncrakes.htm

Geno posted a video of he and a red setter? hunting corncrakes.
Back when "Steel powder" was first on the market, I loaded up some fancy shells for hunting teal.
They were 1800+ fps, and loaded with #6 steel. 3/4oz as I recall. I sat at the bench for hours spinning those devils up. I carefully sealed the ends with nail polish. The primers too. I even polished the brass (just for looks). I was so proud of my new, high performance, handloads.
Well, I go duck hunting and stuff a couple up the chute. In comes a knot of bluewings. Now's my chance! They are twisting and spinning and rising up and down. They reminded me of powder blue blackbirds in a whorl. They bore down on me like a freight train. I rose to take the lead bird, and Ka-Booom! Off goes my shotgun with a tremendous roar, and an acrid plume of smoke. About knocked me on my keister.
I recomposed myself for a second shot (the recoil had been herculean) but I couldn't see the ducks any more.
I looked out into my spread, and low and behold, all 6 were doing the back stroke in the decoys. There were feathers all over the place. It looked like a pillow fight gone bad with Grandma's lapis lazuli featherbed thrown into the fray.
The feathers were mostly blown off the birds, pre-plucked I'd call them. When I cleaned my delicious prizes, I only found pellets in the two lead birds. The rest seemed to have died either from collision, or percussion.
Since that time, my friends have called my special swatter loads "Pluckers", as they seem never to penetrate, but tear handfuls of feathers off every bird shot with them.

Perhaps after a couple nogs this afternoon, I'll regail you lads with a story about my special shells known as "Shredders".

What, you guys don't have any stories on Christmas eve? Worried about coal in your stocking?

How's this one?

I have potted rooks off Glenthorne Manor. That's right. The very same.
I can offer evidence, as I mistakenly left tuna cans, Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles, and the remnants of a bucket of KFC along the path cut through the silvery wood. A regrettable development, as unfortunately, I had to make a hasty retreat mid luncheon.
I narrowly escaped detection by the Laird himself! I immediately recognized him, as he was driving a minivan accompanied by a couple of labradors. He stopped near a fen, and tumbled from the luxurious Chrysler.
There was no mistaking him, as he wore a jaunty Borcelino, a faded tweed Jacket, and smoked very strong smelling cigarettes.
I hid in some bushes, and could hear the jingling of the famous "unlucky cartridges" in the pocket of his well worn tweed coat. They must be very lonesome by now. He swept past me striding with great purpose, carrying "The Beaseley" broken over his arm. I was stricken by fear and awe. I was convinced I was either in a Laudnum taupor, or an opium dens dream room. It was like seeing Jacob Marley clanking across my bedroom post a meal of kimchi and port poached green pears.
Thank God I was down wind, as I'm sure the Labs would have licked me to ribbons if they had caught my scent.
When the danger of detection had passed, I regathered my wits, and stole quickly off the grounds, my pair of rooks, and succulent coney secreted in my poachers bag.

I stewed the rooks in an old iron pot, accompanied by a melange of root vegetables, and a snifter of cognac. I celebrated my good fortune, and enviable powers of cloaking as I stretched out before my fire, PBR in one hand, and Borkum-Riff stoked cobby in the other.

Merry Christmas.

A couple more anecdotes. A good dog can turn a "miss" into a great shot. I was at the end of a "death march" through a long swamp in the dead of winter. Every other step I'd fall through ice between swamp grass tufts. Must have taken 2 hrs to go not even half a mile. At the end, where the stream gets into the woods a single cock got up, a 50 yd L4 presentation. Both barrels done - see absolutely no sign of a hit. No twitch, no feathers. My female (Clown 2) starts chasing it - and would not return to command. It must have been 15 degrees, but I was sweating and pissed. I sat down on a stump with Clown 1 and ventilated...at his expense. 15 minutes later Clown 2 becomes visible a quarter mile distant. Soon after I can see she has a bird. There was one single hole in the center of that bird's heart.

On another occasion, in about the same place, my buddy and I were in deeper snow. The dogs took off and we couldn't keep up. Bird goes up maybe 125 yds off. Well, we had about had it, so emptied our guns, shooting directly into the sun. We clearly missed. But the bird was flying into the sun, too. Now about 250 yds away from us we watched in amazement as the bird flew head first into a dead tree. In seconds the dog pack was all over it. We looked at each other and simultaneously voiced: "dumbass". No pellets in the bird, of course.

Sam