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  #11  
Old 01-21-2021, 09:24 AM
Mojo-NC Mojo-NC is offline
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I have a couple, but checking on the statues of limitations before I say anything.

Did get buzzed by a Canadian (I think) fighter jet back in the 80's while on a trip to Canada.
Came at us at about a 100 yards off the water and probably a bit more off to our side.
Just guessing as I don't have much experience with passing jets.

He was close enough that as he tilted his wings we could see him waving at us.

He probably thought it was funny, scared the poo poo out of me though.

Al
I had something similar happen to me in early November right here in NC. it was a nice 70 degree day during the week, so I took a vacation day to go fishing. I was by myself and about the only boat on the lake. The water was almost like glass with just a whisper of a breeze and it was very quiet. I was drop-shotting in about 30' of water out on the main part of the lake and following the contour line, so I was pretty focused on the screen. Out of nowhere came a fighter jet right over me. By the time I heard it, the plane was right on me and extremely loud, so much so that I could actually feel it. The plane seemed just above the tree line, but in reality I know it was higher than that. It came over right above me and I darn near fell down in the boat. I think I only peed on myself a little. All I could think of at the time was that if it were really a combat situation, I would already be vaporized. It retrospect, it was very cool and left me in awe. He came by a couple other time throughout the day, but the first one was the one that got me. I know he was doing it on purpose. I actually hope it happens again.
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  #12  
Old 01-21-2021, 10:08 AM
Yellowfin123 Yellowfin123 is online now
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I had something similar happen to me in early November right here in NC. it was a nice 70 degree day during the week, so I took a vacation day to go fishing. I was by myself and about the only boat on the lake. The water was almost like glass with just a whisper of a breeze and it was very quiet. I was drop-shotting in about 30' of water out on the main part of the lake and following the contour line, so I was pretty focused on the screen. Out of nowhere came a fighter jet right over me. By the time I heard it, the plane was right on me and extremely loud, so much so that I could actually feel it. The plane seemed just above the tree line, but in reality I know it was higher than that. It came over right above me and I darn near fell down in the boat. I think I only peed on myself a little. All I could think of at the time was that if it were really a combat situation, I would already be vaporized. It retrospect, it was very cool and left me in awe. He came by a couple other time throughout the day, but the first one was the one that got me. I know he was doing it on purpose. I actually hope it happens again.
i used to see that alot off the coast of southern cal, you'd be off shore 60-70 miles and get buzzed by navy f-18's and used to think they were actually using us for straffing practice
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  #13  
Old 01-21-2021, 10:41 AM
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Google Big Too Much Lake and follow it to LaCroix Lake, then Crooked Lake and finally to Rock Lake. In the late 60ís we vacationed on Big Too Much. The resort owner had small boats placed at the other three lakes. He, my father and I (around 13 yrs old) would portage to Rock Lake. Carried two large rubberized back packs, our fishing gear and a small gas motor. There were no roads, not even logging roads. We would boat across each lake and then hike to the next. There were no walleye on Rock. We fished pike and sunfish. Donít remember the pike as much as I do the 2 lb. sunnies. How thick they were. Great times and great memories. Oh, and the swampy, mosquito infested portages.
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  #14  
Old 01-22-2021, 12:14 PM
jaleonard jaleonard is offline
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It would have been in the late fifties. I was in the seventh grade. Dad and I went to my grandparents (his parents) place in the country to squirrel hunt. It was a beautiful, crisp, fall day. Perfect for squirrel hunting with not a hint of a breeze, which should allow for sighting these delicious critters from afar and making the best beeline approach.

Dad drove the truck to the end of the property to where a drainage ditch indicated the end of the property line and on the other side was what I would call as a young lad, the forest. I was using my brother's single shot 410 and dad used his 12 ga. He gave me some shells. As I recall, six shells. We sons were expected to use one per squirrel, ha!

With a little trickle of water in the drainage ditch, we crossed over to the 'forest'. I did not carry a compass, as my dad was the compass in all times before. I did have a watch (thank goodness as you will read later).

My dad was a true outdoorsman, hunted and fished growing up to help feed the family on the farm. This is in LA. To this day, I still am in awe how he could move around so easily and know how to get back, whether we were in the woods or the wilds of Atchafalaya Basin.

Dad turned to me and said "you begin here, take a line like a "V". You are going left and I will go right. At noon, turn around and place the sun on your left shoulder and head straight back in that direction. I'll meet you back here around 12:30pm. I had never hunted beyond the drainage ditch before. I had hunted on their property solo but we knew it very well.

I left that infamous spot determined to harvest a squirrel and hopefully more. I always reveled in my dad stories of him growing up hunting these same woods killing many squirrels. I just knew it was my day.

I am a soft walker so stalking animals comes easy for me (I've walked **** near up to deer before in TX.) being sure footed and treading lightly. After awhile I began to get unenchanted from the euphoria I had begun with as I was not seeing squirrels. I was going deeper and deeper into the woods without realizing the distance but more importantly, the time in my zeal to kill a squirrel.

Finally, a squirrel! I did the stalking; slowly closing the distance, staying unseen and getting to shooting distance. BOOM! I got the squirrel but as I approached it, it was still alive. I wonder what do I do now. I wasn't about to grab it by the tail and swing it crashing its head against the large tree trunk only to get bitten. So I aimed the gun in advance of the squirrel's head and shot once again. That did it enough where I felt I could to the tail-smash-head thing, which I did. Of course, in hindsight, I should have picked up a hefty limb and bashed its head but my youthful brain couldn't comprehend this easy concept.

Success at last but this is where the troubles began. I place the squirrel in the hunting vest bag, looked at the watch, which reported it was 3p.m. Oh no, (truthfully, I probably said an expletive or two) I'm in trouble. Dad will be mad at me for being late. So I turned around, faced the sun over the left shoulder and began my return trip to the truck only to be off line because of the 3 hour difference in the sun. Then the real adventure began.

I came upon an area I was sure I had already been on my return. I knew this meant I was going in circles and I was in deep do-do. OK, so I made a mark with some limbs in the event I returned here again, which would confirm I am lost and in circles. I was really getting confused as you can imagine and lo and behold, I came upon my marker. Words can't expressed my dismay at my situation. I remember thinking, ok if I go in a straight line (as if I could) going to my right, I would reach the hwy. many miles away, hours maybe a day later. Then I would have to hitchhike to get to the farm some miles away. If I go in front of me, would I reach the drainage ditch where another decision awaited me; go left or right to follow it. If I go right, would I really be paralleling the drainage ditch.

Since dad said to turn around and go left at a "V" I decided to do that. This path unknowingly to me, had me paralleling the drainage ditch some distance in the forest. While on this path I came upon a pasture with an old ramshackle cabin with an old red truck (like you see on billboards/ads from years gone by) parked near by. And this cabin had smoke coming out of the chimney. Civilization!!! Someone is here to help me with directions. It was not to be. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. Then I rapped the door as hard as I could when I finally heard a voice (man I was happy to hear a voice) but then this voice was growling and spouting expletives and I'm sure my rear-end was quivering - but I did have my shotgun. All kinds of thoughts were going through my mind as to who was inside. Finally, the door opened and he looks like a scrawny unkempt Appalachian mountain man. The alcohol on his breath nearly knocking me over when he bellowed, Son-of-a-*****, what the **** you want!

I asked him if he knew my family and what direction I should go to get there. He was delirious with drunkenness so much he couldn't ascertain what I was asking. Let me just say, he made it perfectly clear to me to get the **** out of there. Which I did pronto. An aside - as you would expect, in that area everyone knew everyone. When I told my dad about it, he laughed and told me that was old man -Name Since Forgotten that would go out there to get away from his old lady for a few days at a time and get drunk doing so.

So I headed 'left' to begin my next leg of hoping to find civilization. Now I came upon a wild pecan tree orchard. The trees were not in any particular fashion, just wild but it had a dirt road through it. Now I was wondering do I follow it this way or that way, would this way get me farther or nearer the drainage ditch. Then I heard something from a distance. I must admit I got a little scared not knowing what the sound was but as it approached I recognized the purring of a vehicle. I thought finally, I'm on my way out of this predicament. As it turned out, it was a group (family?) of gypsies with the bandanas as seen on TV. Again, dad later told me about the gypsies and how they ran in the back woods and they were there to pick pecans to sell (poaching). Boy, was I ever learning some things.

Well, there was a communication problem with the gypsies, which I later learned they spoke in tongues. If they spoke English, they didn't let on to me, possibly because I had the shotgun. Anyway, thinking we were communicating somewhat with hands, they pointed in a direction. A direction I decided I would follow.

That direction turned out to be spot on. After walking a ways, I came upon the drainage ditch, just not at the rendezvoused point. I knew this was a big decision at this point. If I followed the ditch to the right and it was to the right of our meeting point, then I would be walking to the hwy. with the same problem I had earlier. If I went left and I was beyond the meeting point, I would be walking to the town on the backside, which I knew also was miles away. What to do? I decided to go left. It was an intuitively brilliant decision! I finally came upon the rendezvoused crossing point. I was so relieved, happy, and thankful. I could see the truck from the ditch, so I crossed over the ditch and reaching the truck, realized dad wasn't there.

I knew he must be in the woods looking for me. Dad had some loss of hearing from WWII so I returned to the ditch and shot three times as quickly as I could reload hoping he would hear my shots and realize it was a signal I had finally made it back safely. I returned to the truck to wait. I do not remember how long it was until I saw dad emerge at the edge of the forest. I shot the 410 with my last shell to get his attention so he would look over and see me. Fortunately, he could hear the shot, saw me and we were once again together.

He never fussed at me, which I totally expected a real beat-down scolding. He had gone into the woods three times looking for me. He was coming out of the woods the third time and was going to head for the sheriff's office to help find me. We laughed about it, talked wildly about the ordeal. We simply had one of those, dear dad/son outings. On the return trip home we stopped by a little bar store where dad bought four beers, one for me, the rest for him.

Those were the days my friend...

I love you dad, RIP. He passed at the young age of 56 (1976).
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  #15  
Old 01-22-2021, 01:30 PM
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As I was sitting under a tree I heard a noise and looked and saw a black bear just watching me. I slowly moved to the boat rather scared as I have never been that close to a bear and started wondering if he would attack me and thinking how will I fight his claws and teeth, picked up a rock thinking I could ram it in his mouth and went to push the boat out so I could get the motor deep enough out of the rock and sand to jump in tilt the motor by hand \ and slowly lower it in the water.

First time motor would not start and ended back on shore, each time I did this the water pushed the boat back on shore and I had to try again. By about the fifth time the bear started to make small slow movement in my direction. I took all the fish on the stringer and lassoed it to throw at him, swam the boat out much farther jumped in started it and I was on my way.

The storm had lightened and found my way back. Friend asked how I did and I told him he missed it, I was killing it. He asked where the fish were and I told him the bear ate them.
****! I can only imagine how hard your heart was pump'n through all that...lol Wow! Now, that's a "story"....thanks for sharing it.
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Old 01-22-2021, 01:40 PM
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Great story, Jaleonard! Well written too...

Thanks for sharing it!
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  #17  
Old 01-22-2021, 02:06 PM
Dacotah Eye Dacotah Eye is online now
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During the early eighties my brother and fished Lake Sharp in South Dakota nearly every weekend in summer. Jet fighters from Ellsworth Air Force Base would fly low level flights to sneak up on radar sights at the time. Usually two fighters would fly low to the surface of the lake and suddenly a loud BABOOM would have us nearly jumping out of our seats. We got to the point where we could sense them coming. I thought I could sometimes hear some kind of a whine before they passed us and my brother thought he could feel something before the BABOOM as they went past us. I still don't know how we could sometimes sense them coming.
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  #18  
Old 01-22-2021, 02:25 PM
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Pheasant hunting when I was 17 swung my shotgun on a rooster, fired nearly blowing the head off of the person next to me. Never touched a gun since.


Nearly swamped a 14' boat with 2 little kids, a single mom, older lady and myself. Been buying bigger boats ever since.

Story time is over.
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  #19  
Old 01-22-2021, 03:26 PM
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Pheasant hunting when I was 17 swung my shotgun on a rooster, fired nearly blowing the head off of the person next to me. Never touched a gun since.


Nearly swamped a 14' boat with 2 little kids, a single mom, older lady and myself. Been buying bigger boats ever since.

Story time is over.
About 1966 I was in high school and a buddy had a dad that pheasant hunted, my brother and I got invited to go along, was a farm down by Owatonna a relative of theirs owned. seemed buddy also had another friend that liked to hunt and he came along also.

Buddies dad had told us several times not to snap shoot because his dogs tended to jump at birds.

About a hour into hunting the buddies friend shot the back of the head of the English springer.

We left his shotgun buried in the field, him standing there to make his own way home and my buddy trying to keep his dad from shooting the moron.

Even after all these years it's a hard story to tell.

al
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  #20  
Old 01-22-2021, 03:38 PM
Yellowfin123 Yellowfin123 is online now
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Originally Posted by AllenW View Post
About 1966 I was in high school and a buddy had a dad that pheasant hunted, my brother and I got invited to go along, was a farm down by Owatonna a relative of theirs owned. seemed buddy also had another friend that liked to hunt and he came along also.

Buddies dad had told us several times not to snap shoot because his dogs tended to jump at birds.

About a hour into hunting the buddies friend shot the back of the head of the English springer.

We left his shotgun buried in the field, him standing there to make his own way home and my buddy trying to keep his dad from shooting the moron.

Even after all these years it's a hard story to tell.

al
man i bet that was terrible
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