Great giveaway!
The Schrade Fire and Ice trappers have a special place in my heart!
They are rhe first GEC made knives I purchased.
I bought a brown 23 and 73 for my self.
I have a desire to have my two sons inherit k oves from their grandfathers.
I purchased a red and a brown 73 that I bought specifically to give to my sons. Rather than give them directly, I gave one to my dad to pass to one son, I gave another to my wife's father to give to tbe other son. Each grandpa (my dad and my wife's father) had been given several knives to pass on to my sons.
That red 23 would make a pair with the red 73 for one of my sons.
Your idea to share hunting memories is a great idea for a thread.
My father grew up on a farm in Central Washington. Hunting, fishing, farming and logging, riding motorcycles, etc.
Dad tried to pass on to his two sons his love for the outdoors.
My fondest memories growing up were times spent with my father hunting.
One hunt, in particular stands out. Hunting elk in the Washington mountains. We went hunting in the mountains above Ellensburg, Wa.
It was not a successful hunt. But it was some the best time I've ever spent with my dad.
The hunt started out poorly. In a time pre cell phones, we broke down on a back road. A less traveled route. In an old 1974 Toyota FJ 40. We pointed the rig back down the mountain and coasted to a spot with two homes. Lusome one was home. We called a friend who was headed up to the same mountain cabin later that day. He towed us into town and we just happened to catch the local shop owner who specialized in old Toyotas roght before he headed up the mountain to hunt as well. Quick fix, and the rig was running again.
We made it up the mountain, and right before getting to the cabin, more engine trouble. We tore rhe carburetor apart and realized that in the rush to get the rig fixed, the shop had forgotten a gasket in the fix.
We brainstormed and cut a plastic hot chocolate lid to match, and it worked! Hunt back on.
We were up at 3 am and ready to hunt the next morning. Up the mountain we went.
We came across a large hunting camp we nick named the "V8 club". Lots of very high end rigs, huge loud v8 builds. We would see rhem every year. They spent a lot of money on gear....only the best gear, from rigs, to guns.....they also spent a lot of money every year on beer and booze. As we got closer, we noticed the camp was torn up. Tables turned over, beer coolers open and beer and ice scattered all over. Tents torn down. A disaster area. We pulled in to see if they needed help.... only one hunter was out....standing in his long John's....bleary eyed. One sock off holding a huntint rifle. He came over to us laughing to him self. Said we had just missed a stampeed of elk. Whole herd tore through camp, pulling up tent strings and knocking everything down. Not single hunter up to shoot one. They were all still drunk/hungover from the night before.
We left there and went further up the mountain in the dark.
We had another hunter with us. A farm hand who worked for the owner the cabin. He wanted to go to the samw area we were planning to hunt. The FJ40 motor was running fine, but low and behold, another problem. A wire somewhere shorted and we smelled burning. We had to turn off the lights and drive in the treacherous mointain trails with no headlights. We were about to the area where we were going to hoof it the rest of the way up. The farm hand said "stop! I see elk". We loaded out as quietly as possible. He had his rifle shouldered and had an elk in his scope. We whispered it was not quite light enough to see what he would be shooting at. He was certain his huge bull, a once in a life time bull would get away.
We convinced him to wait a few minutes for more light. The animals were not moving, they were staying put. When the first rays of fhe sun hit the meadow, it was a beautiful sight. Green lush meadow, covered in dew..a bubbling spring wirh crystal clear water, just gorgeous. I'll never forget that sight. Farm hand put his rifle down.....after we saw the monstrous, fat happy cows...nibbling the greens. He had nearly shot some ones bovine! We had a good chuckle.
We parted ways, and went our own direction. Through out the morning we were seeing elk sign. Fresh tracks over the top of our own boot tracks.
The elk in that area are wiley. Elk tracks over the top of our own boot marks happened multiple times as we hunted that morning.
We knew where the elk were headed, and we set up at the high end of a wide meadow clearing so we would have a clear shot when the elk finally got to where we were sure they were going. We sat down at the edge of a dead fall with our backs to the trunk. We talked in a whisper, up in the high mountain. Crisp morning air, the sun just starting to burn off the fall morning dew, making a light fog rise in the meadow below us. We waited. In a half doze..... listening and letting the sounds and smells wash over me.
After some time, we heard the elk headed our way. A herd. Likely the same one that tore up the V8 club's camp site earlier.
We could see the branches and small trees shaking at their approach.
They parted arround the meadow and stayed just out of eyesight and never presented a shot. The thundered past us on either side and launched off what seemed like an impossibly steep canyon behind us.
We got up and got to the edge of the canyon and watched them rush towards the bottom of the the canyon. Where the public hinting land ended, and a no huntint zone started.
We had a good laugh, and sat back down to watch the meadow and eat our lunch. Later we climbed down into the dark forest at the bottom of the canyon. We made a pact that unless we saw a once in a life time bull, we were not going to shoot one...because just climbing down took all the pep out of us. The climb back up nearly killed us.
We spent the weekend walking, sitting, chatting and just being present. Together. No "success" but even wirh all the car issues, and getting skunked, and it was the best time!
I carried an 1891 Argentine Mauser (copy of a Sweedish Mauser my dad hunted with as a boy). No scope. As tall as me. Heavy, iron sited beast. He long regretted selling it when he was younger, starting his family.
He found the Argentine Mauser (copy of his gun), and bought it for nostalgia.
As a young boy, I rode my BMX bike down to the pawn shop to buy a box of bullets for that gun to surprise my dad! I was about 8 or 9. The gun store clerk said he could not sell them to me, as I was just a little kid. I was pretty crestfallen. Another old gentleman was looking at guns and saw rhe exchange. The old man came over and asked the clerk for a box of bullets for that "what did you call it, a Sweedish Mauser? Ya. I just remembered I needed a box...forgot all about that old rifle". He bought the bullets and walked out of the store. The clerk smiled, knowing what he was doing. Needless to say, I left the parking lot with that box of ammo and the old man chuckled as he put my money in his pocket.
I still have that Argentinean Mauser that I hunted with all those years ago.
My own boys are getting to the age where it is time to take them hunting. I'm not pushing them, but I hope to give them the same happy memories I have.
Here is that same rifle. Your thread encouraged me to get it out and hold it. Great. Memories. The k ife is a hunter made by my deceased uncle Glen Hornby. I hought it wirh lawn mowing money as a kid, at one of our family reunions when I was 12.
Argentine 1891 7.65×53mm Mauser
Rockon75
was looking for a 23 to try out for the upcoming hunting season. 
It's a 2008 (I think) Schrade Fire and Ice Trapper, ser #247, and it is a Bear Trap. It has been full of blood and guts and it is no longer mint. I did find the original box, and it says "red pick bone" and will come with the knife. 
