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During a NASCAR racing career stretching from the late 1950s into the ‘80s Neil Castles was known as one of the Cup tour’s bravest, toughest drivers.

Such was his courage that he often took on stunt-driving roles in Hollywood movies that no one else would accept.

But Castles’ fearlessness was no match several years ago for an amorous animal. He was “treed” atop a big motorhome/camper by a love-struck moose weighing almost two tons.

Neil is now 81 and lives near Charlotte.

Three decades ago he and some friends went on an annual hunting trip to the deep woods of Northern Maine, hoping to bag black bear.

Neil was alone on a trail when he heard something crashing through the forest in his direction. Soon it came into sight: A bull moose with loving on its mind.

“They go crazy during the rutting (mating) season and will try to mount anything that moves,” Castles told me in recounting the experience. “I knew I had to get out of there or that moose would kill me.

“I couldn’t shoot it because the moose season was closed. The fine for killing one was thousands of dollars, which I didn’t have.”

Castles took off running toward the motorhome, which his group was using as a base camp. Luckily for him it wasn’t too far away.

“The door was locked and I didn’t have a key,” continued Castles. “I managed to climb on top of the vehicle just seconds before the moose got there.”

The moose bugled and stood on its hind legs, pawing the side of the camper in an effort to reach Neil.

“That was one huge animal,” continued Castles. “And he was determined to get me. I shot several times into the air to get the attention of my friends. They came quickly and together we were able to scare that critter away. He left reluctantly—and disappointed.”

Tales of NASCAR drivers going hunting return to mind right now as game seasons end in most states on Jan. 1.

I’ll share a couple more favorites with you.

In Oct. of 1987 the late Neil Bonnett suffered a horrid leg injury in an Oakwood Homes 500 crash at Charlotte Motor Speedway. His injury was so severe that it appeared an amputation might be necessary.

However, Bonnett’s leg was saved.

Later that fall Bonnett’s best friend, the late Dale Earnhardt, combined a trip to Alabama to see his pal and also go deer hunting.

“I’m going hunting with you,” Bonnett told Earnhardt. “I’ve got a new, specially-ordered, extra-powerful rifle and I want to try it out.”

“Man, you can hardly walk,” came the reply. “How are you going hunting?!”

An insistent Bonnett said that Earnhardt and other buddies could hoist him into a tree stand.

Bonnett went along and via something akin to a block-and-tackle rig was positioned into his favorite stand, which was mounted on a rather spindly tree overlooking a broad field.

He hadn’t waited long before a handsome buck appeared at the edge of woods some distance away.

Despite the range, Neil took aim and fired.

“It sounded like a cannon going off,” Earnhardt said later in delightfully relating the tale. “I’d never heard a rifle make a boom like that.”

The recoil, or kick, was so great that it sent Bonnett’s tree—and him—whipping back and forth violently.

“It looked like something in a Wily Coyote cartoon, with Neil as Wily,” said a beaming Earnhardt.

Bonnett was lowered to the ground safely. And taken to fetch the buck he had bagged.

In the late 1990s I dropped by to visit Junior Johnson at his farm in the Brushy Mountains of North Carolina.

Junior, winner of 50 Cup races and six championships as a car owner, had a passion for coon hunting. And he was getting ready to train some of his young hounds.

I watched as Junior, a charter member of the NASCAR Hall of Fame in Charlotte, made the preparations.

“Junior, do you ever use electronic collars in training your dogs?” I asked.

A dark scowl wrinkled Junior’s famous face. He seemingly wouldn’t have been more offended if I had punched him in the nose.

“I’d never mistreat a dog like that,” said Junior.

“Electric collars ain’t good for but one thing. And that’s to run down batteries.”