by Al Ippolito | Aug 19, 2026
The place was called Boise City, which was something of a joke to anyone who had actually been there. It wasn’t even a town, much less a city—a few cleared fields around a dirt track where trappers and Indians pitched their teepees and caravans of covered wagons could...
by Al Ippolito | Mar 14, 2024
You can’t teach people the way of the woods in a thirty-second soundbite. You have to live it.
by Al Ippolito | Feb 4, 2020
“Alright cub scout, close your eyes and hold out your hand.” I heard cabinet hinges squeak open and Frank rustling through some clutter above his reloading bench. It was evening in late July and we were in his garage. The overhead doors were open, and a drop of sweat...