In The Court Of The Ruffed Grouse King
In the pine barren, the pasture’s edge, the orchard, this is the ruffed grouse’s court . . . and we are honored to be there. In an orchard, long abandoned, we make our way toward a solitary tree, one of few bearing apples this fall. That it has fruit at all strikes me...
A Turkey World Slam
The pursuit of mountain game throughout the world has been a passion for most of my life. But now, having reached four score and three and endured four heart operations, I was not looking for strenuous high-altitude climbing. So, finding myself once again hunting at...
Nothing Like on Paper
I was beginning to wonder if the tom had been spooked by a this strange “hen” yelping from inside a vehicle, when I heard a shotgun blast.
Duck Hunting – A Tale of Two Marshes
Here is the story of two different marshes, on two different continents, gunned within a month of each other. British driven duck shooting versus American over-decoys duck hunting; green, well-watered country versus desert. In November I shot ducks in Scotland, and in...
Of Remingtons, Parkers and Old Pats
Devout Remington men toting Parkers?
Dowsing, Ducks, Dynamite and Damnation
I felt the shockwave through my feet before I heard the thunderclap explosion. Mud flew, water ran and two days later, I had a new pond. Brothers and Sisters, I am a water witch. Water witching, dousing, doodle-bugging— call it what you will, finding unseen things...
A Door in the Woods
Though it was now past dusk and the forest was dark and still, I could see that, yes, it definitely was a door, alone, in the middle of the woods. “Good boy, Rex, easy now. Whoa on the bird!” The gathering gloaming of the approaching evening made it rather difficult...
The Stalemate
Ryan Bybee is a tough guy to fish with. Well, for me, anyway. It’s not that we don’t have a good time when we’re fishing together, it’s just that we have different ways of fishing. I like to run and gun. Find the active fish, pick off the biters, move, move, move....
Wayward in Hayward
The man who taught me grouse and woodcock lives with his wife in a Vermont hamlet just this side of Canada. He has some gray in his beard these days but only enough to make him look as wise as his years, and he smells like pipe smoke and cherry-wood shavings. He heats...
Amid Whirring Wings
All the trappings and traditions of quail hunting explained in one article.