Last October was a special month. I was in Scotland, and for two days I hunted red grouse in the moors near Inverness -- one day of driven birds and one day of walk-up. It was the trip of a lifetime with friends and family. Excitement rode beside us as we traveled...

The barrels of my Roscoe felt smooth as a chorus girl’s ankle as I slid my hand over the cold steel.

What is it about the sound of whirring wings that moves us more than any love of country? In this 1935 classic from Esquire, the legendary author shares his lifelong fascination with bird hunting the world over.

In a robe, no less.

The gobbler silently stepped from the thick brush 25 yards away, looking for the hen that had been calling intermittently. He had called to her early, but she had not come to him as he’d hoped. Now, after the initial breeding period, he had come looking for her. I...

Never feel sporting about turkeys for they’ll dupe you more than you’ll dupe them.