A Battle for Survival
Precariously perched in the small tree, the hunter peered into the night, his eyes slowly adjusting to the eerie light cast by the moon. The year was 1903; the place: Sabi Sands, South Africa. Harry Wolhuter was shaking from a combination of cold and fear. What was...
The Killer of the Wynaad
To the south-west of the city of Mysore lies the heavily forested area of the Kakankote jungles, for centuries the home of many herds of wild elephants that are partial to the kind of jungle that grows in this district. The rainfall is heavy and the vegetation is...
Last Moment Grizzly
We were hunting just west of the line that divides Alaska’s coastal brown bears from inland grizzlies on a broad river where both grizzlies and black bear lived along with a few red and dog salmon as well as delicious Dolly Varden trout. With me was my guide, Blake...
Some Grouse You Never Forget
He was a young man, barely past his 25th birthday, slim and fit in the way of young men who follow dogs in the high mountains. His companion, Big Sam, was a huge, muscular, raw-boned pointer with a head like a mule—in size as well as temperament. Sam was a “big-going,...
The King of Birds and the God of Thunder
It is said that in the early days of the world, the ocellated turkey (Meleagris ocellata; in Maya, Yuum kuutz) was a bird of pedestrian plumage with a melodious voice while the nightjar (Antrostomus badius; in Maya, Pu'ujuy) was clothed in resplendent finery. So, Kuutz...
Lone Eagle
He drove 70 miles of rugged road carved through bush country in the Outaouais region of western Quebec. The final leg of a long haul. Three weeks into May along the Canadian Shield meant rutting bears. Jack had bow sights set on a big boar. He followed camp owner...
The Problem With Non-Resident Fee Increases
There is an old understanding in the American West—one that predates wildlife agencies, tag lotteries, and glossy brochures—that the land belongs to all of us. Not in the romantic, abstract sense, but in a very literal one. Millions upon millions of acres across...
The Photograph
It hangs on the wall in my study, framed and matted, and like all photographs, freezing one fleeting moment in time. I call it One Old Double in a Field of Autos, but actually, the title isn’t totally accurate. The “field” really consists of four autoloaders and four...
The Lasting Legacy of Nash Buckingham
Regrets are scratches on the furniture of our lives that can never be polished away. The scars of fate that shoved aside dreams, the wounds of choices ill-chosen, the lesions of opportunities lost or dreams abandoned. Some are shallow; some are deep. Some settle...
The Waterhole
At the muddy little pond, a 12-year-old boy would find his place in the world.
