A Record-Book Bruin
Two hunters head out after moose and wind up in the record books instead.
Grand Canyon Bucks
The legendary hunter and gunwriter pursues big mule deer in the shadow of the Grand Canyon in this 1938 classic.
New England Woodcock and Storied Shotguns
Storied is not exclusive to price tag or class. Occasionally the twain rub shoulders and have a bountiful supply of tales to tell, but there are no guarantees. This Purdey, however, had it all. Scratches and dings and rubbed-smooth spots. Cost? Likely something...
The Best Grouse Hunting Writer and More?
Some years ago, I was bird-hunting in Idaho with the brothers Wayment: Shawn, a veterinarian who blogs as the “Bird Dog Doc,” and Andy, an attorney who also happens to be the author of Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting. One afternoon, walking through a golden seam of...
Training Across
Those of us who spend lifetimes hunting and fishing learn in time that skills attained wild serve very efficiently in the struggles that eventuate in tamer, but trying, environs of modern living. Attributes of stoicism, self-discipline, perseverance, determination,...
Attacked by a Leopard!
Although Robert Ruark was regularly exposed to dangerous animals during his hunts, and though he had a great many narrow escapes, he only got hurt once. This happened on shikar in 1962, in the Madhya Pradesh region near Betul in Central India. There, a wounded leopard...
Cheju Do Pheasant Hunt
Back in 1968 I was doing penance for some perceived past sins at Kwang Ju, a remote air base in Korea. I had arrived there on a hot, sweltering night in mid-August to serve a 13-month tour as an Air Force munitions officer. As I staggered out the rear cargo door of a...
In Pursuit of the MacNab
I’m very sorry, sir, but you cannot take a handgun to the United Kingdom. Confused, I responded, “I understand that, Ma’am. Handguns are also prohibited in Canada.” Yes, but your booking form says you are bringing a “shot gun,” which is a type of handgun. Err . . . ...
Little Windy and the Wingshooting Woman
She was a green-eyed freckle-faced redhead, long of hair and limb, married a couple of times before I met her but neither lasted too long. Her name, literally translated, meant "the daughter of an angel of bright shining light," and it was true, mostly. She was a...
The Gift Bird
There wasn’t a turkey gobbling anywhere as I moseyed toward the log landing where Jill and I were to rendezvous at midmorning. We’d selected the spot because it was convenient, because we could both find it with no problem from where we’d each started, and because it...