A Return to Roe Hunting in Sweden (Part 1 of 3)
It was at a sportsman’s convention in 2026 when I stopped by Stefan and Sofia Bengtsson’s Scandinavian Prohunter’s booth to confirm my roe deer hunt in Sweden. I drooled over the photos Stefan showed me of bucks his hunters had harvested since I had last hunted roe...
Big Tusks, Big Risks
I remember with pleasure how some 15 years ago a hunt for a big bull elephant was rewarded with a grand trophy shot in the most dramatic conditions, in the classic style. A young, active American brought his bride on safari with me, and his principal interest for the...
Old Scar Hip and Assorted Bruins
Old Scar Hip actually climbed the ladder to my stand. I sat inches away from his nose, contorted so that drawing the bow was impossible. That ladder was behind me. How this boar had collected his grisly name was uncertain. Perhaps an errant arrow while still in his...
Assessing Cartridges for Africa
First, let’s get the all-round 375 H&H out of the way. Fine though it is, it’s been dominating Africa rifles discussions too long. Yes, this may indeed be the ultimate one-gun option. With the right bullets at the right muzzle velocity this 111-year-old cartridge...
The Cat
“Oh, no,” the old woman said as she pulled the curtain back from the kitchen window for a better view. “There he goes again!” The old man looked up from the newspaper. “Who goes where?” “Your grandson,” she said. “You only call him my grandson when he’s acting up.”...
The Thing About Doves
The long pull uphill meant standing on both the bicycle pedals pumping for all I was worth. Sweat rolled down my face to top out as our small town faded away behind me. At the top stood an old abandoned almond orchard, or what was left of one. Scraggily trees with...
Neglected Birds
Responses vary greatly when someone hears the unexpected. There may be a blank stare or emphatic sigh or even a look of mild alarm. There may be the sudden gasp accentuated with a rhetorical, “Really?” This is not so much a question as it is spontaneous disbelief. Or...
A Rush of Black
We stood now in the shade of the trees with great smooth trunks, circled at their base with the line of roots that showed in rounded ridges up the trunks like arteries; the trunks the yellow green of a French forest on a day in winter after rain. But these trees had a...
The Extraordinary Bob Swinehart
Doing things the hard way became habit. With arrows. In Africa. At the end.
Welcome to Dogtown
Next to the dirt road was a field full of a tangly mix of broomstraw, wire- and lovegrass. A thick column of switch cane revealed the seep running along the back side. Off in the distance I could see the cotton in the neighboring farm’s field. It was so white that,...