Where Giants Fought
Morgan Hillard Tracked the grizzly 90 miles by following prints and carnage left in its wake. Three miners dead; torn limbs and partly consumed bodies, grieving widows and children, and a horde of hunters now camped near “the meeting of the rivers,” a place named by...
What To Hunt
So, what to hunt? Everything with feathers! Mike sometimes says he thinks he needs to show me a picture of the bird(s) we will be hunting that day. OK, I get distracted because any and all birds are on my radar. I live to hunt birds. This is the time of year when...
Eric Forlee A Painter Charged with Life
And "charged" with life is exactly what he means. Incredibly, he has had no formal art training, yet he is considered by many to be among the world's best wildlife artists. He considers himself a cultural orphan, whose life experiences span three continents and...
Getting There
I take my time with the old men now. I take my time with the duffers I find on opening day, swapping yarns and a thermos by 9am, or posted alone on a barren ridge no deer has crossed in more than a decade. They will tell me, whether I ask or not, that they don't much...
Hunting is a Marathon
Hunting is a marathon and Mike and anyone hunting afield with me needs to keep up! Hunting is a task that is not to be taken lightly. Once the door is open on the truck and I spring out faster than a jack-n-the-box, it’s like the Kentucky Derby — I’m off to the race!...
The Lady in Green
Everybody had now gathered but Steve. When questioned, the other drivers disclaimed all knowledge of his whereabouts or his peculiar behavior. But they knew perfectly of both. For a very long time we have had on the plantation a black man named Steve. For a generation...
Greg Beecham Wildlife Artist Coming Home
It’s only natural that Greg Beecham should feel as he does. His dad, Tom Beecham...drilled drawing into him before the youngsters years had reached his teens. Greg Beecham’s dusty brown felt hat rides high on his forehead, the way a cowboy sits straight on his horse....
He Wrote On the Heart of the Boy
I had not come here to say good-bye — I already had, and I never would. The Last eleven miles of road were as I remembered. Even these many years later. Each mile — rutted, washed-out and overhung with cypress and oak — had always seemed to be the price we paid to...
Shadows on the Hills
It is at the edge of dark, that pandemonium erupts. One day, I want to shoot a buffalo. With paces between us, facing his dare. I want to know for once before I die, even if on the day I die, the tremble of doubt and the taste of fear. It is only just, before all I...
Hunting Clues
There's your clue! If you remember the odd comment about nearly everything a few years past, everyone was saying: “There’s your clue!” This comment came when folks everywhere would wonder what to do next or which road in life to take when a fork in the road appeared....