Young men unthinkingly take chances by driving fast cars and chasing fast women because they believe they are immortal, that they will never die. More mature men choose to openly embrace danger because they know they are not and most surely will. Hunting an animal...
Both of us were nine at the time, impressionable if not gullible, and we were awed by the significance of the event…for our first deer hunt we alone were awarded the honor of accompanying our fathers to the woods to learn how to hunt whitetails and the Santa...
It was a solemn moment for me, that Christmas Eve. “Look out, Dad!” Through the network of brown November branches I could see into the little open where my father watched for the driven grouse. This was the shot he loved best in all bird shooting. He had taught me...
They were the absurd, precarious axle around which reeled the surged universal tumult. On Christmas morning before sunup the fisherman embraced his warm wife and left his close bed. She did not want him to go. It was Christmas morning. He was a big, raw man, with too...
By all the laws of nature, George Blackwell should have quietly died of hypothermia in that very spot. But nature doesn’t always apply her laws with an even hand… At about the midpoint of his 67th season, George Blackwell looked at the world around him and...
The wisdom of the father, the wonder of the son, Wander together, ’til this life is done- And comes time to remember, all that was one. As I lie dying, if I’ve yet the mind to know, Where I’ve been, and how I came, and why I’ll hate to go, Then...
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...
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!...
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...
As both sportsman and art lover, my walls battle for either mounted heads or country scenes. Oddly, though, I own no wildlife art. Before visiting John Schoenherr I wasn’t sure why. Now I am. Over the years, most wildlife has seemed partisan to me, as though the...
