The Croc That Wouldn’t Die
I sat on the engine cowling, holding my rifle and studying the hideous design of the crocodile’s head. Then its eye opened.
What Are You Pointing At?
If the noses of gundogs are so incredibly discerning, why do they point so many things that aren’t birds?
A Dearth of Dreams for the Waking Outdoorsman
Remarkable, really. Not the first of my hunting or fishing companions, even the zaniest, admits to regular outdoor dreams. I’d suspect subterfuge, collusion, even amnesia. Dreams do have a short shelf life. How many can you remember from last month? Or, for that...
Eyes On the Sky
I am very focused on the skies overhead. While a majority of the hunting I am involved in requires looking ahead at eye level or on the ground for pheasants, grouse and such, there are periods when I need to look up. Eyes on the sky, if you will, when waterfowl...
In the Light
The most profound influence on color, of course, is light. Without it, a prism is little more than a chunk of glass. Northern tribes like the Inuit have many words to describe what most of us simply call “snow.” The irony of such a vocabulary lapse — one...
Clear Visions and Moody Hues
“I’m not trying to record history or paint from an historical perspective. I don’t particularly care about the rib on an over-under. I’m capturing a mood.” If James B. Robinson wrote scores for movies, which he does as an offbeat hobby,...
The Whisper in the Grey of Morning
“I Knew your son. Something I been needing to tell you . . . Luke saved me — you know, saved my life. He saved us all.” America had been attacked with a murderous sucker punch. That day of infamy stirring the deep soul of a patriotic nation.Lines of young men eager...
Poetic Soul On Painted Sea
John Doyle sees the ocean as one of the last frontiers where man can test his courage. John Doyle once showed me a photo from his boyhood in the mid-’40s. The picture was of him, standing next to a string of five largemouth bass that his father had caught on a...