The Journeyman

The Journeyman

I turned 16 in July of 1966. Kent Wellerby, Mr. Reed’s farm manager for as long as I could remember, took a string of Red Oak dogs every summer up to the prairies of North Dakota in Divide County. The August and September weather was much cooler there than in...
Just Another Love Story

Just Another Love Story

She was married when I met her but I took her fishing anyway. She was a fender-bender, a well-put-together willowy blonde with beer sign blue neon eyes. But she was wired for 110 and plugged into 220. When she shucked her jeans, the inseam read, “Lucky You.” Great...
The Politics of Camouflage

The Politics of Camouflage

For years, many of America’s largest sportsmen’s organizations and media brands have carefully cultivated the image that they stand above politics. They present themselves as guardians of conservation, wildlife habitat, public lands, and the future of hunting and...
The Great Goach Gag

The Great Goach Gag

Stink, stank, stunk…uh, need a word here…the nth-square-to-the-10th-power expression of extreme stinkiness. A word for the gasp, cough, spit, shake-yer-head, blink-yer-eyes, spin, gag, retch, vomit kind of stinkiness. ’Cause that’s what it was. Don’t know...
People Like Us Never Grow Up

People Like Us Never Grow Up

I do not mean to sound bitter about this, for perhaps it is not the fault of the wet-eared young… This piece is being written in a bug-ridden swamp on the banks of the sluggish yellow Tana River, in northeastern Kenya, where the big elephants bugle and the...