Hunting with Dad

Hunting with Dad

It was 2 o’clock on the afternoon of January 20, 1978, when the agent with the steamship company called my Seattle house to tell me that Jack O’Connor – my mentor, hunting partner and best friend – had just died of an apparent heart attack on the S.S. Mariposa en...
Buffalo Down Under

Buffalo Down Under

Late November in the Northern Territory of Australia is wicked hot and there was no respite from the heat across the miles of floodplain where I stood. In the midday sun, the mirage made the water buffalo look like black fuzz balls on a blanket of green grass. I...
Dreams of Duxbak Days

Dreams of Duxbak Days

There’s wisdom aplenty in his words, and as I become increasingly long of tooth and sparse of hackle fond memories of youth’s halcyon days seem to grow in importance. That’s a common human trait and likely always will be. Most of these dreams of yester-youth are...
Man Is The Prey

Man Is The Prey

James Clarke has lived in Africa since his early 20s and was news editor of The Star in Johannesburg when his book, Man Is the Prey, was published in 1969. Clarke leads us on an investigation into the curious and unpredictable actions and motives of the leopard, a...
New York Was Far Away

New York Was Far Away

The valley was long and narrow, filled with the green of rich grass and the pale gold of frost-touched arctic willow. Along the edges of the valley was a thick border of spruce, but not far up the mountainsides, the woods played out in a scattering of scrubby trees....
This Old House

This Old House

When the old house was occupied, its splintering walls were stout, its diminutive shelter a fortress of good spirits, its heartwood hale and its ambiance light with ale. Way long ago now, in the antediluvian and simplistic age in which I knew boyhood, circa. 1954,...
Sanctity of Sanctuary Ranch

Sanctity of Sanctuary Ranch

The words “sanctity” and “sanctuary” both have Latin roots. Sanctity, from sanctus, defined as “sacred or holy,” and sanctuary from sanctuarium, “a sacred or private place.” These words both define in totality the experience at Pat Bollman’s and his family’s whitetail...
The Ghost of Camelot Ridge

The Ghost of Camelot Ridge

Every so often, it occurs to me that I am, without question, one of the luckiest guys in the world.  It’s a brash statement, no doubt, and I hope that it doesn’t come off as bragging, because that’s not how I mean it. To me, it just means that I understand, and that...