Christmas for Two

Christmas for Two

“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 its strategy the I was twelve, taught me right here...
A Christmas Eve Swan Shoot

A Christmas Eve Swan Shoot

Two old renegades pull off an illegal nighttime hunt, despite a surprise collision and dunking. Shooting swan by night may seem hardly the correct thing in the estimation of many, but we fowlers of the wild and “feathery” West occasionally obtain under cover of the...
A Week Before Christmas

A Week Before Christmas

One morning, a December long-ago, a week before Christmas, Bob walked into a local store in Millerton, New York. The owner, Phil, a friend, was behind the counter taking care of a customer as Bob came in from the cold. “Late night, Bob,” he said. That wasn’t a...
The Light At Middle Ground

The Light At Middle Ground

Fall is fading fast. Naked branches click like dry bones in the wind, and the choppy, pewter-toned lake mirrors an apocalyptic sky. Winter’s wrath brooks no quarter when the wicked weather turns minutes into hours, and few know its fury better than the late-season...
Sporting Classics TV Season 6 Episode 23 Trailer

Sporting Classics TV Season 6 Episode 23 Trailer

When bobwhite quail populations in West Texas plummeted in 2010, concerned hunters took notice and banded together to fund research to find a solution to the mystery.  Now the efforts from the Rolling Plains Quail Research Foundation are bearing fruit for wildlife in...
Nate Smith’s Dairy Farm

Nate Smith’s Dairy Farm

The right or wrong of hunting has nagged at me from the beginning, and after a decade of hunting I finally set out to think it through.  I agree with the sentiment of writer Edward Abbey: “Hunting is one of the hardest things even to think about.” As is my way, I...
Wilcox Pass

Wilcox Pass

Paynesville, Minnesota, 1875 It was cold. A damp kind of cold that reached into the bones and could scarcely be shaken away.  The lateness of autumn had arrived and soon winter would descend on Minnesota’s once rugged back country.  Before long, tens of thousands of...
A Red Oak Thanksgiving

A Red Oak Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 1964, one I’ll never forget. I was 14 years old.  Mother was decidedly against it. “They’re different, Lane, not like us,” she said. “I don’t mean that they’re bad. They aren’t… just different. They’ll have family and friends down from Jackson and...
Red Legs!

Red Legs!

When the lakes begin to turn hard and icy winds gust from the north, the red legs are not far behind!