Aim of the Hunterman

Aim of the Hunterman

Pitted with rust and powder-scalds, the old musket would explode with a roar that sounded like the crack of doom. And now, in the dusky hands of the Hunterman, it was all that stood between life and a terrible death. The negroes in the golden-wide ricefield, as they...
Why I Taught My Boys to be Hunters

Why I Taught My Boys to be Hunters

I have said that my hunting has often been solitary; but that was chiefly in the early days. During the last 25 years, I have rarely taken to the woods and fields in the shooting season without having one or more of my own sons with me. Few human relationships are...
Nothing To Do for Three Weeks

Nothing To Do for Three Weeks

He was a pine knot millionaire—hunting partridge on the tote roads and ducks on the lake, catching big crappies and trout in the rivers, gathering blueberries for food and pine knots for the fire, all work fit for a king. I left long before daylight, alone but not...
Down in the Bend With Riley

Down in the Bend With Riley

The eloquent writings of Nash Buckingham (1880-1971) were relatively unknown until Derrydale Press published several of his books in the 1930s. But “Mr. Buck,” as he came to be known to his legions of devoted readers, had been writing magazine articles for years. This...
The Sport of Kings on the Yorkshire Moors

The Sport of Kings on the Yorkshire Moors

The incomparable electricity of driven grouse. Some sporting destinations allow success to be manufactured to some degree. Pheasants and red-legged partridges can be reared and released. Fish can be stocked. Habitat can be improved, predators controlled, and...
Culmination

Culmination

Ancient walls of huge, dry-stacked, weather-worn boulders hint at a distant past and parallel us as we travel through crisp morning air along a sandy, sun-dappled road toward our shooting pegs. They look European. Beyond the stone walls, giant hardwoods rise over the...
Woodcock Shooting on the Upper Mississippi

Woodcock Shooting on the Upper Mississippi

In few places has there ever been woodcock shooting that for certainty of finding the birds and ease in following them equaled the sport of the bottom lands of the upper Mississippi River 20 years ago. Scarcely any of the resident sportsmen then troubled this charming...
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