The Waterhole
At the muddy little pond, a 12-year-old boy would find his place in the world.
New England Woodcock and Storied Shotguns
Storied is not exclusive to price tag or class. Occasionally the twain rub shoulders and have a bountiful supply of tales to tell, but there are no guarantees. This Purdey, however, had it all. Scratches and dings and rubbed-smooth spots. Cost? Likely something...
The Best Grouse Hunting Writer and More?
Some years ago, I was bird-hunting in Idaho with the brothers Wayment: Shawn, a veterinarian who blogs as the “Bird Dog Doc,” and Andy, an attorney who also happens to be the author of Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting. One afternoon, walking through a golden seam of...
Training Across
Those of us who spend lifetimes hunting and fishing learn in time that skills attained wild serve very efficiently in the struggles that eventuate in tamer, but trying, environs of modern living. Attributes of stoicism, self-discipline, perseverance, determination,...
Cheju Do Pheasant Hunt
Back in 1968 I was doing penance for some perceived past sins at Kwang Ju, a remote air base in Korea. I had arrived there on a hot, sweltering night in mid-August to serve a 13-month tour as an Air Force munitions officer. As I staggered out the rear cargo door of a...
Little Windy and the Wingshooting Woman
She was a green-eyed freckle-faced redhead, long of hair and limb, married a couple of times before I met her but neither lasted too long. Her name, literally translated, meant “the daughter of an angel of bright shining light,” and it was true, mostly....
The Gift Bird
There wasn’t a turkey gobbling anywhere as I moseyed toward the log landing where Jill and I were to rendezvous at midmorning. We’d selected the spot because it was convenient, because we could both find it with no problem from where we’d each started, and because it...
Back Woods Quail Club
It was literally zero degrees when I left Bucks County, PA. The everlasting snow had a thick crust of ice, and this, combined with the deep chill factor, had kept us out of the fields and off the range for weeks. I was antsy and really looking forward to heading to...
Night at the Opera – A Woodland Spectacle
It was late afternoon when I came off the mountain near the old Indian Mound and started following the winding downhill trail that led out to the highway. Opening morning would arrive in three more days and my anticipation level measured about a 12 on the Richter...