Of Remingtons, Parkers and Old Pats
Devout Remington men toting Parkers?
Dowsing, Ducks, Dynamite and Damnation
I felt the shockwave through my feet before I heard the thunderclap explosion. Mud flew, water ran and two days later, I had a new pond. Brothers and Sisters, I am a water witch. Water witching, dousing, doodle-bugging— call it what you will, finding unseen things...
Wayward in Hayward
The man who taught me grouse and woodcock lives with his wife in a Vermont hamlet just this side of Canada. He has some gray in his beard these days but only enough to make him look as wise as his years, and he smells like pipe smoke and cherry-wood shavings. He heats...
Amid Whirring Wings
All the trappings and traditions of quail hunting explained in one article.
In the Moonlight of the Mountains
Sharing a turkey hunt with a daughter who’s growing up too fast.
Fallen Lady
The other day, while rummaging around in the attic for an air rifle with which to instill some respect for authority in the blue jays that had been raiding my roasting–ear patch, I chanced upon something more interesting than what I was looking for. This may well...
Tom Foolery
The boys’ agreement with the Colonel was simple: “An hour’s work for an hour’s hunt. Pay as you go and no quitting until the season ends or you kill a turkey. Fair enough?” A cold May morning in Michigan found Dave and me climbing trees on a field edge, hoping to...
Grouse of the Little Hills
I have always felt that the ruffed grouse is the wariest, the swiftest and the most beautiful gamebird in the world. The bronzed magnificence of old gobblers allures me; so does the gleam of sunlight on the tall and craggy antlers of the whitetail. Yet a hunting...
Turkey Tracks in the Big Cypress
When the creatures of the wild were named, the wild turkey should have been christened “Wise Turkey.” The big bird is by nature sociable, and if at times he seems distrustful of human beings, it is because he is quick to recognize a hostile purpose. The Indian hunter...