Seems like they’d be easy to kill, doesn’t it? Only those that’ve never done it think so. I hunt the stinking things every spring, and at least once a season, I’m the one that winds up looking like the turkey. Continue reading Who’s the Turkey Now?
It took a trip to Germany and a conversation with a man who’s hunted all over the world to make me realize just how blessed I am to be a sportsman in Oklahoma. Continue reading An Embarrassment of Opportunities
It was the last call he made that made me turn and run for the safety of civilization. Continue reading It’s a Sin to Kill a Mockingbird . . . Or Is It?
That which once was wild within me is increasingly becoming domesticated. Continue reading Banking Fire
“That boat would sink with all the memories I had in it.” Continue reading “The Old Girl Had a Good Run.”
I’ve known men to agonize more over naming a bird dog than naming their own children. Continue reading That Dog’ll Hunt
It’s the wind that we outdoorsmen well and truly despise. Continue reading Where The Wind Blows
I was given a gift given in celebration of my birth, but it wasn’t until the spring of my 44th year, this year, that I finally claimed it. Continue reading Birthright
Like many hunters, I depend on the successes of spring to get me through summer. The memory of a dewy April morning often eases the misery of a scorching August afternoon. Continue reading What’s in a Memory?
The hens were still gossiping and the gobblers were still boasting when I stepped up to the pulpit, but they quieted quickly when I cleared my throat. Continue reading Altar Call