Rumors of his existence were almost as rare as sightings, and because the few that did catch a glimpse of him were afraid to admit it lest they be counted crazy, most men lived in the bliss of ignorance.
If I could cross the open ground in front of me without being spotted, I might still have a chance. If not, I would have wasted three hours of afternoon and three hundred feet of elevation.
I had just calmed my breathing and corralled my heart rate, convinced that my eyes were playing tricks on me, when the jake began to speak.
My dad’s meticulous nature is most clearly seen in September when we sight in our rifles. The procedure is set in stone and never wavers, almost ritualistic in its approach.
Here in Oklahoma, we listen to classic country. Country-and-western country. Willie-and-Waylon-and-the-boys country. So do the birds we hunt.
One of the most important lessons I learned from my father was to find an old man to teach me what I didn’t know.