The allure of Alaska, and especially Kodiak Island, is the unknown ... the collaboration between land and sea to make the most seasoned sportsman feel like a complete neophyte in an environment that's both unpredictable and unforgiving.

During the fall of 2010, I hunted blacktails and waterfowl with Ninilchik Charters out of Larsen Bay, Alaska. So, when Linda Powell of Mossberg hesitantly invited me back knowing I'd already done a very similar hunt, there was no hesitation on my end for two reasons: The hunting experience is that good, and I knew she was going to ask me to hunt blacktails with slugs. I sit here writing to you now with ocean waves pounding at the beach and snow-capped mountains holding those beaches in place. Kodiak is indeed God-kissed country.

On my way home from work yesterday evening, I came to a halt at a stoplight and began the ritualistic inspection of my facial hair in the rearview mirror of my truck. Completely distracted by my cosmetic antics, I caught enough movement from the corner of my eye in time to look out the passenger-side window and see some hoodlum pull up to the line, his head bobbin’ and weavin’ to what I assumed was some heavy rap crap blaring behind the glass of his rolled-up windows. He was driving a silver and rusted-orange Corolla that must’ve been born sometime during my high school years, and it was as ugly as the girls that chased me in high school, too.

I was hanging out with my two little girls the other day—ages 2 1/2 (going on 24) and 1 (going on 3)—building pretend ground blinds from blocks (at least I was) on the living room floor with "Shrek 3" playing on the TV in the background for at least the third time this week. Things were going smoothly when my oldest daughter realized my youngest was playing with a red block … and that’s when things went south in a hurry. Like a coyote caught in a leg-hold, Mya turned, snarling, and lunged at Joey.

There’s nothing more dangerous than spending an entire summer launching arrows at a single target and then heading afield with a false notion of preparedness. This promotes an unhealthy goal of striving to hit a spot rather than hitting where you’re aiming. And believe me—there’s a difference.

I’ve been sitting and watching the most recent battle unfold of the Great Lakes Wolf War of 2012 for the past week or so now. And quite frankly, it’s become entertaining. In case you’ve fallen behind the pack on this one, an obvious supporter of the “save a wolf, shoot a hunter” mindset published a blog post urging anti's to enter the Minnesota wolf hunting lottery in an attempt to keep licenses from the pockets of hunters.

If you’re taking a “Who cares; it’s only happening in California” mindset to the passage of SB 1221, you and I need to have a long talk. Personally, it hurts like hell when the anti's make any traction toward ending a lifestyle I can’t live without.

Understand that, as a hunter, distancing yourself from the NRA is like boycotting spoons and then whining because you have no way to eat your soup.

I know, I know … this is a bit later than promised—but better late than never, right? (Believe me, my editor is tired of hearing this line, too.) Truth be told, I had some technical difficulties getting the video to work. But as I’ve said before, I’m much more skilled in the woods than I am behind a desk punching keys.
 

I need your inspiration in selecting something to hunt each month of the year.