On opening morning of the firearms season, as I grabbed my slug gun and headed out of the cabin, I felt a wisp of cold air blow across my face. After waiting in my stand for 30 minutes, a doe came nosing in and bedded near my stand.
Two years ago, Karl wanted to go bowhunting. We went to our local archery shop, and he tried to draw a bow set at 40 pounds, the minimum legal draw weight in Illinois. He tried hard, but couldn’t do it.
Pronghorn hunting remains one of the West’s most affordable, easily accessible hunting adventures. In states where their numbers have historically been the highest—Wyoming and Montana—tags remain relatively easy to draw.
Mark my words: More and more bucks will be shot on public lands in the 21st century, and a few will be bigger than you can imagine.
The little springer spaniel was having a fine time greeting people, sniffing boots and checking out a place it hadn’t seen before.
When I was a young lad back in the late 1960s, there were basically two types of rifles in deer camp: those that were lever actions and those that weren’t.
Renewing old friendships, tailgate lunches and hearty wisecracks about missed shots of yesteryear are a big part of opening day. That wasn’t the case during my youth.
I grew up in southern California watching my father, who retired as Deputy Chief of the Ventura County Fire Department, and his teams battle those huge brush fires fueled by racing Santa Ana winds.
I was resting on my stiff cot during the night of Nov. 12, 2007, looking out the room’s lone window. At age 13, my first hunting trip in Nebraska had been short and sweet.
Every time I stop at the local food-and-fuel down the road I cringe. The food there used to make me sick, but now it’s the cost of fuel that makes me nauseous.