Huge fish, big bulls, grip and grins, hero shots, we all love them. But the quality of our experience rarely has much to do with the quarry. Here’s what a trophy looks like (How I lucked out and landed the one above I’ll never know): Good friends…outshine a 180 inch Muley any day. Kids…about the, Read More

Toeing the dirt reality set in. No one else was around. The ranch was deserted. For a thirteen year old with a short attention span that spelled trouble. A whitetail doe tag was burning a hole in my pocket and I had hunting on my mind. Four and a half miles of dirt, and a nonexistent driver’s, Read More

Wind blew dust across the parking lot. A western facade adorned the front of the roadside gas station and paint was chipping off the sign above the door. Far from home, I stepped inside to grab a drink while my buddy and I waited to meet another friend to fish. At a picnic table, Read More

My son was so excited for the first day of hunting season, and the morning was such a blooper reel of false starts, forgotten gear and last minute errands, that I nearly failed to calibrate expectations.  We’d left the highway, the state roads, and the graded gravel behind before I thought to check in, Read More

(or Rivanna, Part 2) I am a man now, thirty something, and far from innocent, but my desires at least have grown more comfortable, their barbs crimped by conflict and compromise.  I bristle still at boundaries, but their effrontery is less personal and I’ve long since learned to circumvent the ones that I can’t, Read More