By Kirk Billings I finished up bird season last year with a bad knee, a mile and a half march across obscenely muddy flats, and a single chukar in my vest. I’d had to scrounge shells for my 20 gauge to eke out the day and a broken strap on my gaiters flailed along, Read More
On crossing paths with an acquaintance in the course of my work travels a few weeks ago, I met him with the standard Wyoming fall greeting. “How’s your season coming?” I asked “Streamer season?” he replied with a grin. “It’s going great thanks. I don’t really hunt much anymore though, if that’s what you, Read More