“Dada, Dada, look! Is that chukar poop?” asked the kindergartener. “Not sure son. It’s bird poop, for sure, but probably not chukar poop. Hard to say.” “Well if it is, than we’re in a goooood hunting spot, cause there’s LOTS of it!” The cards were stacked against us. We knew that much going in., Read More
“We don’t eat the feathers, cause see that would be silly, right Dada?” “Right.” “Yeah, cause we only eat the meat, and feathers aren’t meat and… and… um… cause see the meat’s on the inside!” The duck we were plucking had only hung for a couple days. I’d planned on waiting longer to breast, Read More
“Look Dada a clue, a clue!” Live water is an hour away this time of year, and viable bird hunting is nearly as committing. With only a two hour window to spare, Everett and I had opted instead to creep around the sage and look for small game. Maybe the dog would kick up, Read More
Kindergarteners are loud. “Hey, Dad, hey! Look it, a prickly pear cactus!” They’re slow. “Can we take another candy break? Pleeeeease!” And they’re poorly suited to the brush. “Um, Dada… animals live in habitat, and that’s not habitat. That’s a pricker bush.” These aren’t qualities that’ll help you find game birds. But it’s not, Read More
Churning my legs with my four year old slung over my shoulder and a shotgun in my left hand, I tried to keep pace with the dogs. We were into birds and I aimed to get the jump on them this time. My son had been doing a good job of keeping up, but on the, Read More
If I’d had a pipe and an Irish setter, we could have been in a Norman Rockwell painting. Puffy white clouds floated in a bluebird sky above vibrant green sage and the rolling red-dirt prairie. A man, at ease with the world and confident in his forthcoming conquest, strides forth, a shotgun cradled across, Read More
The more I learn about hunting and fishing, the more I recognize how much I don’t know. Adding a kid to the mix has really driven that humbling realization home for me. Not only do I have the perpetual need to refine my approach in the field, but now I also need to develop, Read More
“Dada, Dada did you get a elk?” called my four year old from the front door as I slid from the pickup into the icy, floodlit driveway. I used to greet my Dad in much the same way, I realized, when he returned from a business trip, hoping he’d brought me a toy or, Read More
Cooped up in the back of the pickup the dogs were restless. They had been let out a few times between stalks, but mostly it had been a long ride. Antelope were the top priority. The dogs and a chance to look for sage grouse were a distant second. By mid afternoon we were, Read More
Shuffle… shuffle… drag. Mr. Teavendale, my sixth grade science teacher, taught me that movement is one defining characteristic of life. Shuffle… shuffle… drag. Inching through the bowels of an airport qualifies, I suppose. Shuffle… shuffle…drag. But it’s not my ideal form. Step… step… glass. Slinking through broken timber is movement too. Step…step… glass. The, Read More