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The Quail Hunter’s Lost Code
There’s a small, back corner on a piece of public land in Kansas that my dad and I have hunted for 10 years. It’s a good walk, probably a mile and a half each way. We are always drawn to the corner because every year there is a covey of Bobwhite in this tiny, scrubby…
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Grouse Camp Lore
It’s quiet. Six inches of fresh powder and temperatures in the teens have subdued the forest. I’ve been on the road since 4 a.m. to get a preview of the coming days. It’s a new area and what could be the start of a new tradition. Having hibernated for the five hour commute, the dogs are…
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Rio Flufferbunny
It was fall when she came to us on a plane from New Mexico, all legs and ears and sharp puppy teeth. She pointed from the womb — butterflies, song birds, turtles, tufts of grass stirred by a breeze — nothing was safe from…
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On the Eve
I’ve been accused in the past of trying to make every bird hunt a “religious experience.” I laughed it off when first cast. But the truth is, that jab has stuck with me. I’m unsure why. But in the interest of being utilitarian and simple: I set up camp at the base of some mountains…
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Unspoken Alliances
A number of years ago I was riding shotgun pre-dawn on opening day in Kansas. My buddy was behind the wheel as we chugged coffee fixating down the narrow tunnel of light cast on gravel. Most of the time upland hunters don’t have to contend with the early rise routine of other hunting disciplines. But…
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The Streak
Rio the setter is holding just below a lip of pitted volcanic stone a few paces up this 60 degree slope. We’ve climbed for over two hours to get to this point. The entire trek from the bottom the dogs have been trailing and repositioning. I can tell by Rio’s stature that she has trapped…
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Two Mountains Offer Different Views
Sitting here in camp staring at these two peaks in Arapaho National Forest. In the last week the dogs and I have visited both. It seems somewhat surreal, not that there is anything particularly outrageous about either. They aren’t the tallest or most dangerous. But the scale is so incredibly different from this low vantage…
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Way Upland
It’s the second day of the upland season and I am in a pre-dawn traffic jam. I’m following a string of crimson taillights up a dusty grade and poor excuse for a road. I’m unsure exactly how long the line extends at this point, but we are all crawling toward a pin on a map…
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Making it Count
When I hunt alone, which is often the case, there’s a certain ritual to leaving the truck. It’s become habit without much thought anymore. This invisible checklist guards against hiking miles from the truck and realizing I’m without shells, water, remotes or worse. It’s this same reason everything has an assigned place in the truck,…
