Case: For the slumping turkey hunter, gobblers’ silence isn’t golden
We are deep into the second week of the spring turkey hunting season in my home state of West Virginia, and I am tired.
We are deep into the second week of the spring turkey hunting season in my home state of West Virginia, and I am tired.
Looking out the window, even in the darkness, I could tell this was all bordering on madness.
Sisay Lemma scorched the first half of the Boston Marathon course on Monday, setting a record pace to build a lead of more than half of a mile.
The big turkey gobbler opened one eye, motionless on his roost limb, as he surveyed what he could see of his domain. Not much. It was still dark.
I can remember it as clear as day: a full-page ad for a Remington .22 rifle, but not like one I had seen before.
Maybe we could all agree we live in a crazy time. Some people can't seem to agree on much of anything anymore.
My buddy seemed very distracted at breakfast, so I asked why, even though I already knew the answer: Earlier that morning, he had missed a turkey.
More than once in this space, I have explored the continuing clash between the use of technology in the hunting of wild animals.
Most of us in the boomer age group didn't even think about this when we started down the hunting trail.
Can you believe it's March? Me neither.
I am going back on something I said I would not do.
Here is a news flash for you. We need hunters of all types to come together and act as if they have some sense.
Hope you don't think I am complaining, but coming back to you after a trip to the SHOT Show, I am even more trail weary than usual.
Disclaimer: This entry may very well smack of unadulterated nostalgia or some older guy pining for back in the day and how it used to be.
Why have I not taken the time to do something that I love to do? I don't know.