It was probably 1965 when I got my first tackle box. An orange plastic dandy when opened, exposed two divided cantilever trays for holding what would become my prized fishing lures. The sporting goods department at the Montgomery Wards store probably got most of my early business as I gradually stocked it with necessities - hooks, a few bobbers, sinkers, leaders, a stringer and fish scaler. And if I came into a cash windfall, I added items like the obligatory and universally

Each morning I peek through the window to see if any stragglers are heading home after a late night. Then I check the cameras on my phone. No, it’s not neighbors I’m watching. Its nature’s nightshift in Southern Boone County, Missouri. The evening parade usually begins at dusk. The opossum that sleeps daylight away under our back deck emerges, peeking through the glass doors oblivious to light emanating from our flat screen as we watch some drama about the CIA fighting for fr

Around noon on the last day I stood roadside and enjoyed the warm breeze, sunshine and my good fortune. During the final three hours of fishing in the heart of Wisconsin’s Driftless Area, the only vehicle to pass by my location was a single Amish buggy. This was on par with the evening before when a school bus was the only sign that at least two people lived somewhere on that particular road. One of the things I love about fishing the Driftless is that the busy areas are gene

When I mentioned to the owner of the fly shop I lived in Missouri he asked if I ever fished Bennett Springs State Park. I told him I occasionally went there as it’s close to home and a great place to go when I felt the need to bend a rod. “That’s where they line up to fish, or do whatever this is,” he said as spun his computer screen in my direction to show me a picture of Missouri’s version of combat fishing. Anglers of every kind, standing shoulder to shoulder with barely e

If you could go back in time, where would you go? And if you could make that journey, would you be an observer or a participant? A plaza in Dallas in 1963 or a London rooftop concert in 1968 have always interested me. These are a couple of enduring moments that appeal to the imagination of an aging Boomer. But most likely, I’d choose a rustic cabin on a backwater cove along the Wisconsin River circa 1940. I’d want to sit in a wooden row boat with my grandfather, fishing and t

Photo courtesy D. Humburg The old wooden duck blind has a hole in its side where the critters have gnawed through the wood and it leans a little to the south. Flood water has lifted and shifted it a bit over time although the anchors still hold it firmly in place. And the racoons like it having made it their communal latrine; piles of droppings filled with seeds and crayfish remains scattered about. No one hunts it anymore but it’s easy to remember a day when decoys bobbed ou

The North Zone for Missouri waterfowl hunting officially closed on December 30 and none too soon. From a duck shooting standpoint, it was a poor season for me and my final day in the marsh a week earlier matched that description perfectly. Yes, there were moments when ducks filled the sky, mostly enroute to somewhere else. There were glorious sunrises, sunsets, goose music, and grand late-season performances by trumpeter swans with a few tundra swans mixed in, but everything

Ever kick an ant hill to see what happens? Hundreds of ants scramble everywhere, their perfectly organized, purpose-driven lives now in complete chaos as they work to bring order back to the colony. Just like the inside of my head the week before the opening day of waterfowl season, for example. In the middle of the night I awaken. My head scrolling through the to-do list. Thinking about contingencies, what-ifs, reviewing every apocalyptic worst-case scenario. Even after week

Night fishing is not unusual in these parts. Creeping the banks through the tangle and woody debris with big flies looking for big fish, the behemoths that cruise only in the dark of the night. Big brown trout striking at sound and movement, no matter the cause, anglers making casts to concentric reflections. But not tonight. It’s a little too soon. The days are warm but the chilly nights will keep most away. No one will fish tonight, except for Jack. And when he returns home

It was cold in the shade along the shoulder of the road. Heavy dew and even a little frost in places. Jack knew it would be awhile before the sun cleared the blufftop and began warming the valley, so he took his time with preparations, methodically retrieving his gear, vest, waders, boots from the back of the truck, assembling his rod and reel. Like a cleric preparing for a great liturgical service, the tailgate his alter, each movement was slow, thoughtful, organized, delibe

I’m a lucky guy and I know it. For some couples, hunting and fishing can be a dividing line, something to be tolerated or negotiated. But fortunately this is not the case for my wife and me. I married a Missouri girl, born and raised mostly in the northern Ozarks, a Mizzou grad who studied wildlife biology, and was working at Conservation Department when we met (yes, I was fishing off the company dock). Early evidence was clear. Hunting and fishing trips would not need permi

Caught up in the moment, I broke my rule. I took the going away shot and the wounded bird sailed to that familiar place 250 yards away. I...

I don’t necessarily subscribe to the myth of the “good ol’ days,” there’s a lot about the right now, today that’s pretty amazing. Yet,...

On a cold snowy day in February, Charlie Schwartz was on my mind. For those unfamiliar, Charlie was, at the very least, a biologist and...

“Each generation sees the world for the first time.” James F. Keefe, The First Fifty Years Very soon, Missouri’s newly elected...

The Secretary, Colonel, and President inspect habitat conditions at The Flats with Harper's assistance. For one day in March, No Name...

I was seven years old when I was first exposed to the idea of public service, although I didn’t really know what it meant. But the words...

Not long ago, as I approached the age of which we will not speak, I took note of some things I might have to start leaving behind, or at...

In my mind’s eye I can still see her standing over the sink in the corner of the tiny apartment kitchen, plucking feathers from the goose...

On my way north I decided to stop at the Why-Go-By Bar for a burger and cold one. Sitting on the barstool waiting for attention, I...