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...

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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...

The walk to my deer stand is short, and this morning I squinted to watch the edges of my path a little more than usual. Two skunks had...

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By 6:35 a.m. DeeCee had hooked her first salmon. Our guide, Mike, gave instruction on how best to wrestle the feisty fish boat side for...

When I tasted the first bite, I thought about a day on a boat a couple hours from Homer, and the magic of water, fishing poles, and...

Spring arrived two weeks early by Missouri standards. The dogwood and redbud trees in the front yard, an unofficial phenological metric...