The Grouse Safari

I’m not sure who first called it a Grouse Safari. It might have been Ed. But I do think it’s fitting. Just like hunters travel greater distances to pursue big game in Africa, a group of Southern Appalachian grouse hunters travelling several thousand miles to hunt grouse is an appropriate moniker. It’s something friends and I have been doing for about 20 years now.

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The Great Migration

As an American by birth and a Southerner by the grace of God, the pursuit for Bonasa umbellus, or ruffed grouse in particular and woodcock to a lesser degree, requires some commitment and travel to arrive to the promised land of hunting these game birds.

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Doves, Up North

Across much of the South the opening of dove season is a social gathering marked by lots of shooting, good-natured ribbing among friends and, after the shooting is done, a Southern-style barbecue complete with a cold beverage or two.

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A Backyard Dove Hunt From the 1980s

Amongst the suitcases in the Chevy Astro Van, was my father’s new Remington 1100, along with the Montgomery Ward’s 20-gauge pump shotgun. It had been 18 hours since we had packed the shotguns and left Kansas City. The trip had been filled with quick bathroom dashes, meal breaks on the go, and was very long. Accompanying the four of us, was my mother’s father, Abuelito Jorge, who was visiting from Guatemala. We were determined to arrive on time to partake in a family dove hunt.

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Pawpaw’s Gun: The Real McCoy

Halfway through a box of lavish bismuth shot, watching yet another rooster soar (unscathed) into the sunrise, I began to question my devotion to the idea. The echoes from the peanut gallery didn’t help my confidence in the matter. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the truck and swap out guns? I worked the bolt and dismissed the notion of swapping guns. To do that would be to quit, and that wasn’t going to happen.

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Leaving the Insanity Behind With a Snowcock Hunt in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains

Recently someone told me that 2020 has been the strangest year ever. I added even though I spent part of my childhood along the Congo and in Sumatra, 2020 is still the strangest. Societal currents during the past eight months or so have been difficult for me to handle. Witnessing anger, depression, insanity and ideological polarity adversely affects one’s psychological well being. We have largely been stripped of our humanity and it all creates an aura of being trapped in a shrinking room. My refuge? The outdoors.

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The Hunt for Tradition

Something we hunters have in common is a deep fondness for hunting tradition and all its trappings. How many of us do you know who wax nostalgic about the good old days and carry their father’s gun or knife or other hunting heirloom passed down from a recent ancestor that not only anchors the original owner to the present day, but its current caretaker to the past?

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