Hunt long enough, and you’re eventually going to mess up. If you’ve never lost an animal, count your blessings and you might want to go out and buy a lottery ticket because you are extremely fortunate and very lucky. You are also probably one day closer to having an agonizing day in the field! As I approach 40 years of hunting I must admit I’ve experienced some mishaps along the way. What follows are a few that stand out. By sharing these episodes, I hope to accomplish two th

It has often been said by many experts that the diminutive Sparrowhawk is only capable of taking on prey no larger than the common field mouse. But let it be known that the field of ornithology is filled with cheats, scallywags, swindlers, and liars. A more dishonest profession likely does not exist. Furthermore, I would surmise that ornithologists and attorneys likely attend the same family reunions. But what is all this talk of birds? This is a gun rag, ain’t it?!

The scorching sun hung high above the Chihuahuan Desert as the lawman carefully made his way up a steep limestone escarpment, mindful not to drive the arched spears of Lechuguilla into his shins as he secured footing to make the next push upward. A fall among the boulders below would be much more painful, if not life-altering. Faint scuffs on the slick rock convinced him that the men he was after had scaled the looming cliffside.

A fellow once told me that, regarding feral hogs, there are two kinds of places...them that’s got ‘em and them that’s gonna get ‘em. Feral hogs, if they are anything, are adaptive. We even have them out here in this high, dry desert country of the Texas Big Bend. They are tough, prolific, and destructive...oh, and they’re really fun to hunt.

For the past five years, I’ve been trying to shoot a bull. When I was twelve, my buddy and I tracked down a cow that had been wounded by poachers and put her down with muzzleloaders. I got close two years ago when I had my bow drawn back at a bull standing at thirty yards for over a minute. Sadly, he never presented an ethical shot, and I had to let him go.

The countryside was mostly flat as it spread away from a rocky hill known locally as Kudu Mountain, and it was a mixture of acacia, thorn and red dirt. Standing in the shadow of a large acacia, I watched Egyptian gees muddle in a waterhole two football fields long and half as wide. I knew a duiker with magnificent horns lived along the damn, and that warthogs polluted the area, often grunting and wallowing in the goo surrounding one of the few oases this side of the Orange Ri

It seems common these days that folks often name deer. I’m not talking about pets, although some wild deer become so predictable and accustomed to hunter activity that they appear somewhat domesticated, even on huge ranches. We feed a lot of corn on the ranch I hunt. It helps the wild game; deer, javelinas, quail, various birds, and so on, by providing a little extra nourishment and it helps the hunter to see animals that would otherwise go unnoticed in the masses of mesquite

It seems that time can be a tricky thing to master. I very specifically remember that when I was a kid, time was stubborn and had little to no interest in passing. It didn't seem to matter if I was waiting for the morning to arrive, or waiting for the summer school break. Time could not be rushed, and no amount of begging could convince it.

I’d found a cozy little place on a Texas hillside. Sitting with my back against a cedar, with an agarita bush in front of me to break up my silhouette. I hadn’t been there all that long when a nice eight-point buck came out of the brush to get a drink at the stock tank that was about thirty-five to forty yards in front of me.

In the past few days, we’ve seen that the 44 Remington Magnum has been around for seven decades. That fact alone tells us how important this fine cartridge is to the handgunning world. The sheer power of the 44 Magnum is one reason; another is its versatility. Nostalgia plays a role too. Cinema detective Harry Callahan once labeled it as the most powerful handgun in the world, and it was at that time.

Anyone even slightly aware of what’s in my books and magazine articles on African hunting knows I quite often cite Robert Ruark. In fact, if Mr. Ruark was still alive, I’d probably fall under the moniker of ‘fanboy’…or stalker. I won’t apologize for my near obsession with his output.

If you play the handgunning game long enough, sooner or later you are bound to delve into the realm of the powerful big bore revolver. For many it’s a gun that is worked up to over time. Some shooters will go a lifetime shooting the “normal” cartridges, and that’s fine.

Sometimes the wind blows like hell there. It blows the hardest when it comes from the west, across Devil’s Hole and the top of the South Branch Mountain, and then down the steep eastern slope into the bowels of Pot Lick Cove.

It’s no secret that my Huntress loves big bull elk. Her first bull fell to my 7mm Remington Magnum several years ago on a private ranch near Angel Fire, New Mexico. That was a great hunt, and the bulls were bugling and herding cows in a chaotic melee of swarming elk numbering over eighty in one bunch.

Some years ago, Ed Martin, cow boss for the Shannon Estate Ranches, and I were taking a bit of a noon rest in the ranch’s Elk Horn pasture. My attention was drawn to a pretty good sized rock over on the side of a hill, about 175 to 200 yards away. Naturally, that got me to thinking about long-range shooting with a handgun.

I have some scoped handguns chambered in rifle cartridges that are occasionally hauled to the field, and I suspect any notoriety I might have in the writing world, albeit minor, is associated with revolvers. I don’t mind this, as it is largely true that I do like and use them. However, in my beating heart rests a soft spot for fine rifles of blued steel and figured walnut, as well as a deep interest for the iconic lever action rifle. One of my all-time favorite rifles is the

The mornings are turning cooler out here in the Big Bend country. This time of year, everything starts to take on a golden hue as we slowly edge our way into fall. The fluttering green leaves of the cottonwood trees will soon transform to brilliant gold before they are scattered by the wild west Texas winds as the northers blow in. The mule deer bucks will shed the velvet covering of their forked antlers and the elk and aoudad hunting are currently in full swing. Ah yes, it’s

I have little doubt most readers of this post have heard of Charlie Pirtle. He was well known in the revolver competition communities of days gone by, and a winner of who knows how many shooting awards during his time on the U.S. Border Patrol Pistol Team. One of the best man trackers I have had the fortune of ever being around, well known lawman, outstanding Dutch oven cook, dedicated hunter, outdoorsman and true gentleman. In short, Charlie was one of the most influential f

The ranch was alive.  A symphony of coyotes yipping and howling greeted us.  Just prior to first light the trees across from a field we were near erupted in the gobbles of numerous turkeys descending from their roosts.  Things looked promising.  By sunrise, Melanie was calling and she was getting lots of responses.  Melanie says that her two absolute favorite things to hunt are turkey and elk because you have to “talk” and interact with both of them. It was incredibly excitin

“There wasn’t no place I couldn’t go with a 22 rifle and a fishing pole.” Y’all remember that old Don Williams tune? I suspect we all look back on our younger years and remember them as a better time. Whether they always were or not doesn’t matter if we choose to remember the best of times. For most of us our youth was certainly less complicated by electronics. No cell phones.