top of page


Updated: Jul 10, 2020

Cold is no excuse. There’s not an hour in the woods or on the water worth rolling over after the alarm and slinking up behind 4 a.m.’s ugly sister, maybe tomorrow.  No, no, no, we get up and get into our wool-and-Lycra-blend socks and long underwear – eyes swole, head still soupy – shuffle to the kitchen for coffee and lean on the counter, waiting for some toast to put peanut butter on.

It’s winter boss. Good and deep and cold, cold, cold. And in the end, the worth of the day, the measure of life, hard-fought and earned, is slowly revealed as blood returns to your fingers and toes and face on the drive home. Fish or no fish. Deer or no deer. Geese or no geese. We walk into the house, giant as Paul Bunyan, smelling like fresh air and refusing to admit just how crazy we might actually be.

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


Not here. You fuckers cannot follow me here. His dad looked over his shoulder from the tailgate at Charlie, standing in the tall grass looking over the river, hands tucked into the top of his waders,


At first light I returned to where we had last seen blood. A sparkling sheen of frost on the fields, thin ice on standing water, and my breath hanging lazily in the air made the stillness feel full an


Aleida shot her first deer, a healthy 2 year old four-pointer, during archery season last year. It was her first trip into the woods as a hunter. We had made our way to the buddy stand in the dark, fo


bottom of page