Thursday morning, nothing. Another long, tedious Thursday afternoon, and more nothing. A rather prolonged Friday morning set, nothing. And so it went for seventeen mornings and seventeen afternoons, in game rich wildlife grounds, with the right wind, a great time

I spent a great day in Fort Collins Colorado with Colorado and Wyoming wildlife professionals, biologists, scientists, game wardens and other dedicated conservationists. As the invited guest speaker at their annual event, they requested I address the critical issue of

“Things get a little crazy, in this day and age. “The concrete jungle warfare, got everybody in a rage. “And I sure like my rock and danger, “I crave my rock-n-roll, “But when I get my limit, “I know just

The days of a kid coming home from school to grab his .22 or .410 and head down to the creek bottom to pot a few squirrels are gone, legislated away by the mindless nannycrats and power pimps that infest

The sonic bombast emanating from our little SpiritWild Ranch bunkhouse was ferocious. A couple of MotorCity Madmen were unleashing a torrent of maddeningly intense all American rhythm and blues rock-n-roll to die for as Derek St. Holmes and I jammed

With a veritable arsenal of Gibson guitars and 6,500 flamethrowing concerts under my belt, so far, I have turned the skulls of millions of fun musical gluttons to a fine dust over the past 50 years. As I write this, my

Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Not a day goes by where an American outdoorsman doesn’t confide in me that due to the increasingly complex, illogical hunting and fishing regulations across the nation, that it would not surprise them

I’m embarrassed for the great state of Nevada.  Really. Senator Harry Reid is about as sharp as a bag of Nevada desert sand. He obviously doesn’t believe in President Lincoln’s advice: Better to remain silent and be thought a fool