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The Stand of His Own Making

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It is a bittersweet feeling when your son is old enough to venture into the woods on his own—the satisfying knowledge that you’ve done well as a mentor, mingled with the quiet sadness that they no longer need you, at least not in the same way. I first felt this two seasons ago when Austin took a couple of morning sits on one of our small, private pieces. I loved getting those text updates throughout the morning, even if nothing offered a shot. That independence was put on hold in 2024. My son was fully immersed in paramedic class, leaving him no time for the woods. We hunted once during rifle season, and he helped in retrieving my 10-pointer, which we skinned and quartered for the cooler. Since he graduated in April, this season has been wide open, and the anticipation has been building. Our season began in earnest on November 7th, right after I helped a friend haul out a giant from nearby public land. Austin positioned himself at a key intersection of terrain, and I settled in at a we...
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Failure and the Measure of a True Hunter

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  If you've spent any time in the whitetail woods, you understand the emotional toll a missed opportunity can inflict on a hunter. But the true weight isn't in the miss, it's in the intent. We spend the summer tirelessly tuning our bows and practicing diligently for that one moment. Yet, the decision to send an arrow down range with the intent of taking an animal’s life is a commitment I do not take lightly. It is a profoundly final act that demands more than just skill; it requires absolute moral seriousness. This is not a game; it is an exchange of life for sustenance, and the animal deserves an accurate, clean, and ethical end. The hunter’s ultimate responsibility is to honor that life by ensuring the utmost respect; anything less is a failure of character and ethics.  When that commitment is broken, when a poorly placed shot wounds an animal, the resulting self-doubt forces the well-meaning hunter to question everything. In my thirty years of whitetail hunting, I have h...
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Location: Missouri, USA
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My First Whitetail: A Triumph of Humility

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For those who didn't come up in a hunting family, learning the ins and outs of whitetail hunting wasn't a generational lesson; it was a years-long, cold, and often humiliating trial-and-error education. Years ago, a junior high friend mentioned his family’s yearly pilgrimage to the state’s Upper Peninsula, better known as the U.P., for a weekend of whitetail deer hunting. That evening, I approached my father, who was not a hunter, and asked him to take me hunting. Shortly thereafter, I obtained my hunter education certificate in Michigan, and didn’t step into the woods until my freshman year of high school.   By this point, we had relocated to Missouri, and mid-November was all about rifle season. At the time, Missouri allowed one antlered deer per season, and, according to most of my friends, just seeing one was considered a bonus. My father swore that all rifle hunters were careless and spent the fall shooting one another. It was an uphill battle to get him to agree to take m...
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Last Bennett Spring Trip of the 2025 Season

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  Bennett Spring State Park | Missouri State Trout Park and Lodging The Ozarks in late October—my annual bittersweet trip. I love nothing more than camping in the fall. The breeze carries a slight chill, making a hoodie and a campfire a necessity. The hardwood timber is a mix of green, orange, and yellow. Squirrels scurry around as if they feel winter right around the corner, and they have acorns to cache. Family groups of does munched roadside acorns, seemingly without a care in the world. Though the conditions were ideal—less crowding, fewer nuisance insects—the cool perfection felt like a final, lingering farewell to the camping season. We arrived at a surprisingly busy park on Saturday. Anglers lined the stream and occupied the usual spots, determined to fill a stringer on this final weekend of the catch-and-keep season before it closed on October 31st. I thought the rain would deter some, but the cool drizzle did not faze the diehards. The campground was just as busy, with onl...
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From Bank to Kayak Angler

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          The problem with being a bank angler is that you are a slave to the seasons—and to the heat. I remember those magical spring days: beating the banks of local ponds, feeling the cool morning air, and watching the bobber disappear below the surface. Crappie were plentiful then, easy to trick with a minnow or jig under a slip float. It was a consistent, reliable bite. But like clockwork, the moment the summer sun turned the shoreline water into a stagnant, shimmering haze, the main event would simply disappear. The bigger fish—the bass and the slabs—seemed to vanish. All that was left were tiny sunfish and the ghost of an evening largemouth. This annual summer vanishing act was my most incredible frustration until I bought a boat. My first boat was a humble Lowe Roughneck, equipped with a 25-horsepower Mercury outboard, electric start, and a foot-operated trolling motor. It was a budget-friendly setup, but the learning curve for successful boat-bas...
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Location: Missouri, USA
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A Missouri Giant

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                     I had been consistently hunting this small property for five or six seasons with decent success. I experienced several cool encounters caught on film, hundreds of trail camera photos, and put some meat in the freezer during that time. The property was a perfect bottleneck: a 17-acre creek bottom where two large blocks of timber pinched together, surrounded by wide-open pasture and agricultural fields to the east and west. It was a textbook setup, the kind that made my heart race with anticipation every time I walked in. Initially, I placed a stand near the middle and hunted it religiously. Over time, the deer wised up. It was a slow and frustrating process. The resident doe groups shifted their pattern just outside of bow range, a constant reminder that I was being outsmarted. I felt a familiar frustration bubbling up, and I knew I had to adapt or fail.  In the fall of 2020, saddle hunting was qui...
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September on the Niangua

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The cool air and distant scent of wood smoke signal my favorite time of year for camping . We make it a point to plan one or two trips as the temperatures cool and the leaves begin to change, often finding ourselves greeted by uncommon peace: less crowded campgrounds and ideal weather for hiking, fishing, or simply relaxing by a fire. Our first trip was slated for late September. We booked a roomy family site, envisioning a weekend of floating and fishing with my son and his girlfriend . Friday, we planned to float the Niangua from the Bennett Spring Access to Barclay, and then dedicate Saturday and Sunday to fly fishing the spring for trout. We arrived on Thursday afternoon to find we weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the gorgeous weather. The campground wasn't full, but as the sun dipped, painting the trees in soft, golden light, only a few vacancies were remaining. We leveled our home away from home and began setting up camp to await our visitors. As always, I pulled c...
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Location: Missouri, USA
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