Missouri Outdoor Magazine

 One of the coolest things about fresh snow is the way it lets you follow trails that were recently used. While winter haunts don't always mirror the rut, they are masterclasses in terrain—revealing the 'preferred' travel patterns that deer fall back on when the pressure is on. This held true on my recent trip into the woods. From the access path, I found the first heavy trail leading into the cover, with a few pins marked for investigation. The snow didn't just have tracks; it was packed like a sidewalk, leading me through a transition from thick bedding cover to a hardwood creek bottom. My heavy, insulated boots felt clumsy compared to the delicate, repetitive hoofprints that had passed through since Saturday. Either there were a ton of deer here, or they used this trail frequently.   The sheer volume of sign was almost a liability. Fresh trails weaved in and out of the bedding in so many directions that it was easy to get distracted and veer 'off course.' Twi...

 A nearly mile-long hike just to reach the boundary of my target timber tract was the gatekeeper to adventure number two. The sky was clear, promising a great day to explore new, potentially untouched ground. The air was crisp and silent, and the sun felt warm as I hiked. Temperatures were forecast to be in the mid- to upper 40s. My aim was a high-stem-count river bottom that stood out as a timber regeneration project with limited “easy” access—a perfect hideaway that I hoped held the area's most elusive whitetails. The overall strategy was to determine whether the area had potential and to seek access to hunt from the river.   I crossed the creek and immediately found a short tassel of rope hanging from a tree, over what appeared to be a mock scrape. In years past, that bit of braided nylon hanging over fresh earth would have deflated my spirit, signaling competition. But this time, it just fueled my fire; they were close, but not deep enough. Before long, I came across ...

The commitment for 2026 runs deep; I've wiped the slate clean—mentally and digitally—deleting years of aimless pin drops from my OnX Hunt app and replacing them with well-thought-out points of interest. The goal is simple: no more aimless roaming. I'll e-scout, drop a handful of prospective waypoints, and let boots-on-the-ground reality dictate the next move. My initial trip onto the public ground started with a frosty breath that crystallized on my mustache, demanding a lengthy, lung-busting hike just to clear the parking lot. The crunch of frozen earth under my boots was the only sound aside from the wind through the hardwoods. I was pleasantly surprised when a subtle pattern broke the fresh blanket of snow laid days prior—several sets of sizeable turkey tracks, crisp and clear. A reminder that while I was focused on November, spring was already leaving its calling card.  I dropped into the woods, immediately picking up a beaten human access path that led straight to a rocky ...

Just after Christmas, my world shrank to the four walls of my living room. A fresh surgical scar is a tight reminder that physical activity beyond walking is a major expedition, confining me to a version of "house arrest." Now, before I get too dramatic, I realize this is the time of year when most Missourians are stuck inside anyway, battling their own mild cases of cabin fever. If I could have chosen a time to be laid up, it would always be these cold winter months. The bare, gray landscape outside my window perfectly mirrors this quiet, forced hibernation; a necessary stillness that's teaching me the unexpected value of slow recovery before spring finally arrives. My forced hiatus has given me the opportunity to reflect on what is important, what I'm missing, and, quite frankly, what I can live without. It's easy to take the little things for granted when we don't take the time to recognize them. I spent the months leading up to surgery completing 100 push...

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...

  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...