Author Archives: Greg McReynolds
Rain
They were waiting for the rain, but the rains came late. Instead of wetting the ground and bringing shoots and bugs and cover that just hatched quail so badly need, the monsoon came when the chicks were on the ground. … Continue reading
Wall tents
In the age of high-tech fabrics and two-man tents that require you to spoon your hunting dog and leave your boots out in the rain, I had a revelation. Wall tents are awesome. The Romans knew it. And the Souix, … Continue reading
Filed under Talegate
Bloody hands on the wheel
It’s only after I have been through the drive through, paid and taken the heart attack in a paper sack from the teenage boy at the window that I notice my hands are covered in blood. It’s only pheasant blood, … Continue reading
Filed under Road Tales, Talegate
Jackets are the answer
It’s cold. Seeing as it’s winter, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. Apparently surprises the shit out of a lot of people though. They are so surprised that many of them forget how to drive, or how to … Continue reading
Filed under Dogs, Glutton For Punishment, Talegate, Undaunted by Futility
Just us
The small army is gone. The skirmish line and the blockers have packed their bags and headed across the horizon, leaving a mile-long cloud of dust. This time there is no, “how should we hit this one” conversation. No waiting … Continue reading
Filed under Ditch Parrots, Dogs
Dust
I can smell creosote bush and prickly pear and somewhere in the western mountains, a fire is burning. Under it all lies the smell of dust. It’s 10,000 years of grass, fires from an eon, elk sheds and mule deer … Continue reading
Filed under Open country, Soul, Talegate
Getting low
He’s running now. Bowling-ball sized chunks of rock are spilling down behind him as he races uphill. Sweat is dripping down his brow and you can read the profanity-laced tirade on his face. This morning, he was hesitant, waiting for … Continue reading
Filed under Gambels, Glutton For Punishment, Ill-mannered Jackals
Not hunting
I am not hunting. I waited 7 months for this season. I’m burning up with the need to hunt. 16 days ago, I flushed 5 coveys of grouse. 15 days ago, I sat in a pointless meeting. 13 days ago, … Continue reading
Filed under Undaunted by Futility
Simple jobs
Our jobs are simple. She flushes, I shoot. All she needs is water, a high protein diet and the occasional head scratch. I however require boots, vests, high-priced shotgun shells, decent scotch, two barreled shotguns, cigars and eggs over-easy with … Continue reading
Filed under Talegate
Bag o’ birds
It’s nearly midnight and I’m too tired for a glass of scotch. I’m kneeling over a pile of dead grouse in the garage and in the tight space, the stench of wet feathers and bird shit is overpowering. I flash … Continue reading
Filed under Glutton For Punishment, Grouses
Appearances
I always thought of it simply as a hat. In the days of my youth ‘cap’ meant a ball cap, preferably with Texas A&M embroidered on the front. ‘Hat’ meant stetson. If worn, stained felt it meant shelter from the … Continue reading
Filed under Tools of the Trade, Undaunted by Futility
Expeditions in the city limits
I surreptitiously scan the rim, then the fence, looking for anyone with a badge, ticket book or binoculars. Seeing no one, I reach down and slip the leash from her head. She’s still waiting. “Let’s hunt,” I tell her. There’s … Continue reading
Filed under Dogs, Surviving the off season, Talegate
Snakes in the grass
The solstice is weeks away, but the heat has arrived in New Mexico and the prairie rattlers are sun bathing. This guy was hanging out not far from my house last week. It may be the Hopi rattlesnake sub-species, but … Continue reading
Filed under Dogs, Surviving the off season
Smithhammer
Tom Reed
Tosh Brown
Matt Crawford
Greg McReynolds
Chad Love
