Guest Post tagged posts

If you’ve been following Modern Hunters on Facebook or Twitter, you are likely aware that I punched my first deer tag on Saturday during the last weekend of rifle season. To any hunter, that sentence right there makes perfect sense. But relaying the same news to some of my non-hunter friends produced some looks of confusion and a wave of curious question-asking. What is a tag? How many do you get? What do you mean by rifle season? Why are there so many regulations? It’s easy to forget just how much jargon there is in the hunting community...

By Lindsay Persico

It was spring when I met the man I am proud to call my husband. Our “first date” ( not sure we actually called it that ) was a trip out to feed and sit over a bear bait in Idaho. We spent the evening laughing and joking. He taught me about lighting a fire with my flint and steel and we just simply enjoyed the outdoors together. It is a favorite memory of mine.

Needless to say we hit it off. The year before we got married I was blessed with the opportunity to join him on his elk hunt in Montana. I drove over from Idaho and we headed up to his family cabin in the beautiful Montana mountains. I remember being so excited to get in on the experience and being nervous that I would slow him down in this steep country.

We set out our numerous layers of hunting clothes the nig...

Kassondra Hendricks

By Kassondra Hendricks

If you would’ve told my nine-year old self that I would be toting around a pink camo shotgun in the future I wouldn’t have believed you. Pink has always been a ghastly color in my mind. And I wasn’t the girl that played with Barbie dolls. I was the girl that tramped barefoot around the horse barn chasing chickens, stalking deer in fields with mud smeared on my face, climbing trees, showing off burns on my legs from riding dirt bikes, smiling with satisfaction at the roughness of my calloused hands. I was the girl who to her mother’s dismay didn’t let anyone brush her hair until the fifth grade. I rocked the coclebur tangles, stained t-shirt, ripped jeans look...

By Hannah J. Ryan

The morning sunlight seeps across Wyoming’s sky and into a corn stubble field near the river. Friends and family are tucked to either side of me in layout blinds. My feet are reaching that freezing point that would soon drive me from my hiding place, but a dark cloud lifts off the river as a few hundred Canada geese leave their night’s resting place.

As their ruckus reaches us, our adrenaline-levels spike and my numb feet are eitherwarmed or forgotten. Our decoy spread forms an open-ended triangle and we are stationed in the V’s crook. Four geese break from the flock and head for the open ground we left in the spread directly before our blinds.

When the birds come in range, someone calls out, “Take ‘em!” and we pop up from our prone positions, shotguns singing...

Brandon Butler is back on CITNB to share another story – this one on how hunting dogs have a sneaky way of becoming family. Read his first post here.

Brandon Butler and Junior

Junior was born the son of Bocephus. He was destined for greatness. Having a renowned retriever for a father sets expectations high. Junior may have never won a world title, but he was a champion. The tears of two little girls prove it.

From the first time I read Where the Red Fern Grows over 20 years ago, I dreamt of owning a well-trained, highly-functional hunting dog. Time and attention kept that dream from becoming a reality for too long. Opportunity struck when I was presented the chance to buy Junior as a three-year-old field trial washout.

Finished retrievers aren’t cheap...