How our upland traditions learned from our forefathers can point new hunters in the right direction who haven't had the same opportunity.
THERE WILL BE BLOOD
For hunters of ruffed grouse, there will also be sweat and tears, but glory all the same.
AN OCTOBER BOND
Jack’s short legs struggled to climb the blowdown. The weight of his double gun pulled him to the ground. His boots were two sizes too big, but family hand-me-downs were all they could afford back then. With untied laces and a red-plaid hunting coat he borrowed from his father, he appeared disheveled that day in…
A HUCKLEBERRY GROUSE TALE
It all started in a place where farmers tip their John Deere hats to strangers . . . where everything you’d ever need to know, you learn sippin’ coffee at the local cafe . . . and where a young boy’s imagination runs wild from the waterfall down the aimless drainage . . . because…
THE ICE SHACK EVOLUTION
When the brave fur traders with teams of dogs trampled the snowy Minnesota hills in or around 1868, they discovered the unmistakable potential of the river’s rapids in that sleepy little valley, and my hometown, Pelican Rapids, was born. At that time of year, the frozen river banks bore reflection to the frigid essence of a Minnesota winter. To the north, the same river led them, upstream, to a shallow fishery with the potential to provide substantial sustenance. Through their trek, the traders certainly traveled from the East, to some degree, past vast lands of water, and at that time of year, ice-covered lakes. I imagine them wrapped with fur and wool and protecting themselves and their dogs through closeness to the warmth of fire.
Matt Soberg 