I have a tendency to rant... to joke around... or to just relieve my desire of putting pen to paper (in the digital sense) Following are my attempts at all of that... Enjoy.
And for the legals... All opinions/stories/essays are solely the opinions of the writer, they are likely written in jest or fictional, any representations of the truth are entirely coincidental. They are never intended to hurt the feelings of anyone, slander anyone, make anyone sad or mad or look like a jerk. If that happens it is entirely coincidental. This is a platform in which the author can freely express is honest OPINION of subjects. These are not the writings of a PROFESSIONAL rather that rantings of a frustrated writer. If you know of any rantings here that seem to represent a truthful situation, keep it to yourself. Of course, your comments are welcome, and if approved by the author they will likely remain to be seen by others. If not, sorry, get your own blog!
The Magic of Bluebills in the Snow
The Magic starts in the predawn darkness, as you step out of the truck for the first time and the wind bites you. You can hear the cries of snow geese migrating overhead in the inky black sky. ... Never were there written better words describing what a snow-blown morning with recklessly-decoying bluebills will do for the soul of the true duck hunter.
The Rais~A~Ruckus Story
Rais-A-Ruckus Game Calls: Hand Crafting Quality In Monroe, Georgia
By Nick Carter
“We ain’t got no saw, so you boys best hold on.”
It was fair warning in straight Cajun. Jeff Guidry backed up the 18-foot welded aluminum duck boat, goosed the throttle and slammed the bow into a 5-feet-in-diameter cypress stump. It took a few tries for the hollowed-out old swamp sentry to buckle and fall before 10 feet of timber were loaded among the shotguns and decoy bags along with the morning’s harvest of mallards and wood ducks.
Turkey Calling...Get aggressive but hold back
Sunsets and Rainbows
Go Squirrel Hunting.... PLEASE!
Here's to grandpas and grandkids
Dedicated to the loving Memory of John Turner Rupard, who shared with me my first squirrel hunt. Here’s to the hours to come with my father and kids in the blind.
The Story of the Tree
BEAT THE HEAT, DREAM UP THE COLD