- Wild Game
Hunting & Fishing Stories
How I get the game I cook.
At the end of a long bay in a corner of Prince William Sound lies a stream with no name. In that stream swim untold numbers of salmon — enough to turn the water black. If, God forbid, I were dying of cancer, one of my final acts on this earth would be to fish this place. It is magical.
If you live long enough, you start to see glimpses of paths untaken, lives you could have lived but for chance or snap decision. Last week I got a long look at what I could have done had I become a commercial fisherman years ago. Did I make the right choice to stay on land?
Catfish swim through a murky stream of race, class and regional rivalry. No other fish in North America defines where you stand in this world quite so much as the catfish. Eating one can border on being a political act.
Fishing for striped bass means far more to me than merely chasing my dinner. Stripers have become a marker for the key moments in my life.
I have dug clams my whole life. But nothing prepared me for the thrill of clamming for Pacific horseneck and butter clams. This wasn’t foraging, this was hunting. And I love it.
Sometimes a plan just comes together. After the world’s shortest turkey hunt, I had so much time left over I dressed and barbecued the bird all in one day!
For the first time in years, I’ve shot a wild hog. That I am able to say that is a sign that karma comes back to you, if you have faith and persistence.
The antelope jackrabbit lives only in the Sonoran Desert, a place as harsh as it is beautiful. Hunting them last week showed me both sides of this amazing place.
After half a decade of sporadic search, I have finally caught myself a legal sturgeon. It is not my first. That first fish showed me why sturgeon are so sought after. This one showed me humility.
Nothing is quite so driven by hope as the act of gathering food from the wild. Anyone who has ever hunted, fished or foraged knows the feeling that the bonanza could come at any moment.