The story
My first deer is the one I think about most. Most hunters remember theirs. Mine taught me that the woods don’t reward the rushed.
I’ve hunted across the country since — backcountry, plains, hardwood, high country. I took my first ram on a hunt that nearly broke me before it gave me anything. He’s the first piece of the Grand Slam. There are three more rams out there with my name on them, Lord willing.
My family is the reason I always come home. Family first, hunt second. That order costs me tags. It’s worth every one of them.
Faith and the wild
I think the woods are the purest form of self-reflection God ever made. No phone signal, no audience, no one to impress. Just you, the country, and whatever you brought in with you — for better or worse.
The wild doesn’t lie. It doesn’t perform. It strips you down to who you actually are and lets you sit with that for a few hours. Some of the most honest prayers I’ve ever prayed came up out there. I don’t go to the woods to escape God. I go to find Him.
What you’ll find here
Trip reports from the field. Short notes when I’m sitting in a treestand and a verse hits different. Speaking dates if I’m headed somewhere you can join. Photos when the photos are worth keeping.
Updates are seasonal — fall and spring are heaviest. I’m not chasing an algorithm. I’d rather you read three honest things a year than fifty filler posts.