KINGDOM. HUNTING. DAD.

I was trying to be as quiet as a mouse in wool slippers. I knew there was a chance I was going to get an encounter with him again.

My fingers made their own wake through cool, crisp, brackish water as the Suzuki 4-stroke propelled us along.

I'm not the guy that just loves to mow grass. I don't weed and feed. I don't water. I just mow it.

It looked like he was on a clear path away from us. Game over. Suddenly and without any notice, he stopped at the tree line to make a scrape

Thankfully when you don't kill your dinner you can still drive up town on the corner of State Road 327 and 120 and order it.

As they opened their stockings and I lay in bed listening to them, I couldn't help but smile at their happiness.

The perfect cold front is rolling in. Gun season starts about a week earlier than usual and the bucks are hitting the peak rut.

According to legend, a squirrel could scamper from New England to Georgia on the canopies of American chestnuts, never touching the ground."

Put in the time and you will harvest the deer of your choosing. Season Complete. Tagged Out. Blog over.

I can only imagine this internal monologue is by 160" whitetail in the making. I imagine these thoughts in his head at a mere 6 months old.

We need to have a plan to combat the evil one - much like we needed a plan to go after these small fish.

The trail camera gives you a glimpse of the whitetail social structure and everyday survival. If you study the cameras heavily you can start

His eyes looked through the camera into my soul and in the blink of an eye; I was obsessed.

A chant of courage with a hint of peer pressure...