I still remember waking up early on cold, crisp mornings with my uncle, the kind where the air bites your cheeks before the sun even thinks about rising. We’d climb into the deer stand, trying to stay ...

The swamp was the place to be. It was where all the whitetails came from, retreated to, and felt safe enough to move in daylight in the high-pressure public-land area I was hunting. But as I clanged ...

This story, “Better Pheasant Hunting Alone,” was originally published in the October 1984 issue of Outdoor Life. Over the past several years, I’ve kept records on more than 100 pheasant hunts. During ...