Hunting and Fishing News Blog Articles

Matt Brunswick with his mid-200 non-typical. (Matt Brunswick/)

Matt Brunswick works as a K9 handler for the local Sheriff’s Department. But his hobby is killing big whitetail deer.

He started shotgun hunting as a kid. Then, once in high school, he got a crossbow. At age 16, Brunswick tagged his first buck. He didn’t bag another one until he turned 23, though. Then, it was on. He shot a 170 in 2008, another 170 in 2009, and then a 160 in 2010.

Unfortunately, this year, he lost one of the properties he frequently hunted. That spurred him to look for a new spot, and he’d seen big deer in—one particular area of Hancock County, Ohio.

“That made me target this spot,” says Brunswick. “I knocked on a door, met the owners, and they were kind enough to let me hunt their property.”

He immediately put out a trail camera. On July 3, his first card pull revealed a mega giant. The photo just showed the buck’s left side, which was really thick and almost appeared palmated. It reminded Brunswick of moose antlers, and so naturally he called the buck “Moose.”

Mike Holm of Federal Premium took this buck on the final night of the hunt. (Joe Genzel/)

Most of my whitetail hunting has been limited to treestand sitting, but this fall I traveled to West Texas with Mossberg’s Linda Powell to hunt bucks among the sand and cedars of the Davis Mountains, close to the U.S.-Mexican border. It’s rugged country: dry and desolate, where no Midwestern whitetail would care to live. You have to be one tough-ass buck to survive here.

During our week in camp, I spent most of the time in the passenger seat of a rusty 1985 Dodge Power Ram, soaking up knowledge from our outfitter Steve Jones of Backcountry Hunts and Linda, who is one of the best hunt-camp hosts around. Going on three decades, she had picked guides that can not only put clients on animals, but teach them a bundle (if they are willing to listen). Both Steve and Linda have hunted the world over for more species than I can count, and their knowledge shows. (In fact, I think Linda has completed more world turkey slams than I have killed gobblers.) The point is, they both have a lot of experience, which helped me kill a buck on the first morning. I spent the rest of the week with my eyes and ears open. Here’s what I learned.

1. Don’t Go Too Fast

You will see this concept pop up many times throughout this story, because it’s key to killing mature deer. On the first morning of the hunt, Linda, Steve, and I were into whitetails almost as soon as the old Dodge rumbled onto the ranch. Right off the bat we spotted a decent buck, though he wasn’t a shooter in those first five minutes of the hunt. A few minutes later, we saw two more good deer. They were browsing in a bottom that funneled into a draw with mountains on both sides. In this part of Texas, the desert isn’t barren. It may be dry, but there’s still enough vegetation to make things challenging. The two deer kept appearing in the scrub and disappearing behind small cedar trees. We pursued them for a while, but only succeeded in pushing both bucks farther and farther away.

To keep from spooking them away entirely, Steve backed out of the bottom and we parked on a hilltop to glass. It was likely both bucks had not scampered off into the hills yet, and were still holding tight in the brush below, where they seemed most comfortable. There was plenty of cover, water tanks, and a natural food source nearby—all indicators that the bucks were not going to stray far.

The author and friend, Mike Stock Jr., with a Montana mule deer on the tailgate of an old Chevy pickup. (Tom Fowlks/)

Michael Eugene Stock Sr. is memorialized by a granite headstone in a Midwestern cemetery and the name he passed down to his son, along with his love of deer hunting.

Michael Ellis McKean shares that very same legacy, handing down a middle name and a love of hunting to his eldest son.

The two men, products of America’s Corn Belt, never met, and while they are commemorated by a lot more than tombstones, they shared a dream of hunting the West. They also passed on that itch to their sons, who had the good fortune of meeting and becoming friends at about the time that their respective fathers were passing on.

One characteristic of a good idea, just like a good joke, is that nobody can remember who came up with it. It might have been me who suggested that Mike Stock Jr. and I should hunt somewhere in honor of our late fathers. Or maybe it was Mike, an executive engineer with Winchester Ammunition, who said that if we did, we ought to hunt in the style of our dads when they were our age, with the gear and the spirit that they would have carried. No matter the source, the idea caught fire with both of us, but we had to bank it for a couple of years while we figured out where to go and just how to memorialize these men."

Here’s the deal," Stock said last spring. Exasperated by the endless planning, he was ready for action, “It doesn’t matter if it’s a caribou or a mule deer doe. We do it this fall.

Topped with Leica’s new PRS 5-30x56i scope, the Nucleus Gen2 is a solid competition gun. (Bill Buckley/)

There’s a lot of ground to cover with this rifle, so I’m going to skip the introductory chitchat and get right to it.

At $2,499 the Nucleus Gen2 is priced to qualify for the Precision Rifle Series production class. As is typical of rifles of this type, it comes stripped down, meaning that it doesn’t ship with a magazine, a muzzle device, or other accessories so that the manufacturer can put as much as possible into the rifle itself while staying under the $2,500 threshold.

I shot the rifle with a muzzle brake attached since production-class rules allow for that addition and 99 percent of shooters will screw on either a brake or a suppressor for matches.

The Action

This rifle is built around the second generation of the American Rifle Company’s Nucleus. It’s a fascinating action that reflects ARC founder Ted Karagias' outside-­of-the-box engineering.

An unknown intruder was caught on camera at the author’s family cabin, prompting him to take a more measured approach to securing the premises. (Wes Siler/)

My wife’s family has an incredible cabin in a very remote, and scenic part of northern Montana. It’s one of our favorite places in the entire world, but a recent spate of security issues threatened to derail our ability to visit. We were being inundated with animal and human predators coming on to the property. It was concerning, and I worried for the safety of my wife, her family, our dogs, and myself. To be able to keep enjoying our trips north, we needed to find a way to feel safe up there, no matter what. And, using a mix of high- and low-tech solutions, I think we made that happen. Here’s what we did to make the cabin as secure as possible.

The Problem

My wife and I are the closest members of the family to the cabin, but live a 300-mile drive away in Bozeman. So, even though we try and get there as often as we can, it sits empty for long stretches of time. And, out there in the middle of nowhere, there are no neighbors, nor a consistent law enforcement presence. While there’s nothing of any real value inside, my in-laws have spent a lot of time and effort fixing the place up, so it looks nicer than most other properties in the area.

When we’re not there, the cabin is a target for thieves. When we are there, no external help is available on any kind of practical timeline. Particularly in winter (our favorite time to visit), the weather is frequently extreme. Wind, ice, and snow can knock out communications, or power, and make it impossible even to leave the property.

Montana is home to plenty of big critters like grizzly bears, wolves, mountain lions, and moose. But, in most parts of the state, seeing any of those animals is actually relatively rare. But at the cabin, any number of those animals can walk across the deck at any time, which could result in a dangerous situation.

One of the author’s 11-pound bass caught from a kayak in south Florida. (Kristine Fischer/)

I sat cross-legged in the backseat of the truck, my face pressed against the glass, eyes drifting over an endless sea of oil derricks dotted across the red dirt of Oklahoma. The long road home after a big bass tournament offers an angler a much-welcomed opportunity to unwind and bask in the high after a successful derby. Or, it can be a very cruel trip if you had a bad week. Your mind fills with all the defeats; all the anguish of mistakes made and opportunities missed.

On this particular November morning every mile up I-35 slogged along as I replayed each step of the tournament in my head. I hadn’t caught a single fish, and was on the edge of a meltdown. I wanted to sell every fishing-related piece of gear I owned, so I’d never have to suffer this kind of humiliation again.

I often think back on that tournament, because it shaped me into the angler I am today. It was my first national-level event after having a successful year fishing the local circuit. I strolled down to Lake Fork, Texas, full of confidence, only to be served a big slice of humble pie by seasoned pros who had made bass fishing their livelihood.

After the grieving period, a fire sparked inside me. I was fueled by both determination and passion, and wanted to be successful in this sport. I knew I would have to spend more time on the water. I also knew there would be a price to pay. To be successful at anything you have to make sacrifices.

I traveled all over the country, fishing national tournaments against the very best in our sport, on bodies of water I had only read about in Bassmaster magazine. I scoured over Google Earth and Navionics months in advance, making note of every single subtlety in the lakes I was fishing. I’d go back and look at old maps and locate brush piles, laydowns, changes in bank composition, old ponds, and ditches. Back at camp, I’d flip a jig into a cup until my forearms hurt. No one was going to out-prepare me.

Colorado voted to reintroduce gray wolves by 2023. (USFWS/)

One of the most divisive players on the Colorado ballot wasn’t the presidency or a contentious senate race, but the gray wolf. While Joe Biden and newly elected senator John Hickenlooper decisively won Colorado with a nearly 10-point margins, a 50.8 percent to 49.1 percent split concerning the restoration of gray wolves divided the state.

Voters narrowly approved a ballot initiative to reintroduce gray wolves west of the continental divide. Proposition 114 requires Colorado officials to restore and manage the population by the end of 2023. The animal’s historic range spans across most of North America including Colorado, where the native population was hunted to extinction by the 1940s.

Ballot Box Biology

This marks the first time a state has voted to reintroduce an animal into its ecosystem. Opponents of the measure question the wisdom of allowing wildlife management practices to be determined at the ballot box.

“Ballot box biology is reckless. In this particular case, it totally undermines the authority of Colorado’s wildlife professionals who have said time and time again over several decades that a forced wolf introduction is a bad idea,” said Kyle Weaver, Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation president and CEO in a press release.

Jay Dowd, tattoos and all, is a prime example of where upland hunting is headed. (A.J. DeRosa/)

The truck rolled to a stop as Jay Dowd reached over and turned the radio off. “This is a great spot,” he said as the world shifted from motion to the stillness of a large aspen stand in an undisclosed location in Michigan. The early fall revealed lime-colored leaves juxtaposed on the light bark of young trees. He stepped out of the car, his movements not rushed but deliberate and calm as if he were bleeding out every last drop of enjoyment.

“I think the overall challenge of hitting a bird on the wing, and in my personal opinion, over a solid point, that really brings out something in certain people. Everything must come together exactly right between you, the dog, and the bird. It’s a personal feeling of satisfaction that’s hard to describe or put a finger on, but I think most upland hunters would know what I’m talking about,” he said describing his love for bird hunting. In a way, this statement could have an air of elitism to it, but in reality, it couldn’t be further from the truth.

The tailgate of the truck came down with a thump and two English setters stared back at us with equal calm and patience. He slid a homemade wooden draw open and began to assemble his well-worn 16-gauge Parker D grade. Two beeper collars chimed to life, no GPS, just a compass hanging off his lanyard with a traditional flush counter. The smell of a pipe lingered in the air as it burnt out as he pulled on his Orvis upland hunting jacket. Everything about this scene fit the stereotypes that portray upland bird hunting as an elitist niche. And for the most part, I could be describing someone in a Ripley painting, a nod back to the greats.

One of these greats, is none other than the late author and dog breeder George Bird Evans, who’s reputation over time built an air of elitism. Evans held himself to a higher standard and cast the ideal of sporting ethics across much of his writing: “If I could shoot a game bird and still not hurt it, the way I can take a trout on a fly and release it, I doubt if I would kill another one. This is a strange statement coming from a man whose life is dedicated to shooting and gun dogs. For me, there is almost no moment more sublime than when I pull the trigger and see a grouse fall. Yet, as the bird is retrieved I feel a sense of remorse for taking a courageous life. About the time I passed fifty I noticed this conflict becoming more pronounced…”

But there were some parts left out as this picture of Dowd and his dogs was painted. The lower knuckles of Dowd’s hands revealed the tattoo “bird dogs” and even more revealing were the words “drop dead” above that. His neck and every inch of any exposed skin revealed scores of traditional tattoo work, and it makes sense, at 41 years old, Dowd, also known as Upland Lowlife, was a tattoo artist for a decade. He grew up in the metal/punk rock scene and followed a path to the upland subcultures.

The author, right, with wounded warrior Mike Earl after a successful deer hunt. (Ken Perrotte/)

Most military veterans can recall when they first realized they had volunteered for a life-changing experience. For me, it came quickly after arriving at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas.

We were fed at a chow hall and then, around 9 or 10 p.m., taken in groups to the austere buildings we would call home for the next several weeks. As we stood on a drill pad beneath the elevated barracks, a friendly junior noncommissioned officer organized us into straight-line columns and then cheerfully taught us the basic commands and positions of parade rest and attention.

He left us at parade rest, ordering us to simply stand by.

So, we waited, and waited, and waited some more—carefully wiggling our feet and knees in the dark. Finally, approaching midnight, we heard a steady “click, click, click” advancing behind us, growing louder with each step. Silence. Then, a booming “Atten-hut!”

We all did our best to snap smartly to attention in our civilian clothes, long-haired, boot camp rookies that we were.

A big-bodied big woods buck visits a signpost rub in Maine. (Hal Blood/)

When people think about hunting in the big woods of the north, they envision hunters dressed in their classic wool clothing taking to the snow-covered forest in search of a buck track to follow. Many hunters from Maine to Minnesota would rather be on the track of a buck when there is snow on the ground, than to hunt any other way. We cannot control when and where the snow might fall, and in some states the season is short, so tracking might not even be an option. In that case, a second choice for many hunters is to climb into a tree stand or crawl into a ground blind and wait for a buck to pass by. I have been guiding deer hunters in the big woods for 30 years and have had great success with stand hunting. The key is to find the best stand locations.

Deer densities are typically much lower in the big woods of the north as winter is the controlling factor in the size of the herd. One severe winter can cut the deer herd in half or even more—and it may take years for it to recover. Big woods hunters know that the odds are stacked against them for shooting a buck, especially without snow, but choose to hunt there anyway. Stand hunting in the big woods takes on a whole new meaning as bucks do not have any regular feeding or bedding areas. Big woods bucks are wanderers and may have a home range that extends for 10 miles in any direction. For that reason, finding a good stand location takes a lot of scouting.

The two best times to scout are late October after the leaves have fallen, and in the spring as soon as the snow melts and before green-up. Big woods bucks spend their summers in a relatively small area where the feed is good so they can recover from the long winter and fatten up for the next breeding season, which will come all too quickly. As soon as the leaves fall from the trees, the woods especially areas that have been logged, become more open and the bucks will seek areas with more cover. This is the time when bucks will begin to travel throughout their range and start to lay down sign. In the spring, buck sign such as rubs, and scrapes will still be visible after being covered in snow all winter.

From my experience, a buck in the Big Woods only uses only about 10 percent of his home range. If you know this than it is easy to figure out that you need to place a stand in that 10 percent. A buck will travel through his territory using the terrain and cover to his advantage. Much of this travel is done along transition zones between hardwood and softwood green growth areas. This affords them more cover and security. These transition zones are most often either along the swamps and bogs of the low country or high up on the ridges and mountains. The sign that I look for along these transition zones are signpost rubs and annual scrapes. Both types of sign that bucks lay down are in the same places year after year. They are also used by multiple bucks and are used generationally. Two of the three best stand locations center around this sign.

Read More: Deer Hunting Tips.

A successful spearfisherman kicks to the surface with a hefty striper. (peter correale/)

I still remember the first fish I speared like you remember your first deer. As I broke through a murky surface layer of river water into the blue gulf water beneath, I was greeted by two amberjacks swimming straight toward me. I aimed carefully and shot the closer AJ just behind the head. It rolled over as my spear shaft hit it. Just as I was about to start celebrating, the fish righted itself and surged toward the bottom, with me in tow. I was able to straddle the thrashing fish, grasping the shaft on either side of its head like handlebars on a motor­cycle, and eventually subdued it with my dive knife.

Spearfishing has been around since man first sharpened a stick and dove below the surface. But getting started can be intimidating. There are many components to it, but all of us were new to the sport at one time. These basics will help you get in the game.

Swimming lessons

There are two primary methods: free diving and scuba diving.

Free diving is done with a mask and snorkel only. The spearfisherman dives and returns to the surface while holding a single breath of air. Free diving offers the advantage of simplicity with no formal training and much less equipment. The free diver is able to move through the water much more easily, and there are no bubbles or regulator noises to spook fish. This is usually the preferred method for fishing shallow waters or targeting pelagic species, which are particularly sensitive to noise. It’s also the quickest and simplest way to enter the sport. All you really need is a mask, some fins, a spear, a knife, and a buddy (more on this later).

The keys to killing an animal cleanly are selecting the proper bullet and accurate shot placement. (Brad Fitzpatrick/)

The killing of an animal is something all hunters take seriously. We all want to make those kills as quickly and ethically as possible. Part of making a clean kill shot is choosing the right bullet. But how do bullets actually work? The question may seem elementary, but understanding the details about how a bullet is designed to perform upon impact, and as it drives into the tissue of an animal, will reduce the odds of choosing the wrong bullet.

How Bullets Dispatch Game

Arrows and broadheads cut through organs and blood vessels, and that damage causes the animal to expire. Bullets, by contrast, are much smaller projectiles fired at higher velocities and the wounds they cause are quite different. Bullets shed kinetic energy, but how much energy is spread depends upon the bullet’s construction and the velocity with which it strikes the target. For example, a full metal jacket may pass through an animal without creating a large wound channel or transferring substantial energy before passing through. If the shot is well-placed and strikes the brain (I’m not advocating for head shots), spinal cord, heart, or lungs that minimal transfer of kinetic energy will still be sufficient to kill the animal. However, when an expanding bullet opens, its wider nose cavity displaces water. Since most living tissue is primarily composed of water, the energy from the bullet travels through the fluid in the body, a process known as hydrostatic shock.

Bullets can cause tissue and bone damage by transferring radiating energy to the tissues surrounding the bullet cavity. This wave of energy can damage tissues and organs that weren’t directly hit by the bullet. The violent expansion seen in videos of bullets striking and passing through gel blocks demonstrates the massive energy transfer associated with hydrostatic shock. Hydrostatic shock is so important to bullet performance that Federal Ammunition even incorporates shock waves into their brand logo.

The question, then, is how do we make an animal expire quickly. The answer? Place a bullet accurately and allow it to effectively transfer shock to vital organs and vessels. Do so and game will die in short order every time.

The author's yellow Lab, Nellie, with a calf head she found on the ranch. (Andrew McKean/)

If, as they say, people select their dogs based on shared qualities, then I apparently ­imagine myself a puckish orphan with appalling food habits and a love of the putrid combined with an overdeveloped sense of both entitlement and guilt.

Nellie is a yellow Lab who turns 4 years old next spring, and to be fair, she also has some appealing traits, which I may or may not share. She has a surprisingly soft mouth and can scent a rooster from the next township, is as athletic as a lynx, and simply won’t give up on a retrieve, even at the risk of her health. She’s obnoxiously playful.

But it’s also fair to say that Nellie’s boardinghouse manners obscure her finer points, and if you doubt that, then you’ve never seen her contort her body to sniff the passage of her own gas.

I didn’t actually pick Nellie. She found me, the way listeria finds sanitarians, after my previous Lab, Willow, died in a hunting accident. If Willow lived to serve and obey, Nellie lives to find rotting ­morsels, and then bring them home.

They say that people receive the dogs they deserve, and if I think back on my own formative years, I see bits and pieces of myself in Nellie, minus the love of eating my own vomit and smelling my own farts. I was a stray. I roamed too widely, didn’t come when called, and ran around without a leash or collar. I ­preferred experiences over stability.

Justin Carbone of Federal Premium shooting the Savage B-22. (Joe Genzel/)

Justin Carbone of Federal Premium, a competitive precision rimfire shooter, was showing a group of us how capable .22 LRs are, ringing steel the size of a soda can out to 300 yards and beyond at a longrange rifle clinic in Utah. For a few of us sitting at the rifle bench behind Savage bolt guns, it became addicting. Why? Because you could physically see the little bullet hit the target through the scope. It would drop in with a looping trajectory, like a Steph Curry rainbow 3-pointer.

We were there mainly to shoot centerfires at distance, trying to be accurate out to a mile. And that was challenging. But try hitting a target the size of a tennis ball with a .22 LR at 300 yards in a 10 mph crosswind—it’s every bit as difficult. And shooting precision rimfire matches can also help you become a better hunter because it allows you to better understand the flight of the bullets you’re shooting. That will get you more familiar with bullet trajectories. Plus, if you can hit a target the size of squirrel with a .22 at 300, you damn sure can send a .270 through the vitals of a mule deer at the same distance.

There are plenty of plinker rimfires out there, but several companies are making match-ready guns and actions that cater to precision shooters. Rifles in NRL22 competition fall into two categories: base class (the rifle and optic must cost less than $1,050) and open class, which has no monetary limit. Carbone helped identify 10 of the best rimfires to consider buying for this sport. Here they are.

1. Anschutz 64

This is a rimfire for pro shooters or those of you who like dipping into your kid’s college fund to buy another gun. Carbone shoots this brand of rifle in his precision matches, and can tell you it’s the ultimate bad-ass .22 LR because of its adjustability for length of pull and comb height, plus the balance of the rifle is weight forward, so it makes for a steady setup. These guns have won Winter Olympic medals in the Biathlon, so they are plenty capable of winning local rimfire precision matches. The best thing about the 64, according to Carbone is it was built to be a .22 LR and Anschutz has been in the business since 1864, so they’re well versed in making accurate guns.

Nez Percé ethnographer Josiah Pinkham studies his tribe’s traditions and culture. (Tailyr Irvine/)

Even though the Nez Percé are an ancient people, tribal ethnographer Josiah Pinkham has spent much of his career focusing on the present and future. The 42-year-old might study the fossil record and visit archaeological sites across the Pacific Northwest, but his primary job is to immerse himself in the current customs, habits, and traditions of his tribe—then document it all. He calls it the scientific method of creating stories. Here’s how he thinks about hunting, storytelling, and passing on traditions and history.

Outdoor Life: What is your job, and how does hunting fit in?

Josiah Pinkham: I study all aspects of our culture. There’s some archival research, but I spend a lot of time talking to tribal members, learning stuff that’s important, like fishing areas, old hunting areas, places where people were buried, areas where we picked berries, and so on. One of my partners and I once learned to make sheep’s-horn bows, traditionally used for hunting buffalo on horseback. I try to focus on bigger things than my job and my career.

OL: What bigger things?

JP: Trying to figure out how the Nez Percé have maintained their culture and enabled them to live in a place for 16,000 years. And the responsibility is, How do I pass that along? So fitting a career into that is what I mean. The big thing is the survival of our culture, our people, our lands, our stories, and access to all of it.

If you hook into a gator this size, be ready for a fight. (mark andrew thomas/alamy/)

Setting the hook on a big muskie is thrilling. Coming tight on a bull redfish is a rush. But sinking a treble hook into a 15-foot, 1,000-pound prehistoric reptile? That’s a different experience altogether. There are a lot of ways to skin a gator hunt in the Southeast. But any hunt requires careful preparation, expertise, and specialized equipment.

If you’ve never been on a gator hunt, it’s smart to go with a guide (hunts start at around $700) or an experienced hunter, but you can also go on your own as a nonresident in some states (see sidebar). There are many regulations to navigate, and it’s also dangerous for newbies.

“Here in Florida, you can only hunt gators at night, so you’re contending with the darkness, driving the airboat over submerged stumps that could throw you into the water, and freak storms you can’t predict,” says Bill Booth, co-host of Swamp People: Serpent Invasion.

Here’s a look at the main tactics the pros use for catching these giant reptiles.

1. Baited Bank Hooks

Shooting offhand is an important skill, but it's not the gold standard for marksmanship. (John Hafner/)

We just might be in the golden era of rifle accuracy. New rifles, optics, and ammo have never been better. Nowadays we’re capable of accuracy (at very long distances) that was all-but-unattainable in decades past. These tools, plus more folks getting into long-range shooting sports have undoubtedly allowed many more shooters to maximize their potential when it comes to putting a bullet on-target. But is that really what good marksmanship is all about? Many would say no.

There are still many folks who look upon our modern shooting tools and see them as crutches. Whether it’s a bipod, tripod, or carrying a lightweight shooting bag in the field, using these aids is still scoffed at by some who seem to believe that the offhand shot is the true measure of a rifleman. These folks often contend that more traditional skills like shooting offhand or hitting running game are being forgotten. They’ll talk about the good ol' days, or claim that their animals are too spooky to bother with all of these new gizmos—they’ll be gone before you’re ready to shoot.

I don’t think that these folks are entirely wrong, but I do think that they’re missing the point of what true marksmanship means to us in a hunting situation.

Any increase in ability to hit what you’re aiming at, regardless of position or the gear you’re using, is a good thing. I also believe that the average hunter’s offhand shooting is not as good as it should be (including mine). Many hunters used to regularly shoot offhand, including the great Jack O’Connor. They killed stuff, and were likely better offhand shooters than most of us today. But they also missed a lot—and wounded a lot of game. It was a different time, and as we’ve grown as a hunting community, we have recognized the shortcomings of depending on such an unreliable shooting position. If the assertion that the offhand position is unreliable offends you, ask anyone who has stood at the 200-yard line with a service rifle. Even with a rigid shooting jacket, heavy rifle, and perfectly still target, it’s an extremely difficult (and perishable) skill to master—few ever do.

Although competent offhand shooting is a great skill to develop (and some hunting applications do absolutely require it), we’ve learned that when it comes to shooting at live animals, we owe it to them to take advantage of the most stable shooting position we can get in a given situation.

Lessons on life and hunting from my elders. (Jonathan Bartlett/)

Somewhere in Utah lies a long, cliff-rimmed mesa where I learned one of life’s secrets. It’s rugged, and as hard to get to as anyplace in the Lower 48. Anasazi dwelt there a thousand years back. Fire-blackened sand, broken pottery, and arrowhead chippings are mute reminders of the Old Ones who lived in the cliffs and hunted the sagebrush flats and oaky draws long ago.

Atop that mesa, hidden in a sandstone coulee, our campfire burned a hole in the darkness. We were footsore and tired from a long day of hiking and scouting for mule deer. Watching the fire, we relaxed and spoke of little.

The patriarch of the group sat cross-legged in the sand, rubbing the soreness from his wife’s feet. A folded bandanna encircled his head, capturing hair that showed just a hint of gray. A brain-tanned buckskin vest adorned his shoulders, tattered and worn. He looked at us around the fire, his eyes vivid in the flickering light. Eventually he spoke, addressing his kids, my brother, and me.

“You know what I want?”

Silence trickled by and I considered the man asking the question. He was as close to a true mountain man as could be found. He was also the father of my buddies, but to me he was more than that: He was a mentor, and his quiet observations and humorous hunting tales contained knowledge I craved. At this moment, in this place, he was entirely happy. His family was around him, he’d eaten well, and shelter was sure. Good hunting would come with the fall.

From top: The Winchester XPR, Ruger American Rifle Predator, and Weatherby Vanguard Select. (Bill Buckley/)

We queried the leading outdoor manufacturers and had them send us their top-selling affordable big-game rifles, scopes, and ammunition and put them to the test. The goal was to showcase the best bargains for cost-conscious deer hunters and to give a real-world account of how these rigs perform. The final results were telling. All are capable whitetail rifles. What separated them wasn’t so much their accuracy—­all shot pretty well—but rather their handling and ergonomics. We gave extra weight to rifles that came with extras, like scope bases (and in two cases, scopes), threaded barrels, and other money-saving features. This is a down-to-earth, ­honest evaluation of the rifles that make up the majority of new guns that hunters take afield each year.

Editor’s Choice: Mossberg Patriot Predator

When the dust settled, the Mossberg ­Patriot Predator was the top choice in this competitive field of firearms. It is a well-rounded rifle built for rough-and-tumble use that will serve you as faithfully as a Lab rescued from an animal shelter.

Here are some of the rifle’s best virtues. It’s fed by a five-round double-stack detachable magazine that is super easy to load, insert, and remove. The adjustable trigger on my sample broke at 2 pounds 11 ounces, an excellent weight for a general hunting rifle.

It was the second-most-accurate rifle in the test, with its five best 5-shot groups averaging 1.17 inches with standard deer ammo (see p. 117). What impressed me about that figure is that the smallest group was right at 1 inch, and it shot five different loads well enough to achieve that accuracy, an indication of the rifle’s versatility with respect to ammo choice.

Breathe easy. (Unsplash/Kristjan Kotar/)

In recent years, the consumer oxygen market has expanded to include anyone. It’s no longer just for pilots or professional athletes—individual oxygen canisters now offer the same benefits in a portable package for anyone after a long hike. Here’s what to look for in a cylinder of supplemental O~2~.

Supplemental oxygen comes in various grades, with over-the-counter (OTC) brands designated as “recreational” oxygen. Commercial products are distinct from medical oxygen, which requires a prescription and is for clinical use only. Because some amount of ambient air inevitably mixes with the oxygen from OTC dispensers, it is impossible to know how much oxygen any given consumer product delivers. Suffice to say that those with 95 to 99 percent pure oxygen will supply the most O~2~ per inhalation.

Some O~2~ products are labeled Aviators Breathing Oxygen (ABO), which is used by pilots to ward off oxygen loss at altitude. Most recreational oxygen is the same technology, albeit with more consumer-friendly delivery systems, size options, and even flavors.

Although perfectly legal and considered safe and non-habit forming, recreational oxygen is intended only for occasional use. Limit intake to those times when you need a boost to achieve peak physical performance or to focus and stay sharp. Supplemental oxygen also purports to relieve stress and aid restful sleep.