Add Yahoo as a preferred source to see more of our stories on Google. An illustration of a grizzly bear tumbling down a mountain as hunters get out of the way. “It” was a wounded, somersaulting ...

Long before I was old enough to hunt, I’d walk through the woods bird-dogging game for my dad, mom or older brother. I’d seen more dead deer than I could count. I was never squeamish about them. But ...

There’s a place in the hill country of southern Ohio, not far from the town of Beaver, that the local farmers have called Buck Hollow for as long as anybody can remember. For my money, it’s well named ...

My only job is to remember how many times we turn left. That’s what my dad told me before the hunt. I have his smoothbore 870 Wingmaster slung over my shoulder as I try to keep up. My pack feels heavy ...

The black night sky had just softened to an inky blue as I nestled the rifle stock into my shoulder and peered through the scope. I was perched on a small foldout camping stool behind a stack of ...