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This article originally appeared on Foxworthy Outdoors. Feb. 8, 2012.

“Mr. Scott, I can’t see him…..he’s too far,” said fourteen year old Josh Vogt. 

“He’s not too far – you shot over him.  Now take a good breath, let it half out and squeeze……easy like,” I replied. 

Josh’s Dad and my best friend, Dr. Steve Vogt, was lying on the other side of the boy and said, “It’s OK Josh, just squeeze the trigger.”  

This article originally appeared on Foxworthy Outdoors. March 1, 2012.

“Shhhhh…I hear a moose,” whispered Steve Vogt.

“Yeah, I hear him too.  Sounds like he’s a half mile down river,” I replied.

The 16-foot aluminum boat with its jet drive kicker drifted down King Salmon Creek, no motor running….quiet like, just oars keeping the boat in the middle of the creek.  The cold fog hung low across the river.  You could breathe its water. 

Steve looked back at me from the bow where he sat and said, “Scotty, I’m going to kill a moose.” 

He had the look of a fighter pilot approaching his target. 

You see, a few years earlier I had killed a fine bull moose in the Mulchatna drainage area several hundred miles to the north and now it was Steve’s turn.  We had flown commercially into King Salmon, rented a boat with enough gasoline to run a destroyer for a week then headed up King Salmon Creek. 

This article originally appeared on Foxworthy Outdoors. July 5, 2012.

I opened my eyes to a new morning as steam poured out my sleeping bag, like smoke rising to the roof of the tent. 

“Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day,” I thought. 

The Coleman bag was very damp but very warm. Hollofil is a life-saver in the bush. On the other side of the tent Steve Vogt is mumbling something about a train wreck. I crawled out of the bag, opened up my duffel bag and pulled out a new set of clothes that had been closed up in a garbage bag. 

This article originally appeared on Foxworthy Outdoors. Nov. 20, 2012.

Have I told you I have a grandson? Well…like so many older folks who like to brag about their grandkids, I guess I’m now one of ‘em. Sam Railey will be 2 years old this coming January. I know this sounds a little premature, but I’m building Sam a rifle. I know he’s only two, but the boy is going to need a rifle one day. It makes perfect sense to me that I continue the great outdoor experiences that I had with his Dad, Matt and his Uncle Steve, my other son with Sam. As a father and grandfather, it is a special time to present a young boy with his “first rifle.”