Pro Hunter Online

  While living in Wyoming, I had several exciting adventures. Some of them were planned, while others came about because I opened my mouth before giving my brain enough time to consider what I was saying. The Bible warns us: “Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.” —Proverbs 21:23, KJV On this particular occasion, I failed to keep either one—and trouble was already standing in a corral waiting for me. John Preston operated a guide business and owned several horses and pack mules. Most of the animals were well-broken and dependable, but there was one mule that had never been properly broken to ride. That mule had apparently made up his mind that no human being was ever going to sit comfortably upon his back. One Sunday night after church, John, Ray, Mike, and I were sitting around talking. Somehow, the conversation turned to breaking horses and mules. I had grown up around horses and ponies, so I possessed just enough experience to be confident and ju...

When I was younger, I feared very little. I was introduced to wild-cave exploration by an experienced youth leader who knew several of the caves scattered beneath the limestone hills of southern Indiana. These were not commercial caverns with electric lights, paved walkways and handrails. They were wild caves—dark, cold, muddy and largely unchanged by human hands. Once you crawled beyond the reach of daylight, you were entering a world where preparation, experience and good judgment could mean the difference between an adventure and a tragedy. One of the caves I came to know was Salamander Cave, also called Crystal Cave or Salamander–Crystal Cave. Located southwest of Bloomington in Monroe County’s Garrison Chapel karst region, Salamander reportedly contains approximately 4.2 miles of surveyed passage. That makes it one of the longer caves in the county. The cave was beautiful, but it was also dangerous. I learned something in Salamander Cave that I have never forgotten: a place can be...

  When I was much younger, I feared very little. Looking back, I realize that some of what I called courage was courage, and some of it was being young enough not to understand all the ways a man could get himself into trouble. Nevertheless, those adventures gave me memories and lessons that have remained with me for more than fifty years. I was introduced to the sport of caving by the youth leader at Hazel Dell Friends Church. He was an experienced caver who understood the underground country of southern Indiana. He knew where several of the more interesting caves were located, how to enter them, and how to find his way through their dark passages. That experienced guidance was important because these were not commercial caves. There were no electric lights, concrete walkways, handrails, gift shops or guides standing at the entrance. These were what we called wild caves . Inside a wild cave, you found the same conditions that had existed for generations: darkness, mud, cold water,...

  I have never claimed to be much of a fisherman. Truth be told, I never really enjoyed fishing all that much. It seemed that nearly every fishing trip I went on eventually turned into a swimming trip—and most of the time, the swimming was more interesting than the fishing. My dad, however, was a fisherman. He enjoyed the sport and apparently believed that, with enough patience and opportunity, he could make a fisherman out of me. He never quite succeeded, but he did give me some memories that have stayed with me for more than seventy years. My first fishing trip took place when I was about five years old. We were living in South Bend, Indiana, not far from Lake Michigan. My dad, my grandfather, my great-uncle Bunker, and I went fishing on Lake Michigan. As best as I can remember, we were standing on a pier with our lines in the water. Uncle Bunker was teaching me how to fish. He was more excited about it than I was. He kept telling me to watch the line and be ready because I might...

I believe it was sometime around November of 1972, while Laverna and I were living in Wyoming, that I went with two friends, John Presley and Ray Nito, into the Yellowstone wilderness to hunt elk, deer, and possibly bear. John and Ray were not inexperienced weekend hunters. John operated a guide business, and Ray was an Indian who knew the mountains and understood big game. They had spent years hunting in country where the weather could change without warning and one wrong decision could cost a man his life. I was a young fellow from Indiana. As far as they were concerned, I still had something to prove. The Shooting Test About a week before the trip, John and Ray decided to find out whether I could handle a rifle. They placed a paper plate approximately one hundred yards away and handed me a single-shot .30-06 rifle with open sights. There was no scope and no second cartridge waiting in the chamber. Every time I fired, I would have to open the rifle, remove the empty casing, load anot...