Posts by Brad Gill
Jugs, Trot Lines For Big Numbers Of Oconee Catfish
I met Wayne Moore 17 years ago after killing my first deer, a small-racked buck from Coweta County. At the time dad and I didn’t know much about quartering-up game, so we took it down the road to a local deer processor. There, we were greeted by a middle-aged man with an long, dark beard.…
Read MoreFishing For Clarks Hill’s Untouched Flatheads
It took about 30 phone calls before I finally began to tap into a few folks who backed a boat into the gin-clear waters of Clarks Hill with the sole purpose of trying to hook into a flathead catfish. The flathead makes its most famous Georgia home in the Altamaha River, where it’s known for…
Read MoreMarch Is Monster Bass Time At Lake Varner
Mike Meason and I had been throwing spinnerbaits and jigs on Lake Varner for a few hours and hadn’t had a bite. “There’s no harder time to do an article for y’all than in February,” said Mike. “March is unbelievable out here, but February can be tough.” As is the case with so many GON…
Read More2005 Georgia Turkey Special: Tough Hunting Expected
Opening day of turkey season… what a glorious time in a hunter’s life. You wade through deer season, spend the next two months wing-shooting at wood ducks, chasing beagles through the short pines or lining up your .22 rifle on a flattened-out bushytail sunning himself on a sun-baked hickory branch. It almost seems like passing…
Read MoreBig Crankbaits On Shallow Oconee Docks
Robbie Sowash wanted to be on the water right at 7 o’clock. “Daylight,” I thought. “Is there an early bite on Oconee? It’s mid January.” I must confess. It had been quite a while since my feet were planted on the deck of a boat while I chunked bass lures into my home waters of…
Read MoreFall Fiction: Buck No. 27 Part 5
A half-dozen flashlights bounced off the deerʼs brown hide where it lay just inside a narrow stand of privet. Jenny Lewisʼs smile was bigger than a quarter moons as she stared down and enjoyed the congratulatory pats on the back and high fives. “Giant doe,” said Ben Harris, Jennyʼs 18-year-old boyfriend. “Only your second time…
Read MoreFall Fiction: Buck No. 27 Part 4
When Mike Kilgoreʼs tubby body fell beside his small dome tent nearly a quarter of a mile from the palmetto thicket, he slammed his scoped .22-magnum rifle down into a mat of thin pinestraw. Todd had arrived a minute earlier and was already sitting in the campʼs only chair. “That was Leeʼs voice…why did you…
Read MoreFall Fiction: Buck No. 27 Part 3
“Sounds like weʼre getting pretty close… time to put it in stealth mode,” whispered Mike Kilgore. “I bet we ainʼt but 150 yards from the deer,” Todd Swain whispered back. “Youʼre fat… I can be quieter than you. Give me the gun, and Iʼll go alone.” “Iʼm fixing to slam the butt of this gun in…
Read MoreFall Fiction: Buck No. 27 Part 2
“Knife? I ainʼt got my knife,” said Todd Swain. “You really are a moron, Todd,” Mike Kilgore said pointing a short, fat finger in Toddʼs face. “I figured youʼd forget your blade — thatʼs why Iʼve got mine.” Todd put his head down and ran his cold hands along the thick, long beams of the giant…
Read MoreFall Fiction: Buck No. 27 Part 1
Two minutes after midnight on the new moon in August, clouds hid the stars and a light wind kept the mosquitoes from landing on Lee Blantonʼs face. With his rifle propped on a pine limb, Lee flipped a switch on a camo-covered spotlight attached to the bottom barrel of his gun and a two-acre pea…
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