Posts by Daryl Gay
Bridge Creek Clays
Looking back at it after all these years, it’s likely that a BB gun with no sights was the starting point. Now, Mike Simpson is handling five-figure Perazzi over-and-unders while training Olympic gold medalists. “I learned to shoot by pointing that gun, not sighting it,” Simpson said. “I remember my first dove shoot, at 6…
Read MoreDoves Amidst The Wall Of Lead
“Just once,” I wheedled Dylan. “We’ve never tried it before. There ain’t any other option. And it’s what’s known as an adventure.” Probably should have left off that last statement, because he’s heard it all his life. And our “adventures” sometimes tend to turn out not so sporty… Here’s the deal: I had never been…
Read MoreJust Blame It On…
Uh-oh. Blue lights. Think fast. (Which, admittedly, ain’t one of my strong suits.) So we’ll simply do what everybody else does… First thing is to glance down—heart in throat—at the pickup’s speedometer: YIKES!!! That’s what you get for cruising—and I DO mean cruising—these lonely county-maintained roads. Secondly, try to figure out how long it’s been…
Read MoreCoastal Hog Hunting
For Martin Richter the hunting story started with his maternal grandfather, Richard Link. The time was shortly after World War II in the late 1940s. The place? Bamberg, in what was then known as West Germany. Fast-forward to last month. Late afternoon, Richter is somewhere between Brunswick and Jesup, some 35 miles from the Georgia…
Read MoreTake My Advice…
The time-honored tradition of giving and taking advice is all but lost these days. Mostly, it seems, because everybody already knows everything. Pity. It’s also possible that they may be surrounded by a host of would-be advisers who collectively are dumber than a cracked rock. (As I look around me in this convenience store, everybody…
Read MorePractical Philosophying
When you have a mind like mine—or what’s left of it—philosophical discussions can turn into wondrous occasions. Eons ago, I learned all there is to know about philosophy from this one professor—Ol’ RC. That wasn’t actually his name, you see, which is but a portion of learning this philosophy business in the first place. So…
Read MoreMeet The Jack Crevalle
Funny, the things that run through your mind at a time like this… “It’s an overlooked fishery,” guide Capt. Garrett Ross had said. Three fishermen in a boat 75 yards away have been fruitlessly beating the bank’s rip-rap up and down for at least the last 20 minutes. Mere yards beyond them, the 8 a.m.…
Read MoreWayne County Catfish Tournament Won With 119.10 Pounds, 23-Lb. Average
It’s a lazy Sunday morning here, but the tension is palpable at Jaycee Landing. Trucks with trailered boats are beginning to line up nose to tail for a hundred yards as Ronnie Kent turns and says, “This is why I never like to weigh in early!” Ronnie and his wife Melissa are fixtures at the…
Read MoreAltamaha River Cats Around The Clock
“Vast” is the word that comes to mind as the 90-horse Yamaha glides its attached Ranger up the mighty Altamaha River. It is, in fact, quite a bit mightier at the moment than I was hoping for. Weather is notorious for refusing to cooperate with magazine deadlines, and instead of water levels in the desired…
Read MoreChukker In The Dark
It’s always easier to keep up with Jake the Hermit—assuming I really want to—in the daytime. I can slip around with the best of them, the best of them being Ol’ Jake hisself, who taught me how to slip around in the first place. Got all that? But at night? Forget it. Unless perchance you…
Read More