At first, I didn’t believe it.
My German shorthair, Zap, was standing stock-still on a Kansas hillside, washed in the golden light of a mid-November evening. He’d never pointed a bird before — not a wild one, at least — so even though I’d watched him slam to a stop, it took a second to realize what was happening. Oh shoot, I thought, this is the real deal.
Half-running, half-walking, I huffed along the hillside, shotgun shells jostling in my vest. But before I could reach the dog, he got antsy and broke forward, coming to another point, this one more intense, with his head slung low, tail arched high.
I’ll never forget the sight of that rooster launching from the grass, crimson feathers shining in the warm light as he streaked right, or the pride I felt when Zap, not yet a year old, came trotting back to me with the pheasant in his mouth.
Forgive me for opening this column with a hunting story. It’s just that I’m writing this during hunting season, and that trip — now eight years ago — has been on my mind lately as I reflect on 18 years of traveling the country to hunt, fish and report on professional bass tournaments as a writer and editor.
Like so many of my favorite moments in the field, I could show you on a map exactly where I knelt to shower praise on Zap in that first “real” hunting moment we shared together. I could also show you the exact rocky point in a local river where I netted my oldest daughter’s first cast-to-catch keeper, the spot in the Kentucky Lake tailrace where I photographed Ray Hanselman winning his fourth consecutive tournament, the brushy corner of a Michigan lake where a 4-pounder torpedoed through inches of water to crush my Spro Rat (easily the coolest bite ever). And on, and on, and on …
The point is, if you spend a lot of time outdoors, the places where you experience your most special moments remain in your mind forever. If you’re like me, you make sure of it by marking every memorable spot with a waypoint.
I feel blessed that my actual GPS, and the internal one in my memory bank, are filled with waypoints. If I traced them all back, I’d replay an incredible journey of adventure and reward.
I keep reflecting on my journey partly because I just turned 40. (Yes, it’s as heartbreaking as it sounds.) But also, I recently started a new adventure as the executive editor of Bassmaster Magazine. I can’t say I ever expected to be here, but I’m so excited that I am.
Mostly, though, I feel grateful to join this awesome team of writers, editors, designers, illustrators and photographers. For decades, Bassmaster has helped anglers fill their own memory maps with waypoints. Now, it’s one of the last great outdoor publications left. The hard-working people contributing to Bassmaster today shoulder a big responsibility. It’s their job — and now mine, too — to carry the torch. What a privilege to be part of the story.
I think one reason why special moments in the outdoors leave such an impression is that you never know how long it’ll be until a similar moment happens again. That’s why I felt so lucky on that November day when I hugged my little bird dog in some Kansas bluestem. I’d never felt that way before, and I vowed I’d do whatever it takes to experience that feeling again. Just as I’ll keep trying to put my daughter on her next personal best and capture the next winning moment.
And I’ll do all I can to fill these pages with stories and advice that will help inspire you to experience those kinds of moments a little more often, too.