bernie kuntz

When I was a teenager I knew of an old fellow who carried onto a boat a rectangular wash tub where he would toss northern pike that he and his family caught. The fish were a sight to see when he arrived in camp in late afternoon. Sitting in the sun all day, the fish had a brown,...

During the boat run to Warehouse Bay I think back on the trip so far. Memorable stuff, like when we reached the border and Canadian customs asked Laurie and Katrina where they were going. Ben piped and said enthusiastically, “Canada!” The guard chuckled and said, “Canada’s...

(First of two parts) “Each of us has an ‘Up North.’ It’s a time and a place far from the here and now. It’s a map on the wall, a dream in the making, a tugging at one’s soul. For those who feel the tug, who make the dream happen, who put the map in the packsack and go,...

Fifty years ago The Wilderness Act was signed into law, establishing wilderness areas in a number of states, particularly in the West, creating a uniquely American concept. That is wild lands preserved in their original state, yet open to hiking, backpacking, horse-riding, hunting,...

“I grew up in paradise and didn’t know it,” Katrina says wistfully as she watches the trees and sky from our patio in Bozeman, Montana. “Just listen to the wind through the trees, the leaves rustling … in Texas and Oklahoma all we had was wind.” She thinks a moment and...

One of the most ingenious stories of breaking a fishing rod is a tale I read not long ago about a fellow fishing for smallmouth bass out of a kayak (why in the hell would anyone fish out of a kayak?) According to this guy’s account, he landed a smallmouth caught on a jig, but while...

Gray’s Sporting Journal published a piece I wrote entitled “Absaroka Rams” in its fall 1979 issue, and I have been a subscriber ever since, exposing me to the tales of John Hewitt, who wrote regularly for Gray’s over several decades until he suffered a stroke seven years ago...

In 1967 at age 18 I determined that I wanted to go on a hunting trip somewhere out-of-state, so I contacted a few outfitters in western states and Canada. I settled on a mountain lion hunt in southeastern British Columbia because it was all I could afford at the time. (The outfitter...

I quit fly-fishing about the same time as I quit riding motorcycles — when I was in my late 40s. I ceased the motorcycle riding because I began to feel my mortality, thinking I might end up crippled up in an accident. As it was, I managed to become disabled even without a motorcycle...

The place was called George’s Landing on the west side of Jamestown Reservoir, and I have no idea if it exists today. But it was an access point to the reservoir for shore fishermen and that is what we were in the 1950s — shore fishermen — my brother, father and mother, Ed and...

I’ve been wearing western hats for more than 40 years, but I’m no cowboy. As one who regards horses as necessary evils in getting into the backcountry, I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a little bit afraid of them. The first time I did any serious horseback riding was in 1972...

In my home office are bookshelves that encompass about 25 feet of outdoor books of all types, some dating back to the 1960s, and many on the subjects of upland bird hunting, waterfowling and big game hunting. Looking through those books it is interesting to note the clothing worn...