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Wisco Wildscapes, 407 S Walnut St, Greensburg, KS (2026)

04/22/2026

18APR2026 - TURKEY SEASON PT 1

Hello, turkey season. It’s been far too long.

This was the last ‘first hunt back’ since coming home from my deployment, and it didn’t disappoint. This year was the first time since 2018 that I drew first season, and it sure was nice to get after it early. For the second year in a row, Dad and I had to cancel our canoe hunt plan due to considerable flooding, so it was once again a blessing to have the land to fall back on.

While waiting for Dad to get to the Outpost, I was greeted by a welcome party of toms from the front porch- I took it as a good omen. Weather was less than favorable through the evening and overnight, with wind and periodic rain. Dad and I didn’t roost any at last light, so we based our plan on the 13 years of experience on the property. As the sky began to break, we found ourselves on the topside edge overlooking the flooded river bottoms, and accidentally about 75 yards from a roosted tom. Like many a turkey before, he gave us the cold shoulder and pitched into the bottoms to tend to a hen. We quickly moved down our old trail and got set up close enough to where we could call and get responses, but out of sight enough where we wouldn’t spook them. An hour passed and our persistent yelping finally brought in not one, but two toms through the brush. We’d set out a hen decoy to sweeten the pot, but for whatever reason they skirted around and went back up to the area they roosted.

Dad and I moved back up to the power line to try to cut them off on one of the most heavily-traveled areas we had. After another couple hours of periodic calls and only having a group of jakes come through to show for, Dad and I started discussing plans for having to leave soon. 10 minutes later, I looked South to see two half-strut toms standing on the 400-yd shooting target berm, about 100 from where we set up. As luck would have it, they marched down the power line, giving one strut in passing, and I took the bigger of the two at 35.

It’s hard to beat weekends like this, and it’s even better being able to share it with Dad. My next chance at another is 6th season, so we’ve got some time before I hear spring thunder up close again.

02/07/2026

ARUBA 2026

As someone who prides himself on the ability to stay warm in the cold and navigate woods and hills, tropical islands aren’t my area of expertise. Honestly, Aruba wasn’t historically at the top of my list for places to visit- it didn’t have the lore of Hawaii’s jungles and volcanoes, the species diversity of the Galapagos, or the waves of Tahiti. But when my wife and her family offered to take us, who am I to say no to seeing a new part of the world?

The small island from tip to tip is only ~20 miles. It’s only 16 miles from the closest shore of Venezuela, and despite being in the tropics, it’s a relatively barren landscape compared to what I imagine an island would be. Cacti and hip-high brush were the primary plant matter outside cities and coasts, with few native mammals. There were plenty of bird species to keep my nature mind occupied- pelicans with no fear of people, finch-like Bananaquits, and burrowing owls were the highlights of life on the island, but what excited me was what lay beneath the waves.

A few beach trips over the 6-day trip gave us the chance to see sea turtles and schooling fish galore, but the real excitement came from my first-time deep-sea fishing. Carla, captained by Carlos and first mate Rudolph, brought us to the southern end of the island. At times we were in 650 feet of water, but we spent most of our time between 150-200. About an hour from the boardwalk we hooked into our first fish- a Bonita, member of the tuna family. A few passes along that same area everyone in the party landed at least one, and I found myself in the seat waiting for another while also responsible for the weighted drop line. The opposite seat was the golden rod, pulling in most of the Bonitas and one Rainbow Runner on the day. Soon after I pulled in a Bonita, the deep line released and I was tasked with hand-pulling whatever was at the end of it. Long story short, I pulled up a 25-lb Wahoo, a game fish known for its speed. It’s by far the biggest fish I’ve ever caught, and when grilled up less than an hour after returning to shore, it was much like chicken both in taste and texture. I’m a fan and would happily eat more if given the opportunity.

01/16/2026

PHEASANTS 2025

Ringnecks are a bird I have grown quite fond of over the more recent years of my life. They’re charismatic in their colors and behavior, abundant in areas close enough to home to make a half-day hunt, and for someone who doesn’t pride himself in his shotgun skills, plenty a challenge when they take flight. This year gave me two opportunities to chase them, once in Iowa at my Uncle’s access, and once in Kansas with my father-in-law for a brand new experience.

Uncle Kerry invited me down to Iowa in the same familiar fields I’ve walked over the past few years. He had seen a good number of roosters in the summertime, and even a few mingling around while he was bowhunting in early October. Knowing we had the Kansas trip coming later in the year, we hoped that this hunt would be a good way for Toby to get a crash course on field work and see how he interacted with dogs he wasn’t familiar with. The couple-hour walk only produced one rooster despite nearly 20 total flushes, but he was a dandy. Toby did great, and that experience transferred well in Kansas.

My father-in-law, Jason, had joined John, Alyssa’s uncle, on this hunt last year, at Upland Inn Hunts in Greensburg, KS. The group is primarily retired Army Soldiers, with a couple currently serving and a couple family members among the 11 man party. I was invited to join on the condition that I’d hunt safely and shoot straight. I could promise the former.
2 days of hunting for a 12 hour drive may seem like a bad trade, but what those fields produced was worth it. Upland Inn hosts 12000 acres of prime pheasant habitat, primarily CRP, milo, and cut corn skirted by timber lines, and we worked about 9 miles overall. Kansas has a 4-rooster daily limit; quick math puts our group at 44 birds a day and 88 total if we hit those numbers. Long story short, we did. Fast. It only took about 3 hours on day 1 to knock down a limit, and 87 minutes on the second. Less than 5 hours of hunting for just shy of triple digit roosters, and the crazier part is that it’s sustainable. It’s an incredible management story, and I don’t do it justice writing here. I just hope to be invited back so I can learn and shoot more.

01/02/2026

DUCK SEASON 2025

“I’m going duck hunting in the morning!” Words I haven’t said in 13 years. The last time I threw on a set of waders and slung a shotgun over my shoulder was when Dad and I took a week off school when I was in 8th grade and drove out to North Dakota pothole country, and the year before to South Dakota. Those trips marked some of the best days of hunting I’d ever seen, and was told that it would be hard to top with any flyway around home. The spring after we took on ND, my family bought the hunting land and virtually all our time had been dedicated to deer management- so ducks fell to the wayside. After coming home from Kuwait, my best man, Q, told me stories of the previous fall and his experience getting back into wing shooting, and this past summer he bought a boat. He invited me out, and those old embers reignited.

Early mornings, public land spotlight wars, neon green LED boat lighting, and foggy mornings were a fresh experience to my hardened deer hunting ways- 3 AM meetups at Q’s place were standard, and we quickly learned that on busy weekends, that was too late to start. Over the course of the season, we made our way out into the Mississippi River backwaters 4 times and got our share of shooting in. My swamp time primarily came during early season, where we shot plenty of wood ducks, green and blue winged teal, and a healthy few pintails. Opening weekend even brought a bonus goose, something Q hadn’t had the fortune of tackling last year.

Dad, Berit, and I took Toby out for his first duck hunt as well, to the little pond in the river bottoms of the land. We were only out for an hour, but B smacked a beautiful drake woodie on her only shot of the morning. I was hopeful to get Toby his first water retrieve, but his inexperience showed some when he took a perfect line to the downed bird, sniffed it, and turned around. He has some work to do on the Labrador “retriever” thing, but he’s still just a pup. Now that I’m home, I’ll have to work more with him before I feel comfortable bringing him to the public swamps next fall. I’m confident he’ll get there. A hell of a way to get back into an old hobby. Hopefully they’re still flying next year.

12/09/2025

DEER SEASON 2025

Few things were missed more than what the words “Wisconsin Deer Season” encapsulate. Frosty mornings, feverishly checking trail cam pictures as they’re uploaded, Magic Hour, and the hope of interacting with one of the wariest creatures on the planet. I recently discovered that whitetails are the world’s leading wild mammal for total biomass (cherry picked stat, sure), and yet, it still took me to the last day of the 9-day gun season to come up empty handed.

The world is ridiculously “go go go.” I am guilty of that, but I also try to make sure I take the time during hunting season to slow down and breathe. It’s hard to deer hunt fast, especially with a bow during October and early November; my dad had a t-shirt when I was a kid in the ‘Life’s Good’ style of a bowhunter in a tree stand with the caption “Gone Thinking,” and there’s lots of truth to that. A lot of world problems could be solved if more people took time to sit in a tree. Until that happens, I guess I’ll bear the burden and be one who contemplates.

I’ve written about gun season plenty before, with its timeless traditions, excitement, and ultimate hope of opportunity at one of the bucks that never walked by during bow sits. This season was special because Alyssa decided to come sit in a blind with me on opening morning, and as it turns out, she should have stayed out. By noon on opening day we’d seen 20 deer, all of which were doe or small bucks. After she headed home, I saw more doe and young bucks, then proceeded to not be presented wit a shooter buck nor a shooting opportunity at a big doe for the rest of my 3 sits during the season. While there’s always a chance I may get to do a late season bow sit, I sit writing this knowing I didn’t fill a tag for a lack of effort. That’s just how it goes some years. Sometimes seasons are lackluster, but it’s never a reason not to go out again.

There are a few more adventures to document for this fall, and I am excited to put words to them. Stay tuned.

11/01/2025

23-28SEP2025 - BLACK HILLS

South Dakota, we meet again. A trip that was considered a “second honeymoon” post-deployment, Alyssa, Toby, and I set off for the Black Hills. This trip was full of novel experiences, but I’d be lying if a part of me didn’t want to retrace my steps of chasing turkeys like I did the last time I was here in 2022.

We started in the Badlands, taking in the stunning views of the rock formations and putting the new spotting scope to work for the first time, capturing images of Mule Deer, Bighorn Sheep, and American Bison. These animals are icons of the American west, and it’s not lost on me just how special it is to have each species still around after their near eradication in the early 1900s. Spaces like the Badlands are special because of their ability to preserve what once was, but I’ll always wonder what it was like to see expanses of millions of animals traversing the plains before the hide hunters made their way across the continent.

We stayed in an AirBnB way off on its own, home to pronghorn, whitetails, and some of the biggest cattle I’ve ever seen. We took our next couple days to explore a part of the hills I didn’t see in 2022, driving and hiking Spearfish Canyon and Black Elk Peak- the highest point East of the Rockies and West of Europe. The views of the surrounding landscape was worth the 7 mile round trip. Our final destinations included Wind Cave National Park and Custer State Park’s Wildlife Loop, where we saw even more buffalo, primarily cows and calves with a few old bulls in the mix. We weren’t quite in time for prime fall colors, but that didn’t dampen spirits.

This trip was a good opportunity for reflections. The Black Hills were special to me because of my ‘22 solo hunt, one that in my mind marked the start of the out-of-state Wildscapes journey. Being back here helped solidify the idea that there is always more than one way to see the world. While my personal lens may usually be through the sportsman’s glass, it’s not so bad sitting back and watching the world go by and hoping for a specific outcome. I said it last time I was here, but I will one day be back to the Black Hills, for one reason or another.

10/20/2025

29SEP2025 - FIRST MONTHS BACK

Distance makes the heart grow fonder- a cliche that usually describes long distance relationships or family living across the country. Being stuck 6700 miles from home, across an ocean and on the wrong continent really puts it into perspective. 11 months missing family, friends, and the things that define me. I quickly learned how much I appreciated Wisconsin, the land, and water. It’s hard to describe how nice it is to come home and be surrounded by the color green, see the river, and even hear the rain.
I try to look at new experiences through an outdoorsman’s lens. When we left, our first stop was in southwest Texas. It was easy to see the good in the area- sagebrush expanses you hear about in desert mulie or coues deer hunts, and now for African Oryx seen while moving around base. Seeing an animal for the first time always holds excitement, these things were no different. Maybe one day the stars will align for me to chase one away from an army base, but I can’t say it’s at the top of my bucket list.
Kuwait was less admirable. Off post, the only signs of life are herds of domestic camels, scorpions, feral dogs, and two-foot lizards that wreak havoc on sniper ranges (Thank you range control, it’s good to remind myself I can still shoot). Miserable and desolate- the sand, wind, and 120° heat is a combo humans shouldn’t exist in, much less fight over. “At least it’s a dry heat.” Sure, but there’s a point where it doesn’t matter, the Middle East doesn’t even read it on the bottom of the thermometer.
Some writers describe their lives in numbers of seasons; falls they’ve seen or fear of the springs they’ve got left. Recognizing my youth, I hope I’ve got more sand in the top of my hourglass, but it doesn’t feel good knowing I missed out on a late fall to summer in the woods. I don’t wish to trade another season for an endless summer again.
Since being home, I’ve fished, bowfished, mounted my 2024 turkey, prepped for deer season, and traveled back to the Black Hills with Lyss and Toby. It’s been so nice being home, and I’m excited to get back to work after some needed time off. Fall is here, and it’s time to write some new stories.

11/27/2024

23NOV2011- My First Buck
In my absence this year, I feel this is a good time to tell this story. I hope someone enjoys it.
I’d shot my first doe the year before, and I wanted to shoot my first buck that year. Leary’s farm in Onalaska had a history of better-than-decent bucks in the valley, so I was excited as ever. To my best memory, I only remember seeing decent bucks at a minimum. I can’t recall a year more young bucks than mature deer roamed the farm- maybe it’s nostalgia comparing what I’d view as a solid buck by my current standards as big back then or what, but I choose to remember that farm as a big deer haven.
The Sunday of opening weekend that year, Dad and I had the chance to double up on two good deer when 3 bucks came out in a perfect line ~200 yards following a doe. He gave me the first shot and lined up on the second. I squeezed one off, he quickly let his fly. After a couple shots at each deer, we went to check damage. To my dismay, I missed my buck, but Dad hit his. We found the blood trail and his nice 10 pointer wasn’t far from where we last saw him.
The weekend came and went, and after two of the worst days of 7th grade a hunter could have, I told Dad that I wanted to hunt the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. He seemed surprised, but for some reason I had a good feeling about that day. Out we went, and shortly after we got set up in our camo-net covered straw bale blind that Dad made with leftover Halloween decorations from Grandma’s house, I fell asleep. In what felt like minutes, Dad nudged me awake and said, “Get the gun, there’s a shooter!” I put my crosshairs on the buck’s shoulder, never looking at his rack, and pulled. He ran over the crest, and Dad and I moved his way. We never found any blood, but as we crested the hill, Dad picked me up in the biggest hug he’s ever given me and said, “You did it buddy, you got him!” He set me down and I saw what he saw- an antler sticking up a few dozen yards away. We called Mom, took pictures, and spent the rest of the day celebrating what’s still the biggest deer I’ve ever had a chance at. Someone told me that day, ‘you’ll be chasing a deer like this the rest of your life little man.’ He was right.

11/23/2024

23NOV2024- REFLECTIONS

Today’s tough for me. It’s the first time in 20 years I’m not out somewhere in the Wisconsin woods watching for whitetails on opening day of gun season. Instead, I sit in the Middle East writing what I can’t help but feel should be my annual “I love gun season” post. It doesn’t feel right not being up at the land with Dad and deer camp, recapping bow season, talking about trail cam pictures, or how “The Beast” would be stirring as much as we were the night before. This outside perspective isn’t one I’d like to get used to.

I’ve never been one to be bothered by the cold. I miss the cold. I miss the fog of my breath as the sky starts to break, making sure not to breathe too hard and fog up the scope when checking lanes or when the moment of truth comes. I miss the big blaze orange coat I’ve worn every year since we got the land that was passed down from Dad. I miss my rabbit fur bomber hat that I got with Mom when I was in 5th grade, and how I only recently retired it because I finally realized I couldn’t hear very well in it. Every season, it still sits in my pack, but this year both stay hung up, not getting to feel the November wind or smell spent gunpowder that hangs in the dense, cold air.

I picture overcast skies and maybe dustings of snow in the corners of the food plots, waiting for the first shot that’s inevitably a few minutes too early in regulation’s eyes. I miss hearing the coyotes before daybreak, and the primal difference in attitude from their cries in the dark versus light. I miss texting Dad updates across the 40, telling him about every deer I see, him the same, as excited as if we’ve never seen a whitetail in our lives.

I miss the smell of chili and the meat and cheese board at the deer camp cabin across the river. I miss the dim, warm light, the laughter from the group, the excitement and stories from the year past. I miss driving Dad back to the outpost, stoking the fireplace, and turning the light off and us still being in awe at how dark it is up there. After all these years, we still can’t see our hands in front of our faces when we turn the lights off.

Good luck boys, shoot straight. Paint the woods red for me.

09/23/2024

DEER SEASON 2024
As previously mentioned, deer season 2024 would be cut short due to my upcoming deployment. I promised myself that just because I didn’t have a ton of time, it wouldn’t dampen my spirits to get into the woods. The past few years have been steadily getting better on the land in terms of quality and quantity of really good bucks on early season camera activity, with summer pictures producing 3 of the biggest deer we’ve seen on our property. A ‘hit list’ of sorts was established- but a late addition came through a month before season. “Cinco” was a buck that we could easily determine was a mature deer with a very unimpressive set of antlers- 5 total points, per his dubbed namesake. It didn’t take long for deer camp to determine that if the opportunity arose, he was worthy of an arrow and not given the “he’ll be huge next year” pass.
Over the week or so of hunting I had available, I sat 5 days, did my best to play the wind and weather, and was pleasantly surprised by the amount of deer I saw. On the evening of September 20, I sat in a blind that dad set up that morning on a permanent platform. The wind had finally shifted from the week of SE to SW, and conditions felt great. Magic hour started at 6:07, and deer started moving into the plots I sat over quickly after, including a very nice 3.5 year old buck that I planned on passing if he came close enough for a shot. As I attempted to get a picture through my binos, I glanced behind me into the plot I sat directly over. From the woodline, Cinco moved across, and close. I set my binos down, grabbed my bow, drew, settled in, watched as he came directly into my open window at 17 yards, and stopped perfectly broadside. I let my arrow fly, and it found its mark, two inches behind the front shoulder. He ran 60 yards towards the adjacent food plot and tipped over in sight. A tight timeline, less than ideal temps, and my last sit of the year gave me the chance at my first archery buck. He may not be a record book buck, but he will provide plenty of meat for my family while I’m overseas. This hunt won’t be overlooked. Here’s hoping I’m home in time for the rut in 2025.

Wisco Wildscapes

04/22/2026

02/07/2026

01/16/2026

01/02/2026

12/09/2025

11/01/2025

10/20/2025

11/27/2024

11/23/2024

09/23/2024

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