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Grays Best

Articles
Whatyagot? Print E-mail

Jaguar guapote, snakehead, peacock bass, and other exotic culinary surprises.
by A. D. Livingston


For better or worse, all manner of foreign fish have been loosed in North American waters. Some were stocked by various state fish and game commissions, but most, I suspect, got dumped out of home aquariums or escaped from fish farms serving the pet trade.

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Percival Leonard Rousseau Print E-mail

An uncommon journey from orphan to artist.
by Brooke Chilvers
from the August 2008 issue

The 60-second black-and-white silent film shows a kindly looking gentleman in fedora and tie surrounded by a horde of eager English setters vying for a pat. It’s the 1930s, and American dog artist Percival Rosseau (1859 –1937) moves confidently through his kennels near Old Lyme, Connecticut, like Jay Leno working the front row of his audience.

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Revelation Print E-mail

Judging feel is all in the hands.
by Terry Wieland
from the August 2008 issue


But that’s not how the word is usually applied to shotguns. Instead, we’re discussing how the gun feels when held in two hands, held at the ready, moved gently back and forth, and brought to the shoulder after an imaginary flushing grouse.

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Mearn's Print E-mail

We can’t control the rain, the birds, or the endless growth of cities, but we can be ready when the dogs slam to a stop and time stands still.
article and photography by Ron Dungan
from the August 2008 issue

The birds are in the hills. By mid-December, hunters have pounded the bottoms of these oak-covered slopes, looking for Mearn’s quail until the coveys get thin, spooked, and hard to find. So we walk the dry creeks, slipping into creases, following the land.

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Always Entertaining Print E-mail

Remembering Dave Foster.
by James R. Babb
from the August 2008 issue

After four decades of observing life in enlightened New England, I’ve found two concepts Yankees don’t understand: gravy and funerals. I can’t bring myself to think about Yankee gravy, but Yankee funerals are grim, dour, and unpleasant. Of course Southern funerals also have their tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth, but when the preacher finally says Amen, out come the ham and turnip greens and hilarious stories about the dearly departed. It is with laughter that Southerners memorialize the dead.

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