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Sporting ClassicsSporting Classics

Sporting Classics November - December 2018

Sporting Classics is devoted to those who love to read. Each issue is packed with the things you love most: guns, knives, adventures, sporting art, dogs, and more. From Hemingway to Buckingham, O'Connor to Rutledge, this is the best hunting and fishing magazine for any sportsman!

United States
Sporting Classics Magazine
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3,27 €(IVA inc.)
10,90 €(IVA inc.)
8 Números


access_time6 min.
this ’n that

VISIT THE SPORTING CLASSICS STAFF AT THESE SHOWCASE EVENTS The staff at Sporting Classics always looks forward to meeting our subscribers and readers in person. We welcome and take to heart their comments on editorial matters, and any suggestions with regards to future articles and reviews of great new products related to hunting and fishing. For us, the two best places to meet and greet readers are the Southeastern Wildlife Exposition and The Dallas Safari Club Convention. The 37th Annual Southeastern Wildlife Exposition will run February 15-17 in Charleston, South Carolina. SEWE is a celebration of wildlife and nature through fine art, conservation education, sporting demonstrations and the people who honor them all. SEWE plays host to hundreds of artists, exhibitors and experts in wildlife and nature art—all eager to share their art…

access_time6 min.
the inaugural edition of the appended and annotated gaddis-webster dictionary of sporting lexicology.

Noah Webster was obviously a learned man, dedicating his life to language, his name synonymous with “dictionary” in America, especially the “modern” Merriam-Webster version, published inaugurally within that notable ring from the human cambium, 1828. In the process, he learned 26 languages, including Saxon and Sanskrit … not your everyday vernacular … simply to research the origins of his native tongue. When he was done, Merriam-Webster had 70,000 entries, surpassing Samuel Johnson’s 1755 British oeuvre in both scope and authority. Moreover an imaginative chap, Webster cleverly brought distinctively American words like skunk, hickory and chowder to legitimacy, even if his initiative toward simplified phonetical spelling reform, such as wimmen for women, and tung for tongue, met with less acceptance. Lexicographer, textbook pioneer, political scribe, spelling reformer, editor, prolific author, the “Father of American…

access_time27 min.
stalk for a wild man-killer

Not many people thought of John Turnow as being really crazy—at least not when he was a boy, growing up in the wild country of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. In those parts, a liking for the woods wasn’t grounds for questioning the sanity of anyone, man or boy, and a kid who could shoot like Turnow couldn’t be blamed for wanting to spend all his time hunting. Often the boy went with older men, and in a time and place of easy game laws and abundant game, they’d always return with a substantial bag of black-tailed deer, bear or at least all the blue grouse a man and his family could eat in a week. By the time Turnow was 15, his adult hunting companions were boasting he was the best shot in…

access_time6 min.
stripped naked, severely cut and bruised, john colter had to run for his life.

The half-naked young man lay breathless inside the dark and dank beaver lodge, his legs and feet covered in cuts and scratches. He had narrowly escaped death after being captured by Blackfeet Indians while canoeing up the Jefferson River and had sought refuge in the tiny lodge. The man was 35-year-old John Colter, who was lying on his back on a cramped bed of tangled twigs and mud. As he stared into the inky blackness of the lodge, his thoughts went back to how he arrived at this unlikely sanctuary. The year was 1809 and Colter had been canoeing up the Jefferson River when he and his companion, John Potts, had been ambushed by Blackfeet Indians. The two men had left Fort Raymond to seek out the friendly Crow Indians to establish…

access_time5 min.
a pickup lost, a rifle found and one ripping good tale.

We met on the beach. I was doing turtle work for the DNR, she was on vacation. I was registered with the Feds, with authority to possess and transport endangered species. I figured she was an endangered species; she figured I was, too. Seems we both were right. Talking about Miss Biscuits now. She came with two boys, knee-high when I gottem. We married on a boat in the middle of the river. It was a 1913 Trumpy motor yacht, 60-some-odd-feet but Coast Guard rated for only 28, a much shorter guest list that way. We stood by to repel boarders should there be any interruption by sundry exes. Wasn’t necessary, just occasional heckling from the bank. Miss Biscuits came with quite a pedigree, a Baylor out of San Antone. One uncle founded…

access_time14 min.
a christmas eve swan shoot

SHOOTING SWANS BY NIGHT may seem hardly the correct thing in the estimation of many, but we fowlers of the wild and “feathery” West occasionally obtain under cover of the night what we cannot always acquire by the light of day. And so, at a friend’s suggestion, it came about that he and I decided to put in a night after swans before they left us, perhaps forever. It was in the early ’80s and in Oregon that this deed of darkness was perpetrated. It had not been a good year for ducks; the home-bred wood ducks and mallards had been pretty well shot out before the winter rains set in, by which waterfowl of the great Northwest are so innumerably augmented. And, because these rains were very late in coming…