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Life's greatest luxury isn't money – it's dying with a body and mind that served you well until the end.

True wealth isn't measured in dollars, but in deadlifts, mountain hikes, and conversations over steaks.

Here’s the thing….you can have a good life, or you can have an easy life, but you can’t have both.

Anything worth having demands sacrifice.

The well-lived life isn't found in comfort or quick fixes – it's forged in early mornings, earned through consistent effort, and built on the foundation of unwavering discipline.

No shortcuts.

No life hacks.

No miracle pills or 30-day transformations.

Our Die Healthy collection celebrates those who know that doing hard things yields good results. 

This isn't just apparel – it's armor for the ones who understand that true rebellion isn't destroying your body, but building it.

For the adventurers who choose the steeper climb.

For the 5am warriors who choose a cold garage gym instead of warm bed blankets.

For the disciplined who push away processed poison for seared steaks.

For the wanderers who watch sunsets instead of screens.

For the outliers who choose barbells not bars.

For the determined who kill every rep of every set.

While others numb themselves, you sharpen your edge.

Where they look for comfort, you kill your complacency.

When they seek escape, you seek excellence.

Each piece in this collection serves as battle armor for those walking this path.

From our soft athletic-cut cotton tees that survive thousands of deadlifts to hoodies that embrace you like victory after a PR, every item in the Die Healthy collection is built for those who plan to leave this world better than they found it – starting with your body.

This isn't about living forever.  It's about living powerfully.

It's about quality over quantity.

It's about facing life's challenges with a strong body and clear mind.

Because while everyone dies, not everyone truly lives, and when death comes knocking, it should have to work damn hard to take you down.

This is a battle cry for those who refuse to take the easy road and rot away.

Die Healthy: Because the quality of your life matters more than its length.

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In the so-called safe lane, thousands jostle for the same predictable prizes—promotions, degrees, and guaranteed mediocrity.

But here's the twist: this crowded path to 'security' is the riskiest bet of all.

While you're blending in with the masses, trading dreams for stability, you're actually gambling with the highest stakes possible: your potential.

The road less traveled isn't just poetic—it's strategic.

While others compete for scraps in the comfort zone, those who dare to chart their own course find uncontested territory.

Yes, it's solitary. Yes, it's uncertain.

But that’s precisely why it offers the ultimate reward: the freedom to define success on your own terms, not someone else's playbook.

This is where the weak hesitate. This is where the timid retreat. Because stepping off the beaten path means facing resistance, doubt, and discomfort.

But that’s the price of greatness. The tax on a life well-lived.

And if you refuse to pay it, if you choose safety over strength, you will spend your life in quiet frustration—watching, regretting, and wishing you had the courage to break free.

The ones who choose discomfort, who embrace the challenge, who forge their own way—these are the men who create legacies.

While the masses obey, they command. While the herd waits for permission, they take action. While others seek shelter, they build fortresses.

True power lies in self-determination. In standing apart. In being the master of your own fate.

The world conditions you to believe that security is the goal—to take the stable job, follow the routine, fit the mold. But real security doesn’t come from blending in. It comes from carving your own way, from developing skills that make you indispensable, from having the courage to adapt, to overcome, to lead.

Look at history—those who shaped the world didn’t do so by waiting in line, by asking for permission, or by playing it safe. They risked. They sacrificed. They stepped into the unknown with nothing but their own will to carve the future.

And yet today, men are told that seeking comfort is the highest pursuit. That following the rules will ensure happiness. But deep down, you know that’s a lie.

You weren’t built for quiet resignation. You weren’t meant to fade into the background, to be just another cog in the machine.

You are meant to fight for more. To demand more. To BE more.

The world will try to keep you in line, to sedate you with distractions, to lure you with comfort. But comfort is a slow death, and every day you stay in that lane, you give up a piece of yourself.

So step off the path. Forge your own. Take the risk. And become something greater than the world ever expected of you.

Mediocrity is a cage disguised as comfort. And the door is wide open.

The question is: will you step through it? Or will you remain in the crowded line, waiting for a prize that was never worth the price?

Wage war on normal....kill your safety net.

And never settle for average.

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Only the weak seek equality.

Striving to be average is a trap. A slow, silent death of silent ambition and unfulfilled excellence.

There's wisdom in treating people with basic respect. But don't confuse that with the pressure to be identical to everyone else.

Look at nature - this doesn’t exist. No two wolves, trees, or storms are the same. No two rivers carve the same path. No two men are meant to be identical. Everything in the wild is uniquely savage, built to serve its purpose with ferocity, including you.

The modern world wants to smooth your edges. Make you predictable. Manageable. To settle for “sameness,” to blend in, eat the same food, consume the same vapid entertainment, wear the same labels, to be just like everyone else.

Why?  Because it profits from your conformity - same thoughts, same habits, same dreams packaged in convenient boxes. It thrives when your thoughts, your habits, and your dreams are handed to you in prepackaged, easy-to-digest forms.

Sameness is safe. Sameness is easy to control. Sameness is timid.

Only a lesser being desires to be “the same.”

That path leads to mediocrity.

That path leads to decay.

The real battle is for greatness. For heroism. For resilience.

For savagery.

Your calling isn't to blend in. It's to stand out.

To carve your own path. To reclaim the fire that weak men have let burn out.

The world doesn’t need more sameness. It needs men willing to break free. To disrupt. To push beyond limits and demand more from themselves.

Being savage isn’t about recklessness. It’s about purpose. It's about standing firm when the world tries to make you small. It's about hunting down what you want in life with relentless drive. It’s about refusing to kneel to comfort and mediocrity.

There is no honor in equality. No glory in being average.

Do not wish to be “equal”….

Choose to be wild. Choose to be untamed. Choose to be savage.

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In the annals of human history, few discoveries have been as transformative as the mastery of fire. This elemental force, once a source of fear and awe, became the hearth around which civilization itself was forged. At the core of this transformation lay a simple yet profound act: the cooking of food over open flame. Today, as we stand amidst the gleaming appliances of modern kitchens, it's easy to forget the primal dance of flame and food that shaped our species. Yet, in rediscovering this ancient art, we may find not only a connection to our past but also a path to a healthier, more engaged future.

The story of fire cooking is, in essence, the story of human evolution. Anthropologists posit that the control of fire, dating back nearly two million years, played a crucial role in our development. Richard Wrangham, in his seminal work "Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human”, argues that cooking food over fire was nothing short of revolutionary. The heat from flames broke down tough fibers in both meat and plants, making nutrients more readily available and easier to digest. This newfound efficiency in nutrient extraction, Wrangham contends, fueled the growth of our energy-hungry brains, setting us on the path to becoming the complex, cultural beings we are today.

But the benefits of fire cooking extend beyond our evolutionary past. In an age where convenience often trumps nutrition, returning to this primal method offers surprising health advantages. The high, direct heat of an open flame can seal in juices quickly, preserving nutrients that might otherwise be lost in longer cooking processes.

Perhaps more significantly, fire cooking eliminates the need for many modern cooking implements that have come under scrutiny for their potential health risks. The convenience of non-stick cookware, for instance, comes at a potential cost. When overheated, some non-stick coatings can release toxic fumes, including perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), a compound linked to various health concerns. By contrast, a well-seasoned cast iron skillet over an open flame not only imparts no such chemicals but also adds beneficial iron to the diet.

Yet, the appeal of fire cooking goes beyond mere nutritional considerations. There's a wildness, a primal energy to this method that speaks to something deep within the human psyche. In a world increasingly divorced from nature, where our food often arrives pre-packaged and our entertainment pre-programmed, the act of cooking over fire offers a visceral connection to the elemental forces that shape our world.

This connection is not merely physical but deeply philosophical. The unpredictability of flame, the need for constant attention and adjustment, teaches patience and mindfulness. It demands a level of engagement that our push-button modern life rarely requires. In tending a fire, in coaxing flavor from food with nothing more than heat and smoke, we reconnect with a fundamental human experience – one that has been largely lost in the rush of modern life.

The philosopher Gaston Bachelard, in his work "The Psychoanalysis of Fire," explored humanity's profound relationship with this element. He saw in fire a symbol of purification and regeneration, a force that invites contemplation and reverie. In the context of cooking, this takes on a practical dimension. The act of gathering around a fire to prepare food becomes a communal ritual, a shared experience that strengthens social bonds and fosters a sense of connection often lacking in our increasingly isolated modern lives.

Moreover, fire cooking rekindles a lost intimacy with our food and its origins. In an era of industrialized agriculture and processed convenience foods, the simple act of preparing a meal over flame can be revolutionary. It demands an understanding of the ingredients, an appreciation for the transformative power of heat, and a respect for the natural world that provides our sustenance. This heightened awareness can lead to more mindful consumption, potentially addressing issues of overeating and food waste that plague modern societies.

The resurgence of interest in fire cooking among chefs and food enthusiasts speaks to a growing recognition of its value. Restaurants like Ekstedt in Stockholm and Asador Etxebarri in Spain that feature open-fire kitchens have gained prominence, not as novelty acts, but as serious culinary endeavors exploring the depth of flavor and technique possible with this ancient method. This professional validation has sparked a wider cultural reevaluation of fire cooking, moving it from the realm of occasional barbecues to a respected and sought-after culinary art.

However, embracing fire cooking in the modern world is not without challenges. Urban living often limits opportunities for open-flame cooking, and valid concerns about air pollution and fire safety must be addressed. Yet, these challenges also present opportunities for innovation – the development of safer, more efficient fire cooking methods that can be integrated into contemporary lifestyles without sacrificing the essence of the experience.

The simplicity and sustainability of fire cooking offers valuable lessons. It reminds us that profound culinary experiences don't necessarily require complex equipment or energy-intensive processes. A return to this fundamental technique could contribute to a more sustainable food culture, one that values quality over convenience and connection over consumption.

In rekindling the art of fire cooking, we do more than simply prepare food – we participate in a tradition as old as humanity itself. We engage with our environment, our food, and each other in a more direct and meaningful way. This is not a rejection of progress, but rather a recognition that true advancement often involves a thoughtful integration of ancient wisdom with modern understanding.

The flames that once illuminated cave walls now have the potential to light the way toward a more engaged, healthful, and connected approach to food and life. In rediscovering this primal art, we may find not just a cooking method, but a philosophy – one that recognizes the profound interconnectedness of humans, food, and the natural world. As we stand at the crossroads of technological progress and environmental concerns, the ancient practice of fire cooking offers a timeless lesson: sometimes, the path forward is illuminated by the oldest of flames.

Kill What You Eat,

Patrick

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Humans in modern, domesticated societies often act as if the natural environment is a foreign, hostile world that we are merely visiting, rather than recognizing it as the ecosystem we evolved within. We’ve made this all too easy for ourselves to feel disconnected. 

We spend the majority of our time sealed away and sitting comfortably in our well-lit, climate-controlled safe spaces, our eyes glued to screens watching TV shows about people struggling to survive outdoors - rather than being physically outside and observing the cycles of the sun and seasons.

We spend so much of our time in the built and digital environments that when we venture into nature, it's often with a sense of trepidation….as if we're visitors rather than participants in the grand ecosystem of life on this planet. When we do venture out into nature, we feel the need to bring an abundance of "life support" gear with us.  We pack our bags with gadgets and supplies, determined to survive rather than simply be.

Meanwhile, our bodies are succumbing to a growing number of degenerative diseases as our genome becomes less adapted to the environmental conditions we evolved to thrive in on this planet. The very conditions of life on Earth that our species is fundamentally adapted to.

In our retreat from the natural world, we've begun to lose touch with something essential - the rhythms and processes that our very biology evolved to sync with. As our lives become increasingly sedentary and disconnected, we succumb to the ravages of a growing number of degenerative diseases. The genome that once thrived amidst the challenges of the great outdoors now unravels, deprived of that essential connection.

It is certainly important to be adapted to the built and digital realms, as our ability to function and thrive in modern society depends on it. But it is arguably even more crucial that we remain adapted to the natural world that we ultimately originate from. Somehow, though, this connection has become easy for many of us to overlook or forget.

Perhaps it's time to reexamine our relationship with the wild.

To shed our protective layers and immerse ourselves once more in the primal currents of this living, breathing planet. Not as conquerors, but as participants - learning to navigate, adapt, and find our rightful place within the natural order.

For in rediscovering that ancient kinship, we may just unlock the key to restoring our own health and vitality.

Kill What You Eat,

Patrick

| ⬆Watch the Video | 

What if I told you that New Year's Resolutions were designed to make you fail?!?!

In this video originally recorded in a past project, I share an evergreen perspective about New Year's Resolutions that will forever change how you think about them, along with 3 things to focus on instead.

This is a supplement to KWYE Podcast Episode 7 that drops on Tuesday 01/07/2025

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“In this world a man must either be an anvil or the hammer" they say.

The implications being that the anvil gets the worst of it, just sitting there and taking the beating.

But Orwell knew better: "In real life, it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about.”

This truth challenged my thinking. I once believed being the hammer meant strength – actively shaping the world through constant force.

But true resilience isn't about endless striking.

Consider the anvil: forged through intense heat, pressure, and strategic processes that transform it into something unbreakable.

Its power lies not in attacking, but in being immovable, steadfast, foundational.

The anvil's purpose isn't to take beatings, but to be the unbreakable foundation that shapes what meets its surface.

The anvil doesn't resist change – it facilitates it.

Every sword, tool, and masterpiece is shaped against its unyielding surface.

The hammer?

It wears down, chips, breaks.

Its strength is temporary, dependent on constant motion.

But the anvil's strength is permanent, earned through transformation.

Real power isn't in how hard you can strike. It's in becoming something that can withstand any strike – and emerge stronger.

Have you ever seen an anvil break?  I haven’t…

But I’ve broken plenty of hammers.

“Be the anvil…Break The Hammer” I say.

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Words & Photos by: Patrick McKewen

If you would like to be the first to see articles when they are published, consider subscribing to our More Savage Than Average Newsletter so we can let you know directly.

As I sit here by the crackling campfire, watching the embers dance in the cool night air, I can't help but reflect on the long and winding path that has brought me back to where I truly belong - in the heart of nature. My story is one of connection, loss, and rediscovery; a testament to the enduring call of the wild that resides within us all, no matter how deeply it may be buried beneath the trappings of modern life.

The Seeds of Connection

My journey began in the lush, verdant forests of the Mid-Atlantic, where as a young boy, I learned the ancient arts of hunting with a bow and fishing with nothing more than a stick and a string. My father, along my maternal grandfather (a man whose weathered hands spoke volumes of a life lived close to the land), were my first guides in the ways of the wild.

I can still recall the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves as we would make our way down to the local creek. The world would be silent save for the gentle gurgle of the stream and the occasional plop of a frog diving for cover.

"Listen," my grandfather would say, his voice barely above a whisper. "The water will tell you where the fish are hiding."

And so I learned to attune my senses to the subtle language of nature. I watched how the current flowed around rocks and fallen logs, creating pockets where fish might rest. I observed the insects skimming across the surface and understood that where they gathered, the fish would soon follow.

With patient instruction, my grandfather showed me how to fashion a hook from a thorn, how to select the perfect supple branch for a pole, and how to tie knots that would hold fast against the strongest fighter. We used no fancy lures or reels, no high-tech gear or fish finders. Our methods were as old as humanity itself, passed down through countless generations.

Those early lessons instilled in me a profound respect for the natural world and my place within it. Each fish we caught was a gift, received with gratitude and used with reverence. Nothing was wasted, and every part of our catch served a purpose, from flesh to bones.

Exploring the Wild

As I grew older, my love for the outdoors only intensified. Camping trips with close friends throughout East Coast became the highlight of every summer as we explored the diverse landscapes that Appalachia had to offer.

I vividly remember the first time we camped in the Jefferson National Forest. The towering oak and hickory trees, the babbling mountain streams, and the diverse wildlife left an indelible impression on my young mind. We hiked the numerous trails, each one offering a new adventure and a fresh perspective on the raw beauty of the Appalachian ecosystem.

Further north, the mountain caverns of central Pennsylvania became a favorite destination. Here, the mysterious underground world taught me valuable lessons about the earth's hidden wonders and the power of geological processes. We would set up camp near cave entrances, falling asleep to the gentle whisper of wind through the trees and waking to the chorus of forest birds.

These excursions weren't just vacations; they were immersive experiences that deepened my connection to the natural world. I learned to identify local plant species, to spot signs of wildlife, and to navigate the rugged terrain of the Appalachian Mountains. Each trip added new skills to my repertoire and strengthened my bond with the wilderness of the Eastern United States.

Conquering New Heights

As my teenage years gave way to early adulthood, my wanderlust led me westward. The towering peaks of the Rocky Mountains called to me, promising new challenges and untamed wilderness on a scale I had never before encountered.

My first expedition into the high country of Utah was a revelation. The thin air and steep trails tested my physical limits, while the sweeping vistas of snow-capped peaks nourished my soul. I learned the art of reading topographic maps, of finding safe passage through treacherous mountain passes, and of respecting the capricious nature of high-altitude weather.

The Siren Call of Civilization

Despite these formative experiences and the deep connection I had forged with nature, the modern world beckoned. Like so many others, I found myself drawn into the vortex of urban life, seduced by the promise of career advancement, material comfort, and technological convenience.

I traded my hiking boots for dress shoes, my backpack for a briefcase. The call of the wild became a distant echo, drowned out by the cacophony of city traffic and the incessant ping of smartphone notifications. Days that were once measured by the arc of the sun across the sky were now dictated by the relentless ticking of the office clock.

At first, I reveled in the newfound comforts and opportunities that city life afforded. I climbed the corporate ladder, acquired all the trappings of success, and told myself that this was what progress looked like. But as the years wore on, a gnawing emptiness began to take root in my soul.

My body, once honed by countless miles of trails and the physical demands of outdoor life, grew soft and weak. Processed foods, alcohol, and a sedentary lifestyle took their toll, and I found myself battling health issues I had never experienced before. Stress became my constant companion, sleep my elusive friend.

Worse than the physical decline was the spiritual malaise that settled over me. I felt disconnected, not just from nature, but from myself. The skills and knowledge I had acquired over years of outdoor experience lay dormant, atrophying like unused muscles. I had become a stranger to the person I once was, a domesticated shadow of my former wild self.

The Awakening

It wasn't until my 40th birthday that the fog of complacency finally lifted. As I sat and contemplated the past decade, a sudden realization struck me with the force of a lightning bolt: I was profoundly unhappy.

That night, unable to sleep, I found myself poring over old photo albums. Images of a younger, more vibrant version of myself stared back at me from sun-dappled forests and windswept mountaintops. In those frozen moments, I saw a joy and peace that had long been absent from my life.

It was time for a change. Time to reconnect with the wild soul that had been buried beneath years of corporate conditioning and urban comfort. Time to return to my roots and rediscover the person I was meant to be.

The path back wasn't easy. Giving up the security of a steady paycheck and the comforts of modern living required a leap of faith that terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure. But with each step I took away from my old life, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders.

Rewilding: The Journey Home

My journey of rewilding began with small steps. I started spending my weekends in nearby state parks and waterfalls, reacquainting myself with the feel of earth beneath my feet and the scent of pine in my nostrils. I dusted off my old camping gear, surprised to find that my hands still remembered how to pitch a tent and start a fire without matches.

As my confidence grew, so did my ambitions. I took longer sabbaticals in the wilderness that were transformative. Away from the constant distractions of modern life, I rediscovered the rhythms of the natural world. I bathed in cold mountain streams, cooked over fire, and walked as one with the earth beneath my feet.

With each passing day, I felt my body growing stronger, shedding the accumulated toxins of urban living. My mind, too, began to clear. The chronic anxiety that had plagued me for years melted away, replaced by a sense of calm and purpose I hadn't experienced since my youth.

Returning to my Roots: The Southeast Woodlands Hunter

As I approached my 50th birthday, I made a decision that would complete my circle of return: I took up bow hunting in the Southeast woodlands where my journey had taken me to live.

There was a poetry to this choice that resonated deeply within me. The bow, with its reliance on skill, felt like a natural extension of the fishing techniques my grandfather had taught me. It required patience, precision, and an intimate understanding of one's prey and the environment.

Remembering to hunt with a bow was a humbling experience. It forced me to hone my senses, to move with stealth and purpose through the forest. I spent countless hours practicing my draw, studying animal behavior, and learning to read the subtle signs that reveal the presence of game.

This isn’t about sport or recreation; it is a return to a more primal, authentic way of living. Every part of the animal is used, its meat filling out freezer, its hide tanned for clothing, its bones and antlers crafted into tools. In this way, we honor the animal's sacrifice and acknowledge our place within the cycle of life and death that governs the natural world.

Finding My Place

Now, as I enter my 50’s, I find myself in a place of profound contentment. I've left behind the trappings of urban life, choosing instead to live simply and naturally. My days are governed by the rhythms of nature rather than the dictates of a calendar.

I rise with the sun, spending my mornings slow and deliberate with my kids as we sip iced green tea. Mornings are spent performing output sessions like writing this article or editing a video.  Afternoons might find me learning how to build a primitive bow or working in the backyard woods to make a primitive fire pit and archery range.  Evenings are time to recuperate by turning off screens, reading, and journaling.

This life isn't always easy. There are challenges and discomforts that my former self would have found intolerable. But these challenges are also my greatest rewards. They keep me sharp, engaged, and ever-mindful of my place within the natural order.

Physically, I'm in the best shape of my life. The constant activity and clean living have reversed many of the health issues I developed during my years plugged into modern society. My body, once soft and aching, is now lean and strong, hardened by daily exertion and nourished by wholesome, natural foods.

Mentally and spiritually, the transformation has been even more profound. The chronic stress and anxiety that once clouded my thoughts have dissipated like morning mist. In their place, I've found a clarity of mind and purpose that I thought was lost to me forever. The constant background noise of modern life - the endless chatter of social media, the relentless news cycle, the pressure to consume and achieve - has been replaced by the subtle symphony of the natural world.

In returning to nature, I've not only reclaimed my health and happiness; I've rediscovered a fundamental truth about what it means to be human. We are not separate from the natural world, we are part of it. Our ancestors understood this, living in harmony with the rhythms of nature for countless generations. Somewhere along the way, we lost this connection, convincing ourselves that we could transcend our place in the natural order through technology and progress.

But true progress, I've come to believe, lies not in distancing ourselves from nature, but in reconnecting with it. In rediscovering our place within the web of life, we find not only physical health and mental clarity but also a sense of purpose and belonging that no amount of material success can provide.

As I sit here by the fire, watching the stars wheel overhead in their eternal dance, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the journey that brought me here, for the lessons learned along the way, and for the wild spirit that called me home. I am where I belong - and in this belonging, I have found true freedom and lasting happiness.

Kill What You Eat,

~ Patrick

Words & Photo by: Patrick McKewen

If you would like to be the first to see articles when they are published, consider subscribing to our More Savage Than Average Newsletter so we can let you know directly.

Humans in modern, domesticated societies often act as if the natural environment is a foreign, hostile world that we are merely visiting, rather than recognizing it as the ecosystem we evolved within. We’ve made this all too easy for ourselves to feel disconnected. 

We spend the majority of our time sealed away and sitting comfortably in our well-lit, climate-controlled safe spaces, our eyes glued to screens watching TV shows about people struggling to survive outdoors - rather than being physically outside and observing the cycles of the sun and seasons.

We spend so much of our time in the built and digital environments that when we venture into nature, it's often with a sense of trepidation….as if we're visitors rather than participants in the grand ecosystem of life on this planet. When we do venture out into nature, we feel the need to bring an abundance of "life support" gear with us.  We pack our bags with gadgets and supplies, determined to survive rather than simply be.

Meanwhile, our bodies are succumbing to a growing number of degenerative diseases as our genome becomes less adapted to the environmental conditions we evolved to thrive in on this planet. The very conditions of life on Earth that our species is fundamentally adapted to.

In our retreat from the natural world, we've begun to lose touch with something essential - the rhythms and processes that our very biology evolved to sync with. As our lives become increasingly sedentary and disconnected, we succumb to the ravages of a growing number of degenerative diseases. The genome that once thrived amidst the challenges of the great outdoors now unravels, deprived of that essential connection.

It is certainly important to be adapted to the built and digital realms, as our ability to function and thrive in modern society depends on it. But it is arguably even more crucial that we remain adapted to the natural world that we ultimately originate from. Somehow, though, this connection has become easy for many of us to overlook or forget.

Perhaps it's time to reexamine our relationship with the wild.

To shed our protective layers and immerse ourselves once more in the primal currents of this living, breathing planet. Not as conquerors, but as participants - learning to navigate, adapt, and find our rightful place within the natural order.

For in rediscovering that ancient kinship, we may just unlock the key to restoring our own health and vitality.

Words & Photo by: Teagan McKewen

If you would like to be the first to see these articles when they are published, consider subscribing to our The Pursuit Newsletter so we can let you know directly.

As winter began to approach in the Southeast, cold fronts got even colder, lakes and rivers started freezing over, and wildlife started to come out of their summer shells. After a successful deer hunt in November, I started looking more into duck hunting.

It had always been something I wanted to try but never got around to it, and honestly wasn't sure if I'd pursue it. I started talking to my brother about it, and he said "lets give it a go and see what happens".

Now, looking back in time, I'm glad we had that conversation.

We have a lake within decent driving distance close to where we live, but I never knew how good it was for duck hunting. A couple of weeks later, I had saved up enough money to buy a cheap jon boat to help me get to some places I couldn't on foot to look for ducks on our local lake.

After a few weeks of scouting on our local lake, one night I was sitting around a fire with one of my good friends. I knew he'd been duck hunting in the area for way longer than me, so I very briefly mentioned to him that I was going to start duck hunting. As most people would normally brush this off and just say "good luck", or not care to share any tips or advice, my friend looked over at me with a grin on his face and said, "let me tell you some stories".

For about the next hour he went on telling me stories about how his dad would take him duck hunting in this one swamp on our local lake, and some of his best memories from hunting with his dad and some other friends over the years. Without me asking, he then went into telling me some tips for hunting our local lake and told me what to expect at certain spots. I had been scouting in my jon boat and dropping pins on the map, so I showed him a few of my pins, and when I showed him the last pin he said, "that's the swamp".

The very next day I launched my jon boat and set out to get boots on the ground in the swamp. As I tied up the boat and started walking around the swamp I realized this is the place my brother and I needed to be on opening day of duck season. I scouted and picked out multiple spots to set up to play the wind right and make sure I had good, ethical shot angles.

Fast forward to opening day - my brother and I are up super early in the morning and set out to one of the spots I scouted to set up for a North wind. Right after first light, I look over and see multiple groups of ducks flying in our area, looking for a place to land. But there was no shot.

Unfortunately our first hunt was unsuccessful, but the experience for the first time was unbelievable. I instantly knew this was something I would want to continue to pursue.

After a few weeks of my brother and I going out and trying to harvest our first ducks, I realized this is a whole new style of hunting. I noticed it was more engaging than any other hunting I've done. Between getting out to the water very early in the morning, trying to mimic the sounds of the ducks to get them closer within ethical shooting range, and always keeping your head on a swivel to make sure you don't miss an opportunity. I'm not saying any of the other hunting I do doesn't feel like that, but this was a different feeling.

About a month into the season with no success, I ran into a lake about 2 hours south of where I've been hunting. I dropped multiple pins on this lake knowing I had some time off from work coming up, so when the time came to make this trip, I wasn't going into this lake completely blind. My brother and I planned a trip to this lake 2 hours south. The plan was to hunt and camp their for 3 days.

When we got there, we set up camp and immediately got into the boat and started scouting this lake. We scouted for about 2 hours and found a few more spots to drop pins and potentially hunt the next morning. When we got back to camp, we ran into a local man who was fishing for some bluegill off the dock. We started talking about the lake and he told us a few spots to go and hunt for the morning. With what we scouted on the boat and what we heard from the locals, we had a plan for the next day.

We got up early the next morning and took maybe one of the most eerie boat rides I've ever taken. The fog rolling off the water in the pitch black of this new place put a different feeling in our guts. Although this may have been a little creepy, I almost found a sort of peace in it. We were the only ones out there, the only noise was the water being pushed by the boat motor, I felt like I was a part of nature this morning.

We hunted that morning and the next several days, and saw a good amount of ducks and geese, but never got any shot opportunities. Even though we did not harvest anything on this trip, we still had an amazing time being in nature trying something new to us, and made lots of memories we will never forget.

We got back home with only a few days of duck season left, and my brother and I went back to the swamp on our local lake to try and harvest our first ducks before the season ended. The last day of the season came around and we woke up a little extra early to get to the swamp and set up for our last hunt of the season.

The weather was brutal that morning - 18 degrees, 8 mph north wind, and just about every pocket of water was frozen over, except the one we set up on. There wasn't much water open where we were, but there was just enough.

As first light came I heard ducks circling the hole trying to find a spot to land. As I looked over my shoulder I saw a group of about 5 wood ducks coming through the trees straight to our hole. In a split second I shouldered my shotgun, picked out a few ducks from the group and took my shot.

I got two shots off and luckily I connected on my second shot. Finally, after all the work my brother and I put in that season, it paid off.

We retrieved the duck and just took a few minutes and sat in the swamp and took in everything that happened. We did not shoot a full limit of ducks, but it didn't bother us one bit. That hunt was more about the experience rather than going on a killing spree. We were more than happy with the 1 wood duck I shot. With that, we headed home and shared the hunt with the rest of the family who was super excited to hear about our success.

To wrap up the morning I cleaned the duck and prepped it to cook. With no idea of how to cook wood duck, I figured I would cook it like a steak. I cooked it on the grill for about 3-4 minutes per side and I did not expect it to taste that good, but I was wrong.

Needless to say, my brother and I will continue to pursue these birds for the next several years to come and make up our own recipes on the way. It's not always about how many animals you were able to harvest - it's more about the experience, spending time in nature, and not being afraid to try something new.