Visiting the Od Homeplace Covey

                             

Visiting the Old Homeplace Covey         

 

    Reprinted from the book “Dogs and Ducks and Hatrack Bucks”…by Larry Dablemont-- published in 2003

               

 

            Old Luke had found them and there wasn't any doubt about that.  He stood there in the woodland cover with his tail high and head forward, his body twisted slightly with one foreleg lifted, drinking in the mesmerizing scent of bobwhite quail. The three of us moved in quickly and the air was filled with the explosion of brown birds.  There wasn't much time to find a target and intercept it. I clobbered a small oak with a charge of number eight shot and then missed the same bird clean as he sailed past it.  Tom and Kent did the same thing I did and we stood there talking about how tough it was to hit a quail in that heavy cover.  The first covey of the afternoon and we hadn't pulled a feather.  But Tom Goldsmith had seen his first covey rise.

                Tom is the talented wildlife artist from Coldwater, Ontario who illustrates my books, and he owns a pair of English Setters back in Canada where he hunts grouse and woodcock with enthusiasm.  He spent several days with me this week, anxious to see what quail hunting is like.  Since my little Setter died a few years ago, I have been without a pointing dog.  But I knew who would have the very best, and I called him.  Kent Caplinger lives in Ozark, Missouri, and he grew up hunting quail as a kid in Howell County.  I met him at the University of Missouri when we were both about 18 years old and I have always counted him as one of my closest friends.   Little wonder....Kent is one of the most enthusiastic outdoorsmen I have ever known.  He and I once hitch-hiked home from the University of Missouri to hunt ducks on the Piney, thumbing a ride with cased shotguns hidden behind the suitcases. There has never been a time in all those years I've known Kent that he hasn't had two or three good bird dogs.

                Luke and Sadie aren't just good, they are great!   They both sat in my boat while we motored across Truman Lake to a hard to reach spot where Freckles and I found quail years ago.  And in the high cover along the lake, they disappeared for awhile.   Three wild gobblers flushed before us, only yards away, and I heard Kent groan.  "Not this again," he said. "Old Luke just loves turkeys!  And they seem to be more of them than quail anymore."

                I took them up just into the woods and we walked past the foundation of an old homeplace, through skimpier cover and briars and buckbrush with small groups of cedar and scattered hardwoods.   We talked about how often coveys are found around an old homeplace like that.  And just moments later old Luke found a covey.   It was their good fortune to leave us there with nothing but spent shotshell hulls and excuses, but it was our good fortune to watch many of the birds, 15 or 18 in all, sail out into high grass and a sunflower field.  

                Tom downed his first bobwhite 15 minutes later in front of Sadie's staunch point and as he did, another bird flushed beside me and sped toward the sunflower field just skimming the weeds, never higher than my waist.  That's the kind of shot I can handle.  Moments later Luke pinned a bird next to Kent and we all had some weight in our game bags.  But we left them with only the three birds to our credit and motored over to a spot where I thought we'd find another covey in less difficult conditions. 

                Topping a rise 150 yards from the boat, we watched Luke working birds before us.  He moved into the wind with head low and tail moving nervously, something bird-dog men recognize instantly, a clear message that a covey is close by.   Kent cautioned his dog to go easy, and sharply commanded Sadie to hold.  She hadn't scented the quail yet but she heard the command and looked for Luke.  By that time he was frozen before her and she honored his point.

                 This covey rise was in shorter cover and we each dropped a bird.  Someone got two.  I said it was me but I don't think it was. I don't think it was Tom either or he would have argued with me.  Kent didn't claim it, the gentleman today he has always been.  The entire afternoon he situated himself where the shot was least likely to be, putting Tom and I in the best of positions.  But none of us were there for the shooting.  We talked about how, as you grow older, you walk in slower... not wanting the moment to end.   You know that any second the birds will take to flight and the wonder of the magnificent scene before you will be gone.   I just want to stand there and drink it in, absorb it to the fullest while the dogs are statue-still before me.

                "Some people think I'm crazy to keep going with my dogs in a time when there are so few quail," Kent told me.  "But I can't give it up, not ever.  Even if we only find one covey, it's a big day for me.  Anyone who has ever hunted over good dogs knows why, you can't explain it to anyone else!"

 

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DeAngelo's Antlers and the MDC

 

         A few years ago the Missouri Department of Conservation paid out one million dollars as a result of a lawsuit brought about because two agents violated the law by entering a barn without a  search warrant.  Another agent has done the same thing, and added theft to a possible charge.   

         Back in October, Joe DeAngelo and his 17-year-old son went bowhunting on land he paid to hunt. His son shot a big buck with his bow late in the evening and they had to track the deer, finding it about 10:30 that night.  It was a very big deer, with 19 points and wide-spreading antlers.  He notched his tag and tried to call in the kill but was in an area where his cell phone wouldn’t work.   He and his father loaded the deer and then called it in via the tele-check system the MDC has instigated.  A little after midnight they took the deer into their workshop and began to cut up the meat because it was still 60 degrees. They left the entrails and hide and head in the pick-up bed.

         A little later in the night MDC agent, Clair Burch, just walked in without permission and said she was going to write a citation to Joe DeAngelo for transporting an illegal deer.  She said it was illegal because even though his son had correctly notched his tag she felt he had not done so soon enough after killing the deer, even though there was no evidence he had done anything improperly.

         She took the hide and head and then went to a large cooler in the shop, opened it without permission and removed the venison it held. That is not legal either without a warrant. Burch told Joe DeAngelo that the meat and butchering of the deer was an admission of guilt. Joe pointed out that when it was that warm he would never let a deer remain unbutchered over night.  Burch gave little credence to anything he said.   It was obvious that she wanted that giant set of antlers and she was there for no other reason. 

         Taxidermists have told me that they mount deer heads of huge bucks for conservation agents who keep the mounts and the MDC pays for the work. One told me that he mounted a confiscated deer head for an agent who gave it to her friend as a Christmas gift. I was told by an employee of the Bass Pro Shop Taxidermy shop that they have mounted many confiscated deer heads for the MDC which were either sold to or given to Bass Pro Shops or one of Johnny Morris’ properties.

         Here is a point I want to make… when the DeAngelo boy called in that deer kill in October, if it had been a regular set of antlers, only 6 or 8 points, Agent Burch would have never come to invade their property without a warrant.   When he called it in the boy told how large the beam was at the base and how many points it had as hunters are required to do.   She wanted it and I would bet she has been paid for it or will be soon, and that it is at a taxidermist shop right now.  But I will also bet a thousand dollars that no one anywhere, including the governor himself, will ever know where that set of antlers is today or where it went when agent Burch walked out of the deAngelo’s shop with it.  The MDC can defy a judge if they want, and never tell what happened to it.

         The DeAngelo boy did nothing wrong, nor did his dad….  But they like others have the possibility of a lawsuit against the MDC for what has happened.  Agent Burch entered their property with no warrant and searched a cooler illegally and effectively   stole property with a false premise.  She should be fired for what she did but she won’t be because agents are held to no standards at all. They consider themselves above highway patrolmen and elected sheriffs and they are treated that way by their superiors.  Agent Burch broke the law, but that it is of no consequence to the Conservation Department.

          The entire story doesn’t in there.  Agent Burch was very smart.  Soon after the incident in the workshop she had the charges against the DeAngelos dropped, depriving them of a day in court in which they might have been able to get the deer head back.

        The family was forced to take their 17-year-old son to Juvenile Court, where he was not found guilty of anything in a matter of minutes, and the whole procedure they were forced into was therefore determined to be an admission of guilt again, and being used to keep them from knowing where the antlers are.

          Where are the deer head and antlers now. I doubt that even the FBI could find it!   I met with Chief of Enforcement, Travis Mclain, recently in his Jefferson City office, and then talked with him on the phone about what agent Burch has done.  He has required Joe DeAngelo to fill out a two-page form before he will listen to me about what happened.  And then Burch can receive no discipline that anyone can know about, because personnel matters cannot be discussed. If only the victims of MDC agents could receive such protections before a judge, however, I’m concerned that many are in the Department’s pockets.  This kind of thing involving MDC agents happens often.

          I have sent this magazine article to Mclain and MDC director, Jason Sumner, asking them to enter their own comments, allow me to interview agent Burch, or to correct anything they feel is not accurate here.  If there is a lawyer anywhere who feels he can help the DeAngelos find the antlers he might call me at 417-  777-5227 or email me at lightninridge47@gmail.com

A Haven

 

A photo I took several years earlier of Snow geese and their reflections

       My secret place is quiet and serene, and beautiful even in the starkness of full-blown winter.  There are no roads into it; I get there by boat. Sometimes in the winter there are grey skies threatening rain and waves are whitecapping out on the lake. Sometimes it is a still warm day that hints of spring. But not today. I just motor to a protected cove and I head up into familiar hills. 

       Flying south on the north wind, a big flock of snow geese come over me. Just above me only 200 feet or so, they break into a concerted, frenzied cry, as if they are tremendously excited all of a sudden.  When they sound like that, they are envisioning a place to alight and rest, and I am sure it was within a few minutes of them, a bottomland field across the lake somewhere.         

       Even tired snow geese do not often favor landing on the water when they are in large groups.  They want an open field somewhere, with vegetation too short to hide a predator.  I thought back to times in past years when I have laid in Canadian harvested crop fields, covered with concealing straw, watching flocks above me like that one, so loud you can feel the excitement in their crescendo.

       In the woodlands, where giant oaks and hickories and cedars are as big as any I have ever seen anywhere, I find scrapes and rubs freshly made by buck deer.  Not far away are the remains of a fireplace and a rock foundation only about 10 by 15 feet, where an old cabin once stood.  There are the remains of a rusted iron bedstead there, and nothing more.  A cedar growing out of it has to be a hundred years old, so the cabin has been gone at least that long.  I wonder what the people were like who lived there a hundred years ago and perhaps much longer back. I hope the six piles of rock on a small flat area above the creek aren’t graves, but they may be.

       My back, recently injured in some way, has me in agony, and so I sit down against a big chinquapin oak. A shortened evening is advancing with no sunset.  My back problem will not keep me from walking where I want to go, but it will make me get there slower.   A slower hunter though, is a better hunter.  You have to make the most out of each situation you face in life. Do what you can and give no thought to what you cannot. Age has taught me that.

       In sitting, I notice that woodrats have an advanced nest around a nearby tree with a root system favoring a tunnel beneath it.  It is quite an arrangement of sticks.  These woods are filled with dens of one type or another, beneath rocks and crevices, under the roots of huge fallen giants, in the boles of standing, but rugged, den trees. There is such a variety of wild creatures here it is amazing.

This is my place, this large acreage of land set aside on an Ozark lake. It is everyone’s. There are thousands of acres of public land here.  Much of it is typical of the Ozarks, with small pockets of clearing, stretches of cedar glade and open, mature forest.  In this I can lose myself, forget whatever has been bothering me, and wonder if God isn’t behind me somewhere, aware that I have returned to marvel at the greatness of his unspoiled creation. I am hoping he isn’t upset with me for missing church, but I seek out a greater place to talk to Him.

       This secret place of mine seldom sees humans, unless it is the opening days of deer season.   Earlier in the day I picked up two recently discarded beer cans, to show me some nitwit passed here who didn’t know what he was doing. It is a sacrilege to come to a place like this and leave something to defile it.  I am convinced that most deer hunters are not like him, but nothing brings out the bad side of hunting and hunters like deer season. 

 

      Before that, along a winding old overgrown lane, I found hundreds of frost flowers, erupting from the base of stems of composite plants.  They are unique, white, fragile ice formations that form in the night as the dead plant somehow emits a freezing water vapor. Each is a piece of sculptured art. You cannot find two alike.

       In the lateness of the day, as small flakes of snow fall, intermingled with drops of rain driven by the wind, I gain my feet with little sign of the pain I had felt an hour before, and slowly head back to my boat, watching for whatever I may not have seen earlier. I know that I am far from my boat and it is so late in the day I may have to motor back in darkness.  But the sun will shine here again and I will be back.  It is something to remember, when skies are dark and grey and winter’s ominous breath is strong and cold above your collar. The sun will shine brightly here on another day!  Spring will come soon, and I will be back.

 

A 17-year-old boy recently killed a19-point buck and the antlers have been stolen from him.  Read the whole story on the  internet at www.larrydablemontoutdoors.  

       

A Little Winter Walk

 

There is a remote little gravel bar along the river where I love to camp, quite a walk from the road. I parked my pickup and headed down there, determined to see it as a new year comes, in a bleak, drab winter picture of the river. 

I came across a nice buck and doe that bounded away.  He still had his antlers and she was getting a little bit round with a pair of fawns, if I am a good judge of such things.  I was surprised to see them together, but it tells me where I might find his antlers in a month or so.

The slough where the wood ducks were in October, and will be again in April, was frozen over.  I stopped and looked at very clear bobcat track in soft sandy soil. On such ground it is easy for anyone to tell a cat track because there are no claw marks. 

There will be young bobcats born very soon, long before the fawns are born.  In the Ozarks bobcats may bear young any time during the winter, from December on.  And some are even born in late spring.  But most are born in February and early March.   

I happened across a terrapin shell, this one very old because only the white undershell was there.  Terrapins have an outer and under shell, and Ozark boys in my grandpa’s generation often carved their initials and dates in the outer shell.  When I was just a boy, I found terrapins with initials and dates, and it caused me to realize how long they lived.  I suspect a terrapin might live forty or fifty years if he is lucky enough to stay upright.  They are unusual in that they are capable of living a long time and yet producing a lot of young.  Most all wild things are good at one or the other.  A species has high ‘biotic potential’ (the ability to survive well and live long), or high ‘reproductive potential’ (the ability to produce high number of offspring during a season).  Usually, they don’t have both. 

The predators have few babies, and live long and survive well.  A rabbit or a wood rat has a short life span because of predation and a weakness to disease and parasites.  But the small ground mammals are like rabbits; they raise lots of young to ensure survival of their species.  Any species which produces a small number of offspring in its lifetime is a species that has a great biotic potential, the ability to survive.  Only man throws a wrench in that natural equation.  In next week’s column I will say more about this year-end trip to the river.

            

      As much as I love to hunt and fish, I was born a naturalist first and foremost, and I am lucky to live out here in the sticks and still write about it all for newspapers scattered about in places far from where I might be this week or next.  If you read this column and like it, let the newspaper hear from you.  I wish I could answer all the letters and e-mails I get from you folks out there who read this column each week, but I just can’t.  I will reproduce many of the letters and emails I get in my magazine, the Lightnin’ Ridge Outdoor Journal, the next one due to come out in the spring of 2026.

 

      In the next few months I will write about some illegal things done by conservation agents and many newspapers cannot print those articles.  You can read them in January on a special Internet site… www.larrydablemontoutdoors.  Those articles give you an idea of what the Missouri Department of Conservation does that can affect you.  You can have property confiscated and never returned to you even if charges are dismissed. It has just happened to one 17-year-old deer hunter. 

       I don’t blame newspapers for not printing those articles but you have a right to know what this state agency does and they have extraordinary power to keep it hidden.  Please go to that website and read the articles.

 

Notify me by email…lightninridge47@gmail.com or   call my office at 417-777-5227

 

 

No Ducks, But No Worries

 

I haven’t seen many ducks but it is duck season and I can’t wait to go out with my Lab to try to find some. If you have never owned a Labrador, you have missed out on one of the greatest things in life, and if you have never watched ducks come into decoys on cupped wings, rocking back and forth with those red legs extended you have missed something. 

Recently I sat up against a tree scratching my dog’s ears while he slept beside me. I rested; watching empty skies and realizing that I couldn’t remember how much money I had left in the bank nor how old I was. Other things are more important when you’re out in the woods or on the river.

You may not believe this, but in a local pharmacy they have a blood pressure machine, and I can take my blood pressure. It remains pretty good until I get mad, which town traffic usually makes me.  If it is too high then I can set back and take it again while I close my eyes and envision a flock of wild ducks circling above me, and then dropping like fall leaves into my decoys. Then the second time I take it, my blood pressure will have dropped ten or fifteen points!

 

      It seems sad to me that we have arrived at a time when the men who truly understood and knew the ways of the wild are old men, or long passed away.  Most of what they knew, we are losing.  But this much is true; there are more self-proclaimed experts in the outdoors today than you can shake a stick at.... more pros and champions and authorities than fish in the sea.

      For an outdoor partner, give me someone who doesn’t proclaim himself a pro at anything. Someone who will slowly walk the ridge tops and the valleys from dawn to dusk and be sorry the day has ended.  Give me someone who loves it so much he can't tire of the songs of birds, nor experience enough the sound and smell of rain coming across a still valley…someone who notices the scent post of a fox as he passes, who finds the pellets beneath an owl roost and    knows what they are.  

      Put me in a boat with someone who can paddle down the river so slowly and quietly even the beaver and the mink and the wood ducks are unaware of his presence. Give me a man who leaves nothing but his tracks, and takes only what he uses and wastes nothing.  Give me an outdoorsman who has learned more from experiences beneath a hardwood canopy or along a flowing stream than from books.  Such a man needs no trophies or acclaim.  He seeks the treasures which God bestows on those who walk in wild places men have not yet ruined. 

      When we come to the end of 2025, may there still be such places, and such men.  May the values and convictions of our ancestors still be strong with us.

      I     write too much I   guess, about those days when those old men I knew were young.  Those days when being poor still had its blessings.  Why…when I was a kid, I really did go to the local army salvage store to buy hunting clothes and a variety of items used in my hunting and fishing forays as a youngster.  At the time, I was so poor I had to get used haircuts.  I was so poor that I had a burlap bag for a lunch pail, with a hammer and a handful of walnuts in it.

 

This column comes out weekly... If your newspaper misses a column or two you can read them and dozens more on a BlogSpot called larrydablemontoutdoors.   My website with my books and magazines on it is larrydablemont.com. I    have written 12 books and more than 100 magazines which you can order on that last website. If you want to get in touch with me just email me at lightninridge47@gmail.com

Eagles, and Treasures…

 

Adult parent eagle keep a watch on us and her young

Adult parent eagle teaching it's young how to find food

     Right now in the Ozarks, there are eagles everywhere, and each spring more and more of them nest here. If you spend a lot of time outdoors, you know where eagles nest, and it is very easy to see them. I found a new eagles nest this week, and counted about a dozen different birds, about half of them immature.

Last year we floated a river in early January and found five eagles feeding on the carcass of one deer on a gravel bar. As years go by, they become more and more docile, and now you can easily get within a few yards of eagles along the river in winter, so if there is anyone who wants to photo one, it becomes rather easily.

One fall in Canada, we were feeding smaller yellow perch to an eagle out in the middle of nowhere, and would get to within 15 or 20 feet of her almost everyday we went out. She had two eaglets, both a little bigger than her in that stage of their development, and they were tagging around, waiting for her to give them their share. 

I heard more sounds from those three eagles than I have ever heard from any. The young ones sat in a tree one evening just before dark and whistled almost exactly like quail regrouping before dark after being scattered. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. If I hadn’t seen it and heard it, I would have bet all I had the sound was from bobwhite quail.

I do not worry about the eagle population. They are becoming very numerous, and in ten years there will be even more of them. In time biologists are going to be wondering if some numbers in some areas shouldn’t be controlled. They’ll start becoming a problem for newborn sheep and newborn cattle.

 

 

Another treasure I obtained recently is a little wooden shelf, which obviously was made by a true craftsman. A lady brought it to a book signing and I traded her one of my books for it. I didn’t know who made it. On the back it says, “Early American Craftsmanship by that Crafty Early American, J. F. Keefe”. 

Jim Keefe was one of my heroes when I went to University of Missouri. He was the editor of the Missouri Conservationist, an old time country outdoorsman who loved to hunt with muzzle-loaders. Keefe, with a limited budget, put out a great little black and white magazine that talked and taught real conservation, a far cry from the million-dollar piece of propaganda the MDC puts out today.

 

Mr. Keefe published a couple of my first magazine articles, and I would go to the brand new offices in Jefferson City to talk to him as often as possible, about writing, about hunting, and about conservation. 

 

I won’t be somewhere on New Years Eve blowing a horn and drinking that stuff that comes from France, acting like I can’t wait to see a New Year come. I hate losing the old one. Every time the calendar gets a new number, there are fewer days to enjoy the woods and the waters and fewer opportunities to learn more about the perfection of God’s creation. 

But I might take a little walk out in the woods behind my house on the last night of 2025 and see if I can hear a coyote or a great horned owl. I’ll be asleep at midnight and greet the New Year the next morning with hopes of finding some good duck-hunting soon.

I won’t wish you a prosperous new year; I wish you peace, and contentment and good health. Those things can indeed be found without the wealth men are intent on today. It is part of the little treasures God grants to those who are happy with what they are, and the blessings they are given.

I came across a valuable piece of history this past week when I bought a little book entitled, “Hillbilly Humor” by Jim Owens, the man who got float-fishing started on the White River and became famous because of it. I was pleasantly surprised to find it autographed by Jim Owens. Again, it might be worth more than I sell any of my own books for. To me it is a treasure.

Remember that on Saturday December 20 I will be giving away a book entitled, “Dogs, Ducks and Hayrack Bucks” to kids at my Big Piney nature center a mile south of Houston Mo. on highway 63.  The address is1640 S. Hwy 63.  We’ll have a big sale that day with lots of outdoor gear and art for sale.  For more information call my office… 417 777 5227.

 

 

 

 

Larry Dablemont  column  12-8-25

 

The Wind and the Oaks

 

The opening of the doe season was only a few hours away and the wind was blowing through the oaks up here on Lightnin’ Ridge. “Shucks” I thought to myself, “There won’t be a leaf left on my oak trees!”  

I am sensitive about such things.  I had watched those oak leaves bud out on the big white oak beside my back porch, only a few months ago. First there were the tassels hanging down, shedding a yellow-green pollen all over my porch, a thick dusting of it that caused me to sneeze.  

How wonderful spring was, if I can remember right. But finally those squirrel-ear-sized leaves began to pop out and it was easy to see summer was on its way.  In no time, they were fully formed and bright green and it was great to sleep at night with the windows open and hear the rain dripping through that thick canopy. 

In September, I abruptly awakened to the sound of acorns bouncing off my roof.  I smiled to myself knowing that those first acorns meant the bass would be smashing buzz-baits and topwater lures on the river. In no time, you could hardly sleep at night for the sound of bouncing acorns off the roof. It was one of those Octobers where you had to sweep the porch every couple of hours.   

October flew past, the sun began to set earlier and earlier, and those beautiful green leaves began to turn, and yellow, and gold and red and finally, brown.  In the last days of that wonderful month, I began to sweep some leaves off the porch as well as acorns. 

Ten or fifteen years ago I would have likely shot a doe during this season because I like to eat venison. For some reason, it is harder to want to now that rocks beneath the oaks are harder to sit on. And my camera is lighter than my rifle.  I can now gaze through the woodlands before me, at squirrels busily gathering the acorns they so willingly ignored when hickory nuts were plentiful, and I can see, in my minds eye, the first skiff of snow, and hear some distant church bells ringing out a Christmas carol, as deer season is forgotten.

I can feel the cold mornings of January, and see falling snow that gets deep enough to make for good photos and good rabbit hunting.  Even beyond that, I gaze into the future and imagine the coming of longer, warmer days and those first oak stamens which will make me sneeze in April, just when some long-bearded, gobbling tom is easing through the woods, scratching at old dead leaves which were bright green a few months ago.  What a picture I will get then, as  I  lean up against a big oak tree.

It feels good to be in the woods, no matter the season and no matter the reason, waiting and listening and thinking. There will be many more oak trees to sit against, I hope. I think I’ll keep bringing that old camouflaged boat cushion with me to soften the rocks.  Make no mistake about it, it will not soften me any!  And make no mistake about it, I’ll get that hat-rack buck yet, with my camera, sometime before all of today’s oak leaves are blown away and decay. I’ll get him and some of his sons with my camera.  Maybe.  If there’s a soft spot against a big oak, and a layer of leaves to cushion the rocks…

 

      I made a big mistake in the article I wrote about our Christmas event coming up soon.  I said it was Saturday the 22^ndof December when it is actually Saturday the 20^th from 9 to 3.  On that date we will have a big sale of lots of   art and other items and I am going to be giving away one of my outdoor books to children who like to read.  A neighbor of mine has given me some beautiful big wooden bowls to sell as Christmas gifts and they are sold for high prices in gift shops at various places in the Ozarks. At our event they will go for fifty percent of original costs.  There will be lots of tackle boxes, fishing rods and reels and likely 200 or more fishing lures, plus a portable depth finder that is brand new.  If you have an office or den you would like to add some color to, there are several large framed pictures of wildlife for sale, done by world renowned artists, and  a beautiful mounted deer head as well.   The address  is 1640 South Highway 63 at Houston Mo. Hope to see you there! Come by and get a free Christmas magazine.  See my websites… larrydablemont.com and larrydablemontoutdoors.com

The address is  P.O. Box 22, Bolivar, mo 65613 and the  email address is lightninridge47@gmail.com