26 Nebraskaland • December 2020
atmosphere before I entered.
They bantered constantly, counting each others' bullet
holes and shrapnel wounds and searching for anything
they could find to make fun of each other. So when they
said to me, "So you're the guy they sent from Cosmopolitan
Magazine," all I could do was smile. Then I immediately
retaliated, knowing they would have swallowed me for sure
if I backed off in any way.
Schellpeper had prepared me to respond to just about any
situation, as I made it a point to hustle like crazy getting
every image I wanted on his opening day pheasant hunt with
him barely knowing I was there. The result: We've hunted
together multiple times since and text each other frequently
— usually questionable insults left best off the pages of this
family publication.
So when I was invited into the Ashland blind last winter
with a group of people I did not know, I was extremely
prepared for anything that would come my way. There were
the few, customary questions that arise regarding "how
did you get into this line of work" and "how did you get to
Nebraska in the first place" because of my Southern accent,
but I knew I had not impressed them in any way.
But I was OK with that. See, just as they have their hunting
crew, I have mine. We do things a certain way, invite the
people we want to go and the days' assignments usually go
like clockwork. It's smooth. Comfortable.
When we host an outsider, it often works out perfectly. But
there was at least one day I was hunting with a new partner,
and he told me that the tom turkey we were pursuing wasn't
worth the 400-yard walk through a muddy creek bottom to
get to him. We never hunted together again.
Much like I don't know if I'll hunt with the Ashland crew
ABOVE RIGHT: My host poses with a white Lab and mallard
shot near Ashland.
BELOW LEFT: A homemade ice-breaking airboat is employed
during a frosty morning goose hunt near Ashland.
