So she walks over, looks at the woodpile, and says, "I think you have a problem." I put down my 8 pound splitting maul, thankful for the break, and say, "problem? I have a problem?" "Yes," she says, "and there must be a name for it." She thinks a minute and says, "I've got it. EXCESSIVE COMPULSIVE FIREWOOD DISORDER. ECFD. That's the name of your affliction. I think it fits." And she walks back in the house. I'm sure she's feeling pretty proud about herself for that perfect acronym.

When the two boats finally cast off the ropes and left the dock at the Homer, Alaska harbor, you might say the people on board were a bit excited. It was a dream come true for six of them, all combat veterans who served in Iraq, Afghanistan, or both. They were about to embark on a five day bear hunt/fishing trip hosted by Alaska's Healing Hearts Foundation, an organization that makes many activities available to veterans. The adventure was made possible by the generosity of Mike Flores, who owns Ninilchik Charters. Mike, who has two sons active in the U.S.Marine Corps, made his two boats available for the trip.

Spring turkey season here in northwest Wyoming is winding down, and I'm not a happy camper. I had high hopes of causing the demise of one of the gobblers that attacked me in my driveway last year. Evidently that will not happen.

THE 2015 NRA convention, held in Nashville, is now history. I haven't seen the official numbers, but I understand it was the best ever in terms of attendance. Because my motel was a few miles from downtown, I took cabs. It was interesting to note the reaction of some of the drivers. They wanted to know what went on inside that building. Were there lots of guns there? Why did people go there anyway?

Most hunters are aware that we have far more big game species now than we did at the turn of the 20th century, when market hunting, subsistence hunting, and habitat destruction took a huge toll on wildlife. That being said, we're now experiencing a profound downward spiral of many species of upland birds, primarily due to encroachment of civilization where rural acres are lost, and habitat alteration or changes due to different farming practices and varying land uses that are detrimental to wildlife species.

Today is the official start of the Iditarod, called The Last Great Race on Earth. This dogsled race, with some 50 mushers competing, runs about 1100 miles, ending at Nome. Because of poor snow conditions, the restart begins in Fairbanks instead of Willow today. You can follow the race on the Iditarod homepage.

The other day I walked out on the front porch to carry in some firewood, and heard a cow elk bark. I looked across the road and saw a small herd of about a dozen elk standing there in the sagebrush looking at me. They were no more than a hundred yards away from my house. As I watched them, I choked up. I don't know why. I see elk pretty much every day of the year along the highway in our valley. But the mystery here is the unexplainable fact that my brain switched from being in awe at their majesty to thinking about where I'd be applying for my cow elk tags this fall.

Picture this: a hunter is stalking a herd of elk, but they disappear in the timber. He has no idea where they are. He lifts a small camera-equipped drone out of his belt holster, activates it, and sends it up over the trees. The tiny aircraft transmits video back to him, or he retrieves it when it lands, and he spots the elk in the footage. With that knowledge, he continues his stalk to the unseen animals.

This animal is an example of the enormous number of deer struck by vehicles each year. The toll is mind boggling. According to recent statistics from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, there are one and a half million collisions with deer each year. Some 150 people are killed in those collisions. Vehicle damage is more than one billion dollars annually. According to State Farm Insurance, Pennsylvania leads the states with 115,000 collisions; Michigan is second with 97,000, and New York follows with 80,000 These figures are low, since many collisions are unreported. The number of deer struck is low also, since many run off into the woods and die.

When my two labs were barking furiously on the deck, I walked out and saw a grizzly bear on the lawn. I put the dogs in the house, grabbed my video camera, and filmed the bear for several minutes as he rolled around playfully, ate some grass, scratched himself, and basically put on a show. The deck is 10 feet above the lawn, so I was in no danger. I was distracted to the point where I had forgotten to call the Wyoming Grizzly Bear Biologist who requested that residents call him immediately if a grizzly is seen around houses. He would then bring up a live trap, hopefully catch the bear and relocate it somewhere else. I remembered to call him, and I told him there was a bear on the lawn,

As I was flying out of Salt Lake City on my way home from the SHOT Show a couple days ago, I looked out the airplane window and saw a big lake below. Memories flooded through me as I thought about a day at that lake many decades ago.

Mike Scagnelli was hunting caribou in a remote part of northern Quebec on September 11th, 2001. Mike, assistant chief of New York City's police department, was enjoying a well deserved vacation. He had already taken one caribou and was stalking a second when he heard gunfire from camp. All the hunters were gone, and he assumed something was wrong.

On more than one occasion, I've made a bad shot with my rifle, whether at the range or in the field. Obviously, inaccurate shots at the range are harmless, but a bad shot on the hunt could result in a missed, or worse, a crippled animal.

Would you believe that in most Rocky Mountain states, there's a trout species so plentiful that there are large bonus limits where you can keep an usually large number of fish? In Idaho, for example, you can keep 25 extra; in Montana -- 20; in Wyoming --16, and in Colorado -- 10. These bonus fish are in addition to a regular limit of other trout species, if you wish to keep them.

It was a foggy, dreary day in northern Canada, with no promise of the fog lifting soon. I was sitting with an old Indian guide, waiting for it to clear up, hoping to see a moose in the beaver marsh shrouded by the fog. I noted that it was sunny on the slopes above us where there was decent visibility. Where we sat, we couldn't see 10 yards below us because of the fog. I wondered if it might be wise to climb higher and hunt where we could see, but I trusted the guide's wisdom.

I wanted to write something profound for a New Year's blog -- something appropriate for the old year going out and the new coming in. I could have written about the past year, but frankly, with all the terrorist activity, and demonstrations and plane crashes, I figured that wouldn't be on a positive note. And by the way, my glass is half full. I'm not a pessimist by nature. And then I thought I'd write about how great it would be for a new year that wouldn't have all the negatives, where we'd really make progress with the world's problems. Well.....maybe. Then I thought I'd write about my New Year's resolutions, which almost never are adhered to after a week or three. So, I figured it would be safe to write about happy times, back when I was a kid and I had no worries other than catching a bigger fish than my buddies, or head-shooting a squirrel out of a tall oak.

My last blog described an elk hunt with General Chuck Yeager where he gave me his rifle. In order to keep the blog from becoming too lengthy, I omitted a profound incident that deserves to be told.

I'm no stranger to elk hunts. I began hunting elk back in my 20's, and my interest and passion for hunting them grew to the point where they became my primary focus. I hunted elk everywhere I could, during blistering hot early fall days to bitterly cold subzero days. Because I was a full-time staff writer for Outdoor Life magazine, time was not an issue. I hunted nonstop, continually taking up the challenge in different states and different mountain ranges. I couldn't hunt elk enough.

A couple years ago, I fished for halibut in Alaska with Christina Holden, and our friends Louis and Ruth Cusack. Christina and I were taking a quick break from the annual black bear hunt we put on for military veterans. Both of us serve on the Alaska Healing Hearts board of directors. On that fishing trip, we met Christine Cunningham and her good friend, Steve Meyer. Fishing was good, the ocean was rock and roll friendly, and we carried delightfully heavy coolers of fish from the boat to our vehicles.

There are still some hunters today who believe that does should never be targeted, no matter the circumstances. That attitude is centered on the notion that the more does, the more breeding animals, and therefore more bucks later on. That was the prevailing attitude when I was a teenager. It was considered a cardinal sin to shoot a doe. Biologists held town meetings to explain new wildlife management practices.