Columnist: Jason Hawkins

Mar. 18, 2014 @ 06:29 PM

Hunting for connection in communication forest

By all scientific accounts and amateur observations, wild game and fish feed when they are hungry, move when they want and are involuntarily involved in the same cycle of life today as they have been forever. What has changed is how we communicate what we see, do, catch, chase, observe or experience in the outdoors.

Feb. 18, 2014 @ 05:01 PM

Jason Hawkins Column: A hunter with a camera on a snowy day

I am in a field behind my house and with each step, I create more distance from where I was to where I am headed — still a mystery to me.

Feb. 10, 2014 @ 05:35 PM

Jason Hawkins Outdoors: A walk in the fields on a winter day

I am walking and it is the ground that I feel. Frozen in time, the mud holds true. There is a path here and droppings there, and I push through tall weeds to follow something anywhere.

Jan. 13, 2014 @ 08:43 PM

There's just something about the journey

When the door is shut and the truck pulls away, he begins his journey into the woods. Here he lifts himself atop a felled log so that he may see. Here, after he is warmed by a fire by the creek, he swings from a sapling tree and lands across the creek, repeats, repeats again and repeats again, too.

Jan. 11, 2014 @ 12:28 PM

Taking a look back at 2013

Two years ago when I embarked upon the dynamic idea of featuring local people and personalities and particular interests in the Hillsborough and Northern Orange area, I did so without any particular direction or set-course.
During this time, I have learned, been inspired, discovered, and in less than 1,000 words, attempted to capture the essence of a feature story.

Dec. 02, 2013 @ 11:42 PM

Outdoors column: It doesn’t matter

Nov. 30, 2013 @ 12:16 PM

Giving thanks for a combined 18 decades of love

Each of us has our own roots of thanks. This time of year, appreciation is individual and sometimes it takes a moment of awareness to appreciate and remember, and before it is too late, acknowledge.
Through this space, I normally feature people who compose the fabric of a community, locally and perhaps, globally. In recent weeks, it became clear to me that my own community, that of my family, is composed of two threads that have both inspired and served as constant demonstrations of love: my grandmothers.

Nov. 25, 2013 @ 05:31 PM

Cold weather warms hunter's heart

My hands are snug and tucked and tight, and when there is noise beyond, my palm grips hold of my bow and the cold air tightens and I feel the exposure and am reminded of the cold.

Nov. 11, 2013 @ 09:57 PM

A place to write: Words flow in tranquility

Jason Hawkins outdoors column

Nov. 04, 2013 @ 08:14 PM

Slow down, savor getting there

I could have driven along these woods. I could have used the off-road vehicle and navigated this path. Yet, it felt appropriate to walk. It felt authentic to step over sticks. There was something natural about my gait and the melodic repetition of my feet in the soft mud.

Oct. 28, 2013 @ 08:15 PM

Silence of hunting, golden moments

It was one of those days that seem to only happen once in awhile, and where the day had begun in silence, was now ending with an audible infiltrate, which seemed to spread from this tree stand to the noticeably empty hills below.

Oct. 21, 2013 @ 09:04 PM

Hunter glad to be boxed in small outdoor spaces

Before arriving to this confined space, attached to a tree, in the shadows of a world that is all things large and pulses with inconsistencies, I walked away from lists, to-dos, need-to-dos, ought-to-dos, and a litany of crossroad decisions that are native to most humans.

Oct. 14, 2013 @ 04:22 PM

Colors awake as seasons change

Where soft steps and the slosh of moist grass moved the hunter from ground to tree, it is the sun that moves the spirit of the hunter, even if steps are never taken.

Sep. 30, 2013 @ 06:20 PM

Jason Hawkins Outdoors: The wonder of discovery

I encourage discovery and independence in the outdoors for my two boys.

Sep. 23, 2013 @ 07:35 PM

A hunter follows his routines

The naked light bulb is silently persuaded by what remains of an overnight wind. He stands by the screen door, and his left hand lingers along the switch panel. It is 5:30 a.m., and he is up and dressed as one cup of coffee is being followed by a second on the last Saturday of the summer. His knees are one season older, and his eyesight is another sunrise weaker.