Ep. 67 Cracker Country

   In an environment that seems to be permanently riddled with mosquitos, alligators, poisonous snakes and just about any creepy crawly insect you can find you might spot the odd man out. Its likely they’ll be waist deep in the muck with a shotgun. Rain or shine they stand like a statue braving the elements. The hunters of the swamps are their own special breed, we may not deal with ice and sub zero temperatures but we have our own set struggles. Hunting in the south, much like many things, is deeply rooted in tradition and family. The duck blind is a place where memories are made the spot where generations of stories are experienced in real life. A place where bonds are formed for a lifetime, the center of solitude for some, a shelter from the harshness of the real world for others. The days we’ll never forget start just as often with a sunrise over an ocean of glass as you stand motionless looking for the telltale wake of redfish in search of a meal in the shallows as they do with limits of ducks shortly after first light. The Florida sportsman has mud between their toes and salt water in their veins, a deep connection to the swamp and deeper loathing for the wine of mosquitos on a summer night.

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