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216 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S For a moment or two, we could not believe those blacks would keep coming. After all, we had no cover to screen us, and although we stayed as still as we could, we had to believe any bird looking down would recognize us as alien to the landscape. But distressed by the biting cold, desperate for fresh water, those ducks tumbled toward us. As they spread their wings wide, breaking, and hovered there for a split second above our decoys, Chick and I sat up and fired. John Cole, Life List American Black Duck, 1997. Submitted by Larry Freshley of Olympia, Washington. Kipling is the safety valve of the Britisher in freakish places. When the Briton sits on his ant heap in Rhodesia, his rum-keg in Hong Kong, or his tea-chest in Tierra del Fuego, he take out his Kipling. Sir Michael Bruce, No Escape from Adventure, 1954. Submitted by Jack FitzGerald of Rocky River, Ohio. To bed. Three bunks and the last talk, the talk we have shared since sleepovers in seventh grade, since slumber parties and raids on girls' houses and late night jumps into neighborhood pools. The talk that is part sleep, part memory. Little by little we leave the cabin, travel back, and it's all just fatigue and time. We go to that other country, that place only the three of us remember or care about, the land of our youth, of fresh limbs and quick muscles, where we witnessed the boy in each of us, and where that boy still lives in the others' memories, just there, just beneath the sixty-year-old, just there, one more time each spring. Joe Monniger, "A Night on the Kennebago," in Astream—American Writers on Fly Fishing, 2002. Submitted by Bob Norris of East Greenwich, Rhode Island. "It's a real funny thing," the Old Man said as we traced the river around to where you either have to swim or cut across high in the sandy hills. "A man can spend his life with his eyes open and never see a dingdong thing. Most people just stumble through this foolish business called life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but when the old boy upstairs whacks you with the scythe, you ain't seen anything much." Robert Ruark, The Old Man and The Boy, 1957. Submitted by Matthew M. Osinski of Boise, Idaho. What do I see when I look at a pup? I remember what it felt like to run barefoot; to have a secret place to sit and think. And I'm still looking for a dog to run with me when I want to run and sit and think with me when I want to sit and think. The right puppy doesn't mind that I'm not barefoot—he understands. When the right pal comes along—a puppy always knows it. Gene Hill, Tears & Laughter, 1981. Submitted by Bill Schaum of Montgomery, Alabama. Send us your favorite quotes from sporting literature and receive one free gift subscription for every quote that is published. Include the author, title of book, and date of publication. Send to: Quotes, Sporting Classics, PO Box 23707, Columbia, SC 29224 Quotes The prey must have the predator just as the predator needs the prey. One without the other eventually becomes something less. The wolf becomes a dog. The deer becomes a cow. And what has man become? Larry Marchington, Quality Whitetails, 1995. Submitted by Carl S. Foxworth of Murrells Inlet, South Carolina. I, for one, believe a rifle has a soul that is compounded of equal parts that include the skill of the maker, the love of its owner, and its tally on animals it has faced. Such a rifle carries its soul with it, from owner to owner, outliving many, outlasting them all. Terry Wieland, Dangerous Game Rifles, 2006. Submitted by Jerry Stricker of Anoka, Minnesota. You can see what man made from the seat of an automobile, but the best way to see what God made is from the back of a horse. Charles M Russell (1864-1926). Submitted by Bob Whitehead of Cloverdale, California.