I realize most who subscribers to this Substack have never met me, and even fewer met or knew my father. However, in today’s world you never know who is watching or where they’re watching from, and it’s possible that some people who knew my father are subscribers who might have an interest.

My father’s father passed away when Dad was 14, so he quit school to work and support his mom. A garage owner gave him an evening job if he would go back and finish school—and he almost did—but he ended up lying about his age and joining the Army. He went to Korea, got shot all to hell, and spent three years in a hospital. Afterwards, he got his GED and went to college on the GI Bill, ultimately earning a master’s degree from Marshall University.

He became a teacher, worked as a guidance counselor, helped develop adult vocational education in his home county, and retired as the director of school transportation. He understood how hard life was and how young adults sometimes just need a little help to get their life started down the right road. He was also one of the founders of the Shady Spring Citizens Scholarship Foundation, the Chairman of the Selection Committee of The Westmoreland Coal Company-Penn-Virginia Scholarship Foundation for 33 years, and he served as the President of the West Virginia Association of Pupil Transportation

Dad was a consummate believer in the importance of education; my sister and I have spent much of our lives meeting people who told us how our father changed their lives. When he passed in 2018, working with the West Virginia high school where he went as a young man and spent his early counseling career, we set up a college scholarship program. The funds are now dried up and without donations it will no longer exist.

If you would like to contribute—anything from a penny to a small fortune—to help a young adult begin their college education every year, you can mail a check to the below address and write “Richard Mann Scholarship” in the memo line:

Shady Spring High School

300 Hinton Road

Shady Spring, WV 25918

I was notified today that the EmptyCases Substack is now listed as a best seller, with hundreds of paid subscribers. This is of course some good news for me because it means the few dollars each of you who are paid subscribers provide helps me keep two daughters in college. When she’s nice to me, it is also enough money to let me take my wife out—occasi…

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I’m not going to Africa this year but you can. A few years back my sister won a discounted safari with the Wild Wildebeest Lodge in Limpopo, South Africa. The outfitter has extended it through the end of 2026, but she has too much going on to take advantage of it. So, the outfitter has authorized her to transfer/sale the adventure.

The package includes:

5…

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The reason is really very simple. After spending a decade researching and testing both, after hunting with both on two continents and taking or witnessing the taking of more than 100 animals with them, after shooting every Scout Rifle or rifle someone called a “Scout Rifle”—and every scout scope—I could find, after building several scout-like rifles, and even after writing a book about Scout Rifles, I realized everyone else knew more about Scout Rifles and scout scopes than I did.

Surprisingly, the world is full of Scout Rifle and scout scope experts.

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“Go get in the truck.”

Stralie Walker

My Grandfather

He was born in 1905 and dropped out of school in third grade to work the family farm until he was old enough to get a job at a coal mine. Before he reached voting age, he fell off a railcar, and it ran over his leg. He’d wear a prosthetic the rest of his life. During prohibition he realized running moonshine was more profitable than farm work and coal mining, and that drinking moonshine was more fun than selling it.

He didn’t get rich but was never short on cash. When liquor became legal again, he invested his money in various endeavors, and his family did well. When I met him his outlaw and drinking days were behind him and he’d become a pillar of the community. He even served a term on the local Board of Education. Everyone he met called him “Mr. Walker,” I just called him “Pa.” he was my grandfather.

Pa grew up and matured in a time when guns were as common as a hammer. For the few years I got to spend with him before he passed, he kept a revolver in his nightstand and a rifle in the closet. They were both loaded.

I only saw him mad only once. My cousin had become engaged in a disagreement with an uncle. Pa found out his son in law had failed to pay my cousin for some work as promised and he told us boys, “Go get in the truck.” We did, but it was a while before Pa came out of the house and tossed his Smith & Wesson on the dash.

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“In five years, you may not recognize the modern rifle.”

Richard Mann

EmptyCases

I dropped by the Lipsey’s booth at SHOT Show to talk with Jason Cloessner. I’m a fan of Lipsey’s because as specialized as modern factory rifles have become, Lipsey’s always takes things a bit further. For example, they’re offering a Ruger 77 chambered in 35 Whelen or 9.3x62 that they’re calling the “Alaskan Bush Rifle.” It’s stainless steel, has a laminated hardwood stock and open sights. They are also offering a Ruger No. 1 International in 9.3x62.

During the visit I told Jason, “In five years, you may not recognize the modern rifle.” and he agreed. To fully understand my comment, you might want to read the article linked below.

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“I’m going to try to be more like my dog.”

I’ve been making this same New Year’s resolution since 2013, because I think it’s a good one. I’m going to try to be more like my dog because:

• He’s always happy to see those he cares about. (No, I’m not going to start smelling butts.)

• He’s always leery of strangers. (When my dog questions someone’s character, sometimes he just walks up and pisses on their leg. He’s usually right—just like with the twit that was my youngest daughter’s last boyfriend.)

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Before my 14^th Christmas, I’d looked through the Gander Mountain catalog for a pair hunting boots. I’d picked a pair out, drew a big circle around them, and gave the catalog to my mother, making sure she knew what I wanted. I don’t remember how much they cost but it was close to a hundred bucks, and back then a hundred bucks was a hell of a lot of money, especially for a pair of boots just for hunting. But these were real boots—leather boots. The kind you would rub boot dressing on in the evening after every hunt and then put them close to the fire so you could watch the dressing melt and seep into the leather while you told everyone all the places you and your boots had gone, and what you had seen and done that day.

My grandfather didn’t wear leather boots. He had a pair of black rubber galoshes he just slipped over his shoes when he hunted. I kind of understood that because grandpa only had one foot. A train ran over his leg when he was 18 and cut his other foot off. Grandpa was very practical, and it would just not have made sense to spend good money on a pair of boots when you only needed one. Dad had leather boots, but they came from the VA. He got shot in the leg while he was in Korea and bone loss made that leg three inches shorter than the other. So, the VA provided him with a special pair of boots, and one had a three inch heel. But the VA was stingy with those boots, especially the insulated ones. He could only get them ever so often, so he had to take good care of them. That’s where I got my boot dressing lesson.

When Christmas day finally arrived, I saw that boot-size box under the tree and could not contain myself. For about the next month those boots were the only things I put my feet in, and for the next half dozen years, those boots and I covered many, many miles. We climbed mountains, waded swamps, mud, and deep snow, and we drug deer together. I took care of those boots and together we made some of the best memories I have. For a kid who wanted to hunt more than anything else, they were my magic carpet into the mountains.

Every Christmas I think about a lot of things, but when I think of Christmas presents, I think of opening the box those boots come in. I’ll never get another pair of boots I’ll want as much, or another present I’ll like as much, and I’d give a thousand dollars to open a Christmas present this year if it could have those boots—new again—inside, with their crinkly wax paper wrapping, new leathery smell, untrodden soles, and the same promise of adventure they gave a teenage boy when he really needed it.

My parents and grandparents molded me by exposing me to the outdoors and letting me explore and learn on my own. But I think maybe, at least to some extent, it was those boots that made me what I am.

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On Saturday morning, Bat headed home. Shortly after, our hunting friend from New York—one of the few tolerable Yankees I know—headed home too. You may not know it but there are three kinds of Yankees. There’s the normal Yankee, which is intolerable. The tolerable Yankee, who comes south to visit but then goes home. And then there’s the damned Yankee, wh…

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There are a lot of good things that happen at deer camp that have nothing to do with dead deer. One of those things is deer camp food. When I was young my grandmother and my mom did all the cooking at our deer camp, and it was good—damned good. But I’ve been to some deer camps where the food was atrocious, amounting to nothing more than cereal for break…

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“Life is hard, that’s why there’s deer camp.”

Richard Mann

EmptyCases

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In the beginning of the Day 10 Dispatch part 1, I said that I was heading up the mountain to recover a doe when my daughter called me about shooting here buck. This, is the rest of the story—my story. The doe that I was recovering was shot at right at 300 yards with the new super secret soon to be released cartridge I cannot speak of. But more important…

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I was heading up the mountain to recover a doe—that’s a different story (part 2)—and I could feel my phone vibrating. It was my daughter Montana who has been hunting at home while I’m at deer camp, It was a FaceTime call, and when I answered, Montana said, “I think I shot a deer.”

I’ll save our full conversation for the full story that’s later to come—wh…

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This morning it was cold and raining, and the 4-5 inches of snow that was forecast did not arrive. I was out until about 9:30 and the only thing I saw was my breath. This evening at 3:56, six doe were working their way along the ed…

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Day 7: I was running a little behind on Sunday morning and managed to leave camp without my warm coat, which I keep in pack until I get where I’m going. That made the morning a bit chilly but six deer did almost run over top of me. None of them had antlers but I guess they heard my public land complaints from Day 6.

Sunday evening I decided to hunt a lau…

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I did make it to my camp in time to hunt—for a minute—but I did not see anything. Since the private land around our property has been hunted pretty heavy this week, I decided to venture on to public land.

The South Branch Mountain is partially covered by the 10,000 acre Nathaniel Mountain Wildlife…

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If you are still looking for a Christmas gift for that hunter on your list, there’s always the option to gift them a coy of my new book.

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Don’t read, watch, or listen to the news today, just be thankful you’re not in it.

The world’s insane:

Guardsmen shot

Intelligent aliens

Crooked politicians

Protestors

Travel delays

Gas & groceries

and, “the winter’s coming.”

But…

Yesterday evening, by himself, a young man followed his father’s footsteps to the top of a mountain. An older man sat in the woods and…

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Deer Season—Day 1: It was a little bit cool yesterday morning, and it was a hell of a lot foggy. In fact, it was the foggiest morning I have ever hunted in and some of the thickest fog I have ever seen. The fog didn’t lift until about 10 AM.

This first week I’m hunting with my oldest daughter behind our hous…

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