Oregon Rules and Safety in Hunting

As fun as hunting in Oregon is, it's also important to understand the rules that go along with it. Safety is always a top priority in every hunting trip we go on. Survival and safety are more important than success.

  • Gary Lewis' rules of manliness

    Learn the rules, and abide by them.

  • Preparation can Keep Lost Hikers From Staying Lost

    A week of warm weather melted the snow and I took the opportunity to make a hike into Marion Lake. I left the trailhead in the early morning as the sun came over Rockpile Mountain. The path wound up through old growth fir trees hanging heavy with moss until finally I could hear water running out of Ann Lake, the first stop on the trail. I watched some ducks for a few minutes then started out again, leaving the trail at the first opportunity. Pretty soon I was down in a swamp and could see no landmarks. As the sun warmed the rocks I picked my way across a field of boulders, sure I would find a trail again on the other side. The only path I found had been made by a deer and not in the recent past.

  • Gun Control is Not the Answer

    After the recent violence this past school year, a good friend remarked, “I wish they could take all the guns in this country and grind them up.” Then, as an afterthought he said, “All those hunters - they could just use bows and arrows.” Now, this is a man who loves freedom. He likes to camp, to hike, to fish without catching, to stand on the top of a mountain and watch the wide-open landscape. My friend escaped from a country where only the powerful could protect themselves. They built a wall and shot anyone they suspected of trying to go under or over it. In his native land the unarmed populace did not even have the legal right to voice their protest.

  • Ask not for whom the vultures wait. They wait for thee.

    Spring is coming and the wildflowers will be opening soon. The sage will turn silver-green and the sky is blue. Trout are feeding on the surface again. Doves are roosting in the junipers. It’s easy to think that all of nature exists for our pleasure but the truth is that there are some critters out there that could ruin your day. It was seventy degrees and a brisk April wind blew down the gorge. Dust and sage mingled in our nostrils. We were kicking through a brush-choked draw on the north-facing slope hunting rabbits. It was the first week of warm days in an otherwise damp and cold spring. I knew the snakes would be coming out soon.

  • Youth Outdoor Adventures Cements Skills on Field and Stream

    There was a time before iPods and X-Box, before Dance Dance Revolution and the Internet, before two-income families and traveling soccer teams when kids came by their hunting skills naturally. He started with a slingshot or a BB gun and graduated to a .22 rimfire or a .410 shotgun to chase squirrels and cottontail rabbits. She stalked mallards in ditches and tagged along with dad to deer camp.

  • Essential Survival Gear for Oregon Hunters

    Hunters of the past placed a certain amount of faith in the items they brought on the hunt. When an Indian went hunting he carried his supplies in a rawhide bag worn over the shoulder. In it he carried dried meat to eat along the way. Today we call that a backpack. The Indian also carried a smaller pouch slung over a belt. In it he carried flint and tinder for making a fire. Today’s hunter calls it a fanny pack and what he brings along is as important as any other piece of equipment he carries into the woods.

  • Making Sense of Oregon’s Muzzleloader Regulations

    When I became the owner of a new muzzleloader late last year, I was proud to show it off to everyone who’d take the time to look. “Isn’t that illegal in Oregon?” was the first question everyone asked. Then they’d heft it and put it to their shoulder and sight down the octagonal barrel through the fiber optic sights at some imaginary mule deer buck.

  • Hunter Education Trains Novice Nimrods in Skills and Safety

    I led the way, feeling the crisp October air in my lungs and the narrow switchback trail in the tops of my legs. I stopped to look back. Tiffany was coming up the trail, the Ruger 243 slung on her shoulder and a grin on her face. Behind her, on the valley floor, the rancher’s Black Angus and Herefords were mere specks now. We topped out on a bench and worked to the west, using the folds of the treeless terrain for cover and binoculars to probe each new vista. A cool breeze blew in our faces, but the morning sun warmed our backs. It was the last day of my 12 year-old daughter’s deer season and her last chance to fill her tag.

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