Ted Schnack Jr.  Bronze Sculpture

Sometimes the wind of fate doesn’t just blow you somewhere—it’s a rumbling tornado that throws you, or a sliver of light through a cracked door. Life is a string of decisions, some of them messy, some no-brainers. Some small—like realizing you should’ve gotten the tacos instead of the chimichanga. Others carry massive pros and cons—like winding up a cloud of bone shards and meat because of a bad call or on the most amazing soul stretching adventure of your life.  Its your cal

Hard Core Do it yourself Old Schooler.  No guides-No private land.  Solo Wilderness backpack hunter long before cell phones or anything...

I was a skinny teenager in the '70s, typical of the era. I was always fascinated by fighters and bodybuilders I would see on TV. That’s what a man should act and look like. Because I was sort of a skinny pretty boy, the jungle of teenage boys thought I was an easy mark. I was quick to fight back but got my ass kicked a couple of times in junior high and high school. I had this thing in me—I just couldn’t take shit from anybody and would react before I assessed the odds of suc

By Ted Schnack Babylon the Great... the dwelling place of demons... the mother of prostitutes... and abominations of the earth. —...

By Ted Schnack Sometimes things turn to shit, if we were to ever meet you might notice my nose is crooked, and sometimes things turn...

Wild sheep. It’s the stuff of legends. There is little that strikes deeper into the soul of a hunter than the thought of hunting wild...

Once again the winds of fate had blown me to a strange place. I found myself in the heart of some of the most desolate country in North...

By Ted Schnack Cops grapple with life at its grittiest and most interesting into the stripped-down world of the human beast. I was a...

by Ted Schnack   I cried when I heard George Foreman passed but soon found myself smiling. What a man. What a legacy. What a...

Literary Immortality. Countless writers and artists that have graced the centuries, yet few and rare are those who create works so...

Ted Schnack’s life as a sculptor began in a rather abstract way— in the red dirt of east Africa. He was pursuing a lifelong dream to hunt...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr. Old Serbia. Little Red Riding Hood, the Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf. Grimm Fairy Tales were not...

Eons ago, in a great battle of continents, the Indian and Eurasian plates collided with planetary force, stacking mountains upon...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr RMEF- Bugle Feature The old bull had it all: mass, length, width and survival skills fit for modern warfare It...

Written by Ted Schnack The hunter felt the animal in him awaken. His dulled senses were becoming keen, taking on a sharper edge. The...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr. America had been attacked with a murderous sucker punch. That day of infamy stirring the deep soul of a...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr. Wild sheep. There is little that strikes deeper into the soul of a hunter than the thought of hunting wild...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr. Millions of years ago in the middle of the vast Pacific, a crack in the earths crust burped up a hot glob of...

Written by Ted Schnack Jr. A six legged demon was ripping pieces out of my face. But I didn’t dream of flinching. Not after all I had...

Sporting Classics Feature Written by Ted Schnack Jr. The Rocky Mountains are a vast, formidable barrier that cuts America from top to...