Pictures

Caught Sleeping the Day Away

Caught Sleeping the Day Away

Standing around the water.

Standing around the water.

DSC_0008

Studying for Midterms

Studying for Midterms

Game Room Grand Opening

Game Room Grand Opening

Game Room Grand Opening

Game Room Grand Opening

Womens Soccer V CSU

Womens Soccer V CSU

Womens Soccer V CSU

Womens Soccer V CSU

Homecoming Relay race Prexys

Homecoming Relay race Prexys

Campus Wildlife

Campus Wildlife

3-D Technology Lab

3-D Technology Lab

3-D Technology Lab

3-D Technology Lab

3-D Technology Lab

3-D Technology Lab

Women's Basketball Vs San Jose State

Women’s Basketball Vs San Jose State

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Women's basket ball vs Air Force

Women’s basket ball vs Air Force

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Men's Basketball V San Diego State

Men’s Basketball V San Diego State

Men's Basketball V San Diego State

Men’s Basketball V San Diego State

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Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

Mens Basketball V Northern Colorado Nov 2014

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Dutch Vap a North Platte Native, living on what is left of lake Maloney, searches the shallow waters for lost treasures.

Dutch Vap a North Platte Native, living on what is left of lake Maloney, searches the shallow waters for lost treasures.

SHOUT, One Shot

The pad of his right index finger holds tight to the gold-plated trigger as a blaze of orange screams across the sky. Both eyes are open and watching, it begins.

The optical ecstasy that lay in waiting is one that not many can say they have ever seen. Beginning as motion, seen after set in motion, and for about a second that consumes the soul. The fluid motion of left to right encompasses the mind as in that moment the eyes dilate into pinheads, the image is captured, the clay and the front sight, in the Iris and is funneled around the hazily mix and seeps into the pupil and projected across the lens to the retina. The image sent back across the threads that connect the eye to the skull, filling the body with endorphins. The skull is penetrated through the eye socket and like water on rock bashes against the brain until the rush topples over the top of the cerebellum and sends the body into a state that can only be recognized by one. Him.

As the brain is still in shock as of what has been commanded of it, the command is completed without question. The wave of endorphins trample the rippling surface, trying ever so hard to keep under control the mass confusion that resides underneath. The glow of the image rushing across the brain stem and into the spinal cord splits and falls to his ankle. Off of the heel of his double H’s the endorphins bounce back up across the ligaments and muscles that incase the ankles. Like a wave off the coast building to crash against the sandy shore, the endorphins ripple the muscles that create the calves. Across the knees and into the meniscus that connects the femur to the knee. The femur swells and expands the quads, pressuring the denim that contains the mixture of bodily fluid and bone together. The eruptions in the quads join as the bolt of energy meets in the coccyx and spirals through the small and large intestine. Racing through the thirty-seven feet of intestine rolling around building up its strength, like a hurricane coming through the Gulf of Mexico, using the gathered energy left behind.

This bolt flies through the emptiness that lacks food from breakfast, the bubble that erupts like a volcano into the black liquid that was shitty truck stop coffee trying to cover the leftover beer from the small celebration of freedom. Then like a butterfly dances in the gut. Fluttering.

The exhale of air pulls this innocence up and rips its wings off and bashing this thing of beauty making a transformation from a butterfly to the optimal bird of prey. The evil pours out growing talons and a beak. Without warning blasts through the sidewall of the gut and soars into the lungs taking the breath from the mouth. Driving across the pectoral muscle and dives down into the crook of the elbow, rearing up with talons exposed as it crosses the wrist. When the evil bird reaches the metatarsals and pulls the second tendon, as if grabbing a trout from the river, pulls the index finger back and drives the hammer home, and the gun smoke clears.

SHOUT: Duck hunting around Laramie, WY

Here we are in the lull season where only a few things are happening in the Outdoor world, especially here in Laramie, WY. One, if the ice is thick enough there may be a few people trying to catch a fish, Two, everyone is looking for a reason to get away from the grind of school, and Three the outdoors men are chomping at the bit to get into the next hunting season while living out last season with story after story of the 2014’s hunting season’s successes and failures.

Everyone knows about the big game hunters that are here. The Elk, Deer, and Pronghorn hunters can be seen during the respected seasons as they storm through town for a quick meal before they have to head back into the open range to fill their tags. The one thing that people rarely see in this area are Duck hunters. This breed of human is a force to be reckoned with. The determination and the preserving attitudes of these men and women can be put up against the hard-hitting stories that Ducks Unlimited publishes. The number of ducks that are taken here will not be in any fashion close to those of Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, and the other states that flourish in the water fowl industry.

I had the honor and privilege to hunt with a group combined of men from Oklahoma, Nebraska, Wyoming, and Colorado. We as a team put down 273 ducks before the season for us closed. I say this because just as all duck hunters know as soon as the water turns to ice then the ducks find the fastest air current they can and head south for the winter. Well that seems to come early for us every year, so making the most of the days to hunt starts with making a routine that looks something like this. Look at the classes that are offered at the university and compare it to duck season, there goes any morning classes, and fill the rest of your day with just enough classes to get you by. The keep is to make sure that you have enough classes to fill a full-time student and still make the grades to keep the parents happy.

The mornings that it’s so cold that the trucks don’t start, are gifts, those are the days you can sleep until noon because the sleep deprivation makes finals week look like a joke. Then there are mornings that seem to fly by. Those six man limit days when it is all you can do to pack up and get to class, those are the days when everyone knows that crazy runs in your blood. The looks are priceless from your peers, but the best are the professors. It’s almost as if they see the painted face of a duck hunter and they seek you out all class. When they ask you a question and through the camo paint, blood stained hands, and zombie like stare you muster up an answer that makes their jaw drop in astonishment. That is the moment when they can read your forehead that says, “YES Ma’am/Sir I do pay attention in your class and I am active student, why don’t you ask someone else that needs to be called out in class? That person over there in the corner sleeping looks like a good target.” It only takes once for the proper effect to be achieved.

These boys lived for those moments. Morning after morning of fighting frozen waders, firing pins, calls and the lack of ducks, never once did we have a bad day. That is something to be proud of, and the fact that this happens here in this small “non duck-hunting town” says something. What does it say? It says that the coverage of stories in fields such as this are pitiful. Was this a year that was just off the wall for this group of men? Maybe. But the challenging hunting here is worth hearing and the story will be told. They just need to be heard by the right people. Let the stories roll across the land and see what can come of checking out rumors that are so far-fetched that they can’t be true or are so off the wall that they must be true. It might surprise you. Pictures and stories of these are there you just have to go out and find them. That’s my job. I just need the outdoorsmen and women to read what is here to be read.

SHOUT (Shooting, Hunting, OUTdoor activities)

This is something new. This (SHOUT) is my life and the things that go on in it. The first post as the refined SHOUT Everything Country will be and event happening in Oklahoma. The OSU Cowboy Shootout. This is the first of many posts to come, but the category will change with in the realm of SHOUT, usually accompanied with other categories.

This is what posts of this nature will consist of:

The Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How of the event.

Who: Oklahoma State University is holding their annual Cowboy Shootout.

What: This is a Collegiate Shotgun Sports event that consists of 400 targets. The events and number of targets will be American Trap 100, American Skeet 100, Doubles Trap 50, Doubles Skeet 50, and a Flurry side event (Number of targets Unknown). The total cost for this event will be $125 a person (without the Flurry event).

When: February 28 through March 1 (Shooter’s will have to shoot both days. Times will be determined by the OSU Shotgun Sports officers). In compliance with the teams wishes Please Pre-register Before FEB 22. 

Where: The OKC (Oklahoma City) Gun Club Arcadia, OK 73007

Why: To support the OSU Cowboy Shotgun Sports Club as they host teams from around the Midwest in an opportunity for them to raise money, instill a life long addiction to the sport, help expand the knowledge of Shotgun sports as well as generate a realm of friends that will last much longer than our time in the University that we attend.

How: Email either Austin Knapp (aknapp@okstate.edu), Kyle Eggimann (kyle.eggimann@okstate.edu), or Macey Skidgel (macey.skidgel@okstate.edu) the three representatives from the OSU Shotgun Sports Team for more information. Ask all the questions you want and prepare yourself for a good time.

 

Bartrum Springs Farm: Outdoors for Every Skill Level

The mornings come out of old Innsbrook where the farmlands were once plentiful in this part of Virginia. The farmers of my grandfather’s youth would have never thought that one day their fruitful land would be covered in black top and concrete structures. The small farm of just over 150 acres is lit by orange and pink sky. As the shadows of darkness diminish Bartrum Springs is revealed: a two-acre pond, a small strip of hard woods, and the rest is wide-open field surrounded by rolling hills, a creek, and a large cut over. Over the years barns have gone up and gardens put in, but that doesn’t do anything except allow for another avenue into this country way of life.

Growing up on this farm I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into this place. This is my little escape from the concrete savanna that is encroaching into the countryside. First Innsbrook, now Short Pump and pretty soon Centerville will become just like the rest of them. Lush and beautiful until the wide spread population can’t stand not being able to walk around the corner without a Starbucks or the newest technology. For now the hay still blows in the wind and the oak trees still loose their leaves in the fall, just like they had done when the Rebels and the Yankees were watching the leaves fall as they slung hot lead at each other.

The house up one the hill is one that stands alone. Its simplicity only increases its beauty. This is the center of Bartrum Springs and it can see almost the entire property from its resting place. The front fields are nothing more than hay fields cut by two driveways, a barn, and a sizable garden. The main drive is paved and leads back to the brick rancher on the hill. On the other side, a gravel drive leads back to the garden and both barns. The garden is hand planted and picked by three humble country boys. The vegetables that come out of that garden are out of this world. The soil isn’t the best, but the tomatoes and the corn that grow there seem to like this small plot of dirt.

These three men take the time to plant, fertilize, harvest, and preserve everything that could come from this excuse to stay out of the house and enjoy the slower side of life. There isn’t a large variety of vegetables and fruits that grow here just the ones that are popular in southern cooking; corn, tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, squash, okra, eggplant, broccoli, asparagus, watermelons, cantaloupes and multiple types of beans. Well, rethinking that statement, about every vegetable that you could want is here. If it’s not then say the magic words and in a few months there it will be right on top of the dirt.

Continuing through the farm taking the dirt road past the garden and a small blemish of woods that conceals a constantly flowing creek. The road winds over the creek and through the thin strip of trees and drops you out into the hay fields. Much happens in the lush green fields you see as the road turns up the hill. No matter the season, no matter the job, and no matter in the fields or in the woods John Deere tractors are the only equipment that roam this property. When hay season gets into full swing you can frequently see two or three of these pieces of equipment scrambling around one slow moving bailer.

Heading up the hill there is a shop as well as two barns that have a sole purpose to store hay. One is a 40 by 100 and the other is 40 by 70. Scattered around the edge of the small strip of oaks is farm equipment and wagons all commonly used, most of them on a day-to-day basis. The dust bowl in front of these barns is where most of the labor occurs. Throughout first, second, and third cutting the dirt turns to powder from constant abuse from the John Deere’s grips. Getting out of the dust bowl and following the two track down the hill, there lays a pond teaming with fish.

This man made structure is the home to bass, brim, and carp. The fishing there is constant and fun for anyone, no matter the skill level. There is said to be pipe dreams of a gazebo on the island in the center, but that is still on the drawing board. This creek fed pond is visited by much more than its residents. On many occasions you can catch a small flock of geese and their young waddling around from one end of the water to the other. If you’re lucky you can catch a doe and her fawn drinking at the shallow end in the mornings. During the day you can see the news members to the wild turkey population scampering around scratching in the leaves. During the spring as the sun starts to set you can hear the king of the thunder chickens hammer away. This chilling sound will turn the largest of men into the smallest of infants. How do I know this you ask? I am one of those men. That sound gets the same reaction as if you gave a small child its first taste of a lollipop. All from the end of the pond all these things happen and to top it all off late at night you can hear the frogs bellow out while the soft winds whisper through the hard woods.

Following the creek upstream you can find the spring that feeds said creek. At the junction we encounter a four-way intersection; the spring fed creek connects to the corner of the cut over and the hard woods touch the corner of Philips’s field. The strip of hardwoods turns south and becomes thinner and thinner until it is pinched off with the collision of the hay field and the cutover. Throughout these woods, fields, and cutover you can see an assortment of game; deer, coyotes, turkeys, foxes, murders of crows, and there has even been the occasional bear that meanders through the property. Hunting the property has been fruitful for all of the people that have put the time into the land. Taking the time to scout and just be in the woods has paid off. Many people have shot deer here and many people have missed, myself included, but no matter what you do or where you sit there is an eighty percent chance that you will see something. What you see is probably not going to be the monster that has been hiding around here all these years and it might not be close, but there is never a shortage of visual entertainment via playful critters.

That being said the hunting here is perfect for beginners to get a little experience under their belt. Many times over I have taken little cousins and friends that are new to the sport and many have taken deer from this place almost all of them have taken a shot. The one thing that matters the most, to me, is that they enjoyed themselves. They saw game and they learned something new every time they entered the woods to hunt.
Having the privilege to enjoy this wonderful place for the duration of my youth and young adult life has offered me so much knowledge. Things you cannot learn behind a desk. Things that allow people to appreciate, what can be at times, back-breaking work. This farm has memories to make as well as lessons to be taught the question is, are you willing to let it teach you?

By: Leonard Scott (Scottie) Melton Jr.

Chapter One

Spending Time Outside

By: Leonard Scott (Scottie) Melton Jr.

Chapter One

Bartrum Springs Farm: Outdoors for Every Skill Level

            The mornings come out of old Innsbrook where the farmlands were once plentiful in this part of Virginia. The farmers of my grandfather’s youth would have never thought that one day their fruitful land would be covered in black top and concrete structures. The small farm of just over 150 acres is lit by orange and pink sky. As the shadows of darkness diminish Bartrum Springs is revealed: a two-acre pond, a small strip of hard woods, and the rest is wide-open field surrounded by rolling hills, a creek, and a large cut over. Over the years barns have gone up and gardens put in, but that doesn’t do anything except allow for another avenue into this country way of life.

Growing up on this farm I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into this place. This is my little escape from the concrete savanna that is encroaching into the countryside. First Innsbrook, now Short Pump and pretty soon Centerville will become just like the rest of them. Lush and beautiful until the wide-spread population can’t stand not being able to walk around the corner without a Starbucks or the newest technology. For now the hay still blows in the wind and the oak trees still lose their leaves in the fall, just like they had done when the Rebels and the Yankees were watching the leaves fall as they slung hot lead at each other.

The house up one the hill is one that stands alone. Its simplicity only increases its beauty. This is the center of Bartrum Springs and it can see almost the entire property from its resting place. The front fields are nothing more than hay fields cut by two driveways, a barn, and a sizable garden. The main drive is paved and leads back to the brick rancher on the hill. On the other side, a gravel drive leads back to the garden and both barns. The garden is hand planted and picked by three humble country boys. The vegetables that come out of that garden are out of this world. The soil isn’t the best, but the tomatoes and the corn that grow there seem to like this small plot of dirt.

These three men take the time to plant, fertilize, harvest, and preserve everything that could come from this excuse to stay out of the house and enjoy the slower side of life. There isn’t a large variety of vegetables and fruits that grow here just the ones that are popular in southern cooking; corn, tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, squash, okra, eggplant, broccoli, asparagus, watermelons, cantaloupes and multiple types of beans. Well, rethinking that statement, about every vegetable that you could want is here. If it’s not then say the magic words and in a few months there it will be right on top of the dirt.

Continuing through the farm taking the dirt road past the garden and a small blemish of woods that conceals a constantly flowing creek. The road winds over the creek and through the thin strip of trees and drops you out into the hay fields. Much happens in the lush green fields you see as the road turns up the hill. No matter the season, no matter the job, and no matter in the fields or in the woods John Deere tractors are the only equipment that roam this property. When hay season gets into full swing you can frequently see two or three of these pieces of equipment scrambling around one slow-moving bailer.

Heading up the hill there is a shop as well as two barns that have a sole purpose to store hay. One is a 40 by 100 and the other is 40 by 70. Scattered around the edge of the small strip of oaks is farm equipment and wagons all commonly used, most of them on a day-to-day basis. The dust bowl in front of these barns is where most of the labor occurs. Throughout first, second, and third cutting the dirt turns to powder from constant abuse from the John Deere’s grips. Getting out of the dust bowl and following the two-track down the hill, there lays a pond teeming with fish.

This man-made structure is the home to bass, brim, and carp. The fishing there is constant and fun for anyone, no matter the skill level. There is said to be a pipe dream of a gazebo on the island in the center, but that is still on the drawing board. This creek fed pond is visited by much more than its residents. On many occasions you can catch a small flock of geese and their young waddling around from one end of the water to the other. If you’re lucky you can catch a doe and her fawn drinking at the shallow end in the mornings. During the day you can see the news members to the wild turkey population scampering around scratching in the leaves. During the spring as the sun starts to set you can hear the king of the thunder chickens hammer away. This chilling sound will turn the largest of men into the smallest of infants. How do I know this you ask? I am one of those men. That sound gets the same reaction as if you gave a small child its first taste of a lollipop. All from the end of the pond all these things happen and to top it all off late at night you can hear the frogs bellow out while the soft winds whisper through the hard woods.

Following the creek upstream you can find the spring that feeds said creek. At the junction we encounter a four-way intersection; the spring fed creek connects to the corner of the cut over and the hard woods touch the corner of Philips’s field.   The strip of hardwoods turns south and becomes thinner and thinner until it is pinched off with the collision of the hay-field and the cutover. Throughout these woods, fields, and cutover you can see an assortment of game; deer, coyotes, turkeys, foxes, murders of crows, and there has even been the occasional bear that meanders through the property. Hunting the property has been fruitful for all of the people who have put the time into the land. Taking the time to scout and just be in the woods has paid off. Many people have shot deer here and many people have missed, myself included, but no matter what you do or where you sit there is an eighty percent chance that you will see something. What you see is probably not going to be the monster that has been hiding around here all these years and it might not be close, but there is never a shortage of visual entertainment via playful critters.

That being said the hunting here is perfect for beginners to get a little experience under their belt. Many times over I have taken little cousins and friends that are new to the sport and many have taken deer from this place almost all of them have taken a shot. The one thing that matters the most, to me, is that they enjoyed themselves. They saw game and they learned something new every time they entered the woods to hunt.

Having the privilege to enjoy this wonderful place for the duration of my youth and young adult life has offered me so much knowledge. Things you cannot learn behind a desk. Things that allow people to appreciate, what can be at times, back-breaking work. This farm has memories to make as well as lessons to be taught the question is, are you willing to let it teach you?

Big Kid World

Sitting around day after day busting my back and stripped the prints from my fingers. Class is just class every college kid knows that and it has to be done to find a job in this day and age. Working with class makes you feel like you can do anything and jobs will fall into your hands, better think again. Working the same internship for almost two semesters now and applying for another still not even a glimpse of a job. Looking in the Oklahoma City area and want more than just a gig. Wildlife, sports, portraits, anything under the sun with a camera to be honest or writing for that matter. The combination of the two would be the best. The skill set is here just need to find out who will enable me to use it. Been published in the Owen Wister Review and have nothing to show of it. What is a college kid to do in this situation? Welcome to big kid world.