Pass on the Heritage with Hunter Hills Journals

19 02 2014

Hunter HillsIn my spare time I enjoy doing ancestry research. I love when I can find one of my ancestor’s handwritten journals. Some of these journals could be a hundred years old or older, and they contain a wealth of information that you cannot find anywhere else. With that in mind, Hunter Hills has a complete line of Sportsman’s Journals. All of these are handmade, formatted and leather bound and maintain a quaint look of the past. These give you a unique place to keep your hunting legacy alive for your grandchildren/great grandchildren and so on.

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Hunter Hills Journals come in many sizes and formats.
Photo: Diane Hassinger

Whether you are a hunter, fisherman, or just like to keep a journal of your day, there is a Hunter Hills Journal made just for you. They have created formatted pages to help you keep track of your hunts and harvests, hunt specifics, personal information, notes, addresses, maps and pictures. They are customized for; Big Game, Fishing, Whitetail, Fly Fishing, Waterfowl, African Hunts, Upland Birds and Saltwater as well as a general Journal. They also can be personalized with your name laser cut into the leather and the title page can have your name or logo imprinted.

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Details of my hunts were easy to record.
Photo: Diane Hassinger

I won my first Journal, and since that time I have purchased several as gifts and for myself. Recently I hunted South Africa for 2 weeks, and my African Journal went with me. The African field journal is a compact 4” X 7” with 110 formatted pages with a MSRP of $30; while the African Camp Journal is 5 ½” X 7” with 200 formatted pages and has an MSRP of $40. The African Lodge Journal measures 5 ½” x 7” with 220 total pages; 120 formatted pages and 100 photo sleeves and has an MSRP of $50 and $65 with photo tabs. I used the Lodge Journal so that I can keep pictures of my hunts right with the stories, and protected with the photo sleeves.

I updated it each day, because of that, my family can enjoy my experiences for many, many years to come. I keep a separate journal for the hunting I do local to North America and another for my Saltwater Fishing. Even with these trips being recent, my grandchildren love to flip through the pages and read the stories that go with each picture. It is not hard to imagine what type of reaction my great grandchildren will experience reading about my adventures. These are destined to become family treasures!

These books will become family treasures. Photo: Diane Hassinger

These books will become family treasures.
Photo: Diane Hassinger

During the summer of 2015 my family will be traveling to South Africa with some of our children and grandchildren. I plan to gift each with their own African Journal to start the legacy of their adventures. This is such a great way of “Passing on your heritage”. You can purchase these at Hand made in the USA.

Hunter Hills logo is the sole property of it’s rightful owner and used within this writing solely for the promotion of products herein as requested by the product’s manufacturer.

Endorsement Disclosure: Per the guidelines of the Federal Trade Commission, the products reviewed in these product reviews is an endorsement and the writer may have been compensated by “in-kind” payment to review the product.

This post originally published on Ladies in Camo at

Let’s go Fishing 1992

1 05 2012

This is part of a series of writings I did in 1992.  Surprising, this is as true today, as it was 20 years ago, and Dale is still my fishing partner; 33 years this spring.

“Let’s go fishing this weekend,” Dale suggests, and I readily agree.  We have been fishing partners for our entire married life.  After some fishing trips, remaining married is a feat.  Sometimes our trips have been known to turn into a comedy of errors.  However, I am always ready to go fishing regardless of the time we must leave, the cold weather, or even a clash with Mother Nature.

Four o’clock a.m. comes early the morning of our trip.  An entire pot of strong black coffee is not enough to open my eyes.  I stumble incoherently out to the old pick-up truck; after scraping ice off of the windows, we embark on a day of fun.

“Quit breathing, you are fogging up the windshield” Dale demands, “Just wait until the heater warms up.”

Just as I am about to black out from the lack of oxygen, the first wisps of warmth are emitted from the heater.  Coincidentally, this also marks our arrival at the lake.

The morning sky is ominous looking, indicating that the weather will be unstable.  We unload our essential equipment, and trudge down the slippery, mud covered slope to the dark and menacing lake.  Cold, slimy mud oozes over the top of my boots, instantly putting a spring in my step.  The nip in the air is chillingly refreshing, not cold enough to numb your extremities.  However, I wish my feet were numb, so I could not feel the mud squishing between my toes.  The wind has calmed to a mere gale.  A perfect day for fishing, usually the weather is unmistakably miserable when we manage to take off a day.  I attempt to bait up with a worm, who is no happier to be awake at this hour then I am.  After struggling to pierce the squirming bait with a hook, I finally feel the barbs penetrate.  I lean back, and cast smoothly into a deep pool of water about 25 feet from the shore.  I snuggle down into my heavy wool jacket, waiting for the moment when a fish decides to breakfast on my bait.  Before long I am rewarded with a persistent pull on my line.  I quickly reel in the fish, which is only a small bass.  The fish is returned to the water, and the process is repeated.

Mother Nature now decides to throw her worst at us, and the wind increases to tempest storm intensity, the wind chill-factor is dropping rapidly.  The next cast of my line results in it being slapped back in my face, as if thrown by an invisible hand.  I am grateful for my cold weather clothing, but even it is not enough to ward off the frigid air.  It has now become a challenge just to get the line into the water, and not freeze while doing so.  This becomes a battle of the wills, and Mother Nature wins.  Dale and I pack up our equipment, and trudge up the slippery hill to the eventual warmth of the truck.

This has all been a minor deterrent, and we will continue to go fishing whenever the chance arises.  Awaking at 4:00 am, scrapping ice off of our windows, battling Mother Nature in a slightly unfair battler of the wills is all part of the allure of the sport.  Next time maybe the odds will be in my favor, and I will win.

My fishing partner

The “I CAN DO IT” Fish

21 04 2012

This post was originally posted on Project; Pink.

This post also was published on Ladies in Camo at

The “I Can do it” fish

The photo was taken 3 weeks following my mastecomy. My daughter Shannon had to place the salmon on the rock, so I could get a picture with it. It was important to me to be able to have me in the picture, not someone doing it for me (Like Dale holding the fish with me beside him).
The first salmon fishing after my mastectomy, was just a mere 3 weeks after the surgery. Fishing has always been important to me, so I was concerned that I would not be able to handle a fish on my rod. I took it easy at first, especially since all of my Doctor’s had told me not to fish at all. It did not take long for my competitive side to take over, and soon I had a salmon on the line.
The first thought through my head was “I CAN DO IT”! I fought that fish and enjoyed every second doing so. Life was starting to seem normal again. My daughter Shannon helped me land the fish, but then we had a problem. I couldn’t lift the fish for any pictures. She helped me improvise by placing the salmon on a rock, so all I would have to do is balance it. “I CAN DO IT”. That was the first of many salmon that weekend.

Sarah, Charlie, Dale and Ryan

My grandchildren have been fishing since they could walk, and salmon fishing is a big part of their lives also. My granddaughter Sarah and I fished a lot of the stream together, helping each other along the way. She would hook and fight a fish, then I would help her land it, and of course take pictures.


Lots of fish were caught, good memories made, family values instilled in our grandchildren, and of course a big hurdle in my recovery was overcame. As long as I am able I will continue to fish with my family and enjoy our time together. As always “Love the life you live”.

I did let Dale hold this one for me