Field & Stream's Traditions Issue Is Here

This is no April Fools’ Day prank: The latest edition of the Field & Stream Journal is here! The easiest way to get a copy is to become a member of the 1871 Club here. (If you’re already a member—awesome. Your copy is in the mail.) So, why did we settle on “traditions” as the theme for this issue? And what kind of stories can you expect to find inside the Traditions Issue? Editor-in-Chief Colin Kearns’s introduction to the issue, below, can answer those questions for you.

I’m a sucker for the traditional. I prefer pocketknives with wooden or horn handles over modern plastic or tactical options. I’d rather dress in solid colors for a hunt than in camouflage. I still favor wearing a fly-fishing vest instead of a hipper chest or sling pack.

Some think (and have, in fact, said to my face) that I’m old-fashioned. If that’s true, I can live with it.

“Keeping the Flame” is a collection of essays about hunting and fishing traditions.

I’m an even bigger sucker for tradition. I rewatch Buster Keaton’s masterpiece Sherlock Jr. every New Year’s Day. I revisit Ted Leeson’s timeless F&S essay “Red, White, and Bluegill” every Fourth of July. Each holiday season, Mannheim Steamroller’s rendition of “Carol of the Bells” is the first Christmas song I listen to—a tradition for which I have my dad to thank. And this past February, after a snowstorm closed school for a day, my wife and I began a new tradition for our son: cinnamon rolls for breakfast on all snow days going forward. (I took Leo’s enthusiastic request for seconds as his approval.)

The two traditions I anticipate most each year, though, both occur around the same time—and, fittingly enough, coincide with our putting the finishing touches on this issue.

a magazine spread of a man push-poling a boat and an aerial view of a house. — For “A Bit of Heaven,” Ryan Chelius got to experience duck camp at one of the last-remaining bay houses on Long Island.

The first begins in mid-March, with my annual reading of Norman Maclean’s classic novel A River Runs Through It. I first read the book when I was 18. After that, my copy sat on a bookshelf for the better part of two decades. Then, about 10 years ago, I felt the urge to return to it. I enjoyed it so much the second time that I made a pact with myself to reread it every spring from then on. What amazes me about the book—and what speaks to Maclean’s brilliance—is that, even though I now know the story like the back of my hand, there is always at least one sentence or scene that leaps out at me as if I were reading it for the first time. Without fail, the book teaches me something new about brotherhood, fishing, or life. The older I get, the more I find to love about the story—and the more I value this tradition of mine.

The conclusion of my A River Runs Through It reread flows into the beginning of my second spring tradition: I always go trout fishing on my birthday—and I always save the last few pages of the book to read during my train ride to the stream. That birthday trip is consistently one of my favorite days of the year, even though I’ve been skunked the last four or five times. I always have the river to myself, and I use that time alone to reflect on the past year and consider the goals I’d like to accomplish in the year ahead. It’s also a good setting to dream up ideas for stories we can tell in Field & Stream.

A magazine spread of a group of hunters wearing jackets covered in patches — For “The Schoolhouse Boys,” Bill Heavey shared a deer camp with a group of Michigan pals who’ve been hunting together for decades.

It’s those stories, I think, that make me such a sucker for traditions—because I find that traditions are synonymous with storytelling. Whether a tradition dates back to Saint Hubert’s time—first-century France—or was born of a 2026 snowstorm, when you share the history of a tradition, you’re telling a story.

And this issue, as you’re about to see, is full of such stories. From a long-standing deer camp in an old Michi-gan schoolhouse to a duck hunt in a storied (and disappearing) location; from listening to ball games on a transistor radio alongside a steelhead river to the comforting, nourishing presence of a steaming pot of venison chili—these pages are steeped in tradition.

This issue also marks the beginning of a new tradition that I hope takes hold. We’ve created a section of the magazine called Field & Stream Country that is for—and by—F&S readers. Our vision is that it becomes a place where you can share snapshots from your time in the wild, send dispatches from your hunting and fishing adventures, and tell the stories behind your own traditions. Please feel free to send them to me at the email address below. Till then…

Welcome to the Traditions Issue.