These features run from three- to seven-thousand words. Click on links below excerpts to read.


“‘You want to swim with them? Forget it. I’d rather swim with white sharks than eels. Had a big one attack my dog last year. Tore all the hair off its leg. Bloody thing wouldn’t let go, so I shot it with my 12-gauge. Believe me, you don’t want to swim with those things. Ever seen one, mate? Huge mouth full of teeth. Slimiest, ugliest, meanest bastards on the face of the earth.’”

In Search of the Giant Eel


“Not only are there more mounted animals here than I have ever seen, there are some animals here that I have never seen. On one of the display columns beside the main doors there is an agile-looking thing about the size of an average city squirrel that appears to be some kind of miniature primate. I had no idea these creatures existed. Even more striking, this mini monkey has a V-shaped streak of shocking white hair that lends it an uncanny resemblance to Vincent Price.”

Welcome to the World Championships of Taxidermy


“Nighttime. The wind is picking up. The boat is rolling and pitching on inky ocean swells. If anybody falls, they will probably tumble down the shroud into the ocean. Hopefully, they will miss hitting the railing first but it seems unlikely. Either way, by the time the ship could turn around, the person overboard would be critically hypothermic – if they could be found at all.”

Chasing Captain Cook


“I looked up and saw him trotting down the road. Shiny black, rippled with muscle, and looking for trouble, the bull suddenly turned around sharply, coming to a full stop, lashing his tail. Everyone running behind also stopped suddenly, causing a pileup. The bull just stood there, scanning the crowd. And then he charged. That’s when the real panic started.”

Running of the Bulls


“The intensity of cold has jumped dramatically, just as Ducharme promised. Every second is torture, and now it’s no longer even remotely funny. My temperatures, both skin and core, start to plummet.”

Just Chillin’


“But soon the noises end. The bubbles are gone, too. What’s going on? Ric’s bigger than me–there’s no way he could have made it through if I couldn’t. So you wait. Still, no more bubbles. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty. What the hell’s he doing? He doesn’t have enough air to be screwing around like this. Something’s not right.”

The Man With Tunnel Vision


“The early years of Bob’s atlatl business were what you could safely call quite lean. He and his friend Paul lived in the Gallatin Gateway Hotel, outside of Bozeman, Montana. To be precise, they lived in the men’s washroom. “Hotel management had converted one of the shower rooms to a small apartment. It was cheap. And I lived 20 feet from a bar.” For extra money he worked as a bouncer, also at the hotel. “Hunter S. Thompson came to give a talk once. He signed one of my law books,” Bob recalls. “He put, ‘Even Jesus hated lawyers.’”

Proud to be Primitive