What’s Next?

A lesson on doing it for the right reasons, keeping your head down, and the good we can do in this world.

I started writing professionally 13 years ago.

I won’t wax poetic about my time as a writer, or my skill; I wasn’t on the New York Times’ shortlist. I don’t find this craft to be such a part of me that I have to identify myself to new acquaintances as a wordsmith. I’m just as bad about switching my tenses midsentence as I was in 2011. I was good enough to make ends meet, though I didn’t feel like I was about to change the world.

But this blog has felt a bit different. Perhaps it’s me talking about my passions at will. Maybe it’s the control I feel when deciding what to write about next (more on the decision-making process later). It’s been an outlet for me, in whatever capacity I allow it to be. 

Aaron and I are nearly a year into the process of building this website. His podcast, The Southern Roost, tallied nearly 700 downloads in its first season. This blog and the Flyways & Highways website tallied more than 1,000 page views on 577 visits. It’s important to note that all media launched in July 2023, though the work started in early February. 

I can’t say we had any specific goals set aside for our first year of publish. There was always starry-eyed talk of revenue streams, of overnight adoration on social media, or some newfound esteem in the conservation community as the new kids on the block. None of that’s happened, of course. 

I can only speak for myself in this endeavor, though I genuinely believe Aaron has marinated in every minute of his podcast hosting. I have as well, at least with The Wayward Waterfowler. It’s been a gratifying experience despite the modest feedback. My words are here forever, and that thought will never cease to console me. Whether they’re read by you or your great-great-great grandkids isn’t my concern. 

One of the minute details that the author has been uncompromising on: Original photography. Here Chase Cook is pictured picking up a pair of redheads on the Texas Gulf Coast. Photo by Ryne Berthelot

Those of you who have kept up with this project, though, I thank you. I hope you’ve enjoyed the documentation of my waterfowling career and how it’s affected my life.

Still, I want better for you, and for this blog.

I’ve been working on a series of stories highlighting the old-time decoy carvers of Louisiana, something that I hope will transcend duck hunting and make its way into the realm of folk art collectors and artists, bringing a wider audience to the site. There will also be more feature stories in the near future, which used to be my bread and butter as a full-time journalist. I hope to archive duck hunting in the 21st century in a way that hasn’t really been accomplished yet. 

On a grander scale, Aaron and I are still working to expand the collective with the content you’ve come to expect: We’re vetting potential avenues into video, as well as the potential addition of another podcast to the fold, though we’re not willing to sacrifice the quality of our work to add more content. 

Then, there’s the hope that Aaron’s work to raise awareness for declining mottled duck populations will grow, and with it, our legitimacy as a conservation ally in the duck-hunting world. 

These are all lofty goals for 2024, of course. 

I can’t promise to achieve them, but I can promise you this: I won’t stop working towards them.