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The latest addition to our growing list of ultra-high performing shotshells.
BOSS TOM strikes the perfect balance of pattern density, down range performance and value.
Boss Shotshells
Unmuzzled
Unmuzzled
BOSS TOM strikes the perfect balance of pattern density, down range performance and value.
![THE WEIGHT OF LOSS
Heavy times these last few days, BOSSmen. We lost one of our own.
When a waterfowler goes in the field, we all feel it. You try and tell yourself they went doing what they loved, but there’s little comfort there. It’s a soul-crushing loss and in piecing together all the moves leading up to a tragedy like this, reality tends to point a finger back at the guy in the mirror.
Over the course of our waterfowling careers, an error in judgment like this coulda happened to any one of us, so an honest hunter shouldn’t place blame or ever make internet keyboard jockey comments on it. We’ve all pushed it too hard many times. What’s done is done. But there is a lesson to find alongside the lingering ache of missing a man in the prime of his life. Tony was one hell of a hunter who lived it as much as anyone. The only thing he loved more in life than divers were his two girls.
Bitter Lake, South Dakota. Big water. Pre-dawn, with the throttle cracked wide open and three best friends navigating by headlamp. You’ve been in similar situations. It’s blowing chop outta the West and cold, and you’re pushing it in a small boat heavy with men, a Lab, six dozen dekes, guns and gear. Stoke level: Mega, ‘cause this is day three and these boys smashed ‘em on the two previous mornings.
On the most-wanted list: Cans, Bluebill, Redheads and Goldeneye, in that order. The boat’s less than a mile offshore in 14 feet of water and it’s dark. Black dark, so they’re disoriented. Happens to all of us, so they’re spinning to port, then starboard and back again, looking for some sort of landmark in shadow. The boat’s wakes catch up to them and in seconds, there’s sub-40° water piling in over the transom.
Two men jump forward to level the hull, but the floor drops out from under their feet in less than five seconds. You know the rest, no need for more detail. Two men make it out carrying a horrifying memory they’ll never shake. One doesn’t.
[Story continues in comments]](http://scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/4b9eccbad75fe95d1f7eefd0d061259a/5E519DEB/t51.2885-15/sh0.08/e35/s640x640/74864981_110962530163413_8047064784693415434_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-lax3-1.cdninstagram.com&_nc_cat=109 "THE WEIGHT OF LOSS
Heavy times these last few days, BOSSmen. We lost one of our own.
When a waterfowler goes in the field, we all feel it. You try and tell yourself they went doing what they loved, but there’s little comfort there. It’s a soul-crushing loss and in piecing together all the moves leading up to a tragedy like this, reality tends to point a finger back at the guy in the mirror.
Over the course of our waterfowling careers, an error in judgment like this coulda happened to any one of us, so an honest hunter shouldn’t place blame or ever make internet keyboard jockey comments on it. We’ve all pushed it too hard many times. What’s done is done. But there is a lesson to find alongside the lingering ache of missing a man in the prime of his life. Tony was one hell of a hunter who lived it as much as anyone. The only thing he loved more in life than divers were his two girls.
Bitter Lake, South Dakota. Big water. Pre-dawn, with the throttle cracked wide open and three best friends navigating by headlamp. You’ve been in similar situations. It’s blowing chop outta the West and cold, and you’re pushing it in a small boat heavy with men, a Lab, six dozen dekes, guns and gear. Stoke level: Mega, ‘cause this is day three and these boys smashed ‘em on the two previous mornings.
On the most-wanted list: Cans, Bluebill, Redheads and Goldeneye, in that order. The boat’s less than a mile offshore in 14 feet of water and it’s dark. Black dark, so they’re disoriented. Happens to all of us, so they’re spinning to port, then starboard and back again, looking for some sort of landmark in shadow. The boat’s wakes catch up to them and in seconds, there’s sub-40° water piling in over the transom.
Two men jump forward to level the hull, but the floor drops out from under their feet in less than five seconds. You know the rest, no need for more detail. Two men make it out carrying a horrifying memory they’ll never shake. One doesn’t.
[Story continues in comments]")
