Higher Calling Wildlife

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Hogs

I Didn’t Expect to See This on a Trail Camera

January 10, 2026 Chester Moore Leave a comment

For years, feral hogs have been one of the most familiar — and destructive — wildlife problems across the American South. They’re usually described the same way: dark, bristly, aggressive, and unmistakably hogs.

But every so often, something shows up that doesn’t fit the mold.

Recently, I was sent a trail-camera image of a large, white, heavily built hog with an unusually thick, almost wool-like coat. The person who sent it to me (Raul Alcocer) didn’t know what to make of it.

I showed a diehard hog hunting/trapper the photo and their first reaction wasn’t scientific — it was visual.

They said it looked like a polar bear.

That nickname stuck. They called it a “polar bear hog.”

Watch the full analysis here

At first glance, the reaction is understandable. The animal’s color, bulk, and coat texture don’t match what most people expect to see when they think of a feral hog.

And once you start asking around, it becomes clear this isn’t an isolated case. Hunters and landowners across the South have reported giant white hogs, pale hogs, and oddly built feral boars that don’t resemble the typical wild hogs they’ve dealt with for years.

These animals stand out because they’re rare — not because they’re impossible.

Why some feral hogs look so different

Feral hogs in North America are not a single, uniform animal. They’re the result of centuries of mixing between escaped domestic pigs, Eurasian wild boar stock, and ongoing uncontrolled breeding. Over time, that has produced a population that is genetically chaotic.

Most of the time, feral hogs trend toward a familiar “wild” look: darker coloration, bristly hair, leaner bodies. But the genetics behind them don’t disappear. Under the right conditions, old domestic traits can resurface, even generations later.

That’s why white or pale feral hogs occasionally appear. In many cases, their ancestry traces back to common domestic breeds such as Yorkshire or Chester White pigs, which were widely raised across the South for decades. When those genetics re-emerge in the wild, the results can be surprising — especially to people who have spent their lives around hogs.

In rarer cases, some hogs show woolly or curly coats, a trait associated with old European domestic breeds developed for fat production and cold tolerance. These traits are uncommon, but they are real, and they help explain why some feral hogs look more like livestock from another era than modern wild animals.

Whether you watch the video or just read this, the takeaway is the same: the wild still has the ability to surprise us — sometimes in the form of a hog that looks more like a polar bear than anything people expect to see in the woods of the South.

Chester Moore

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Uncategorized

When a Gator Eats Your Fish: Fly Fishing Florida’s Exotic Canal Species

January 8, 2026 Chester Moore Leave a comment

Southern Florida has a way of pulling me back into the margins—the narrow strips of water most people drive past without a second thought. Canals, ditches, overgrown drainage cuts. They’re not postcard places, but they’re alive. And on a recent trip fly fishing for invasive exotics, they delivered one of the most intense, unforgettable days I’ve ever spent with a rod in my hand.

I was fishing with Paul Fuzinski of Aptitude Outdoors, targeting non-native fish in southern Florida and field testing custom fly rods from Mudfish Adventures.

The plan was simple: pack light, fish tight water, and throw flies where no sane person would think to cast. The reality was a wild mix of explosive strikes, technical casts, toothy predators—and one very large reptile that reminded us exactly where we were.

The canal itself was tiny. Narrow enough in places that a long cast would put you into the opposite bank. The water was dark and slow, bordered by thick brush that seemed designed to eat flies. It was the kind of place where accuracy mattered more than distance, and where every fish hooked felt magnified by the intimacy of the setting.

Chester using two old pilings as a casting platform.

The oscars were everywhere.

Big ones.

Thick-bodied, aggressive fish that slammed flies with the confidence of something that had never seen consequences. We were throwing short, sharp casts—sidearm, backhand, under branches—often landing flies in pockets no bigger than a trash-can lid. When the fly landed clean, the response was immediate. A flash, a surge, and then the line would come tight as another oscar tried to bulldog its way back into cover.

We caught a bunch of them. Solid fish that pulled far harder than most people would expect from a canal species. On a fly rod, they were all heart—short runs, violent head shakes, and an absolute refusal to quit.

Chester with a Mayan cichlid from a previous trip.

Then things escalated.

Paul hooked into what was clearly one of the better oscars of the day. The fish ate deep and turned hard, digging toward the middle of the canal. Paul had it under control, working the fish steadily toward him, when the water erupted.

A 10-foot alligator surged out of the canal and grabbed the fish before Paul could land it.

Just like that—the oscar was gone.

There was no drama, no hesitation. One second Paul was fighting a fish, the next he was holding a slack line and staring at a swirl that said everything about who really owns these waters. We both just stood there for a moment, letting it sink in. That’s southern Florida fishing. You’re never at the top of the food chain.

We kept fishing—because that’s what you do.

The challenge of the day wasn’t just the fish or the wildlife, but the casting. The brush was relentless. Mangled backcasts, tight windows, vines at shoulder height. Every decent presentation felt like a small victory. You had to visualize the cast before you made it, commit fully, and accept that losing flies was part of the game.

Paul switched things up at one point and broke out a tenkara rod—long, simple, elegant. It is technically fly fishing.

Watching him use it in that tight canal was impressive. He dapped tiny flies into micro pockets and started reminding us just how diverse these waters are.

Micro tilapia came first, darting and flashing like quicksilver. Then a Mayan cichlid—a beautifully marked fish with an attitude entirely out of proportion to its size. On the tenkara rod, it was pure fun.

That fish hit a nerve for me.

Standing there, watching Paul land that Mayan cichlid, I flashed back to when I first started fly fishing canals south of Miami years ago.

Those early days shaped how I see fishing. I learned quickly that you didn’t need wilderness to find wild fights. In urban canals and roadside ditches, I caught hard-fighting Mayan cichlids, jaguar cichlids that hit like freight trains, and peacock bass that made every cast feel electric.

Those fish taught me creativity. They taught me to see opportunity in overlooked places. They also taught me respect—for the resilience of fish and the strange, complicated ecosystems they inhabit.

That complexity was impossible to ignore on this trip.

Catching invasive exotics on flies is undeniably fun. It’s visual, aggressive, technical, and wildly accessible. From urban ditches to the edges of the Everglades, these fisheries blur the line between city and wild. But there’s also an environmental reality layered underneath every strike.

These fish don’t belong here. Their presence is the result of human action—intentional or not—and their impact on native species is real. Fishing for them doesn’t erase that, but it does force you to engage with it. You can’t stand knee-deep in a canal full of oscars and Mayan cichlids without thinking about how fragile and altered these systems are.

That tension is part of what makes southern Florida fishing so compelling to me.

It’s messy. It’s exciting. It’s uncomfortable at times. You can hook a beautiful fish, lose it to a gator, and then turn around and admire the adaptability of life thriving in a place built for drainage, not wonder.

By the end of the day, we were scratched up, fly boxes lighter, and grinning like kids. Big oscars on flies, impossible casts, tenkara micro-fishing, and a reminder from a 10-foot alligator that this landscape still runs on its own rules.

From urban ditches to wild water, southern Florida keeps teaching the same lesson—it’s not about where you fish. It’s about paying attention to what’s there, and seizing the day.

Chester Moore

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Check out my YouTube video on the return of black bears to East TX.

Email Chester at chester@chestermoore.com.

Uncategorized

Monster Black Bears! We’re Talking True Giants!

January 2, 2026 Chester Moore Leave a comment

Stories about giant black bears have circulated for generations, but separating fact from exaggeration requires leaning on official records, check-station data, and documented wildlife management actions. According to state wildlife agencies and verified reporting, a small number of black bears in North America have reached extraordinary sizes—well beyond what most people associate with the species.

Black bears are remarkably adaptable animals, capable of thriving in forests, swamps, agricultural landscapes, and mountain terrain. According to wildlife biologists, when genetics, age, habitat quality, and food availability align, some males can reach weights that rival much larger bear species. The following examples represent the most credible heavyweight black bears on record, based on official agency data and documented cases.

A huge bear captured and move in Tennessee.

The most frequently cited benchmark comes from eastern North Carolina. According to the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission, the heaviest male black bear recorded in the state weighed 880 pounds. Agency records list the bear as having been taken in Craven County in November 1998, making it the largest confirmed black bear in North Carolina’s long-running dataset covering more than five decades.

According to multiple outdoor media accounts referencing that event, the bear was harvested by hunter Coy Parton near Vanceboro. Wildlife officials have long noted that North Carolina’s coastal plain—with its agricultural crops, swamp forests, and abundant mast—produces some of the largest black bears in the eastern United States.

Canada has also produced verified heavyweight black bears in recent years. According to Outdoor Life, hunter Shaun Stratford harvested an exceptionally large black bear on September 16, 2021, north of Temagami, within Ontario’s Wildlife Management Unit 40. According to the report, the bear weighed 803.9 pounds after being field dressed, with the weight recorded during recovery.

A 696-pound black bear harvested in Louisiana’s first season in 40 years back in 2024.

According to wildlife professionals quoted in the coverage, a black bear with a field-dressed weight exceeding 800 pounds would likely have weighed well over that amount alive, though no official live weight was recorded. The bear’s size was significant enough that Stratford required assistance from companions to load and transport it from the field.

In the northeastern United States, Pennsylvania stands out as a consistent producer of large black bears. According to the Pennsylvania Game Commission, the heaviest black bear officially documented in the state weighed 733 pounds live. That bear was harvested during the 2010 fall bear season in Clinton County and weighed through the agency’s official check-station process.

According to the Game Commission, Pennsylvania has documented numerous bears exceeding 600 pounds, particularly in the state’s north-central region. Biologists attribute those weights to extensive hardwood forests, productive mast crops, and a bear population that includes older age-class males capable of reaching extreme size.

New Jersey has also recorded a notable heavyweight in recent years. According to New Jersey wildlife officials and regional reporting, hunter Brian Melvin harvested a black bear near Kinnelon on October 15, 2024. The bear was officially weighed at a state check station and recorded at 770.5 pounds field dressed.

According to officials, that weight placed it among the largest black bears ever documented in the state. While estimates of the bear’s live weight circulated publicly, the only confirmed figure remains the check-station measurement, which wildlife agencies consider the most reliable data point.

Not all heavyweight black bears are documented through hunting. According to Florida media reports, a 740-pound black bear was trapped and euthanized by wildlife officials on January 18, 2015, following repeated human-bear conflicts. According to those reports, the bear’s weight was measured during the official response, and it was described at the time as the largest black bear recorded in Florida.

According to wildlife biologists across multiple states, bears reaching these sizes are typically older males that have survived for many years, dominated prime habitat, and exploited seasonal food sources such as acorns, agricultural crops, and natural protein. These large males play an important role in bear population dynamics by influencing breeding patterns and habitat use.

The heaviest black bears on record are reminders of what the species is capable of under the right conditions. According to verified agency data and documented cases, these animals were not myths or inflated campfire stories, but real bears measured by professionals.

Somewhere today, in a river bottom, coastal swamp, or hardwood ridge, another black bear may be quietly growing larger with each passing season—unknown to the record books, but fully capable of becoming the next heavyweight legend.

— Chester Moore

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Key Deer

The Key Deer and the Screwworm: How Science Saved an Endangered Species — and Why It Matters Again

December 31, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

This past December, I found myself in Big Pine Key, camera in hand, surrounded by the quiet beauty of Florida’s Key deer.

I was there with my friend and collaborator, Paul Fuzinski of Aptitude Outdoors and his wife Christina photographing and filming these animals as part of our ongoing work in wildlife documentary storytelling.

The tiny Key deer move differently than most whitetails—smaller, gentler, almost ghostlike as they slip between hardwood hammocks and pine rocklands.

And when I say tiny we’re talking a big buck tops out at round 60 pounds on the hook. They are the smallest subspecies of whitetail and are a federally endangered species.

In fact, standing there in the early light, it was impossible not to think about how close these deer once came to disappearing altogether.

Their survival is not accidental. It is the result of one of the most important — and often overlooked — wildlife conservation victories in North American history.

In the 1950s their population was down to 50 when the Boone & Crockett Club (B&C) donated $5,000 to hire a game warden named Jack C. Watson to protect them from poachers. Eventually, this action and his efforts were heralded as saving the species altogether.

This action of the B&C is virtually unknown outside of the club itself and a few people in the Keys. I found it out while doing some serious research on the species a few years ago. This is literally a case where hunters stepped in and saved a species outright.

Most recently, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) officials, Hurricane Irma in 2017 killed 21 deer with an additional dozen killed in the chaotic aftermath. With the latest estimates showing only 949, that hurts.

For perspective, I have hunted on a single 5,000 acre low-fence Texas ranch with more whitetails than that.

Additionally, an old foe last seen in the U.S. more than 30 years ago, hit the Keys hard in 2016. But Texans came to the rescue.

“Screwworms infested the population, which is spread across more than 20 islands. It led to 135 Key deer deaths, including 83 that were euthanized to reduce the risk of further infection,” said Dr. Roel Lopez. “This was a significant blow to a species, which is uniquely located in that area.”

Doctor Lopez is director and co-principal investigator for the Key deer study, San Antonio, a project of Texas A&M University (TAMU). TAMU, along with various agencies including USFWS, alleviated the crisis by preventive treatment and fly eradication efforts. This included feed stations lined with anti-parasitic medications and releasing 60 million sterile male screwworms to mate with wild female flies and curb reproduction.

That is a big effort for a little deer, but there is much love for them among those who understand their delicate existence. A single disease outbreak or storm could literally wipe out the population.

A more consistent issue is roadkill.

When we visited, the sign at the refuge headquarters said 121 were killed by vehicles in 2024 and by our visit Dec. 10, 2025 some 91 had been hit.

The National Key Deer Refuge was established in 1957 to protect and preserve the national interest the Key deer and other wildlife resources in the Florida Keys.

The Refuge is located on Big Pine and No Name Key and consists of approximately 9,200 acres of land that includes pine rockland forests, tropical hardwood hammocks, freshwater wetlands, salt marsh wetlands, and mangrove forests.

It gives them a place to exist but as roads intersect much of it, mortality is still an isssue.

In 2025 New World screwworm has been detected again in parts of Mexico, raising concerns among wildlife biologists, veterinarians, and agricultural officials.

History has shown that the screwworm does not respect borders. Left unchecked, it can move northward, re-establishing itself in regions where it was once eradicated.

For wildlife like the Key deer, the return of screwworm would be catastrophic. For livestock, it would represent billions of dollars in losses. And for conservationists, it would mean fighting a battle we already know is costly, complex, and urgent.

Standing in Big Pine Key this December, watching a doe and her fawn move through the palmettos, it was impossible not to think about how fragile recovery can be. Conservation victories are not permanent unless they are protected.

The story of the screwworm reminds us that vigilance is just as important as scientific innovation.

It also reminds us that many of the greatest conservation successes happen quietly, behind the scenes, through collaboration rather than controversy. Texas A&M’s role in eliminating the screwworm helped save not only the Key deer, but countless other wildlife species and agricultural livelihoods across the country.

The Boone & Crockett Club’s recognition of this effort underscores how deeply connected hunting heritage, science, and wildlife conservation truly are.

Paul and I left Big Pine Key with more than footage. We left with a renewed sense of responsibility to tell this story fully. In 2026 we will be producing a mini-documentary focused on the Key deer, not just their beauty, but the unseen threats they’ve survived and the people who stepped in when it mattered most.

The Key deer are still here because science, cooperation, and commitment won out over complacency. As the specter of screwworm once again looms to the south, their story serves as both a warning and an inspiration.

Sometimes saving wildlife isn’t about finding something new.

Sometimes it’s about remembering what almost happened and making sure it never happens again.

Chester Moore

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Watch my deep-dive video on white buffalo here.

Email Chester at chester@chestermoore.com.

Higher Calling Wildlife

Two Days. One Opportunity. Countless Lives Impacted.

December 30, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

As this year comes to a close, we are filled with gratitude and expectation.

God has opened doors for Higher Calling Wildlife® to step into an exciting and impactful 2026—a year where we will continue bringing the love of Christ to hurting children through meaningful wildlife encounters.

For many of the children we serve, life has been marked by trauma, instability, or loss. When they step into a safe environment and connect with animal encounters, walls begin to come down. Smiles appear. Trust is built. And seeds of faith and restoration are planted.

We Need Your Help Right Now

To step into 2026 prepared and positioned for impact, we are seeking to raise $2,000 in the next two days. These funds will directly support our outreach efforts and allow us to continue serving children who desperately need encouragement.

Would you consider making a tax-deductible donation before the end of the year?

Your generosity—no matter the amount—will make a tangible difference in the lives of hurting children. You are not just giving financially; you are partnering with us in ministry, helping create moments where children can experience joy, peace, and God’s love in a powerful way.

If Higher Calling Wildlife® has ever encouraged you, inspired you, or stirred your heart for children in need, we invite you to take this step with us today.

🙏 Click here to donate.

Thank you for believing in this mission, for praying, for giving, and for helping us bring light to children who need it most through a mutual love of wildlife.

Chester Moore

Uncategorized

I Saw a White Buffalo — What I Learned About It Changed Everything

December 28, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

I saw a white buffalo and I wanted to know more.

I’d heard the legends before. I knew the stories passed down through Native cultures. But I wondered — how real is this? How rare could something like that actually be?

What I found out blew me away.

White buffalo are not just uncommon — they’re almost unheard of. Born roughly once in millions, their appearance has been seen for centuries as a symbol of renewal, hope, and profound change. For many, seeing one is considered a once-in-a-lifetime moment… if it happens at all.

And then, standing in the Texas Hill Country, it happened to us.

The day had already been meaningful. We were with children who had faced more hardship than most people ever should, having just completed a Wild Wishes® experience that none of us would forget. We stopped briefly to photograph a herd of longhorns moving through a bluebonnet-covered meadow — the kind of moment you don’t rush.

That’s when we noticed movement in the trees.

First, a massive bison emerged from the shade — powerful, imposing, unforgettable. And then, from behind another oak, something else stood up.

White.

Not light-colored.
Not dusty.
White.

When it turned and locked eyes with us, everything else faded. The research, the legends, the questions — they all collided in that moment. This wasn’t a story anymore. It was real.

I’ve had incredible wildlife encounters in my life, but learning what this animal represented — and just how rare it truly is — changed the way I saw that moment entirely.

None of it would have happened if I’d stayed indoors that day.

This video isn’t just about a white buffalo.
It’s about curiosity — about wanting to understand the world a little better, and discovering that sometimes the truth is far more powerful than the myth.

If you’ve ever felt drawn to a question you couldn’t ignore…
If you’ve ever needed a reminder that the wild still holds wonder…

Come with me.

Chester Moore

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Exotic Wildlife

Seeing Tapirs in Texas: An Exotic Wildlife Encounter That Still Blows My Mind

December 23, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

I was driving slowly down a winding farm to market road during one of our Higher Calling Wildlife® expeditions for kids, scanning the landscape the way I always do.

The Hill Country was quiet that day, limestone hills rolling away under a pale sky, live oaks scattered like old sentinels. We had a family with us — a father, his brother-in-law, and two boys and the conversation inside the vehicle was relaxed, focused on native exotic wildlife we expected to see.

Then I slammed on the brakes.

I pointed across the road and told everyone to look — now — because behind the fence on the other side was something no one on that road would ever be able to top in terms of strange animal sightings.

Standing there, calm and unmistakable, was a pair of tapirs.

For a moment, no one spoke. The boys leaned forward. The adults squinted. And then came the same reaction I felt myself: disbelief followed by certainty. These weren’t hogs. They weren’t exotic cattle. They weren’t something that could be explained away with a shrug. They were tapirs.

This wasn’t a low fence or a small enclosure. The animals were behind a high-fence game ranch, but one that encompassed thousands of acres. The terrain behind them stretched far into the Hill Country, rugged and expansive, not the kind of place where animals are casually displayed or easily noticed. The tapirs looked healthy. Relaxed. At home.

For readers unfamiliar with them, tapirs are large, primitive mammals that resemble a cross between a pig and a small elephant. They have stocky bodies, short legs, and a distinctive flexible snout that functions almost like a tiny trunk.

They’re native to Central and South America and parts of Southeast Asia, where they live in dense forests and near water. They are shy, largely nocturnal animals, powerful swimmers, and rarely seen even in their native range. That’s what makes encountering a pair of tapirs in the Texas Hill Country so unsettling — not just because they’re exotic, but because they’re the last animals anyone expects to see standing quietly along a Texas road.

The sighting happened in 2020, and it stayed with me long after we drove on. Not because it was shocking, but because it was real. Everyone in that vehicle saw the same thing. No argument. No confusion. No embellishment. Just two animals that did not belong on any official list of what you’re supposed to see along a Texas road.

Texas has one of the largest exotic wildlife populations in North America, but most people only know the familiar ones. Axis deer and blackbuck antelope have become so common on Hill Country roads that many drivers barely give them a second look.

Those animals are just the surface. Scattered across private ranches are animals few Texans — and even fewer visitors — ever encounter: bongo antelope, eland, Cape buffalo, and other species typically associated with Africa, not limestone hills and cedar breaks. These animals live behind fences, often on massive properties, and remain largely invisible unless you happen to be in the right place at the right time. Apparently, that list now includes tapirs.

A bongo. There are growing numbers of them on exotic ranches in Texas.

I returned to that area in 2021 and didn’t see them. I assumed the moment had passed — a one-time encounter, filed away among the strange but unrepeatable experiences that come with spending a lifetime outdoors. Then, in 2025, I went back again, and there they were. In the same general area. Along the same stretch of road. As solid and unmistakable as before. This time, I took a photograph — the one I’ll be posting with this article. Not because I needed proof for myself, but because I knew how impossible this would sound to anyone who hadn’t seen it with their own eyes. Of all the exotic animals I’ve encountered, this remains the strangest.

That same trip delivered another reminder of how fluid wildlife reality can be in this state. In the Edwards Plateau, I saw a free-ranging elk — not behind a fence, not confined, but moving through Hill Country habitat. Growing elk populations in Texas are something I’ve written about before, and this sighting fit a quiet but expanding pattern. It wasn’t shocking. It was simply confirmation that animals move, adapt, and establish themselves long before we’re ready to update the narrative.

Rob Moore sent us this photo of a free-ranging elk near Roosevelt, TX.

Over the years, I’ve followed up on countless strange animal reports. Some lead nowhere. Others lead to surprises. One of the most memorable involved a report of a kangaroo on private property in East Texas. I went to investigate the very next day, expecting a misunderstanding. Instead, I found kangaroo tracks — clean impressions, clear movement patterns, no doubt about what made them. Texas, it turns out, is home to far more kangaroos and wallabies than most people realize — legally owned, privately kept, and occasionally wandering where they shouldn’t be.

I’ve even received a report of an elephant in Henderson County. That one was almost certainly an escape, but it reinforced the same truth. You never know what people are going to see. And sometimes, they’re right.

The outdoors has taught me one thing over and over again: certainty is fragile. Animals appear where we don’t expect them. They persist quietly. They adapt. They move. Whether it’s tapirs behind a Hill Country fence, elk moving through plateau country, kangaroos leaving tracks in East Texas soil, or even an elephant wandering where it clearly shouldn’t be, the land continues to surprise those who pay attention.

That day on the farm to market road, with two boys staring wide-eyed out the window, I was reminded why these experiences matter. Not because they’re rare. Not because they’re unbelievable. But because they remind us that the natural world is far less tidy — and far more interesting — than any list, map, or expectation we’ve drawn for it.

And sometimes, the most unforgettable wildlife sightings happen when you least expect them — just beyond a fence, on a road you’ve driven a hundred times before.

Chester Moore

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Email Chester at chester@chestermoore.com.

Cougars

A French Bulldog Or A Mountain Lion?

December 21, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

A recent report of a possible mountain lion near Sacramento International Airport turned out to be something very different. According to KCRA, the animal spotted lying in a muddy canal was not a cougar at all, but an abandoned French bulldog.

The dog was rescued and taken to a shelter after wildlife responders determined it had likely been dumped. While the story quickly went viral, it also highlighted a familiar issue in wildlife reporting: misidentification.

When you think of animals that look like a mountain it’s of course the French bulldog.

But misidentification doesn’t mean reports should be dismissed outright. It means they should be verified.

That distinction matters when discussing mountain lions, especially outside the western United States. In many regions, cougars are still considered absent based on official range maps. When sightings occur outside those boundaries, they are often written off immediately.

Sometimes that’s justified. Sometimes it isn’t.

I recently documented clear photographic evidence of mountain lions outside the accepted range, taken in East Texas. These images are not folklore or rumor. They are photographs evaluated in context with known mountain lion anatomy, behavior, and dispersal patterns.

I break down the evidence and what it does and does not suggest — in this video:

Mountain Lions Where They’re Not Supposed to Be (Photographic Evidence from East Texas)
👉Click here to watch.

The Sacramento case ended with a dog being rescued because someone took a report seriously enough to investigate. That same principle applies everywhere.

Verification matters.

Chester Moore

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Uncategorized

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas (At Duck Camp)

December 20, 2025 Chester Moore Leave a comment

This fun rendition of the Christmas classic is something I wrote years back and I hope you enjoy.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the camp
Not a creature was stirring, not even a lab.
The socks they hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The young sportsmen were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of redfish swam through their heads.
And mamma in camo, and I neatly matched,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the marsh there arose such a clatter,
I jumped from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a teal,
Tore open the shutters and to see what is the deal.

The moon hitting down on the strong tidal flow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what my weary eyes did spy
Eight tiny gators and a pirogue in sky.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than widgeons his gators they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

“Now, Boudreaux! now, Trahan! now, Broussard and Comeaux!
On, Bergeron! on Savoy! on, Dugas and Thibodeaux!
To the top of the camp! to the top of the wall!
Slither away! Slither! Slither away all!”

As dry leaves that before the blue norther do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So above the pilings-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of prizes, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and clawing of each reptile foot.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney, St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in muskrat, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with mud and soot.
A bundle of decoys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hunter just opening his pack.

He had a broad face and a little round gut,
That shook, when he laughed like an out of shape mutt.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And quickly spied the bowl on the shelf.

He took to the gumbo like a dog to a bone
Read the note we had left him next to the phone.
He then filled all the stockings with lanyards and masks
Left all new presents then was done with the task.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a call,
And away they all slithered through the marsh they did crawl.

But I heard him exclaim, when he was out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

Chester Moore

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