Straight Shot to Strait Lake

I’ve never loved the phrase “happy place.” It always made it sound like happiness only lives in one location—and the rest of your life is just filling time until you can get back to it. That’s not how I see the world.

I’ve worked hard to build a life that brings joy every day. Whether I’m walking the rows at the farm, pulling into the office, heading to a duck blind, or watching my son pile gear into the back of the truck for an overnight hunt. For me, happiness isn’t tied to a place. It’s in the movement between places that matter.

But even with that mindset, Strait Lake Lodge sits in a category of its own. It’s not just a destination. It’s a reminder. Of why I do what I do. Of how I want to leave the land behind. Of the kind of peace that only shows up when everything else goes quiet.

The Surprise, the Trip, the Reminder

When my wife texted me—“Block out January 19–21. No questions asked.”—it nearly stopped my heart. I’m a planner. I don’t like open-ended surprises. But when I opened my final Christmas present and saw what she’d lined up—a two-day hunt at Strait Lake Lodge—I felt like a kid again.

I decided pretty quick that my son, Johnny III, was going with me. Some things are too good not to share. And I knew deep down this experience could shape how he sees hunting, how he sees land, and maybe even how he sees me.

A Different Kind of Place

I’ve hunted all over—from bare-bones camps with no heat to lodges with red wine and ribeye. But Strait Lake stands alone. Not because of what it offers guests—but because of what it offers wildlife.

There’s a philosophy down there that stuck with me the first time I heard it: Let’s Hold Ducks.

You see, most of the duck world runs on the idea of Let’s Kill Ducks—and that has its place. It’s built an industry, helped with conservation, and brought people together. But holding ducks? That takes something else entirely.

It takes patience. It takes planning. It takes leaving crops standing, letting timber flood, and staying out of the rest areas even when the birds are thick. It’s a long-term game. A stewardship mindset. It’s the belief that giving ducks a reason to stay is more important than taking the shot.

That’s the kind of thinking that changes things.

Farming, Holding, Building

Back home at Castor River Farms, we don’t operate a duck lodge. But we do operate under the same principles.

We farm rice, yes. But more than that, we build habitat. We work with the land. We rebuild what’s been worn out. We let nature take the lead. And when I walk a field that’s alive again—wildlife returning, soil waking up—I feel the same thing I felt at Strait Lake:

Hope.

Legacy in the Making

As we drove home from the trip, my son was quiet. He didn’t want to leave. I didn’t either. We’d both been moved. By the place, the people, and the idea that land, when treated right, becomes something sacred.

Strait Lake reminded me that hunting isn’t just about the birds. It’s about what you do with the land while you wait for them. It’s about what you leave behind.

And I hope one day, when my son’s driving his boy down to a place that matters, he’ll look back and say—this is how we did it right.

What we practice in the field, we put in every bag - see for yourself.