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Keep up with all things "Big Billy Kinder Outdoors"


Dad didn’t hunt. I never saw him shoot a gun. In fact, the only time that I ever saw him hold a gun was when he took me to Whites Auto in downtown Mineral Wells, Texas after school one day. I guess I was about 10, and he knew that I had a strong hunting bone! God put it in me. Dad didn’t teach me, and the 3 channels we pulled in with the TV antenna didn’t show much hunting activity. It had to be built into my genes when the good Lord formed me.

Dad didn’t say anything on our way to Whites. He seldom said anything at all; he was a very quiet man. He had simple perfected. I sat next to him, full of nerves on the evening of my first date. I didn’t know what to say to a girl. I just knew she smelled good, and I had asked her out to dinner. “Dad, what do I talk to her about?” “Tell her about your dog” he immediately replied. I did, and it was the perfect thing to fill awkward quiet moments. He’d obviously made arrangements with the guys at the store, because when we walked in they immediately reached under the counter and pulled out a single shot Stevens 12 gauge and a few boxes of shells. I thought “WOW”! Dad bought himself a shotgun! Does this mean that maybe he’ll let me tag along on a hunt or two? Maybe even fetch his birds for him? It was a standout moment in my life, even before he turned and handed the treasure to me. I was beyond stunned, and happy!

Dad loved to fish, particularly for crappie. We didn’t have a boat, so sometimes the wait on the bank between bites was hours. I never got bored with it. I can still see him squatting, fishing pole in hand, bobber afloat, waiting. He taught me a lot about hunting without even knowing it. “Crappie like cover”, he said, “and edges”. Turns out all critters do, you and I are no exception. “They will likely be around shad or some other food”...same as deer, elk, bear, turkeys, me, all. The crappie hole was special to me, because most of the time it was just me and dad. That was my private time with him. I cherish it now, and miss him so.

I had broken the Stevens down and cleaned it several times before we actually had a chance to go shoot it, but after what seemed a lifetime, the day came. I still remember my first shot. A meadowlark in flight. I downed the song bird. Immediate remorse weighed heavy. I’d killed this lark for the wrong reason. I would not eat it. Dad watched in silence. I’ve never shot another non game bird.

He taught through living. I picked up some of it and wish I’d learned more. Thanks Dad for the time on the creek banks, the love of critters and creation, respect for others both 2 and 4 legged, and the great gift of time. I will hug his neck in heaven. He heard the gospel of Jesus Christ, and he believed it in his heart. He asked God to forgive him of his sin and save him. God did. That’s the greatest gift that a dad can give his son, even better than a brand new Stevens.

Happy Father's Day!

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

June 15, 2017


I’ve spent my fair share of nights sleeping in uncomfortable situations. Pickup beds, rotted out farm houses and dilapidated old travel trailers, and of course the cold hard ground. I can remember a deer hunt that was so cold and wet that my hunting partner and I zipped our sleeping bags together to fend off the frost bite. On another trip, I dumped the lump out of my pillow case. The lump was a field rat. I awoke one morning so stiff from the pickup bed I’d used for a mattress, that reaching down to tie my boots seemed impossible. I’d do it all again too!

Our passion for this hunting and fishing heritage that we live can lead to some tough places and times, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I’ve also been spoiled with some fine lodging, dining and terrific hunting and fishing opportunities. Robin and I have spent the past week at one of the absolute finest resort hunt/fish destinations that I’ve ever, yes I used the ever word, visited. Joshua Creek Ranch has the credentials. Two Tridents from Beretta, ORVIS Endorsed, heck, George Strait even visits for a little wing shooting from time to time. Everything, and I mean every detail at JCR is tended too. Your mattress, your view, your meals, your linens, your lodging, your everything will be the finest offered. It’s flying first class, and it's good! This is our third trip to this wonderful ranch located about an hour northwest of San Antonio, Texas.

The same detail that’s woven into your lodge experience is applied to the habitat on this near 1,400 acre ranch as well...Two decades plus of back breaking work by the Kercheville family. Years of cedar removal, planting, pond building, etc have produced perfect habitat for the wildlife that love this place. IT'S LOW FENCE. The critters have a choice where they spend time browsing, loafing and raising babies. That’s the best testament to this conservation project-an endorsement from the wildlife on this free range ranch in the Texas Hill Country region.

I’m here to hunt my favorite protein-Axis deer. Axis are found free ranging in very few places across North America-Florida, Hawaii and here in the Hill Country of Texas primarily. They love it here; I guess the country is very similar to their original home in Sri Lanka. Everything about an Axis is good! They are beautiful critters with an orangish brown coat accented by snow white spots just like a whitetail fawn. God must have favored the Axis a little more than the whitetail, because He allows them to keep their spots for life. Axis are bigger than most whitetails too...Up to 250 pounds for the bigger bucks, or "bulls", your choice. They are more closely aligned to elk than whitetail deer. Typical males will grow three points on each side-main beam, a couple of impressive brow tines and secondary points about halfway up the main beam. Thirty inches and longer is considered trophy. They are gorgeous animals and fine, fine, fine dining! That’s 3 fines from the red neck that has consumed a lot of wild game. No wang, no wild taste, better than beef! Axis are a challenging hunt as well. They are spookier than whitetails. If you bang or booger something up in their neighborhood, you might as well move along. They did. Unlike the whitetail rut where single males cruise the country, axis stay in groups most all of the time. Lots of eyes to spot you. They will flock to feeders. If that is legal in your state, jump on it. One of the coolest reasons to hunt axis deer is non-typical hunting times. Axis are considered exotic game in Texas, and can be hunted year round. It's June, and it feels great to be in the deer blind!

My most regrettable miss with rifle came about five years ago right here on JCR. I had a nice 30 plus inch axis in my sights after three days of hard, HOT hunting...Shot right under his belly at 135 yards. The bullet made a cloud of dust, and I’ve watched him run off in my head over and over again...Again this week, three days of hard, not quite as hot hunting with no meat to show for the effort. There are probably 25 to 30 blind locations on this ranch. We have hunted daylight to dark most of the time and visited maybe 10-12 of those blinds. We have glassed a lot of Axis deer too. Several hundred I’d say, searching for the right buck. About 1:30 yesterday afternoon, we made a move to a blind that we’d not hunted yet on this trip. When we rounded the corner in the road, I knew instantly that this was the exact spot in my reoccurring nightmare miss. I had been here before in person and many more times in bad memory. We spotted a small herd of Axis back in the thick cedar brush and one of them was a hard horned buck. I was hunting with Billy Torkildson, JCR guide, who can take a 5 second look at an axis buck and tell you how long he is to within a half inch of antler.

At about 4pm, the herd made a move, and out he stepped. Five seconds of analysis, and Billy T said, “shoot him”. I was situated in the same blind, taking aim from the same window, with a 30 plus inch Axis standing about 30 yards behind the missed shot from five years ago. I put that old memory behind me and collected my breathing and focus. Does were milling about, and I had to hold my shot for a couple of minutes, waiting for them to clear. When the opportunity opened, I was ready, and he fell in his tracks. 30 inches on his right side, 31.5 on his left, heavy bodied and beautiful! The ghosts were gone. Billy T had no idea that I had missed from this exact location before, or that this was my birthday. When I finally had my hands on this magnificent animal, I shared the story with him. Back at the lodge, I would enjoy a hot shower, delicious pan seared Axis steaks prepared by Chef Holden and an incredible mattress for the first full eight hours of sleep in several days. This time though, the dream was different!

If you go...
Axis can shed, be hard horned or in velvet at any time of the year, however, late May to September are the most active rutting and hard horned times. Take plenty of gun. These animals are extremely tough, and probably bigger than the whitetails you’ve been hunting. My setup: Weatherby Vanguard in .270/Winchester ballistic silvertip 130 grain. If you normally hunt with something smaller (.243) I’d step up a bit. The 300’s are good choices. Dress cool! Talk to your outfitter before you go. Will you be stalking or blind hunting. Stalking these critters is very difficult since they run in herds. If you are still/blind hunting, shorts, t-shirts etc. Light, cool clothing. Stay in the blind. Yes, they are active at the most popular times, dawn and dusk, but, you will see them meandering mid-day as well. Patience has killed more critters than Tarzan. Range finder. Great tool. In the rolling terrain that Axis favor, depth can be deceptive. Naked eye would tell you that my shot would be 120-130 yards. The laser reported differently-169 yards. Depending on bullet rifle combo, that’s enough distance to affect trajectory.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

June 9, 2017


I lost one of the best and most loyal friends I’ll ever have on this earth a little over a month ago. I didn’t write about it then because it was too raw. I never thought that I could mourn the loss of a dog so much, but I cried. I wailed. Bear’s talent was above that of most bird dogs. I am qualified to make that call, because I have had many hunting partners throughout the years and know what I speak of. I’ve had some slow learners, and many average students. I’ve also been blessed to partner with some dogs that would produce a little better than others in the wild bird fields and win a field trial here and there. BUT...I’ve only had one Bear.

His nose was impeccable. I remember a hunt when he was about two. He locked down hard on some West Texas scrub, and a rabbit flushed from under his nose. The guy that I was hunting with that day broke open his gun and laughed out loud. His dog was backing ol' Bear...again, by the way. While he was bad mouthing my little Brittany, I noticed that Bear hadn’t moved a muscle. Still rock-hard rigid. Eyes and snoot focused on the tangles ahead of him, smoking the pipe, as my writer friend Ray Sasser would say...taking in bird scent through the nose...venting through the mouth. You’ve seen your dogs do that. The covey of bobs scared my cynical friend when they flushed right up our britches' legs. I killed two and said nothing. Bear had done my talking.

Bear came from good stock. Directly out of Nolan Huffman’s Buddy (Nolan’s Last Bullet), and tracing back to Rick Smith's fine line. I’d always had pointers and setters which I still dearly love, but these guys were breeding "Brits" that would destroy the “shoe polisher” image. I noticed that these dogs were running big, running hard and running tough! I watched Buddy at a championship trial in Indiana retrieve a bird that had fallen on the far side of a goat wire fence. I wondered why in the world Nolan would shoot that bird, knowing that it would fall on the far side where his dog couldn’t reach it, and he could lose his retrieve score. Turns out, he knew that Buddy would find a way, somehow, to bring that bird to hand. And he did. He found a hole in the fence, just big enough to squeeze through, gather the bird, and squeeze back into the playing field. I decided that morning that I would have some of that in my kennel, and one year later at 5 weeks of age, I did. On day one, my wife Robin said the pup looked like a "little Baylor Bear", her alma mater. That’s how he got his name.

One of Bear's litter mates, Bull, and Bulls’ partner Nolan came to Texas to hunt with me back in 2005. It was a great year for the birds; they were thick and the coveys were big. Nolan and I turned the pair loose on the south end of a pasture and had the time of our lives watching them tear up the ground in bird finding fury. One would point, the other would back and vice versa all the way up to the north fence where we picked em up. When we did, the two brothers had pointed 26 coveys of bob white quail. Nolan told me, “That’s the best quail hunt I’ve ever been a part of.” Bear had the smarts too. He had become a big country pleasure. The little dog could roll! He eagerly covered big West Texas and Montana country and in a hurry. I took him to South Dakota for pheasants. We were hunting strips and shelter belts. He figured it out in short order and never hunted beyond 25-30 yards ahead of me. He worked pheasants that day like he’d done it his whole life, and these were the first ones he’d ever seen.

When the economy ate my job up in 2009, Bear went to work with me entertaining and teaching at various events and sporting goods dealers in the Dallas-Ft Worth area. He easily converted from the wide open spaces, to arena floors and huge tents. Everyone that met him at these events fell in love. The folks especially loved it when I would ask a kiddo to go hide Bear's Dokken dummy someplace. I would tell Bear to "hunt dead", and he’d climb through boats and expo booths, crowds and funnel cake vendors to find it and bring it back to me. I needed him to help me at that time, and he did. He wasn’t trying to be a showman, simply trying to please me, and in the process was indeed something to see. He even made it into a national Ad for Forti Flora with all of the Smith boys. Surgery had me on a walker for over a year, and I couldn’t take him hunting, or so I thought. I wondered if he would adapt to retrieving doves...he did. Sat by my side like a lab.

If I walked out of a door, he was lying beside it when I came back through. You could bet money on that. I start work many times at 3 or 4 am. There was no way to sneak out of the bedroom without him. Off to work with me he’d go. Every day. When friends and family betrayed trust, he didn’t. Not once. You know, you’ve been there too. His talent was great, his nose was unreal, his heart was bigger, and that’s what set him apart. I borrowed a line from Winnie the Pooh when I thanked God for giving me something I loved so much, that it hurt this bad to lose it. I hope that I haven’t bored you with my story. I hope that I have brought back fond remembrance of your “Bear”. Bear died just 3 weeks before his fifteenth birthday. I still cry.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

May 26, 2017


I may lose a few friends over this one. It’s a hot topic with many folks. Fences. High fences, low fences no fences. Hunting within the confines of a fenced area. Is it ethical? Depends on who you visit with. Many hard core public land (d.i.y.) hunters will tell you absolutely not! True free range is the ONLY pursuit that’s fair and ethical. The deer farmer will tell you that there is no disgrace in hunting an animal behind an 8 foot fence. The low fence guy, well, he’s proud of the fact that his herd can slip over to the neighbor and back again as they please.

I have hunted on occasion all three areas but not before some careful thought and reasoning. Back in 2010, I suffered an injury that would keep me on crutches and a walker for a year and a half...7 surgeries and 42 skin grafts...locked up in the house, with the exception of hospital and doctor visits for well over a year. I didn’t care who thought what of me when I finally had an opportunity to climb back in a stand, even tho it was on a high fence place. I had a ton of medical apparatuses in tow but made it up the ladder and into the blind on that cold December morning.

The fine, tall 8 point that I put down that day hangs on my wall, and I am as proud of him as any spot and stalk, low fence/no fence big country critter that I’ve ever hunted. Even though I had a clear medical reason for hunting behind a fence, I still needed more before feeling totally comfortable with it. God gave me the answer, as He always does, in the book of Genesis. He was speaking to Noah, and laying out how things would be after the great flood.

God told Noah in Chapter 9 Verses 2 and 3:

2 “And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; and into your hand are they delivered.”

3 “Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things.” Notice the Lord never said “except those behind a fence” or “no fish from a small farm pond” or under any other conditions. That is good enough for me. If it's okay with God, then it's good with me.

Ethics do come in to play. He also gave us a conscience, and when He placed us above the animals, fowl and fish, as He showed Noah when he cared for the critters 2 X 2 on the ark, we are to care for them. America has been the worldwide leader in that conservation effort for the past 100 years. It is that God given ability to think, that allows us to make our own decisions. Problem is, after we have sorted it out and decided what is ethical hunting for ourselves, we often want to frown upon other methods and the folks that take part in them. Example: We've all heard the age old arguments between bow hunters and rifle hunters.

Figure it out for yourself.
Is it legal?
Will it bother me to harvest an animal on fenced property, be it 300 acres or 300,000?
Do I believe that God exists?
Do I believe what He said in His word?
Once you work it out, get out. Go and be in the woods. If you have to stop and unlock the gate on the way in, more power to you!
If you pack your way into the National Forest for a day and a half, excellent! Ya’ll grill your backstraps up side by side. They're gonna taste the same cause God Himself made them each and said put them on the dinner table.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

FEBRUARY 17, 2017


My childhood was so wonderful! I didn’t know it then, but I do now. I guess that happens to lots of folks after they melt a b’day cake with fifty plus candles. I grew up in a house that faced a pasture. That pasture was called “Jones” pasture. In that pasture was a pond. Yep, “Jones" pond. I can't tell you how many meetings I scheduled with childhood buddies at Jones pond.

It was full of bluegill and bass. If you caught a 2 pound bass, you were king of the pond. That pasture held deer and quail, and I had a single shot Stevens in 12 gauge. Quail were so plentiful in Jones pasture that at 10 years of age I could take that Stevens, walk up to whistling birds and kill a mess for the family without the luxury of a pointing dog. Most days I spent daylight to dark in Jones pasture, and most times alone. I couldn’t understand why other kids preferred the bowling alley, city swimming pool or whatever was showing at the Grand Theater.

There was always adventure in Jones pasture, and I wasn’t going to miss it. In my high school years I actually tried to mow a football field for the guys in the middle of it. The rock and cactus made it impossible, but a young man can dream. Dad wasn’t pleased with my decision to take his push mower out there and I don’t blame him. I forever changed that mower. Intense drama played out in Jones pasture. We were all about 7 or 8 when Joe Canterberry got too close to some kid casting a cane pole and took a hook clean thru the eyebrow…smooth thru from bottom to top…just below his flat top haircut…worm intact. He squalled like an alley cat. After we held him still for a few minutes so that we could all get a good look at that eyebrow, #2 eagle claw hook, red wiggler combo, Joe thought it was best to go see his momma. We agreed, but weren’t smart enough to clip the line to the hook, so some kid, cane pole in hand led Joe through Jones pasture like a dog on a leash, all the way home. That leaves an impression on a fella. It did me anyway.

Another time as I made my dash from the house to the magical pasture I stabbed myself. It was when I threw myself between the 2nd and 3rd wires on that old rusty barbed wire fence. I had run the knife thru my belt loop and when I lifted my leg to jump thru the fence, it entered my upper thigh in one spot and exited another. I just kept on going and know now that it was God that protected me from infection.

The worst episode is when I deceived my mom. It was pouring rain and I was told to stay in the house…but I couldn’t stand it. I was in Jones pasture when out of nowhere mom appeared, and she appeared mad. Stomping thru the mud, high heels in hand, blue dress soaked, and her hair that she made weekly appointments to keep perfectly puffed up was now hanging down like I’d never seen. I was scared, so scared that all I knew to do was run, she chased, she caught me…It was the only time that I ever ran from mom and I never lied to her again. I never met Mr. Jones, and I’m quite sure that he has passed now, but I’d like to run into him in Heaven and tell him thanks. His pasture, his pond, his willingness to allow an ol' Palo Pinto county kid to grow up within his cedar fence posts absolutely changed my life.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

FEBRUARY 3, 2017


I have a ton of great Christmas memories, many of them spent outdoors. Unconventional for most folks, but just perfect if you ask me. Think about it. That very first Christmas morning was spent outdoors, with critters all around. Perfect!

It was warm last year on Christmas day. Robin and I had no family around, so we set out for the lake early on Christmas morning. We spent the entire day on calm waters chasing after big green bass. I don’t recall the fish count at the end of the trip, but I do remember a cool, calm, quiet day surrounded by God’s beautiful creation and my beautiful bride.

My cousin and his wife have sold the place now, but for years they owned a ranch with a grand ol' two story house located out by the blacktop at the front of the place. The house was built, and built well, back in the 1800’s and had a huge fireplace that we kept crackling and popping for a full week. It was Christmas time, and I had permission from ol' cuz to spend Christmas with my family there. Robin’s folks and sisters were there, and since my family lived close by, they were there each day too. We cooked big meals, told tall stories and enjoyed each other’s company in this secluded old ranch house. Christmas morning came with a reading of the birth of Christ, sharing gifts, and a huge country boy breakfast. It had started snowing on Christmas eve and it snowed a lot for Texas. Maybe six inches or so. It was a white Christmas and that was rare! It made this special time even more special. About 9 or so, we turned the bird dogs loose from right there at the ranch house. Across the new fallen snow they went...past the cows in the big mesquite pasture and down toward the creek bottom. The red brittanys we could see pretty good. Those white setters, not so much. Once the dogs hit the creek bottom, the run was over and the hunt was on. The bob whites had congregated in the bottoms. The dogs would point tight coveys, not wanting to leave their warm resting place. We’d kick 'em up and scratch down what we needed for a good fried quail dinner on that Christmas day. Special.

I have hunted on a place in west Texas for almost 20 years now. It's dandy quail country that will hold birds even when the surrounding places are bare from drought or over grazing, and when populations are low. Several Christmases have been spent there, in the camper located in the old roping arena on the ranch-Robin, our son, Troy and me. Big Christmas morning, then lunch with the rancher and his family at the main house. One Christmas eve, when ol' Troy was about 10 or 12, I told him to take the pickup and go find the perfect Christmas tree. Cedar, mesquite, didn’t matter...”Just find one that you like, mark it somehow, then come back and get us.” I wanted him to have some adventure on his own. Life away from home would come sooner that I wanted. I knew that a boy driving a truck a few years before having a legal document in his pocket, on the nearly 6000 acre place would be an exciting mission and a big responsibility for him. He did well! On the far backside of the ranch, next to old cattle pens that had done their job for nearly a hundred years, Troy found a fine little mesquite that would serve as our tree on Christmas morning. He made it back to camp without incident, and the three of us loaded up the ornaments, lights and small generator. It began to snow as we trimmed the tree, and the next day, in the pre-dawn darkness of that Christmas morning, we fired up the little generator and plugged in the lights. WOW! What a sight! A campfire breakfast, the Christmas story, gifts and God’s grace in the absolute middle of nowhere. A thick snow was on the ground and it outlined the tree limbs and fence rails on the cattle pens. I’ve driven through that pasture on many hunts since that wonderful Christmas morning, never once though without taking a good look at that little Christmas mesquite that now stands three or four times the size. They don’t stay little long.

As you make your Christmas memories this year, please accept the warmest wishes for blessed time with your bunch, from all of us here in the camp-house at BBKO radio.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

DECEMBER 20, 2016


The Outdoors Church to YouI stood in awe of the sight, roaring sound, massive power and indescribable beauty before me. I’d had that feeling before on occasion, and here it was again. My view was from a steep mid-September back road in Yellowstone National Park. The north wind was fierce that day as an early and strong front slammed the wilderness. It would turn out to be the heaviest September snow and winter blast in Wyoming’s weather records. The cutting winds pouring in from Arctic north with huge snowflakes swirling and moving like those big flocks of birds that seem to fly together in choreographed motion, coupled with the awesome rugged canyon and roaring waterfall before me, all lead to my sense of awe. I was reminded of just how small I am in this universe. I felt that I was sitting in God’s living room, and I just couldn’t get enough of it. Robin and I spent the remainder of the day, and the next, picking our way through this national treasure, then exited the park to the east as afternoon shadows began to stretch out. Ten minutes later I pulled up the drive to Elephant Head Lodge, so named because of the massive rock overhang that looks a whole lot like an...yeah, that’s right.

Buffalo Bill’s niece built the old trapper cabin and original buildings here back in 1910. Things are to this day rugged and tough in this country, I can't begin to imagine the hardships confronted by the folks that settled down here over a hundred years ago. Our century old pine log cabin would shelter us for the night. I looked forward to coffee in the morning as God’s glory would rise in the east and light up the mountains of the Shoshone National Forest that cradled us. It’s a sunrise that I have replayed again and again in my memory.

Once every five to seven years or so, the clover will bloom in South Dakota. We were there to fish the deep blue waters of Lake Oahe and gather our walleye for the year. The clover bloom is another of those gifts that only God can bless us with. The clover covers hundreds and hundreds of thousands of acres, and is the sweetest smelling perfume. The yellow flowers that it produces makes the countryside, for as far as you can see, a rolling vibrant yellow blanket. As we trolled the deep blue walleye water, surrounded by hills covered solid by the clover, I knew that I was in a special moment of my life. It impacted me. We fish with an ole South Dakota bronc rider named Jim Lawhon on Oahe. Jim explained that the knee high clover would be cut and baled in many places, then when the deep winter rages South Dakota style, and you roll out one of those clover bales for the cattle, springtime fills your nostril’s all over again. Special.

I could go on about the morning movement of millions of doves from an Argentina roost, the splendid colored leaves that flicker and fall around you as you put your fly rod to work in the Ozarks of Arkansas' White or Norfork rivers. The stillness of the deer blind deep in December when the only visible movement is your breath floating away and dissipating, and on and on. I've heard several times in my life that these settings are “church” to outdoors men. No, it's not church. It’s a mild display of God’s creative beauty, just a glimpse of what Heaven looks like. There was no one in any of these settings telling me of my sin, teaching me of Paul's travails and travels and example. Jesus' name and His salvation for this lost and dying world didn’t echo from the yellow rolling hills. It’s easy for some to slip up and worship the creation as opposed to the Creator. Do I feel a sense of God’s awesomeness in these settings? Of course! Do I worship and thank Him in these situations? Absolutely! Is this a church setting? Maybe, if we are reminded that God created it, man sinned and messed it up, Christ died for our sins and rose from that grave. Salvation, is a gift that makes majestic beauty pale in comparison. Just like God gave us this creation splendor, so did He give us His Son. Gave, free. That’s big. Do you believe?

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

DECEMBER 2, 2016


Vote 2016…and I plan to do the same this year. The remaining presidential candidates, the ones that make the news anyway, have huge teams of excavators that work 24/7 digging up any smut or image damaging info they can find on their opponents. With the moral record of these two folks, it doesn’t take Indiana Jones to find a nasty nugget or two. In fact, I’m quite sure that my 5 year old granddaughter with her plastic beach shovel could come up with headlines that the daily rags and television opinion time-killers (formerly known as news channels) would love to have! These folks are down-right filthy. Just like me…and you. Before we all cast another stone at these folks, let’s refer to the Good Book for a little wisdom and guidance…ah! Here we go…

Romans 3:10 - There is none righteous, no not one

Hmmmm, that’s ME, and YOU and Ronald Reagan and Lincoln and Washington and Kennedy and…everyone that’s ever cast or received a vote.

I figure the only way to vote rightly, is the same way that voting has always been done rightly. Vote for the sinner that thinks most like me. I’m going to vote for the constitution of the United States. I’m going to vote for my religious freedom. I’m going to vote for my right to speak up and out. I’m going to vote for (here’s a biggie) the Supreme Court. Our next sinful leader in our sinful U.S. will have the power to heavily influence our greatest moral guiders, decision makers as far as the law goes, for the next 30 years. 30 years is a big chunk of time in a 240 year old country. 30 years represents 1/8th of our entire time as a nation. 30 years can rock your world as you know it and set the course for a new way of life that you don’t like-Life without your Second Amendment rights, or the right to pray and teach scripture in your church, or the right to hunt, fish, or go to the shooting range with the kids.

This thing that looks like a very bad comedy script playing out before our eyes is actually very important. The Senate and House seats are too…So are your state and local officials. We must take our voting very seriously.

If your Second Amendment, the right to keep and bear that shotgun, rifle, pistol, AR, or whatever is important to you, please click on Gun Vote and you will find a list of sinners that claim to love and protect the Second Amendment as well.

Cast an educated vote! Maybe the next generation of sinners will love and respect this great country that has nurtured and loved so many, of all colors, all over the globe and accepted within her own borders more that we have. Let’s vote in a way that at least gives them a chance to see it, or hear about it.

Okay, that’s my voting view, I’ll step down from my soapbox now…WAIT, one more thing.

You idiots that are kneeling or sitting or whatever during the playing of our National Anthem-Stand up. You don’t know what you’re talking about, your ignorance is showing, and you’re a sinner in need of the Savior. Just like me. You will kneel someday…WILL. Before Holy God. At that moment, I suspect that we will all realize just how little we all matter, and how unimportant we were in our lives.

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

OCTOBER 14, 2016


MontanaSomewhere in Chicago, or Philadelphia or Dallas, LA or Atlanta, somebody thought it would be a good idea to spray paint their message on the side of a railcar. Maybe they thought it was art. Maybe they were needing a voice for their frustration. Maybe they were high and don’t even remember their crime. That railcar, along with a whole string of others wearing the same decoration sat there waiting for the power of an engine to propel them further down the line, and they looked so out of place. The background had changed from the industrial background of a working city and railyard to the great Rocky Mountain range in Montana. A herd of elk a mile or so up the foothills enjoying spring grazing. Mule deer in velvet, snow melt running down the ravines and purifying itself over smooth river rock in the creeks below-Nesting birds of all varieties from song singers to waterfowl.

A lot of folks have worked very hard to preserve our pristine countryside creation gifted to us from The Almighty Himself, and now here is a rolling string of eyesore trying its best to scream “look at me” louder than the landscape. This is a scene that repeats itself over and over again as we travel our nation. Some call train tagging a long standing American tradition, some folks appreciate the artwork. I don’t, but rather than sit here and whine, I’ll turn the pointed finger back to myself and ask what I have done to help the cause of our national parks, wetlands and BLMs? I research and respond financially to organizations that actually follow thru and put their money where their mouth is. I’m mindful to leave hunting, camping and fishing spaces at least as clean as they were before my presence. I try. I try to share the conservation message here and on the airwaves. I’m not grandstanding; I’m not the original thinker of these simple ideas; I’m just doing what others before taught me, and that is precisely where I fall short.

As I stare at those railcars and inspect my role in the graffiti, it dawns upon me that I’m not doing enough to share what I have with others. God’s great gift of the outdoors. It’s so so sooooo easy when a day off comes along to hit the lake alone, or with familiar company for a day of fishing. How many kids, vets, lonely, hurting folks will I pass along the road to the lake? How many of them would enjoy learning to gather sustenance from a lake with a string and a hook? How many fished for decades before time and lack of family and fishing friends relegated them to Matlock reruns and three square meals between doctor visits? I fall into a category of stinginess here. I’m stingy with our great gift. I seldom invite new folks along to fish or hunt. There are so many opportunities to teach someone about, or renew an old flame for the outdoors. There are nursing homes within a short drive from my home. There are veteran’s organizations and therapy centers. There are organizations like the Dallas Ecological Foundation, Bass Brigade, Big Brothers Big Sisters and endless others that can introduce me to a youngster that would LOVE to just go fishing. Shame on me, and if you're guilty, shame on you too.

That incredible forest, mountain and river scenery that I spend much of my life in, needs those graffiti painters just as much as the artists themselves need to be swallowed up by vast natural expanse. It’s healthy, and healing for those without opportunity to see, breath and hear nature. For those resources to remain, future conservationists must learn now of their importance. *President Teddy Roosevelt was sickly as a kid. Asthma, near sighted and later heart disease beset him according to many historical accounts. As a young man, it is written that Teddy’s dad said, “Theodore you have the mind but you have not the body, and without the help of the body the mind cannot go as far as it should. I am giving you the tools, but it is up to you to make your body.” Teddy responded positively to dad’s message and changed the conservation world. What will that newcomer that I introduce do with his/her knowledge?

I will make an effort to provide some tools for them. It’s important.

*McKay, Brett and Kate. (2007, December 31). Lessons in Manliness: The Childhood of Theodore Roosevelt. Retreived from http://www.artofmanliness.com/about-2/

Fondly,
Billy Kinder
BBKOradio.com

JUNE 22, 2016


Don't Roll Me InWhy do some people want you and me to give up our guns? We live in a dangerous time now. We have seen the, once, great America elect corrupt and even evil people to important offices and in the seat of judgement. We have allowed those people to diminish our foundation and spit on the face of our founding fathers, and more importantly God’s Word. We the people have not done the things necessary to assure a safe, strong nation for our kids and their kids.

The Bible is my guide book. I believe that every word is inspired by God Himself and therefore is absolute perfect truth. Our nation once believed that as well. We were stronger then. Over the years we have allowed a squeaking mouse here and there to dictate to the masses that we cannot pray in our schools, we cannot read the Bible in class, we cannot view the 10 Commandments from God in our courthouses or public facilities, we cannot share the good news of salvation thru Jesus Christ in a school. Just like when He walked this earth as human man, Jesus, God Himself in human form, is despised by some, and ignored by many more. The reason is simple...
~We are all...yes, you...and ME sinners...Romans 3:23 For ALL have sinned and fall SHORT of the GLORY of GOD...
~God hates sin and is so holy that it is impossible for Him to associate with it...
~We love our sin...
~God convicts our hearts and His word creates discomfort in our minds and very spirit...
~We want to be comfortable at all times...we demand it...we think our comfort is a RIGHT!! WRONG!!
The consequence’s of sin is death...Romans 6:23
We are afraid of death...that’s why we have “good Ol' boy” funerals now that skirt around the truth of God’s word and celebrate the life of individual.

Call them what you want (while we still have the right to free speech...Amendment 1, U.S. Bill of Rights), but there are people in office that hate the fact that you and I own guns and that we have the right to possess those guns (Amendment 2, U.S. Bill of Rights), and they want them out of our hands...NOW!! These same people that want you unarmed and near helpless in a fight for your life, know that evil people are pouring across our borders with the intent of killing us. Those people that hate your personal protection are also surrounded, 24 hours a day and for the remainder of their lives , by well armed protectors. It is insane to try and grab our guns anytime, but especially while the house is under attack. It is insane to condemn the law abiding, hard working family man or woman that seldom commits a traffic crime, much less a murder as “evil”. But I understand why it's happening...

Isaiah 5:20...Woe to those who call good evil and evil good, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter.

I wish that like God, I could see into the true heart of those that want America disarmed. They claim that they are afraid for my safety, but I don’t believe for one minute that those folks are concerned about me. In fact I think they despise folks like me. Barak Obama was talking about me directly when he cried out about folks that “cling to their guns and religion”. I have a Bible in one hand and a gun in the proper legal place. I have a C.H.L. on my person at all times. I obey the laws of the land. I worship the loving God that created me and provided eternal salvation to me thru Jesus Christ’s death, burial and resurrection. I love my family, my country, my freedom and my church family. I would die to protect these things. Don’t roll me in with the thugs that rape murder and steal.

The good news? John 3:16

Fondly,
Billy Kinder

JANUARY 1, 2016