Casey checks in from the grand opening of a new Bass Pro in Duluth and immediately starts itching for the North. Chris complains about turkey weather, JB’s running low on patience, and Casey ditches school with Ryder to double up on a brand-new permission property.

Then it’s off the rails: a full-on crash course in the wild world of bowfishing—from pyramid tank shoot-offs in front of massive crowds to Casey driving a NASCAR car through Memphis and deciding he suddenly needs a boat. Throw in technical difficulties, childhood videos sacrificed for storage, and a motivational mic drop for every kid who never fit in at school—and you’ve got one hell of a way to spend an hour.

Mike Passaglia joins the crew and brings the chaos with him. From busting gobblers in California walnut orchards to nearly dying on an Alaskan river with no GPS, no pilot, and a guide who treats Class IV rapids like a casual float trip—this one covers it all.

Chris and Mike drop a bird. JB fumbles a double. Four new hunters tag out. And somewhere in between, Mike builds a body pillow of himself for his wife, thinks a mailbox is a tom, and casually recounts the time a Tomahawk missile he worked on punched a breezeway-sized hole through an Indian oil tanker.

It’s full-send storytelling: jelly heads, bush survival, mental clarity in the wild, and enough near-death moments to make you rethink that June 1st sigh of relief.

Turkey camp went full throttle—mud-soaked crawls, beard-dragging longbeards, and neighbors firing up blowers mid-stalk. Becky gets her first bird. Casey gets denied permission so hard he needed a Busch Light. And Will Brantley rolls in fresh off a Metallica concert and tags out in 25 minutes. This one has it all—strutters, safes, and the legend of Neil Young’s food plot, now known forever as Harvest Moon.

Captain Jefe’s first time behind the mic is more like being thrown to the wolves: turkey beard rot, JB field-crapping like a golden retriever, full-on plane crashes, and enchiladas from a dude’s wife mid-rescue. Petie the decoy goes through some shit, Casey nearly meets his maker in a dive-bomb landing in the Alaskan Bush, and mustache-trimming advice gets uncomfortably specific. We’re gearing up for Winchester Turkey Camp and praying to the dino bird gods for a little mercy.

A throwback turkey hunt, TSS loads strong enough to deport a gobbler, and permission stories that sound like fever dreams—gangrene feet, dogs eating roofing nails, and three innings of Tigers baseball with an old dude in his undies.

The 989 Gobbler Club is handing out its finest (and most shameful) awards, including a wooden gun you really don’t want. Throw in dire wolves, woolly mammoths, and a turkey call named “King of Snickers,” and yeah… we’ve officially lost the plot.

We’ve never told this story—and for good reason.

It started with a hunch and some half-legible journal entries from the 1700s. John Swift—silver miner, war vet, possible madman—claimed he buried loads of silver deep in the Kentucky hills. Most chalked it up to backwoods legend. We didn’t. We followed the clues, found the creek, the rock, the carvings. Sent Casey into a cave that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in 200 years.

And we found it. The treasure. The silver. It was real.

Then the producers made us leave. Cameras off. No explanation. Just “we’re done here.”

Something about that day never sat right—but we’re finally telling what we can.

Split across the map for spring break, Chris, Casey, and JB reunite with wild stories and even wilder takes. From thundersnow in Midland to Chris losing a phone, a mask, and possibly his sanity in Mexico. They pour one out for Val Kilmer, crown Doc Holliday the undisputed GOAT, and entertain the theory that Jim Morrison might still be breathing.

Add in whitetail conspiracy records, shady hunting motivations, and a breakdown of Masters picks and bets no one asked for—and yeah, April Fools is undoubtedly stupid. Cyberboats, travel bugs, and the Dominican's version of a Beaver Fever. We're not here to f*%k spiders.

Busch Light, March Madness brackets, and defending the driveway like it’s a war zone. JB throws out wild probabilities, a zombie deer and a lady with dementia make an appearance, and somehow, a housecat sends a legendary big game hunter to the hospital. Oh, and if you were born in the ‘90s, you definitely listened to Dave Matthews, ripped darts, and wore Birks—Chris said it, not us.

But the biggest news? Casey, Chris and the crew are officially locked in for Dropped this year, and it’s about to get rowdy. Buckle up and "LET'S DANCE".