Spring 2025 issue of Backcountry Journal

BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL

The Magazine of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers Spring 2025

The Irreplaceable American Ideal

Public land is as American as Mom’s apple pie and the stars and stripes. It’s woven into the fabric of our history, culture, and principles of democracy. It’s the place where generations of hardworking Americans have pursued their passions for hunting and fishing, nurtured an enduring conservation ethic, and found solace from the rest of life.

The concept that our shared resources can be managed in a collaborative and cooperative manner to benefit a multitude of public needs and embody the notion that we’re-all-in-this-together is Americanism at its finest. So how did so many of our elected officials become hellbent on handing over these extraordinary public assets to private interests?

The avalanche of foreboding attacks on public lands, combined with calculated misinformation campaigns designed to gaslight Americans into believing what’s happening is in their best interest, has reached a crisis point. From Utah’s U.S. Supreme Court lawsuit aimed at eroding the very foundations of federal land ownership to the transactional view that public lands are no more than a line item on a balance sheet to the recent raft of political maneuvers setting the stage for a public lands liquidation—the drumbeat of selling out and selling off has become deafening.

Make no mistake: Attacks on public lands are an attack on American ideals. The willingness to betray the core values of our Americanism has become a contagious disease of pandemic proportions, spread by cronyism, corruption, and personal political gain. Will Americans sit back and watch their own public lands legacy unravel? Or can public lands again be the great nonpartisan unifier they have always been?

As the leading advocate for America’s public lands, Backcountry Hunters & Anglers stands resolute in our willingness to play David to the Goliath of special interests and self-serving political momentum. As a fiercely nonpartisan organization, BHA’s allegiance is to the American ideal of public lands and waters and to the hunters and anglers who play a unique and irreplaceable role in conservation. When fealty to political ideology or the politicians themselves is prioritized over the substance of bad policy, we all lose.

Federally owned public lands have long been managed through an Americanist approach that brings a wide variety of stakeholders to the table. These are all of our lands, managed by the feds but not owned by them; we are the public land owners. The public’s recreational opportunities are balanced with resource extraction and other needs, where both private and public interests benefit. The mosaic of public lands across the country play a crucial role in national security, food production, climate change adaptation, and conservation of fish and wildlife habitat. Our natural, cultural, historic, and scenic heritage is firmly founded in a public lands legacy that is fundamentally irreplaceable.

For millions of Americans, public land offers their only opportunity to hunt, fish, camp, hike, and generally enjoy the outdoors. It’s the great equalizer and one of the most poignant examples of Americanism—offering a true freedom which separates the United States from much of the world. What happens to hunting and angling when we devalue our public lands both

philosophically and substantively? What if these shared resources are sold off or leased to the highest private bidder? Do we lose our traditions alongside the land?

Loss of access is consistently identified through state and federal agency surveys as the number one reason hunters hang up their gear forever, making the answer to these questions pretty clear: The uniquely American culture of hunting, in which everyone has the opportunity to participate, will fade into the sunset. It’s an avoidable tragedy, but only if we stand up for what we believe rather than fall victim to blind faith that our elected officials are looking out for us.

We must ask ourselves if some things are worth more than money: health, family, friendships, experiences, knowledge, resilience, selfreliance, peace of mind, sense of purpose, responsibility, and the personal fulfillment of sustainably feeding your family? These are the unquantifiable outcomes of time spent recreating on America’s public lands. So, even if we need to take a hard look at the efficiency, effectiveness, and sustainability of the federal agencies charged with managing public lands, the shared resources themselves are still more than just assets on a ledger. And once they are sold or paved over, they’re gone forever.

As citizens in this democracy, we must believe in the value our role plays in the great American foundation that is our public lands. Our involvement and our voice matters; BHA matters. Making a positive impact can be as simple as giving out a copy of the Backcountry Journal or sharing the BHA Podcast & Blast with a friend; gifting a BHA membership; or calling your senator or representative and telling them how much you value our wild public lands. It’s time we set political differences aside in the spirit of our common interest in public lands and waters.

We are facing a seminal moment in the defense of public lands, and BHA is unmoved, undeterred, and unwavering in our commitment to stand up for what’s right. For those willing to put politics, peer pressure, and misinformation aside, buckle up. We’re in for the fight of our lives. Thanks for joining us on the front lines.

-Patrick Berry, President & CEO

Editor’s Note: This message also appeared online and through email in early March 2025.

“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children’s children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.”

~ Theodore Roosevelt

THE VOICE FOR OUR WILD PUBLIC LANDS, WATERS AND WILDLIFE

NORTH AMERICAN BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Ryan Callaghan (Montana) Chairman

Dr. Christopher L. Jenkins (Georgia) Vice Chair

Jeffrey Jones (Alabama) Treasurer

Katie Morrison (Alberta) Secretary

James Brandenburg (Arkansas)

STAFF

Patrick Berry, President & CEO

Bill Hanlon (British Columbia)

Jim Harrington (Michigan)

Hilary Hutcheson (Montana)

Ted Koch (Idaho)

Ray Penny (Oklahoma)

Nadia Marji, Vice President of Marketing and Communications

Frankie McBurney Olson, Vice President of Operations

Katie DeLorenzo, Western Field Director

Britney Fregerio, Director of Finance

Chris Hennessey, Eastern Field Director

Kaden McArthur, Director of Policy and Government Relations

Dre Arman, Regional Stewardship and Habitat Connectivity Manager

Brian Bird, Chapter Coordinator

Chris Borgatti, Eastern Policy and Conservation Manager

Kylee Burleigh, Digital Media Lead

Tiffany Cimino, Membership and Community Development Manager

Trey Curtiss, Strategic Partnerships and Conservation Programs Manager

Contributors in this Issue

Photo by Forrest Mankins

Above Image: Golden hour grayling in the land of the midnight sun, Kelly Reynolds, 2024 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

Adam Berkelmans, Patti Black, Charlie Booher, Leslie Alan Coates, Hugh Cummings, Bjorn Dihle, Patt Dorsey, Bard Edrington V, Garett Gabriel, Biannca Germaine, Christie Green, Chance Hayes, Trevor Hubbs, Scott Janz, Tony Jones, David Joy, Kyle Klain, JJ Laberge, Corey Lamping, Samantha Lutz, Tucker Miller, Courtney Perry, Wendi Rank, Garrett Robinson, Ron Rohrbaugh, Phil T. Seng, Brian J. Stone, Jonathan Wilkins

Journal Submissions: williams@backcountryhunters.org

Advertising and Partnership Inquiries: mills@backcountryhunters.org

General Inquiries: admin@backcountryhunters.org

Don Rank (Pennsylvania)

Peter Vandergrift (Montana)

J.R. Young (California)

Michael Beagle (Oregon) President Emeritus

Brady Fryberger, Office Manager

Mary Glaves, Chapter Coordinator

Aaron Hebeisen, Chapter Coordinator

Jameson Hibbs, Chapter Coordinator

Bryan Jones, Armed Forces and Stewardship Programs Manager

Josh Mills, Corporate Conservation Partnerships Coordinator

Devin O’Dea, Western Policy and Conservation Manager

Kylie Schumacher, Chapter Coordinator

Max Siebert, Operations Coordinator

Joel Weltzien, Chapter Coordinator

Zack Williams, Editorial and Brand Manager, Backcountry Journal Editor

Interns: Maisie Kroon, Taigen Worthington (marketing and communications intern)

P.O. Box 9257, Missoula, MT 59807 www.backcountryhunters.org admin@backcountryhunters.org (406) 926-1908

Backcountry Journal is the quarterly membership publication of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers, a North American conservation nonprofit 501(c)(3) with chapters in 48 states and the District of Columbia, two Canadian provinces and one Canadian territory. Become part of the voice for our wild public lands, waters and wildlife. Join us at backcountryhunters.org

All rights reserved. Content may not be reproduced in any manner without the consent of the publisher.

Published April 2025. Volume XX, Issue II

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

On the Cover: McKenna Hulslander fishes a tiny dry fly for rising brown trout as the sun dips below the horizon.

A WILDERNESS WORTH SAFEGUARDING

The Brooks Range and the battle over the Ambler Road

BY BJORN DIHLE

I wasn’t sure if I was being messed with when a man experienced in Alaska’s Arctic gave me an odd warning before I set out on a trek across the central and western Brooks Range in 2010. He told me that there was a belief that little people inhabited the northern wilderness. They were said to live underground, possess incredible strength, and have supernatural powers. If I encountered any, he said with a smile in his eye, I should be respectful, or they might really mess with me. He told me if I encountered local Indigenous People out on the land, they’d ask me whether I’d seen caribou and then if I’d seen any little people.

I didn’t think much of it. I was much more preoccupied with potential grizzly attacks and heavy rains making stream and river crossings dangerous. Right before I left on that trek, a different man who’d hunted some of the rivers in the western Brooks gave me a similar warning.

I didn’t see any little people during the trek, nor did anyone ask

me about them. The people I ran into all wanted to talk about caribou—the species is incredibly important to people, other wildlife, and even the land in the Arctic. Nonetheless, there was something very mythical about my wander that I equate to days spent walking with thousands of caribou and lots of encounters with grizzlies, wolves, musk ox, and other wildlife. It was a trip of a lifetime across the largest and wildest tract of intact public land left in America.

The Most Alaskan Part of Alaska

The Brooks Range is the most Alaskan part of Alaska. It is the state’s northernmost mountain range and stretches more than 700 miles from the Yukon Canadian border west to near the Chukchi Sea. The north side of the range is open country, while much of the south is a mixture of boreal forest and tundra. Most people who spend real time in the Brooks Range come out of the Arctic wilderness altered for the better.

Photo: Bjorn Dihle

I find it hard to understand how using American taxpayer dollars to build a private road across a wild landscape to foreign-owned mines that will exploit public lands in order to ship minerals to Asia does much more than fill the coffers of corporations and wealthy investors.

The winter after that trip was when I first heard about the proposed Ambler Road. I was in Juneau, at the Capitol, listening to testimony about a road potentially being built north from Juneau to Skagway. At a certain point, the testimony changed to a proposed industrial highway being built 211 miles from the Dalton Highway to near the village of Ambler on the Kobuk River. A woman from northern Alaska spoke about her concerns for what the project would do to the people and caribou who lived in the region. It was too much for one legislator, who rose out of his seat and went on a long tirade upbraiding her and environmentalists in general.

“I choose jobs over caribou!” he yelled at the woman.

Afterward, I approached the woman and thanked her. I tried to articulate how special the Brooks Range was and asked what I could do to help. I’ve been following the issue ever since.

The Ambler Road

If it happens, the Ambler Road would be built using taxpayer money through the southern flanks of the Brooks Range to help foreign-owned companies develop at least four open-pit mines in the western section of the range. The 200-plus-mile road would not be open to the public. An Environmental Impact Statement released in 2024 made it clear the Ambler Road would negatively

impact people, wildlife, and the land in a manner that far outweighs its benefits to Alaskans and all Americans. And it would amount to a huge loss of opportunities for hunters, anglers, and other outdoor recreationists.

With the change of administration, Ambler is back on the table, and there are a lot of powerful people who want to make the project a reality.

Advocates for Ambler say it would be good for the economy. I find it hard to understand how using American taxpayer dollars to build a private road across a wild landscape to foreign-owned mines that will exploit public lands in order to ship minerals to Asia does much more than fill the coffers of corporations and wealthy investors. Well more than half the people living in the northwest Arctic are against Ambler. Clarence Putyuk Wood-Griepentrog from the village of Ambler believes locals have everything to lose and nothing to gain.

“There isn’t any reasonable job potential for us locals,” Clarence says. “Why would they hire us? We are hunters. We are not miners. They give us a few big door prizes. They wine and dine us. Then our land is ripped away from us. Just take, take, take. They’ll get what they want, and we won’t get anything.”

Advocates for Ambler also say it will boost our country’s domestic mineral independence. I don’t understand how the current plan

Photos: Bjorn Dihle

for the ore does that. Right now, the plan is to truck ore out along the Ambler Road to the Dalton Highway and then to a port near Anchorage. From there, it would be shipped somewhere in “East Asia” to be refined. There is no guarantee what countries those minerals would be sold to, and it seems just as likely they’d end up going to China as America.

A Wilderness Worth Safeguarding

Writing this piece stirred up memories from different hunts and wanders I’d made in the Brooks over the past two decades. I’d forgotten about the little people and wondered if those memories were coming back as a metaphor for the importance of approaching the natural world with humility and respect. Civilization is on a collision course with nature, and the most frustrating part of it is how, to a certain extent, unnecessary that trainwreck is.

Responsible mining and jobs are important, but so are public lands and our hunting and adventuring heritage. It’s not easy to balance the needs of our ever-expanding civilization with the conservation of the natural world and safeguarding current and future generations’ outdoor opportunities. But we must do our best to do so. Ambler, with its questionable economics and threats to wildlife, fish, local people, and visiting outdoorsmen and women,

has no place in the balance.

There’s no easy path to navigate the future with its many uncertainties. One thing that is clear to me is that we have everything to lose and nothing to gain if the Ambler Road becomes a reality. It’s up to us as hunters and stewards of the land to take a stand and make it clear that the Brooks Range should remain what it is: the wildest and biggest tract of intact public land left in America.

BHA member Bjorn Dihle is a lifelong Alaskan, who loves to hunt, fish and wander the north’s great public lands.

Learn more about the Brooks Range and the proposed Ambler Road at Hunters & Anglers for the Brooks Range, huntfishbrooksrange.com.

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NEW VECTOR ZIP WADER

BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL

DEPARTMENTS

26 CHAPTER

Stewards of the Land by Bard Edrington V Teamwork by Samantha Lutz

35 ARMED FORCES INITIATIVE Restoring Opportunity by Tucker Miller

40 PUBLIC LAND OWNER

Public Land Hunters Need Private Land Conservation Tools by Charlie Booher 70 SHORTS

A Small Drinking Lake with a Fishing Problem by Leslie Alan Coates I am Predator by Tony Jones Solar Storm Gobblers by Brian J. Stone 79 HUMOR Skyways by Wendi Rank

81 BEYOND FAIR CHASE Is Fanning and Reaping for Turkeys Fair Chase? by Patt Dorsey and Phil T. Seng

83 FIELD TO TABLE Kung Pao Wild Turkey by Adam Berkelmans

87 END OF THE LINE

Sunrise angling in North Carolina. Photo: Patti Black, 2024 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

W A Y S T O GIVE

Make a meaningful impact on the future of our wild public lands, waters, and wildlife by giving to BHA. Every contribution, regardless of size, plays a crucial role in protecting the wild spaces that enrich our lives!

Newly Launched

T H E C A M P F I R E S O C I E T Y

BHA’s all-new Campfire Society is an ideal way to align your passions with your charitable giving. Join to engage directly with BHA President and CEO Patrick Berry, have access to benefits and experiences distinctive to BHA, and ensure an inspiring future for the next generation of conservationminded hunters and anglers.

HEADQUARTERS NEWS

PUBLIC LANDS FRONT AND CENTER AS 2025 BEGINS

2025 started with a bang and the legislative actions surrounding public lands and waters have kept on rolling into spring. Here are some of the keys issues to get involved in or keep tabs on:

In early January, the U.S. Supreme Court dismissed Utah’s lawsuit aimed at grabbing 18.5 million acres of land owned by all Americans. BHA celebrated the news while doubling down on its resolve to continue to fight for our common lands and waters. “While this announcement represents a significant development toward defending our public lands, waters, and wildlife, BHA remains vigilant,” said BHA President and CEO Patrick Berry. “Utah’s underhanded stunt attracted an unfortunate show of support from 13 states and numerous elected officials, underscoring the need for continued and widespread action to protect our shared public lands. If the State of Utah tries to continue moving forward with this reckless case through other legal means, or should other public officials pursue legislative or administrative actions that undermine our public lands legacy, BHA stands ready to once again lead the fight on behalf of hunters and anglers across the country.”

On the heels of celebrating the Utah decision, numerous actions in Congress and the Executive Branch were announced which would forever harm our public lands and waters.

The Ending Presidential Overreach on Public Lands Act (H.R. 521/S. 220) was introduced by Reps. Celeste Maloy (R-UT) and Mark Amodei (R-NV), followed by Sen. Mike Lee (R-UT). This would remove the authority of the president granted under the Antiquities Act to protect public lands through national monument designations. This effort undermines a law that has safeguarded some of America’s most iconic landscapes, and associated hunting and fishing opportunities, for more than a century.

The Antiquities Act is a critical tool to establish national monuments that conserve large landscapes, secure vital fish and wildlife habitat, and safeguard traditional hunting and angling opportunities on public lands and waters. As early as 1908, the Antiquities Act was used by Roosevelt to designate more than 800,000 acres of public land as the Grand Canyon National Monument to protect the region from mining claims.

The executive order titled “Unleashing Alaska’s Extraordinary Energy Potential” takes steps to remove protections from countless wild spaces in Alaska, reopening the door for oil, gas, and mineral development in Alaska’s wilderness cherished by hunters, anglers and others seeking the solitude of the Last Frontier. BHA harshly criticized the order.

Also in late January, a trio of positive bills were reintroduced, which BHA will continue to advocate for. The Boundary Waters Wilderness Protection and Pollution Prevention Act (H.R. 588) was reintroduced by Rep. Betty McCollum (D-MN). This would extend a permanent

mineral withdrawal within the Superior National Forest to protect the Boundary Waters from sulfide-ore mining proposals such as Twin Metals. On his first day back in office, President Trump issued an executive order that would require the review of all public land withdrawals including the decision applauded by BHA to protect the Boundary Waters through a 20-year mineral withdrawal. Only Congress has the ability to enact a permanent mineral withdrawal, which highlights the importance of this legislation.

The Keep Public Lands in Public Hands Act (H.R. 718) was reintroduced by Reps. Ryan Zinke (R-MT) and Gabe Vasquez (D-NM). This would require congressional approval for the sale or transfer of publicly accessible tracts of federal land greater than 300 acres, or greater than five acres if accessible by public waterway. This is a critical improvement from current law in which federal land management agencies have broad discretion to sell or transfer publicly owned parcels that provide valuable habitat, public access, and recreational opportunities.

The Wildlife Movement Through Partnerships Act (H.R. 717) was reintroduced by Reps. Ryan Zinke (RMT) and Don Beyer (D-VA). This would promote habitat connectivity for big game species by providing financial and technical assistance to state and tribal fish and wildlife agencies, private landowners, and non-governmental organizations. It would also establish the State and Tribal Migration Research Program to collect, research, and analyze data on wildlife movement corridors and the Wildlife Movement and Movement Area Grant Program to improve or conserve habitat through projects including habitat leases, fence modifications, and reducing wildlife-vehicle collisions.

And last but not least, in late March came a major victory for public lands access when the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit affirmed the right to “corner-cross” to access public lands. The ruling marks a pivotal decision that solidifies the legality of public access to millions of acres of public lands in the West. Learn more about this landmark decision and its implications on the BHA website.

Keep tabs on legislative actions through BHA emails and let your voice be heard through our Take Action center at backcountryhunters.org/take_action

SEE YOU AT RENDEZVOUS JUNE 13-15, 2025

Join Backcountry Hunters & Anglers for the 14th Annual North American Rendezvous. This June, we’re headed back to our roots in Missoula, Montana! Secure your spot and experience iconic events like the Wild Game Cookoff, Public Lands and Waters Celebration, Brewfest, and more. Whether you’re flying solo or bringing the whole crew to this family-friendly event, you won’t want to miss this gathering filled with all-new educational seminars, hands-on demos, and some of your favorite outdoor icons. See you ‘round the fire at Rendezvous!

Tickets are on sale now at rendezvous.backcountryhunters.org/

KID’S COLORING CONTEST RESULTS

Wow. We had over 150 entries into the coloring contest from the Winter 2025 issue. A neat thing about the design this year was it left room for the kids to interpret the species of fish. We had bull trout, brookies, sockeye and Chinook salmon, rainbows and browns and even more exotic species like golden and marble trout —no shortage of color variations and creative efforts from kids as young as 22 months up to 15. Choosing winners was truly a challenge with so many great efforts, and we tried to take into consideration both realism and creativity, staying within the lines and also age. Ultimately, the winners chosen were:

First Place: Penelope Gall (Age 11)

Second Place: Colette Reutzel (Age 8)

Third Place: Emma Brosius (Age 8)

Honorable Mentions: Molly Trevor (5); Avalon Park (10); Addie Penn (13); Scarlett Penn (11); Russel Vaccarp, 22 months old (youngest participant)

Our biggest thanks to everyone for particpating and also for your understanding that we could only choose a few winners even though so many were deserving.

SURVEY SAYS: AMERICANS IN THE WEST STILL STRONGLY SUPPORT PULIC LANDS CONSERVATION

Colorado College recently released the results of its 15th annual Conservation in the West poll, which showed that voters from diverse political idealogies still strongly support conservation.

Highlight stats include: 72% of Westerners want more emphasis from elected officials on protecting clean water, air quality, wildlife habitat, and providing opportunities to visit and recreate on public lands; 89% of voters opposed the idea of shrinking or removing national monuments; 65% of Westerners opposed proposals to give state governments control over national public lands, up from 56% in 2017. The survery reported on a wide range of conservation topics, and all results showed strong support for conservation. Full results can be found on the the full survey and individual state surveys, which are available on the State of the Rockies Project website.

RECENTLY ON THE PODCAST & BLAST

During the deluge of Hurricane Helene, over 30 inches of rain fell in the headwaters of the iconic Nolichucky River in North Carolina, falling on ground already saturated from prior rain. The Nolichucky crested nine feet higher than its record flood levels, wiping out almost everything in its path. Although the river experienced scouring and erosion, it was the man-made infrastructure that fared the worst. Among the losses were almost 40 miles of railroad tracks owned by CSX Transportation.

Everyone wants the train tracks rebuilt, and the vital freight transportation link restored. But nobody could have predicted that the rebuilding project, contracted out to a company from Mississippi, would involve recklessly mining the riverbed, blocking tributary creeks, tearing up national forest lands, and destroying one of the most beloved fishing and whitewater rivers of the entire eastern U.S.

None of this had to happen. The public’s demands for the work to be done in a less destructive manner have been met with silence.

Join Chris Lennon, Tennessee fishing guide, paramedic and BHA member, and Phillip Widener, Chairman of BHA’s North Carolina chapter, to learn about what’s happening and why it is so crucial—especially right now—to hold responsible parties accountable and stop this entirely avoidable assault on our public lands and waters. Listen to Episode 198 of the Podcast & Blast and more on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever else you get your podcasts.

Above: Penelope Gall’s entry

Below: Colette Reutzel’s entry

GARRETT ROBINSON, Mid-Atlantic

STAFFORD, VIRGINIA

Why are you a BHA member and volunteer?

I joined BHA in 2018, not because I had been following the organization for years, but because a podcast introduced me to the organization’s critical work. That episode made me reflect on my relationship with public lands and how much I had taken them for granted.

For much of my 26-year military career, I lived far from home, often stationed where public lands were my only option for outdoor recreation. Those wild places became my refuge. Hearing that podcast about BHA’s efforts to protect these lands hit home. I realized how fragile these spaces are and how important it is to stand up for them. That’s why I joined BHA and haven’t looked back since.

As someone who fought in the Armed Forces to defend the United States against foreign threats, what is it like to now see domestic threats to the same lands you gave so much to protect?

As a Marine, I dedicated my career to defending the United States against foreign threats. But it’s unsettling to see domestic threats to the same public lands I fought to protect. When states like Utah attempt to seize control of federal lands, it’s an affront to everything I believe in as a Public Land Owner. These lands belong to all Americans, held in trust for current and future generations. Seeing them threatened by short-sighted interests is deeply troubling.

One reason I’m so passionate about BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative is that it gives veterans a chance to continue serving—this time by protecting the lands and waters we love. We’re incredibly fortunate to have millions of acres open to everyone, but that privilege comes with a responsibility to defend it.

The AFI program fosters a community of veterans who understand that responsibility. Many of us feel a deep connection to the outdoors and recognize how vital it is to preserve these spaces for future generations. The program’s mission resonates with those of us who served, as it aligns with the values of duty, sacrifice, and stewardship.

Does having served in the Armed Forces change how you look at and value of our wild public lands, waters, and wildlife?

Serving in the Armed Forces gave me a unique perspective on the value of America’s wild places. Traveling to other countries made me appreciate the freedom and opportunities we have here. Our public lands are a shared resource, accessible to everyone. They’re places where people can connect with nature, whether through hunting, fishing, hiking, or simply being outdoors.

This isn’t the case in much of the world. In many countries, wildlife and natural resources are seen as commodities, not as treasures to be preserved. The work we’ve done in the U.S. to conserve wildlife and habitats is extraordinary, but it’s also a testament to the vision and dedication of those who came before us. That legacy inspires me to continue the fight to protect these resources.

When I think about the countless veterans who have sacrificed for this country, I’m reminded that their sacrifices were not just for political freedoms but also for the land and way of life we hold dear. Public lands embody those values. They’re a tangible reminder of what makes this country special, and they’re worth defending.

Has BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative helped in your transition to civilian life? What is driving you to give so much time and energy to the AFI program?

Transitioning from military service to civilian life is a challenge many veterans face. After 26 years in the Marine Corps, I struggled to find my place in the civilian world. In the military, you wake up every day with a clear mission and purpose. But when that structure is gone, it’s easy to feel lost.

The Armed Forces Initiative gave me a new mission: conservation. It provided a way to channel my passion for the outdoors into something meaningful. Through AFI, I’ve connected with other veterans who share the same values and the drive to make a difference. Whether it’s introducing fellow veterans to hunting and fishing or advocating for public lands, AFI has helped me find purpose again.

AFI’s motto is “giving veterans a new mission in conservation,” and it couldn’t be more fitting. Many of us feel a void after leaving the military, and programs like AFI fill that gap by offering a sense of duty and camaraderie. It’s not just about protecting the land—it’s about protecting a way of life and ensuring that future generations have the same opportunities we’ve enjoyed.

Joining BHA was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It’s given me a deeper appreciation for public lands and a platform to fight for their protection. Through the Armed Forces Initiative, I’ve found a community of like-minded individuals who understand the value of these spaces and are willing to stand up for them.

As veterans, we know what it means to serve. We’ve dedicated our lives to defending this country, and now we’re dedicating ourselves to defending its public lands, waters, and wildlife. It’s a mission that’s as important as any I’ve undertaken, and I’m proud to be part of it. Together, we can ensure that America’s outdoor heritage remains strong for generations to come.

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BACKCOUNTRY BOUNTY

BHA’s Backcountry Bounty is a celebration not of antler size but of BHA’s values: wild places, hard work, fair chase and wild-harvested food. Send your submissions to williams@backcountryhunters.org or share your photos with us by using #backcountryhuntersandanglers on social media! Emailed bounty submissions may also appear on social media.

Hunter: : Marc Hanselman, BHA member | Species: mule deer

State: Idaho | Method: rifle | Distance from nearest road: 11 miles

Transportation: mountain bike/foot

Angler: Lanny Wagner, BHA member | Species: Rio Grande Cutthroat

State: Colorado| Method: fly Distance from nearest road: three miles | Transportation: foot

Hunter: Grant Bentz, BHA member

Species: whitetail

State: Virginia

Method: rifle

Distance from nearest road: two miles

Transportation: foot

“Public lands sure treated me right this past season. Starting in November, I was successful during Colorado’s 4th rifle season with an awesome mule deer. In December, I was able to take a Mississippi whitetail buck on public land in a river bottom that I’ve hunted for over 20 years. Finally, a spot located during a 2019 squirrel hunt yielded a great late season duck hunt. Myself, a friend of mine, and my 15-year-old son made a mad midnight dash to set up decoys and sleep in the woods for a chance at a few birds. Our gamble paid off with a few limits of woodies and some greenheads to boot. Thanks for what you do at BHA.” -Josh Watts, BHA Southeast chapter volunteer

Hunter: BJ Corpron, BHA member

Species: moose | State: Montana | Method: rifle | Distance from nearest road: two miles | Transportation: foot

Down:

CROSSWORD!

Down

1. number of species in North American sheep grand slam

2. number of Canadian provinces

3. most popular big game animal to hunt in North America (non-official, non-hyphenated name variation)

4. last name of BHA president and CEO and also a fruit

Across

5. last name of BHA Podcast & Blast host and also a small fish

Across:

6. most popular freshwater gamefish

8. _________ bear, named after famous conservationist president

9. number of U.S. national parks

1. number of species in North American sheep 5. last name of BHA Podcast & Blast host and grand slam also a small fish

7. last name of BHA founder and also a dog breed

11. state BHA was founded in

2. number of canadian provinces

13. number of national parks in Alaska

14. Canada’s national bird

3. most popular big game animal to hunt

4. last name of BHA president and CEO and

a plant's fruit

7. last name of BHA founder and also a dog

10. first U.S. national park

12. Florida national park

15. U.S. national bird

16. famous Alberta, Canada national park

Answers found on page 87

number of U.S. national parks

U.S. national bird

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Stewards of the Land

BY BARD EDRINGTON V

On the high plains of the Taos Plateau in northern New Mexico, the road is long and the views are wide. As I dodge bumps on the road, my eyes search for pronghorn on the slopes of San Antonio Mountain. These pronghorn are a unique population that spend their summers in the high country, near 11,000 feet, on the alpine meadows that border the Cruces Basin Wilderness. I have been elk hunting in September and bumped into pronghorn feeding in this high-elevation habitat. They looked out of place as I watched them disappear into the timber.

When snow falls in the mountains, it triggers large herds of elk, pronghorn, and mule deer to begin their fall migration down to the Rio Grande del Norte National Monument. These 242,555 acres, designated a national monument in 2013 and championed by long-time public land advocate and hunter U.S. Sen. Martin Heinrich, contain volcanic peaks, sagebrush, grassland plains, and large swaths of piñon and juniper forest. The northern portion of the monument is dominated by winterfat, an important winter food source for big game species. The plateau is a multiuse area with miles of fencing that divide grazing allotments. Much of this fencing is not wildlife-friendly, posing risks of direct mortality, injury, and hair loss for big game. New Mexico has a rich history of sheep grazing, with net wire fencing traditionally used to confine sheep within grazing allotments. Net wire fencing disrupts big game movements and is the primary type of fencing BHA is targeting for removal and modification.

In 2023, BHA was awarded its largest grant to date at $2.5 million over five years. The Bureau of Land Management, utilizing

Inflation Reduction Act funding, selected BHA to employ a team to inventory, modify, and remove fences on BLM lands in areas of identified need. The partnership includes BHA members, supporters, and corporate partners to assist with fence work.

Habitat connectivity has been identified as critical to wildlife conservation efforts, and one of the ways to improve that connectivity is to mitigate landscape features that impede movement, such as roads or fencing. Improved connectivity offers many benefits, one of which is enabling animals to better adapt to environmental changes.

Pronghorn are built for speed, evolving to run away from predators at sustained speeds of 40 mph for up to 30 minutes. However, they have small fat supplies and suffer when food supplies are in shortage. When deep snow covers their forage, they search for better habitat. In modern times, they must maneuver through urban development, crossing roads and going under fences. Although they can jump, their first instinct when encountering a fence is to go under. Many fences on the plateau are four-strand barbed wire with a bottom wire less than 10 inches off the ground. When faced with this challenge, pronghorn can be seen frantically running along the fence trying to find a way to pass under. The combination of deep snow and a bottom strand too close to the ground can spell disaster for pronghorn.

When herds of elk encounter this same fence, they attempt to jump but can become entangled on the top strand of barbed wire. To fix this, we replace the bottom barbed strand with a smooth wire set at 16 inches off the ground. This makes it easier for pronghorn to pass under the fencing. The next strand is set at 6 inches above, the third at 8 inches, and the top strand at 12

Klain

BHA members in New Mexico log 624 volunteer hours improving big game connectivity

inches. The result is a 42-inch tall fence that is easier for elk and deer to jump over and does not risk entangling their hind legs in the top two wires.

During the 2024 field season, three BHA stewardship events were held to engage both BHA members and non-members in impactful habitat restoration efforts aimed at enhancing migration corridors and improving wildlife connectivity. These events also provided an opportunity to unite sportsmen and women as stewards of public lands, reinforcing their role in conservation and land management.

A total of 52 volunteers attended, resulting in 624 volunteer hours spent improving wildlife connectivity. Four miles of fencing were removed, and 1.5 miles of fence was modified. Through the hard work of BHA volunteers and BLM staff, we improved roughly 37.5 square miles of public land. This work will facilitate easier daily travel and seasonal migration of big game species.

As Public Land Owners, we must also serve as stewards of the land. The land offers something unique to each of us, and stewardship is our opportunity to give back.

BHA member Bard Edrington V is an avid outdoorsman, bowhunter, and songwriter. He lives with his family in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Editor’s Note: As of mid-February 2025, the federal funding freeze and layoffs enacted by the current administration has brought much of BHA’s—and other organizations’—stewardship work to a halt. Contact your legislators today and let them know public lands and waters staffing and funding is crucial to conservation work.

Teamwork

BHA members collaborate to improve national forest streams in the Keystone State

BY SAMANTHA LUTZ

Anyone dedicated to hunting, fishing, or hiking in Pennsylvania has probably made their way to the Allegheny National Forest, the state’s only national forest, affectionately called “ANF” by locals. With more than 500,000 acres of forest, streams, and rugged terrain, the ANF is not only a haven for outdoor recreation but a living example of the U.S. Forest Service’s commitment to restoration and sustainable management. Over the past century, the USFS has nurtured this land back from a clear-cut, fire-scorched landscape to a lush, resilient wild area teeming with wildlife. One of the most exciting ways the USFS continues to improve the ANF is through partnerships with conservation groups—like the one managed by the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy and supported by the Pennsylvania chapter of BHA.

At the heart of the partnership is a stream restoration technique known as “large wood projects.” Guided by WPC staff, these projects involve strategically felling trees and placing them directly into stream channels. The large woody debris creates in-stream cover, deepens pools, and reestablishes floodplain connectivity. It’s a simple yet transformative process that mimics nature’s own way of enhancing habitats and ultimately benefits every native species connected to the stream ecosystem.

In 2023, the Pennsylvania chapter of BHA jumped at the opportunity to lend its hands—and backs—to these restoration efforts. With the help of WPC and the USFS, BHA members have now assisted on three large wood projects in the ANF, creating a remarkable collaboration that’s changed both landscapes and lives.

A Hands-On Partnership

The first project was executed in June 2023 when BHA volunteers joined WPC and ANF sawyers for two days of intensive work on Meade Run in McKean County. Fellow chapter leader Nick Scalo and I were joined by longtime BHA member Bill Patsy to help build four large wood structures. In March 2024, eight BHA members, including leaders and chapter volunteers, helped install five more structures along Lamination Run in Forest County. With every fallen tree moved by hand or winched into place, the volunteers reinforced the stream banks, diverted flows, and enhanced habitat complexity.

But these weren’t just physical efforts; they were true teambuilding experiences, as Ben Shockey, a BHA member and executive at manufacturer Lippert Components, discovered during a June 2024 project on Tionesta Creek’s Farnsworth Branch. Shockey brought his Lippert colleagues from across the Midwest to ANF for two days of backbreaking but rewarding labor. “At Lippert, we are determined to use business as a force for good. My team at Lippert is largely remote, so spending time in Pennsylvania, investing sweat equity into a small mountain trout stream was unforgettable,” says Shockey.

As Luke Bobnar, WPC’s Watershed Project Manager, explained, “Over the past several years, BHA has assisted us in areas we could never reach with heavy equipment. Thanks to BHA’s help, we’ve been able to work on larger streams with a greater diversity of techniques to enhance fish habitat for a variety of native species.” Bobnar’s appreciation for BHA volunteers is rooted in their

commitment: “BHA members bring dedication and work ethic that’s invaluable. We’re incredibly grateful for their involvement.”

Why It Matters

Large wood projects might look like they’re primarily for fish, but they create ripple effects for the entire ecosystem. Beyond the technical benefits, these projects give BHA members a way to directly contribute to conservation on lands they may hunt and fish. The physical demands are significant—hauling logs through streams, using hand tools to clear branches, and navigating rough terrain—but for these volunteers, it’s a chance to give back to a place they deeply cherish. The days may be long, but the spirit of camaraderie and purpose keeps morale high.

There’s no better feeling than giving back to the land and wildlife in a way that will benefit future generations. This work is not only about the here and now but about creating a legacy for public lands and waters.

A lifelong Pennsylvanian, BHA member Samantha Lutz is a mother, biologist, hiker, and overall outdoor enthusiast. Her father and grandfathers instilled in her the simple treasures of camping, fishing, and hunting. She has carried these passions into adulthood and seeks opportunities to get out into the wild and help maintain our public lands and waters.

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Eleven New Mexico BHA members teamed up with Bureau of Land Management and New Mexico Department of Game and Fish staff for the Bootheel Wildlife Habitat Connectivity project. Demonstrating grit and determination, they scaled Rimrock Mountain to remove 1.5 miles of net wire fencing. Their efforts not only helped local wildlife but also supported the nearby four-generation ranching family. Photo: Kyle Klain

Chapter News & Updates

Keep tabs on the boots-on-the-ground efforts from dedicated BHA volunteers across North America.

ALASKA

• The Alaska chapter fundraised for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game through raffles for two Governor’s Tags until Mar. 31, 2025. Visit their webpage to learn more about the SI454 Copper River Bison Hunt Package and SB470 Chugach Brown Bear Hunt Package funds raised, and learn how they are helping conservation in Alaska.

• The chapter is weighing in on important Board of Game proposals this Mar., such as supporting a Mountain Goat ID Test prior to hunting to reduce the take of nannies. They also hosted a Pint Night with the Rocky Mountain Goat Alliance (RMGA) in January to educate the public about this issue.

• The chapter continues to advocate for informed and responsible land management decisions regarding: the Mendenhall Wetlands State Game Refuge and a potential second crossing connecting Juneau and Douglas Island; the Tongass Forest Plan Revision; the Ambler Road.

ARIZONA

• The Arizona chapter board held its yearly planning meeting for 2025, in conjunction with its first Pint Night at Historic Brewing Company in Flagstaff, AZ. New board members were added, and event plans and effective fundraising strategies were discussed.

• Some members and other conservation organizations gathered for Camo

at the Capitol in Phoenix, AZ, where hunters and anglers communicated their priorities to state legislators and built working relationships.

ARKANSAS

• The Arkansas chapter kicked off the new year with a successful showing at its first Big Buck Classic, raising over $4,000 through raffles and new member signups.

• Leadership growth: Larry Haden stepped up as state chair, and Jim Taylor joined the board as communications chair.

• The chapter coordinated a sold-out finale for the Full Draw Film Series in Little Rock, further expanding outreach and engagement efforts.

BRITISH COLUMBIA

• The British Columbia chapter is raising its voice with provincial ministries and newly appointed ministers, advocating for recognition of habitat and wildlife values and dedicated funding through face-to-face meetings and letters.

• Regions held various events, including an archery night, speaker presentations on salmon restoration, and an ice fishing day.

• Chapter members are continuing to represent BHA values on the Provincial Hunting and Trapping Advisory Team, participating in meetings in Victoria.

CALIFORNIA

• The California chapter held its annual Duck Camp at Mendota Wildlife Area with over 20 attendees, including both new and veteran hunters. Many “first ducks” were taken.

• The chapter celebrated the designation of the Sattitla and Chuckwalla National Monuments, both of which maintained hunting and fishing access during their designation.

• The chapter looks forward to the NWTF’s upcoming Turkey TuneUp, where they will host a booth—Come have a beer with us!

COLORADO

• David Gallegos joined the Habitat Watch Volunteer team. Brennan Tauber and John Chandler were appointed as social media managers.

• Co-Chair David Lien wrote a Colorado Newsline op-ed titled “Don’t put public lands on the chopping block: American liberty and American wilderness are intertwined.”

• The chapter is tentatively supporting Colorado legislation to classify bison as big game wildlife.

• Join us for our 2025 Colorado Public Lands Day Bash (May 16-18) at the I Bar Ranch in Gunnison.

FLORIDA

• The chapter is actively working on an initiative to reinstate bear hunting in Florida, which has been closed since 2015.

• On Feb. 11, the chapter co-hosted a turkey hunting workshop with FL Camo at Captain Kenny’s in Jupiter.

• On Feb. 16, the chapter hosted a small game hunt in collaboration with American Daughters of Conservation at Upper Hillsborough Wildlife Management Area in Zephyrhills.

IDAHO

• The chapter welcomed new board members Barry Johnson (stewardship), Lauren Melink (communications), and Jeremy Brown (secretary), who bring valuable expertise to the team.

• A productive annual in-person board meeting was held in Eagle, ID, bringing together board members and chapter leaders from across the state to strategize and strengthen Idaho BHA’s initiatives.

• The chapter advocated for Idaho’s wild public lands and waters at the Camo at the Capitol legislative reception in Boise, ID, connecting with decision-makers and raising awareness.

ILLINOIS

• The Lake Shelbyville Archery Park Grand Opening is May 16-18. Join us for an archery shoot, top shot challenges, camping, gear, prizes, and more to support public lands.

• Call your legislators to express support for your right to float Illinois streams and HB1873, legislation aligning state and federal stream access laws.

• Visit backcountryhunters.org/illinois for Illinois chapter events, including Pint Nights, trivia nights, cleanups, and more. If you don’t see something near you, email us to get one started.

INDIANA

• The Indiana chapter hosted a Pint Night at the Slippery Noodle Inn in Indianapolis during the Archery Trade Association Show.

• During “expo season,” tables were hosted at the Sportsman’s Classic Expo in northern Indiana and the Deer, Turkey, and Waterfowl Expo in Indianapolis, followed by a Pint Night.

• Three members represented BHA at the Sportsman’s Luncheon at the Indiana Statehouse, where they met with lawmakers to discuss conservation and BHA’s mission.

IOWA

• The Iowa chapter exhibited at the Iowa Deer Classic in March.

• The Iowa chapter was awarded the Iowa Governor’s Nonresident Deer Tag again this year.

KANSAS

• On Jan. 18, the Kansas chapter performed a Timber Stand Improvement project at El Dorado Wildlife Area, improving 17 acres and saving KDWP a week’s worth of work.

• With the 2025 session of the Kansas State Legislature kicking off, Kansas BHA is actively monitoring bills affecting wildlife. Kansas BHA presented bill HB 2097 to the House for approval.

• On Feb. 5, the chapter hosted Ryan Callahan at the Barn at Kill Creek.

• On Mar. 15, the chapter joined Friends of the Kaw for a tire cleanup near Eudora.

• On Mar. 22, the chapter hosted its annual Lenexa clay shoot at Powder Creek Shooting Park.

KENTUCKY

• The Murray State University collegiate club conducted their annual small game hunt with Kevin Murphy, hosted a CWD meeting with a KDFWR biologist, held a duck hunt at Doug Travis Wildlife Management Area, and hosted a TWRA speaker to discuss the economic benefits of wildlife management areas.

• The chapter’s November and December highlights included a Deer Season Pint Night, Conservation Christmas, and the Taylorsville Lake Fish Habitat Project.

• January highlights included an Invasive Carp Pint Night.

• BHA Fort Knox Armed Forces Initiative connected with Kentucky Hunters for the Hungry to provide deer meat to the Fort Knox Enlisted Community, feeding many lower enlisted families quality lean protein.

MICHIGAN

• The Michigan chapter joined other conservation groups to successfully oppose a DNR proposal to lease 420 acres of state forest land for solar development without public input. They will continue to advocate for robust public engagement on any new energy development on public land.

• In 2024, board members represented BHA values on planning committees for the State Forestry Management Plan, Deer Management Initiative, Keewenaw Heartlands planning group, and Michigamme Highlands planning group.

MID-ATLANTIC

• The chapter welcomed five new board members in 2025: Colton Molidor, James Moffit, Kemper Sutton, Nick Wallace, and Mike Arden.

• The Annual Planning Meeting followed by a Pint Night in Winchester, VA, was held on Feb. 1. Thanks to those who attended.

• There has been significant behind-the-scenes policy work in Maryland and Virginia. Keep an eye out for policy updates in your inbox and check out our blog articles on the BHA website.

MINNESOTA

• On Jan. 25, the North Country Icebreaker was held at Breezy Point in Central Minnesota, raising over $7,000 for public lands. Thank you to all volunteers and sponsors!

• The Minnesota chapter exhibited at the Deer and Turkey Classic with a membership drive on Mar. 14-16.

• A “Learn to Turkey Hunt” event was held at the Sitka store in Maple Grove on April 5.

MISSOURI

• The Missouri chapter started 2025 off strong with a Springfield Pint Night, a honeysuckle removal project with USFW, and a Pheasant Fest booth shared with Kansas BHA.

• The chapter supported a proposed Army Corps of Engineers disabled veteran managed deer hunt during the public comment period.

• The chapter hosted a site for STL Trash Bash on April 12, helping clean up public lands and waters!

MONTANA

• The chapter elected new Board Chair Jake Schwaller after former Chair John B. Sullivan III completed his term. Congratulations, Jake!

• The chapter introduced two bills in the Montana Legislative Session: HB 283 (providing a lottery option for coveted statewide moose and sheep tags) and LC 3872 (improving public access to public land via Montana’s Block Management program).

• The chapter hosted a successful Conservation Celebration fundraiser in Missoula.

NEBRASKA

• It was good to see everyone at the Nebraska Deer and Game Expo in Lincoln in January. We will return to this expo in 2026.

• The chapter exhibited at the Nebraska Bowhunters Association Banquet in March.

• Look out for announcements on the revamped Trashy Cat event this spring, combining a weekend of fishing, camping, and cleaning up access sites.

NEVADA

• The year-end Pint Night with Quail Forever was a big success, concluding the year-long membership drive.

• The chapter manned a booth at Sheep Show, where the chapter informed the sheep hunting community about BHA’s mission.

• The chapter’s second annual banquet was a resounding success, and we appreciate the opportunity to see and talk with members; thanks to all for making it a great event.

NEW ENGLAND

• In Maine, the legislature has begun a new biennial session and is tracking bills related to the Land for Maine’s Future program, funding for freshwater fisheries conservation, and access issues.

• The Rhode Island team assisted Fish & Wildlife with winter waterfowl banding work and will support the F&W youth mentored turkey hunt again this season.

• In January, the Massachusetts team attended hearings and provided comments on potential changes to deer and bear hunting seasons. On Feb. 22, we held our third annual Trash & Squirrels hunt and Wildlife Management Area cleanup in Westborough, MA.

NEW MEXICO

• Chapter members worked alongside New Mexico Department of Game and Fish Conservation Officers for two archery deer hunts at high-use trailheads to build a stronger relationship between hunters and the public.

• The chapter hosted a holiday gathering at an indoor archery range, featuring a wild game potluck, socializing, and friendly competition.

• The chapter has several events and stewardship projects planned for this summer. Check our chapter event page and follow our socials for more details and dates!

• Eleven BHA members teamed up with BLM and NMDGF staff for the Bootheel Wildlife Habitat Connectivity project, removing 1.5 miles of net wire fencing to help local wildlife and support a nearby ranching family.

NEW YORK

• The chapter participated in the New York Sportsman’s Expo in Syracuse, shaking hands, selling merchandise, and welcoming new members.

• The chapter partnered with Hunters of Color and The Nature Conservancy for the annual mentored crossbow hunt, introducing new conservation-minded hunters to the community.

• The chapter collaborated with the National Deer Association, wildHERness, The Nature Conservancy, Artemis, and NYS DEC for a mentored women’s crossbow hunt in Western NY.

NORTH CAROLINA

• The chapter partnered with the Tennessee chapter to address the environmentally destructive reconstruction of the CSX rail line through the Nolichucky Gorge.

• The annual month-long Trashy Squirrel Hunt focused on Hurricane Helene-affected areas in Western North Carolina, with volunteer teams collecting nearly half a ton of litter on public game lands.

• The chapter returned to the annual Dixie Deer Classic, manning an information booth and interacting with thousands of sportsmen and women from across the Southeast.

NORTH DAKOTA

• The North Dakota chapter drafted SB 2155 to address a disparity in pronghorn tags within the state, where 70-95% of tags were going to landowners. SB 2155 has passed the ND Senate!

• The baiting bill (SB 2137) is back in the 2025 session, with proponents gathering more support since the 2023 session. SB 2137 has passed the Senate 31-15.

• The chapter is preparing for its annual gun raffle, running from late February to May.

OHIO

• The chapter hosted auction winners from Oregon for a muzzleloader camp in Wayne National Forest, where they filled five of six tags, including two “Buckeye Bruiser” bucks, despite a snowstorm.

• Chapter leaders attended the Ohio Wildlife Management Association Conference and hosted a Pint Night at Land Grant Brewing, contributing their expertise to discussions with research and conservation leaders. They also hosted a booth at the Greater Cincinnati Fly Fishing Show.

• The chapter hosted Flypocalypse on Saturday, April 12, sharing fly-tying and fishing knowledge with attendees.

OKLAHOMA

• With the legislative session underway, the Oklahoma chapter board will monitor potential hunting, fishing, or public land-related concerns.

• In January, the chapter held a shotgun raffle, where one lucky winner received a new Weatherby shotgun!

• In Mar., the chapter held a waterfowl stewardship project at Copan Wildlife Management Area with the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation.

SOUTH CAROLINA

• The South Carolina chapter is in a reorganizing season, but things are looking great. A squirrel hunt/cleanup was held on Feb. 8, with a great turnout and trash cleanup in Sumter National Forest.

• We attended the Palmetto Sportsman’s Convention Mar. 28-30 and hosted a Pint Night on Mar. 29.

• A joint venture event with the South Carolina DNR is planned to create oyster reef baskets to help restore oyster beds in South Carolina.

SOUTHEAST

• The Louisiana Small Game Hunt and Trash Pack Out was held on Feb. 22, 2025, at Sherburne Wildlife Management Area. If you haven’t participated in one of these hunts/cleanups, you’re missing out!

• We are organizing a series of regional Wilderness First Aid certification events throughout the chapter and have received interest from members, but we still have space available. More details will be forthcoming soon. Contact southeast@backcountryhunters.org if you’re interested in participating.

• Please contact chapter leadership if you are aware of any public land issues in your area, want to participate in or lead events, or just want to connect.

UTAH

• The Utah chapter collaborated with various non-profit and industry partners to host the Party for Public Lands in conjunction with the Western Hunting and Conservation Expo in Salt Lake City. Attendees who participated in a public lands advocacy call-to-action at the event were entered to win awesome prizes.

• Policy board members engaged heavily in Utah’s legislative session, which included producing member action alerts, writing/sending position statements to legislators, and giving testimony at various committee hearings.

• The chapter gained representation on the first-ever Utah Sportsmen’s Caucus Advisory Council, which consists of representatives from NGOs with an interest in wildlife, hunting, and fishing, and advises the legislature on wildlife-related bills and issues.

WASHINGTON

• The chapter is advocating for science-based wildlife management by supporting biodiversity funding, wildlife crossings, and enforcement policy during legislative sessions.

• The chapter is driving effective WDFW Commission reform by mobilizing members with well-informed recommendations aligned with the Senate-commissioned Ruckelshaus review.

• The chapter hosted a mountain lion processing event, led by board leader Clarence Rushing and AFI chair Shawn McCarthy, where attendees gained hands-on experience in understanding regulations, aging, processing, cooking, and sampling lion.

WEST VIRGINIA

• On Jan. 24, the chapter held a Public Lands Pint Night with On The Limb Podcast at Fife Street Brewing in Charleston, which included a live podcast.

• Jan. 24-26, the chapter set up a booth at the WV Trophy Hunters Hunting and Fishing Show in Charleston, WV.

• On Feb. 21, the chapter co-hosted the first-ever WV Sportsmen’s Capitol Conservation Day in Charleston, WV, with multiple conservation groups at the state capitol building.

• On Feb. 26, the chapter hosted a Bugs and Brews Pint Night with Natives Fly Fishing in Morgantown to demonstrate and teach fly tying to attendees.

• In March, the chapter held its annual Trash and Trout social media contest and stream cleanup.

Find a more detailed writeup of your chapter’s news along with events and updates by regularly visiting www.backcountryhunters.org/chapters or contacting them at [your state/province/territory/region]@backcountryhunters.org (e.g. newengland@backcountryhunters.org).

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RESTORING OPPORTUNITY

BHA Armed Forces Initiative and North Carolina members join up to restore a fishing pier—and access—for local anglers

BY TUCKER MILLER

As hunters and anglers in a coastal area where development is increasingly encroaching on natural habitat, preserving and enhancing outdoor access is a critical mission for the veterans and current service members of the BHA’s Camp Lejeune Armed Forces Initiative. That commitment is not unique to us locals, though. The spark that drives all BHA members’ commitment to access and opportunity saw fellow servicemembers from the BHA Fort Liberty AFI and civilians from the North Carolina BHA chapter join us and the staff of Hammocks Beach State Park in Swansboro, North Carolina, to restore the fishing pier, a vital community asset offering critical access to the bountiful fishing in southeastern North Carolina.

In May 2024, I saw a Facebook post in which Hammocks Beach State Park called for volunteers to help with park maintenance. The Lejeune AFI team quickly responded. A meeting between Lejeune AFI liaison and retired U.S. Marine Carey Hamil and park leadership resulted in a plan to support Hammocks Beach. Among the various projects currently ongoing with the help of the Lejeune AFI, such as building protective cages for loggerhead turtle nests and large-scale development of both primitive and developed campsites, reconstruction of the fishing pier destroyed by Hurricane Matthew in 2018 stood out as a priority community conservation effort offering improved public access to anglers.

The Marine Corps taught me how to coordinate disparate groups, skills that came in handy rallying 22 volunteers from across North

Carolina, some from as far away as Asheville and Boone at the western end of the state. Despite southeastern North Carolina’s brutal heat and humidity, we decided public access mattered more than our own discomfort and set July 26-28, 2024, to see the pier reborn.

I began preparations for the Friday arrival of the volunteers on Thursday, July 25, 2024. As soon as they arrived, Lejeune AFI member Ben Gentry and his family set the stage for a great weekend, immediately catching a ray, a flounder, and a red drum, examples of the abundant fishing that would become more easily accessible once we restored the pier. The diverse volunteer group of civilians, veterans, active-duty personnel from Camp Lejeune and Fort Liberty, and children ages 6 to 16 camped at Hammocks Beach State Park’s newly built campground, fostering a sense of unity and purpose, as well as having fun getting to know one another.

The real work started at 6 a.m. on Saturday. Volunteers joined park rangers in setting up the necessary equipment early as a nod to the heat and humidity. By 7:30, all 22 volunteers were hard at work on the 125-foot fishing pier, removing and replacing the pier’s railings, rungs, and supports. The tasks were challenging, but we attacked the job with military precision, dividing into teams responsible for measuring and cutting lumber, removing damaged parts, and installing new components. Phillip Widener and Matt Berrian of the North Carolina chapter were critical to the project’s success with their construction expertise. Park Rangers Jake Vitak and Connor Kokel played crucial roles in facilitating coordination, providing necessary materials and tools, arranging lunch, and actively

participating in rebuilding the pier. Their dedication emblemized the collaborative spirit that saw the park staff and volunteers push their efforts till dusk, well beyond the planned stop time of 3 p.m.

As the sun set, volunteers gathered at my family’s campsite for a well-deserved dinner hosted by the North Carolina chapter. The evening was a celebration both of their hard work and of BHA’s mission, featuring discussions on Bobwhite quail habitat, North Carolina’s cancellation of the 2024 recreational flounder season, and a drawing for BHA merchandise and gift cards donated by Eastern Outfitters in Jacksonville, North Carolina.

Sunday came early. Volunteers again woke up at 6 a.m., but this time for fun: Hunter Owens, of Fort Liberty AFI and the NC BHA Conservation and Policy representative for Eastern North Carolina, caught the first fish off the newly rebuilt pier. It was a toadfish, but a first fish is a first fish. Energized by the morning’s success, the volunteers resumed work at 7 a.m. and finished rebuilding the pier by early afternoon.

The impact of this project extends far beyond the physical reconstruction of the pier. For the local community and park visitors, the restored pier reopens access to inshore fishing in Queens Creek, a cherished activity limited by the pier’s closure for the last six years. For park visitors, not only will the pier’s restoration improve local anglers’ lives, it will also reinvigorate North Carolina State Park educational programs for children, fostering a new generation of anglers and conservationists. Park Ranger Jake Vitak, who serves as one of the park’s fishing instructors, said, “Now we will be able to bring more kids to the pier to teach them how to inshore fish in a safer environment.”

As volunteers and park staff packed up their tools and gear and bid farewell to new friends, the sense of accomplishment was pal-

pable. We had not only restored a beloved fishing pier; we had strengthened bonds within our community, and we expanded what the word community means. We made a collection of wood and bolts that was more than just a structure jutting into the tide. We built a monument to resilience, community spirit, and a shared commitment to preserving our public lands heritage for future generations.

Tucker Miller is originally from Plain City, Utah but now resides in Richlands, North Carolina. After serving in the U.S. Marine Corps, he chose to stay in North Carolina for its diverse outdoor opportunities. He and his kids enjoy the vast natural resources the state provides and wants to protect them. He joined North Carolina BHA to continue to serve his community.

Photos: Tucker Miller

Public Land Hunters Need Private Land Conservation Tools

BY CHARLIE BOOHER

Regardless of our collective commitment to public lands and waters, private property defines our communities and provides extraordinary benefits to all hunters, anglers, and trappers.

Three-quarters of the Lower 48 states are privately owned. More than half of that land base, or roughly 890 million acres, is actively managed as working cropland, pasture, or range. Just less than onethird of those private lands are forested, and many of these private forestlands are adjacent to or intermixed with our public lands.

When viewed together, this mosaic of public and private ownership makes up the landscapes that provide essential habitat for the species we hunt and those we don’t. The interconnectedness of ecosystems means that what happens on private lands has profound implications for adjacent public lands and wildlife populations.

Open spaces on public and private lands in the front country provide incredibly important wildlife habitat, as well as access for hunters.

Private property rights, just like our collective ownership of public land, are fundamental to both our American experience and our system of government. Both should be respected, which inherently means that our approach to conservation on these lands must be different. We can influence the ways in which public lands are managed (or not) by engaging in the regulatory and legislative processes that underpin the governance of these shared resources. However, private land management decisions are, importantly, private. So, our collective approach to private land management relies on incentives that encourage, support, and reinforce good stewardship of these lands.

Modern pressures like ever-increasing housing and urban development, costs of living for agricultural producers and timberland owners, and environmental challenges posed by changing conditions are increasingly threatening the ability of landowners to keep the lights on and their lands open. Conservation easements, sometimes called voluntary land protection agreements, provide a unique solution that enables a landowner to buffer their land from

these pressures while being compensated for their commitment to good stewardship and maintaining their private property rights.

A conservation easement is a voluntary land protection agreement between a landowner and a qualified organization like a trusted local land trust. Most conservation easements restrict specific types of development, like housing subdivisions, while still allowing traditional uses like farming, ranching, mining, or forestry. These legal tools keep working lands working while providing assurances against permanent subdivision of the land. Landowners, be they family ranchers or corporate timberland owners, retain ownership and management of their property, ensuring it will remain productive and adaptable to their needs.

Conservation easements are always voluntary agreements and are infinitely customizable to fit the needs of the buyers and the sellers. Each agreement is carefully crafted to reflect the landowner’s goals and ensure that the conservation easement enhances, rather than hinders, the property’s long-term viability. Sometimes easements come with access for hunters or anglers; other times, they do not. And that’s okay. Funding for conservation easements comes from a variety of sources, and because of the flexibility of these legal tools, no easement is typical. Sometimes conservation easements are purchased almost entirely as a means to provide perpetual access to public lands. Other times, they are purchased to maintain key elk wintering grounds, making public access to these private lands sometimes incompatible with the core purpose of the agreement. Conservation easements certainly aren’t for everybody, but they’re an important legal and financial tool for many.

Although easements are vital for conservation, they also serve as an economic lifeline for landowners. Depending on their needs, landowners may receive direct payments, tax benefits, or a combination of both. These resources can be reinvested into their property if desired. For instance, many ranchers and farmers in Montana have utilized conservation easements to enhance their agricultural operations or expand their farms or ranches. This approach ensures their legacy is passed to future generations without the need to sell parts of their property. By acknowledging

Photo: Scott Janz, 2022 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

“By acknowledging the economic benefits of stewardship, conservation easements offer a mutually beneficial solution for preserving private land while keeping landscapes open and thriving.”

the economic benefits of stewardship, conservation easements offer a mutually beneficial solution for preserving private land while keeping landscapes open and thriving.

In much of our country, a private landowner can make the most money by subdividing their land for homes, stores, or manufacturing facilities. Of course, money isn’t the only part of the equation for private landowners. They care deeply about what the past, present, and future of the land where they raise their families, grow and harvest trees or crops, and raise livestock and hunt, and are some of the best stewards of these places. A piece of that stewardship is a conservation ethic that places value on more than money. They value tradition, and they have a strong commitment to these places. However, at the end of the day—or the end of a generation—the balance sheets must pencil out. Loss, for most, isn’t an option.

Conservation easements help ease the household and corporate financial decisions about keeping private lands open and working.

In many places, there is so much demand that land trusts and other conservation easement providers are struggling to keep up. This is especially true in the front country or gateway communities of Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, where land values are at an alltime high, and demand for housing and urban services is outpacing the financial returns of agricultural and forestry operations.

While some criticize these legal tools, conservation easements are founded on the principle of choice, which is a cornerstone of robust property rights. Landowners retain control over how their land is managed and what protections are implemented. By opting to establish a conservation easement, they can safeguard their property indefinitely while preserving open spaces, protecting critical wildlife

habitats, and supporting agriculture throughout the state.

At a time when open spaces and working lands are disappearing, hunters and anglers are at the forefront of advocating for novel, landowner-focused solutions. Conservation easements are an essential tool in our efforts to balance private property rights with the conservation of our natural and agricultural heritage. They empower landowners to secure their own vision for their land while contributing to the long-term health and vitality of Montana’s shared landscapes.

BHA members can support conservation easements in two important ways: by supporting state and federal funding programs and by ensuring the state laws that underpin these tools remain strong. While the mission of this organization is rooted in public lands, we know that wildlife doesn’t adhere to property boundaries. By supporting tools like conservation easements, we advance landscape-scale conservation and hunting access, ensuring healthy ecosystems and open spaces for generations to come.

BHA member Charlie Booher is a consultant at Watershed Results who specializes in natural resource conflict resolution. He has the great privilege of representing some of this country’s oldest, largest, and most generous conservation organizations in Helena, MT, and in Washington, D.C. Charlie is an associate wildlife biologist and a professional member of the Boone and Crockett Club. Outside of the office, you can find him hiking in the mountains of Western Montana and re-learning how to hunt and fish in the Northern Rockies.

TERRIOR

Turkeys and being one with the land with author David Joy

BY JONATHAN WILKINS

In the triteness of small talk or the awkward initial stages of a relationship, we often find ourselves asking someone where they are from. It’s a question with varied motivations and a litany of possible responses. Usually, when we ask the question of someone, we are looking for an abbreviated answer: Pittsburgh, Utah, Texarkana. We may follow up with some hurried personal connection of our own to the place mentioned, a road trip remembered, or a baseball game attended. Sometimes we are looking for a semblance of connection, however brief. Other times we are hurrying to rank a person by an imagined metric. But those rubrics can’t account for the depth of connection. They leave the story incomplete. Novelist David Joy isn’t merely from somewhere; he’s a part of it, like a ripple in a still pond is still part of the pond.

Joy is one of the few people I’ve met whom I would describe as being of somewhere. Not just existing in a locale but being so deeply rooted in a place that he cannot be separated from it. It’s as much pinot noir terroir as it is a mountain burial plot where every stone has had the same last name scrawled into it for the last 300 years. In my experience, identity changes with proximity to or distance from a place. Someone may describe themselves as being from Cleveland for the first 25 years of their life, but the answer will change when they move cross-country after college and start anew. Suddenly

they’re from that new place. In today’s ever-connected world, “where are you from?” has come to mean, “where do you live?” Not so in Joy’s case, where the question is more akin to a plea to “tell me who you are.”

North Carolina ranges from the coastal ports and beaches of the east to the deep rolling hollers of Appalachia in the west. There in the west lie smoky, fog-enmeshed, seismic ruins. Mountains covered thickly with chestnut, oaks, rhododendron, and bloodroot. It’s here that Joy traces his lineage, across those same longitudinal lines—12 generations of his family a part of this landscape. Since before the states were united, since before there even were states.

It’s 5 a.m. when I meet Joy on the far side of a dimly lit Dollar General parking lot—the only tiny patch of light and cell signal I’ve found since entering Jackson County, North Carolina. I’ve come to follow him through his wild haunts, selfishly, with the hope of becoming a better turkey hunter. It’s widely believed that the American turkey of the Eastern variety is a more wily opponent than the Rio Grande and Merriam’s of further west. The mountain variety of the Eastern is supposed to be the wiliest yet. I’ve found them all to be equally adept at making me look foolish, so I’ve come to these Tolkien-reminiscent forests expecting to be humbled again.

Photo: David Joy

Photo: Biannca Germaine

Joy once told me that he was only truly good at doing three things: writing novels, hunting turkeys, and catching flathead catfish with a rod and reel. To my Southern sensibilities about what qualifies a person’s life as a success, these talents are as noble as it gets.

All in the hope that I make more judicious use of future escapades with the supposedly less persnickety ones I encounter back home. I’ve also come to absorb whatever trinkets of knowledge I can from a man I’ve grown to have a deep admiration and fondness for.

To be allowed a peek inside Joy’s perspective and the woods he is informed by—I knew how protective of both the place and the life he was—is a privilege not to be taken lightly. These aren’t places he goes to sparingly or even seasonally, but a part of his everyday— equally magical and mundane. Joy tells me, “I wake up, drink a pot of coffee, eat two bananas, and go into the woods.” Every day.

Joy once told me that he was only truly good at doing three things: writing novels, hunting turkeys, and catching flathead catfish with a rod and reel. To my Southern sensibilities about what qualifies a person’s life as a success, these talents are as noble as it gets. I’d be proud to have any one of those things said about me at my funeral.

Joy is an observant and painfully honest examiner of the human condition. He’s hard on himself. If he believes he’s a good turkey hunter, I believe him. By the end of my few days wandering western North Carolina with him last spring, I’d seen it for myself. And I already knew he was a masterful and poignant writer, so I accept the flathead proficiency as gospel until proven otherwise.

As the sun rises, we begin to slowly meander, gaining elevation while stopping frequently to slow our breaths and listen to the sounds of the woods. We hear no gobbles that first day. No matter, I find myself preoccupied, watching how Joy walks as he negotiates

the twists and turns of trails he knows intimately. He’s tall without being lanky and strong without looking particularly muscular. He has a build that stretches the definition of mesomorphic while also remaining bird-like (if the bird’s name was Larry). His size 14 boots don’t glide, but his stride wouldn’t be considered clumsy either. He seems to be just enough of many different components to make him suited for this place: long, strong legs made for climbing the rough terrain, with limbs nimble enough to be dexterous still.

He stops, pointedly, often to thrust the end of his walking stick toward a point of interest. First, he shows me bear corn, a parasitic plant that grows in conjunction with woody roots. Next, he excitedly tells me about his intention of us making a certain overlook by mid-morning—when and where he suspects turkeys will be on the move. As we sidehill along a ridge, he drops to the ground so suddenly that I assume he is ducking from a turkey’s flawless sight. But it’s followed by a swift extension of his hand into the leaves, and he spins toward me while still both crouched and on the tips of his toes. With an affable, childlike grin and two hands cupped like clamshells, he beckons me to look at his quarry. When he slowly removes the top hand, I see a sliver of red flame. As my eyes focus, I see it’s not a flame but a small dragon-like creature. Joy tells me it’s a red-spotted newt, that the hills are full of them, and that they are one of his favorites. It looks out of place among the spring greenery and muted bark browns of its environment—like it belongs in a jungle or underwater next to some tropical reef. That first morning carries on like that, never finding turkeys, but Joy stopping every hundred yards or so to show me critter sign or to tell me about a flower that is soon to bloom. He has a particular

Red spotted newt, and to the right, bear corn.

Photos: David Joy

Jack-in-the-pulpit

fascination with a patch of pink lady’s slippers—an ephemeral and dainty native orchid that only blooms for a few days at a time and in the tiniest of numbers—which he wants me to see. The patch, which he found a few days ago, covers about as much space as the floor plan of an average American kitchen, but he is consumed with it. It’s the biggest collection of the delicate flowers he’s ever encountered. It’s fleeting, and his pleasure at having stumbled across it is obvious.

Joy lives in a delightfully small and perfectly executed wooden retreat, hand-hewn at the top of such a steep driveway that my anemic and aged 4-cylinder had no chance of ascending. The daughter of the local craftsman who built it works at the small-town bookstore where Joy periodically stops in to sign copies of his award-winning Southern Gothic novels. Joy shares that tidbit while he continues to show me the plants that make up his home. He gestures toward a small patch of ramps, the iconic forage of foodies of all ilks. They are growing in a moist, shady spot that would have been easier to overlook than to notice. He then breaks a small branch off of a bush with bright red flowers and points the splintered wood toward the center of my face, imploring me to smell. It’s called spicebush, and apparently, it was valued by the “old-timers” of the region as a way to season wild fare. The odiferous and warmly spiced essence was introduced to groundhog meat by a method of skewering. It’s the kind of field-to-table recompense you’d be hard-pressed to find except in the most esoteric of Michelin-starred establishments.

Joy rattles off these facts quickly and sort of like a quiz I couldn’t possibly know the answers to. I realize it’s all just a manifestation of enthusiasm—a way to channel anxiety, boredom, uncertainty, and possibly the exhaustion of blinding self-awareness.

He described wildflowers blooming in the mountains like he was describing old friends. The flowers have become like friends; he has come to know them, rely on them even. They command his respect and offer beauty in return. The Jack-in-the-Pulpits don’t care about money. The laurel thickets aren’t good or bad. I suspect these facts comfort Joy. One less thing to be preoccupied with or responsible for bearing. More time to think about words and the infinite variety of being. Words are what Joy refers to as “the good stuff.” They are his ware, and his trade lies in the delivery thereof.

The next two days went on much like the first: Joy illustrating his great love for—and anti-dilettante commitment to—deepening his knowledge of his home. He showed me the places in the hills that were special to him, like ridges overlooking Christmas tree farms and spots on the sides of gently sloping escarpments where flowers grew. His walking stick was as much for pointing as for steadying his gait. He paused to mention that the turkey droppings he stood above looked like the makings of a jenny as opposed to a mature hen. He showed me where he had huddled, days before, watching a

Pink lady’s slipper. Photos: David Joy

It was then I got to watch Joy in his element, unrestrained and perfectly, patiently consumed. For the first time while hunting turkeys, I saw someone tell a story to a turkey—instead of merely yelping—complete with different characters and subplots.

handful of birds pick through the leaf litter.

While we walk, Joy tells me about blue ghosts, a phosphorescent flying insect that makes an abbreviated appearance for a week or so in isolated parts of Appalachia. He describes their affinity for wet places and their absolute light phobia. He tells me that they used to appear at his home, but that the lights hung from his porch rafters had chased them away. He tells me they still appear on his neighbor’s property, and I discover I’ve gained Joy’s trust when he mentions that he’s obtained permission from his neighbor for me to come and witness the spectacle myself. The blue ghosts had shown up a few days before and would be gone in a week. My timing, while apparently not so good for turkey hunting, was very good when it came to blue ghosts.

That night, once all the light had faded, I walked up the holler and found the nondescript entrance to the neighboring property. I followed the sound of gently trickling water another 50 yards, and then I waited. As my eyes adjusted to the blanket of darkness, I began to see them, everywhere and all around. Small blue lights glowed and slowly hovered a foot or so above the spongy bank of the creek—unobtrusive, unbothered, and not even visible from 100 yards away. It was a dance taking place exactly where and for exactly as long as was needed to satisfy an ancient insect breeding cycle. As I slipped away, back down the hillside, I understood how those same groundhog-eating old-timers could have believed in fairies and magic. When I tell him about it the next day, he reminds me most people won’t ever live to see what I did last night. It’s important to him that I realize how special it was. I assure him I do.

The last two hours of my time hunting with Joy resulted in the kind of cat-and-mouse butt-whooping that only a turkey hunter can appreciate. I had given up hope and was deciding on how to make my exit when a gobble rattled the woods awake. It was then I got to watch Joy in his element, unrestrained and perfectly, patiently consumed. For the first time while hunting turkeys, I saw someone tell a story to a turkey—instead of merely yelping—complete with different characters and subplots. It was intentional—and it worked. After an hour, the gobbler came our way. Ten minutes after that, he was exploding off the ridgetop and in the opposite direction. Joy said it was a matter of a mere 20 yards and the gobbler being smarter than we were that day. He had beaten us, fair and square. Exactly the way it was supposed to be.

As I headed home across the width of Tennessee, I thought about great writers and great hunters—and great writers that were great hunters. I thought about the inspiration they drew from their immersion into wild places and the understanding of humanity that they wrestled from the predator-prey relationship. Jack London had Alaska, Hemingway had the Florida Keys, and David Joy has the hills and hollers of North Carolina. For my money, I’ll take the big woods and the distinctive, agitated American voice that they inspire.

BHA member Jonathan Wilkins is a Southeast-based generalist with a focus on making things and storytelling. He’s also the founder of Black Duck Revival, the brain trust for the multiple personalties of his hunting pursuits that began when he converted a small Delta church into a lodge. He writes, cooks wild things and changes diapers with his wife Marianne and their three children in Little Rock, Arkansas.

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New Moon Elk

BY CHRISTIE GREEN

Friday, November 2, 2018. Odometer reading: 99,065 miles. 6:00 a.m. 25 degrees. Wind from the north. Turn from Forest Service Road 125 onto Forest Service Road 124. Mile 99,070, elk tracks everywhere. Mile 99,074, park in clearing to the south. One hour past daybreak. The moon wanes to a slim crescent. I scribble data into the lines of the notebook, handy on the passenger seat. I pay attention to how long it takes to get here, how cold it is, wind direction, how much gas is in the tank, how far I’m going, and how far I’ve come up the dirt road from where I’m camped in the Airstream southeast of Cebolla, New Mexico. It’s my first solo hunt for elk.

The weight of my marriage is lifting. I don’t have to carry the fixing of it anymore. We have been separated for three months and divorced for 17 days now. He’s not here to suggest, request, or set the pace. I decide the direction of this hunt.

The legal hunting period for my tag starts tomorrow, so today will be for scouting only. I will learn new territory in Game Management Unit 51, where I usually hunt in the northeastern section. I choose the opposite side this time. I don’t want each step to be a memory of what was shared with my husband as we traversed Kiowa Mountain, Tusas Creek, and Cunningham Canyon in prior years. He had been the one to teach me and partnered with me on turkey, elk, deer, pheasant, and oryx hunts. I want to create new memories, chart my own course.

Elk tracks crisscross the snow-covered roadway, revealing the passage of dozens of animals through the draws, creeks, and dense spruce timber, then up the ridges on their daily pilgrimage from nocturnal grazing to diurnal, north slope slumber. The snow, two days old, lies six inches in places at 9,500 feet and above. I know I’m lucky to have a hunt coincide with winter weather like this. Tracks are easy to read in snow and give me a hopeful sense of having a leg up on the other hunters who won’t arrive until later this evening at the end of the work week.

Low, foggy clouds shroud the sunrise. I reach a place that looks good, near an elk route, with easy parking. Keys zipped inside my jacket. Cell phone off and in pocket. Rangefinder in pack, accessible in an exterior pouch, and water, snacks, maps, rope, extra clothing, hand and foot heat packs, toilet paper, and mini first aid kit in the

main backpack compartment. Most of the things Al used to carry for butchering and carrying out the animal, quarter by quarter, are now on my back. I mark the waypoint in the GPS unit and turn it off, placing it in the left thigh pocket of my pants. I pull my long johns and camo over-pants down to squat, peeing Earl Grey tea with cream and vitamin B12 neon yellow into the powder near the truck tire. Pants up, eighteen-pound backpack on, 16 gauge on my right shoulder (in case I spot a grouse), and binos around my neck, ready at my chest.

As my boots crunch across frozen elk tracks that emerge in steel blue light, my friend Adam’s parting words from the night before repeat in my head, “The timing should be good with the moon like this and fresh snow.” He had reached toward me, prompting a fist bump. “Kill!” he had said after peeling off a bite of the Ibex leg from his grill. I had stopped by to say hello, check in with this man, a good friend and hunting buddy of mine who had hunted since he was a young boy, like Al. I kept seeking out the wisdom of more experienced hunters, men, who knew more than me. Maybe I hoped their confidence and knowledge would rub off. Maybe I hoped I would receive some sort of know-how transmission—or permission—to step into the unlikely role of solo woman hunter, unaccompanied, unguided.

“Kill,” I say to myself, as I make my way down the road to an easterly two-track leading to the meadows and timbers above. I slow my pace, lift the binos, adjust their focus, and scan the timber, understory, and openings. Maybe a slight movement or elk-hide brown will catch my eye. Maybe I’ll luck onto them here. These pre-dawn walks with Al into new territory were always part of recounting our story once back home, “That elk bugle we heard just as we set out before dawn was electric! I couldn’t believe we got into them right away like that!” Fresh bear tracks, the poorwill’s red eyes reflecting our headlamp light, the scuttle near our feet at the road’s edge. Nocturnal critters are still up and about, but I witness them silently, without the whispered “Look at that!” this morning. I prefer to walk without a headlamp. I want to see as the animals do, without the aid of human apparatus. Can I be as quiet as them? As unobtrusive? Can I smell and hear as they do?

My Monday conversation with the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish’s elk biologist had ignited my anticipation. “We just did helicopter surveys over that area last week. The

population looks healthy. We counted 1,845 elk in the Trout Lakes and Canjilon areas. That’s definitely a good spot.” I recorded our forty-five-minute conversation in my notebook, so many questions answered, yet many more unasked. I didn’t want to take too much of his time and didn’t want to come off as totally clueless. “They may delay the rut depending on environmental conditions, but usually by no more than a week.” I wonder if I’ll hear the bulls bugling and the cows calling. I want the hormone craze of the rut to skew an elk’s sensibility just enough to allow a shot. If I bag one, surely I’ll be a real hunter.

Maybe then I can be new. Maybe then I won’t be defined by the man at my side.

The weight of my marriage is lifting. I don’t have to carry the fixing of it anymore. We have been separated for three months and divorced for 17 days now. He’s not here to suggest, request, or set the pace. I decide the direction of this hunt.

Striding on, I feel my hips resist the weight of the pack, hear my stomach rumble. I stop, realizing I’m almost at the top of the drainage and have barely paused. The city’s pace still informs my tempo. It will take a couple of days to slow down. The needles of the Douglas fir tickle my neck as I stand still. A motion out of the corner of my eye yanks my bino scan back to the left. An elk ear appears among dense branches. A cow steps out into the clearing, not more than thirty-five yards to the south. She heads my way, not having the benefit of being downwind to cue her to my intrusion. Her front legs stiffen straight, nostrils flare, head jerks up. She’s onto me. We lock eyes, looking with curiosity at the other as if to query, “Who are you? What are you made of?” Her chestnut hide, soft, exaggerated ears, and whiskered mouth set in my mind’s eye.

She is what I came for. I see her. Recognize her.

She turns sharply upslope and disappears, like a mirage. I head to the pickup, her golden rump and our encounter softening my checklist mind. My march dissolves to a trickle. I slow my descent, remind myself to take care, move with intention. Al and I would take off cross-country when hunting, both at dawn and dusk, sometimes not coming back until hours after sunset, having to navigate our way with headlamps, a map, and a compass. I don’t want the stress of unnecessary risk eating at me on this hunt, nor can I afford to make careless mistakes. My daughter Olivia is only 13 and needs me. “Don’t get lost. Don’t get hurt. Be smart,” I remind myself like a mantra.

Back in the pickup, 33 degrees, wind swirling north to south, I strip layers, turn the fan and seat heaters on, and tear open a bag of cashews, dried blueberries, and raw walnuts. I’ve already seen an elk and it’s not even noon. But seeing her feels less like a hunting score than a brush with another world.

After my morning snack, I explore new territory. A change in road surface to the south piques my interest. Hopping out of the Tundra, I descend the route about a half mile to the rim of a small lake, about two hundred yards across. Two other marshes to the north and west contrast their chartreuse sedges and rushes with the surrounding fescue and grama slope. The air is different here in this low spot, a drainage at the south end of where I walked earlier. Cooler. Hushed.

I lose track of time, lie back on a sunny, dry knoll, with oaks behind me and clouds skimming my daydreams. Nowhere else to be until my belly rumbles, empty, impatient.

Lunch eventually beckons me back to the Airstream seven miles west. I notice caravans making their way into overburdened sites not far from my camp. Quads, pop-out and pop-up campers, highclearance pickups, and trailers stacked high with tarps, coolers, grills, and shade structures clutter the clearings. They circle up around multiple fire rings and position generators nearby. I wonder how many tags are being fist-bumped before they’re filled? How many guys are set to the task of putting the moves on the one elk that will be theirs?

Stomping the mud from my boots, I juggle breakfast fixings plucked from the cooler and tug the door open. The little propane heater fires up without a glitch as butter slides across the skillet. No one to feed but myself, I adjust to single-serving proportions: two eggs instead of six, one tortilla instead of three. I devour a burrito of scrambled eggs creamy with pepper jack cheese and chopped green chile and wash it down with stiff coffee and cream. I study the topo maps and Google Earth images, combing the imagery for clues.

A nap is in order today. I snuggle into the down sleeping bags and heavy wool blankets. An hour passes; dreams sift through me. The elk converge at the base of a slope, one bull leading them into the nearby bedroom whose window widens to the outer expanse. He enters; a dozen cows follow. I sit at the bed’s edge, yellow spread under my thighs. They’re filing in as if for an interview in a beauty pageant, stopping directly in front of me one by one. The bull looks directly at me; icy blue man eyes meet my stare.

He has a blonde human beard, six-by-six antlers. The elk linger, eyes affixed to mine. Are they silently asking me to join them or flaunting their animal freedom? The cows follow their bull out the other bedroom door, an obedient tempo, a determined destination.

3:00 p.m. I wake bolt upright, fearing I’ve wasted the day and lost the elk. Geared up, propane shut off and camper locked, I head out again for the evening walk.

3:50 p.m. The first drainage, where the cow was in the morning, is mucky with melted snow and slippery soil. My eight-pound boots press into the thick ooze, leaving circular dimples from the tread. I will recognize my own tracks many times over on this hunt. I tell the time of my trips and those of the elk by how defined or diminished our tracks appear through day and night, freeze and thaw. Whose tracks cross the others? They tease me with, “Maybe this way…”

Following my morning route, I ease my gait. Shift to the pace of this place—slower like the shadows of clouds over hipped topography. No rush. At the clearing where the long, aspen-lined meadow meets the two-track, I spot the point of antlers. A young bull, head in the brush, grazes without distraction. There are at least six cows foraging around him, in and out of the timber shadows, unfazed by my presence. I range them at 83 yards and practice getting set up for a shot, lying on my belly in the snow, with the shotgun resting on a fallen aspen. One cow moves broadside repeatedly, revealing her widest self to me. The shot could have been mine at least five times over, but I hold still, focused on their muzzles, tugging leaves between curled lips. It’s not the time to shoot yet. The hunt opener isn’t until tomorrow.

The sky blushes, exhales the day’s effort, and I move on, just a little further up, before turning to walk back in darkness. A neck, head, and ears float through the fir branches. Another cow. She crosses my

path, senses my presence, and turns toward me. We hold the stare. She curls her lips, opens her mouth to expose her teeth, flaring her nostrils to get a scent. Who am I? What am I? She steps even closer. We hold the curious tension. I forget my boots, pack, binos, and gloves; I am as exposed as she is. Our eyes meet. At 50 yards, she barks two warnings to alert the others, then turns away, cautious.

I descend, contrasting the feral feeling in my bones with the biologist’s facts: “The numbers there are good. We’re seeing a 40–100 calf-cow ratio and 35–100 bull-cow ratio. Numbers in the 40s indicate a productive herd.” Today’s observations corroborate his data. They’re here. I’m settling into their rhythm but am pulled away to the rigid rationale of making the kill.

Back at the Airstream, I resist raw memories of Al and me when we were here during last year’s hunt. The camper was merely a shell then; no bancos, shelves, or cabinets had been built. The bathroom at the back, a baby blue curvature with old chrome fixtures, held a mirror centered above the rear window. Now the only steam the windows collect is from the green chile stew simmering on the stove. Who and what do I give my body to now?

Boots off, belly full, I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m.

Day Two

Saturday, November 3, 2018. 99,104 miles. 34 degrees. Dense fog. Hint of wind from the south. Arrive at day one’s sweet spot at 5:54 a.m. Moon waning, darker sky, slimmer crescent—barely a toenail.

No more than two steps toward the drainage, a bull bugles a high squeal about 300 yards ahead. The snow beneath my boots now has a thick crust, having frozen over yesterday’s melt. My steps are loud, clunky as I approach the clearing. Cows are here too; they’re still hanging with the bulls. I need something solid to prop me up against my unchecked adrenaline. Without a more experienced hand at my back, a large aspen does the job. I lean into the vertical mass, ask for support, guidance. The tree, surely older than me, can whisper clues of wisdom. “They’ll come up the low drainage, cross the clearing, and head over the ridge to the north-facing slope.” At least that’s what I choose to hear.

I wait, breathe, listen, and let my heart settle back inside my chest. I must remain still, rooted, until first light when I can shoot. Hooves crunch in crusty snow 20 feet to my right. The she-elk comes directly to me, morning light revealing our outlines, the south breeze exposing truths of who belongs here.

A convoy of trucks and four-wheelers blasts in, breaking through frozen mud puddles. I step away from the tree and head toward the parked trucks. “I’m already in here,” I declare to the man who jumped out and peed next to his truck. He responds dismissively, “I didn’t see any vehicle.” The men head in, full force, revving engines. The cow has vanished.

I walk. Scan. Stop. Listen. Walk some more. More guys accelerate toward the meadow where last evening’s elk grazed. Crouched down against a spruce trunk, hidden from view, I witness their passing. Two men in pickups and two others on quads gun their engines heading into the elk zone.

BAM BAM BAM! Three shots fired uphill. BAM BAM BAM... BAM BAM, five more fired below me. I’m surrounded by what sounds like haphazard shots, most likely at moving targets. Three men with orange vests and hats, one with a rifle, traipse through the

snow, within 30 yards of where I’m crouched. I have to get the hell out of here, lest they mistake my movement for a cow’s and start shooting. I slink through the trees, concealing my body behind rough bark trunks, fallen scrub, and dense brush. The terror of becoming the hunted, the consequence of one stray bullet slaps me to attention. The elk head for the dense high country; I flee to the safety of the pickup.

9:30 a.m. 36 degrees.

The fog lifts. I head to the wetland, thankful to be the only hunter there. The walk to the cluster of little lakes feels shorter than it did yesterday—I’m there in a blink this time. Hours pass: I cover the perimeters of each body of water, every ridge, and the flat expanse of the main lake by foot and by binoculars. I can tell the elk have just been here that morning; I decide this is the place to be at sundown. They like it here. So do I.

The morning lulls into early afternoon, my boots and pack gaining weight as I begin to feel groggy. I’ve been awake for six hours already. A nap is in order.

2:00 p.m. Time to return to the pickup for salami and Swiss cheese on crackers, beet and sweet potato chips, and leftover Halloween candy. The salty sweet Reese’s linger in my mouth as I clear the back seat to lie down.

I’m driving up a remote Forest Service road on public land in northern New Mexico. I drive a little further and see there, along the barbed wire fence, what looks like a mechanical bull. The kind in honky-tonk bars that you put a couple of quarters in and get to ride as your rowdiest cowboy self.

It looks like a mechanical bull, but I see it’s the remains of a bull elk that has been brutally slaughtered. Hunters have been here, but they weren’t hunting for meat. They cut off his head and antlers with a dull saw. Rough, torn edges of flesh expose muscle and sinew below, and drying blood cakes the thick hair and hide, staining crusty snow. The spinal cord is exposed, and the hooves have been cut off too—now stumps remain at the end of legs that

once ran uphill. The cuts on the legs are jagged, uneven, made with indifference. The taking lingers like a hollow moan.

An hour passes, and I wake up, chilled. The taking in the dream mimics the tone of taking here. Can I do it differently?

Two pickups and two quads zoom by. It’s time to head back to the wetland for the evening’s sit.

Set up on the south-facing Gambel oak slope, I wonder about the low, round shadows about 100 yards before me in the otherwise uninterrupted snow. Are they tracks? Where do they lead? I lift my binos to make out what appears to be round cobblestones. Following the path of stones, my binos land on two brown rumps.

It’s as if the stones had been strategically placed: at the path’s end, two elk graze in the thickets, unaware of me. In a commotion, I place my pack on the ground, rifle against its slouch on the soil, four 168-grain bullets in the magazine with one in the chamber ready to fire. I lay flat and calm down enough to position the rifle. They’re close, so I adjust the scope down to a five power. Crosshairs on one body, I wait for the elk to lift its head. A bull? A cow? She raises her head, gnawing the forbs and grass, keeping a watchful eye. This is when Al would have whispered instructions or assisted with shooting sticks, the range finder, or an extra rifle prop. He would be there as a confident backbone to my frenzy.

But I know that this is my shot, so I range the cow at 153 yards. As I adjust the rifle to fire, she turns to the north and takes a long step toward the lake’s edge. This is it. I click the safety forward to the off position. As my index finger inches to the trigger, the other elk steps out into my line of sight.

It’s a calf, small enough to only have been born in late May or early June. Mother and calf are solo. My thoughts trace as many paths and directions as the compilation of tracks I have witnessed over these two days. “KILL!” and “Just take the first shot you have under two hundred yards”—admonitions from my hunting peers at home—reverberate through me.

They are tempered with the indelible flash in my mind of a heartbeat monitor line confirming a pulse.

No, Olivia needs me. She laps up homemade buttery biscuits with honey on our morning ride to school. She sips the tea I’ve brewed before bed. Reaching for me, she rises with skinned knees from the fallen, twisted bike beneath her on the gravel path. We have held hands, the two of us, in synchronized stride since her birth.

The mama cow must live. This is my choice.

I click the safety back on, sit up, and watch the pair with my naked eyes. Their hooves trace a relaxed path along the lake’s edge and through a small opening in the oaks. Just after sunset when their shapes are no longer discernible, I make my own way out, mimicking their pace, their route. No hurry. No fear or alarm. They drift innocently to their evening destination. I return to the pickup with a heavy gut, knowing that may have been my only chance.

The mother, her calf, the close-range cows from yesterday’s scout, the nonchalant bull, and grazing harem. I eject the cartridge from the chamber, pull the magazine from the rifle, and place it in its case in the back seat, and wonder why I’ve been closer to more elk on this trip than ever before.

I’m prepared in all ways to make the kill, but the hunt has mutated. They’re getting to me—their proximity, their ease. No one is here to yank me back to the trigger.

I question the “You are you by the feeding you do, the body you give” that has been the DNA of my march, my toil, my loving. I

have provided, served, satiated. Now, without apron or negligée, I am becoming flesh and bone, hooves and heart.

As I witness the animals, I begin to see myself.

Day Three

Sunday, November 4, 2018. End of Daylight Saving Time. What time is it? Cell phone says 4:39 a.m. Tundra says 5:39 a.m. Google says 5:39 a.m. 23 degrees. 99,122 miles. No wind to speak of. A wisp of a moon. Very dark.

I want to arrive in the dark and walk in with the elk as they migrate back to the cover of timbers from their nighttime grazing around the lake. Ice grips the water’s edge. I decide to spend the day in the marshy watering hole, shifting position from one end of the finger meadow to the other, to the oak edges and the moss rock outcropping over the smallest pond. It’s hard to sit still for long in the morning’s acute chill. Like a little kid, I itch: “How long until I see one? What’s going to happen? What’s next?”

Breaking my cover, I stand, stretch, and look around. I walk a blatant path from my oak perch to the fir, stand beneath its canopy, and lift my binos toward the south side of the lake to the densest cluster of timbers. Right there, at first glance, I spot what appear to be two hind knees in a one-foot opening between smoky gray trunks. She or he is about 200 yards away, a plausible shot if I get in position and sit still long enough. I bring my belly to lake’s edge. Obscured by shrubs and shadows, I position the rifle on my pack, legs slightly spread to steady my hold, cartridge loaded, safety off. I watch through the scope for an opportunity to verify the sex and shoot.

Photo: Christie Green

No movement. No knees. No elk. She’s gone. After approaching where she had been, looking for hints at her whereabouts, I see only perfect brown oblong turds and yellow holes in the snow where she peed.

Morning warms to afternoon. I decide to return to the Airstream to cook lunch and then gas up in Cebolla. I heat leftover green chile stew in the skillet, garden potatoes popping as the broth cooks off, sausage jumping at the clap of skillet heat. Two fried eggs, two pieces of toast, extra chile, and black coffee, then I’m off on a short half mile drive to the local gas pump. I wait for the hunter gassing up and make small talk that typically would have been Al’s conversation to have. I make the eye contact this time. Solicit interaction. Raised in New Mexico, he’s hunted this territory many times over. He tells me, “Yeah, I got two on that ridge right there with a bow; a couple others near Canjilon Lakes. Gotten so many, but no luck so far this time. I’m heading back to Santa Fe now and will try again in the morning.” I share snippets from my past couple of days. He smiles, screws the cap back on, and concedes, “You know, sometimes it’s just not yours to have.”

Behind the counter, a slender elderly man looks at me with the milky eyes of age, a hint of blue rimming brown irises. I hand him the debit card as he looks me over. “You hunting?” I nod. “You know you really shouldn’t be up there alone. A lady and all.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

His grin pores over my camo as he runs the magnetic strip through

the machine. Silence. “Well, I guess you have a gun.” Another man comes in and pays for his liter of whiskey. They exchange familiar words in Spanish before he climbs back into his 1980s Nissan, which strains under the weight of fresh cut ponderosa rounds stacked high in the bed.

99,138 miles. A full tank at $2.88 per gallon. I return to the wetland, but there’s no action.

Three more days left to hunt, and the topo maps back at camp provide no direction, no clues.

Christie Green is a mother, hunter, landscape architect, artist, clothing designer, and sole proprietor of radicle, a design-build firm that combines landscape, art, ecology, and activism. Moonlight Elk is the first book in a forthcoming trilogy published by The University of New Mexico Press.

Editor’s Note: This article was excerpted from Moonlight Elk: One Woman’s Hunt for Food and Freedom, which is available at University of New Mexico Press, Amazon and local bookstores by special order.

ANABRANCH

BY TREVOR HUBBS

Every time our leaders commit to a war, just or unjust, total war or police action, we condemn another generation of young men and women to a lifetime of war. We erase who this generation could have become, everything they might have done or inspired someone else to do, and replace those acts with acts of war. When swept up in national pride and patriotism following an attack like 9/11, it is easy to convince yourselves and others around you that war is the solution, damn the cost. However, with less than 1% of our national population serving in the military at any given time and less than 3% of our national population ever having served, we forget what the total cost of war looks like.

I am a firm believer that the men and women who choose to take the oath of service and commit years of their lives to the betterment and protection of their country are truly our country’s best. The young men and women who watched 9/11 on television and said, “This is my problem to solve, send me, I will go,” have something the rest of the nation simply does not. It’s not that they can do something everyone else cannot—most of the military is

not as physically fit as our nation’s professional athletes, nor do they all possess the intellectual capacity of our wisest professors— but they are the ones who choose to do something, while others choose to stand aside. While a nation wept, these few chose to pick up a rifle and set their personal lives aside in favor of the collective need of their communities and their country. Without war, these qualities are still in these people and would undoubtedly have led them to accomplish great things. What if the man or woman who would have cured cancer is among those few, but in their senior year of high school, they watched the towers fall and instead joined the Marines? What if the man or woman who would have found a way to solve the homeless crisis is among them, but after watching the planes hit the Pentagon, after graduation from college, elected to fly combat missions across the Middle East? What if the next conservation leader, who could change the way the world looks at their natural resources management, volunteered for Special Forces? Do we as a nation lose everything these people could have been?

Anabranch is a geographical term defined as “the point after a river branch at which those branches come back together to form

one river again.” What follows is a story about a group of veterans hunting caribou 260 miles north of the Arctic Circle. This is also a story about the last 20 years of war, the cost of that war to both individuals and to the nation, and finally about who we might have been without war, and who we are trying to be again.

My plane touched down in Fairbanks at 11:30 p.m. in as much sunlight as when I had left Minneapolis at 6:00 p.m. I was in Alaska as part of BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative. The next day, in steady 40-degree temperatures and drizzling rain, we all dumped our packs and repacked them item by item, assigning group gear and ensuring all had the essentials for eight days of Arctic survival. Our crew included a Marine amphibious invasion expert and machine gunner, a helicopter pilot with 900-plus combat missions, four Army paratroopers, a Navy submariner, and one Seabee, all folks who are accustomed to hardship and the monotonous packing and repacking required for a field operation of this scale.

The next day we embarked upon the great Arctic odyssey with a 15.5-hour drive north on the Dalton Highway before inserting via airboat more than 30 miles up an unnamed glacier-fed river, where we’d chase barren ground caribou. The intent of the voyage was the same as it is for all BHA AFI events: short-term nature-based therapy in which we immerse our participants in the outdoors, focusing on active participation in the natural cycle through hunting and angling; creating a tribe or community of like-minded individuals with similar life experiences who can lean on each other in the same way active-duty military can lean on their units; and giving the military community a new mission of conservation, teaching our participants how and why to engage in conservation as a new way to serve their country and their military community. After 300-plus events and 6,000 participants served, I have learned two things: 1) If you ask 10 veterans to go get help for themselves, one might; but if you ask them to come to help other veterans, all 10 will show up; and 2) how quickly veterans can form a bond, going from not knowing each other at all to being comfortable in a passenger van loaded down with 10 people and gear. Along our route, we talked about

caribou conservation and biology and reviewed the logistical steps taken to make this trip possible. The purpose of AFI is not to show participants a “once in a lifetime” experience but to give participants the tools for a lifetime of experiences. Another goal of our adventure is to highlight the incredible value of wild public land, like the central Yukon region of Alaska. We pulled into the impromptu boat ramp at 12:35 a.m. and sacked out on the gravel lot for a few hours of sleep before a rendezvous with the boat driver who would ferry us upriver.

The weather was forecasted to be in the 50s and 60s with a bit of wind and rain every day. With this forecast in mind, the group stocked up on additional bug spray and meat care items in Fairbanks to combat the heat. But a wind change over the Arctic Ocean brought in 30-degree temperatures with freezing rain, leading everyone to unpack their heavier layers and bundle up. A round trip for the boat driver was nearly three hours long, meaning the entire group would not be in the field for a minimum of 12 hours. By the time the last chalk arrived in camp at 8:30 p.m., the weather had only worsened—30-mile-per-hour gusts of wind, dense cloud cover, and rain turning to snow. The group settled into our tents as best we could and tried to sleep or at least warm up before beginning to hunt in earnest the next day.

We awoke to four inches of snow on the tundra and a consistent west wind. No one was in a rush to explore our new home. To make matters worse, we discovered the tundra had leaked moisture all night. We were camped in floorless shelters, meaning our sleeping bags had soaked up water with vigor throughout the night. With eight more days of rain ahead of us, the reality that no one would be dry for the foreseeable future seemed evident in everyone’s faces. Finally, around 9:00 a.m., two-man teams headed into the new Arctic world around us. Walking on the tundra is incomparable. Imagine a gymnasium littered with basketballs to the point that nowhere you step a part of your foot wouldn’t be touching a basketball. Now, deflate the balls to between 30% and 60%, and plant six to eight inches of turf, clover, and moss over everything concealing the basketballs, and finally remove the gymnasium floor beneath the basketballs and replace it with a huge leaking waterbed. With every step, your foot sinks three to 30 inches into the ground, immediately saturating your pants and boots with water. Other than the tops of the basketball-sized lumps of turf, there is no solid surface to push off from. Every step is earned.

At noon, one of our teams reached the highest point around camp to glass from. It was a little over a 2.5-mile hike to get there, but only one group ventured that far. At 3 p.m., we heard a series of shots from the high ridge. The vast emptiness of the tundra meant at any point each team could see the other teams even though they were miles apart. The morning snow had mostly melted, causing a small creek between camp and the victorious hunters to swell with runoff to the point it was impassable for others to help pack out meat until the creek level had decreased.

At 2 a.m., the two successful hunters finally staggered into camp after a grueling march requiring them to stop every 50 steps to rest for 10 minutes or more.

There was no celebratory reunion that night. The tundra had taken its toll on the group. But the next morning, camp came alive as we stumbled from our tents to congratulate the success of the Marine machine gunner and Army paratrooper. The Marine, now a police officer on a SWAT team in the Lower 48, could not find the words to express his joy at finding success in the shadow of the famous Brooks Range, the northernmost extension of the Rocky Mountains. He had a rough transition from the Marine Corps and in many ways still hadn’t found his way out; as a SWAT team leader, he had been shot at five times already that year. Combined with the toll of multiple deployments to a combat zone, it made him a clear candidate for adjunct outdoor therapy and this trip to the top of the world. To borrow from Admiral Nimitz, “Uncommon valor was a common virtue”— slightly altered, “uncommon trauma was a common occurrence within our group of participants.” Trauma, from the struggles all

Photo:Trevor Hubbs

Photo:Hugh Cummings

Who would these people be if 9/11 never happened? Who would they be if we hadn’t changed them from blooming conservationists defending the Arctic to hardened warriors with years of combat in their heads and on their souls?

who serve go through, and the complex transition back to civilian life, is so misunderstood in the dialogue of veterans and activeduty mental health. Society simply has no way to compare or understand the relationship these soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines have amongst themselves. It’s the reason within minutes of meeting each other our participants form a bond that lasts for years. Some call this bond among servicemembers a trauma bond, which is probably the most scientifically accurate term, yet it leaves more understanding to be desired for those who did not serve.

The next day, another paratrooper and the Navy Seabee closed the distance on a bull a few hundred yards from the meat cache. After a minor mishap caused both by exhaustion and excitement, another bull went down, and the camp was 33% tagged out. The flock of ravens and eagles above the meat cache dulled our excitement, however, as it was clear that while we had been in camp celebrating a successful hunt, a grizzly had discovered a pile of calories required to get through a five-month hibernation. Between bears, wolverines, and birds of prey, it became necessary to leave a guard at camp to protect the meat.

The next morning, we elected to move camps. Although it would eat up a day of hunting, we needed to float closer to the takeout, finding new ground to hunt an added benefit. Along our float, the conversation floating between rafts surrounded the inescapable beauty of this landscape at the top of the world— where the nearest human could be hundreds of miles away and muskox, caribou, wolves, grizzly bears, and polar bears dominate the landscape. We pulled over to a gravel bar to set camp. The

glacier-fed stream branched a dozen times per mile, cutting deep banks in the tundra and requiring a 7-foot climb from camp to see more than a few hundred yards from the river. Our Navy submariner climbed the bank to relieve himself, then came scrambling back down, pants around his ankles and with such extreme recklessness we thought he’d stumbled onto a grizzly in the waist-high willow. All hands flew into action, pulling pistols and bear spray from holsters, ready for the bear to show itself. After recovering his pants and the capacity for speech, he sputtered the word “muskox.” Yards from camp, a herd of 50 muskoxen milled about in a meadow. We stood in awe for an hour watching the herd dissipate until the desire to fill tags overcame us.

The next morning, some of the group rose with the sun (2:45 a.m.) determined to stay afield until they found caribou. It wasn’t until 2:00 p.m. that those back at camp guarding meat heard two shots 10 seconds apart. A few minutes later, a message came through on our satellite device that two more bulls were down three miles from camp. Headed to help haul meat, an Army paratrooper packing a .22 caliber pistol was able to take a ptarmigan to complement the dinner feast of caribou heart and tenderloins.

As the sun neared the northern horizon on our final day, it bathed our loaded rafts and small camp in an almost mocking amount of sunlight, more than we had all seen all week. We sat around our small fire reminiscing about the highs and lows of the trip, tags filled, and experiences shared: lying exhausted on the tundra during a pack out; the dampness seeping up your backside to your armpits, coating you in the cold, despairing thought that

Photo:Garrett Robinson

you may never reach camp; then noticing a patch of energy-filled blueberries and finding in them a nudge of encouragement from the landscape.

The sun hung at such an angle as to expose in full view for the first time the mountains of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. “It’s advantageous that we camped here,” one participant said, pulling out a piece of paper with the telltale yellow tint of age. “This is a letter I wrote to my congressman in fifth grade, May 2001.” It was a form letter from the National Wildlife Federation opposing an expansion of drilling for natural gas in the very place we were sitting. “I got my whole class of 42 kids to sign this in 2001; my teacher thought I would go on to be a biologist or ecologist, and so did I.” He continued, “Four months later, the Twin Towers fell, and I decided I was going to be a U.S. Army paratrooper because that’s what the country needed more than a conservationist.” He cast the letter into the fire, and we watched the ashes drift off with the smoke, to rest somewhere in the Arctic, eventually to become part of the tundra.

Another participant spoke, “I sent one of those letters too when I was in high school; I never thought I would see this place with my own eyes, but it just felt important that it existed even if I never got to go there.” The Marine machine gunner spoke up, “I used to love science class before I was a Marine or a hunter; animals and plants just fascinated me.”

Who would these people be if 9/11 never happened? Who would they be if we hadn’t changed them from blooming conservationists defending the Arctic to hardened warriors with years of combat in their heads and on their souls?

The next day we started the 16-mile float out, followed by the 15-hour drive back to Fairbanks for a day of meat breakdown. I saw everyone off on their various flights home before finally settling into my own seat on a flight back to Minneapolis. As much as I wanted to sleep on the flight, I couldn’t. The conversation of our last night in the field wove its way through my mind. The most important question isn’t so much who we might have been or what we might have become without the war. The critical question

is what do we do now? The Marines, like the machine gunner or the amphibious assault expert, Army pilots and paratroopers, Navy submariners, and Seabees—all have more than a lifetime of achievements under their belts. In a world where so many stood aside, these people stood up to answer their nation’s call. In that act alone, they achieved more than enough. Yet, they yearn to do more, to give more. Each participant left the Arctic wanting to share the landscape with others, to take their brothers and sisters in arms afield in the wild places of the world, and expose them to these unknown pieces of our unique American heritage. They wanted to expose them to the conservation conversation and show them a piece of the America they had fought for, whether they knew it or not.

BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative can’t take veterans back to Sept. 10, 2001. It can’t give them the last 20 years of their lives back to be lived over in a different way. It can’t give back all the Christmases, Father’s Days, first steps, and anniversaries missed, or the relationships that ended because of choosing to serve. It can’t bring friends back or take away the perpetual sadness warriors carry as a cost for their service. What’s done is done. But the Armed Forces Initiative can focus on making the next 20 years the best years of these veterans’ lives. It can show the joys of the outdoors and America’s public lands and waters. Veterans, more than anyone else, have earned the peace these places can provide.

BHA member Trevor Hubbs previously served as the Armed Forces Initiative Coordinator. He grew up hunting and fishing the eastern edge of the Ozark Mountains for quail, ducks, and bucks. He is a contributor for Fur, Fish, and Game, Lethal Minds Journal, Strung Magazine, Fly Fisherman, and Shooting Sportsman, among others.

Photo:Hugh Cummings

The Meat that Made America

BY RON ROHRBAUGH

I was panicked in early 2022 when we decided to sell our house and travel full-time in a camper with our two kids. You might think my panic arose from leaving the security of a home and family or concerns over how we would educate our kids, but that wasn’t it at all. I knew we could negotiate those things. My panic had to do with food. For decades, our primary source of red meat had been venison from deer that I hunted and processed.

I was excited about the hunting and fishing opportunities that full-time traveling would provide. I could hunt elk and pronghorn in the West, fish for trout in America’s best streams, and land big redfish on the Gulf Coast in winter. There was just one problem: How would we store what we harvested? If you’ve ever been in a camper, you know that the freezer is about the size of a toaster oven. I was especially concerned about keeping venison, as it was literally the core protein in our diet. It’s delicious, nutritious, and saves us a lot of money. I wanted my kids to eat wild, organic venison, not industrially raised meat that has been “improved” with a witch’s brew of growth hormones, antibiotics, and fungicides. How would we survive on the road without venison?

How did anyone survive without venison, now or ever? I wondered.

As it turns out, they didn’t. In fact, without venison, specifically the white-tailed deer, America’s history might have looked a lot different. Pilgrims, pioneers, frontiersmen, fur trappers, naturalists, explorers, soldiers, surveyors, and railroad men all relied on the flesh of deer in their heroic quest to explore and chart the New World. These hearty souls pushed our frontier ever westward, clothed in buckskins and fueled by rich chunks of deer meat roasted over campfires. And long before European arrival in North America, whitetails formed the very heart of Native American culture and sustenance.

But before trying to convince you that the historic importance of venison ranks right up there with penicillin, electricity, and the internet, let’s first define what venison is and isn’t. The word venison originated in Europe and was initially used to describe any wild game meat that was hunted, as opposed to meat that was domestically raised. In fact, venison is derived from the Latin word

venari, meaning “to hunt or pursue.”

When Europeans arrived on the shores of North America, they brought with them their lexicon for describing nature. For at least a couple of centuries, anything that was shot and eaten was called venison. Gradually, however, they needed words to better describe what they were hunting and eating. If a pioneer woman told her man to “get his butt out there and kill some venison for dinner” and he came home with an opossum when she had whitetail backstraps in mind, you can be sure there was hell to pay!

Today, in most parts of the U.S. and Canada, when someone says “venison,” they mean meat from a white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus), mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus), or one of various deer subspecies. Elk is elk meat. Moose is moose meat. But deer is venison. So, when I refer to venison, I mean white-tailed deer or, in a few cases, mule deer.

The archaeological record is murky, but it seems that white-tailed deer became prized by early Native hunters soon after the Pleistocene ice sheets receded about 12,000 years ago. Deer were not only food but the centerpiece of tradition, culture, and raw energy for many Native American tribes. They used hides for moccasins, clothing, satchels, blankets, and coverings of all sorts. The scapula was a hoe, scraper, or shovel. Rib bones were fashioned into arrow points. Skulls carried water. Sinew became cordage and bowstrings. Even the brains were used to tan hides.

Deer were such an important resource that the species’ distribution and abundance influenced tribal boundaries, disputes, and alliances. Native American societies from the East Coast through the central hardwoods of the Midwest intentionally managed the landscape to increase the number of deer and create hunting opportunities. The notion that prior to European settlement, North America was a pristine wilderness dotted with only small groups of Native People is most likely a fallacy.

In his book 1491, Charles C. Mann says, “the Americas in 1491 were not a wilderness. They were a huge, special garden, planned and maintained by the active efforts of a wildly diverse range of societies.”

By the time Europeans began arriving on America’s shores, Native Americans were wholly adept at managing, hunting, and making full use of white-tailed deer. It was natural for them to share their

knowledge and venison with the new white arrivals, at least before relations between the two groups became mired in centuries-long strife.

As school-age children, we learn how the Wampanoag people, led by Chief Massasoit (whom historians now refer to as the sachem Ousamequin), saved the Plymouth Pilgrims from starvation by teaching them to hunt deer and even bringing venison and other foods to their beleaguered encampment in 1621.

The Wampanoag, however, were not acting out of only kindness. Massasoit was a skilled politician and was taking a calculated risk in befriending the Pilgrims. You see, living on the coast, the Wampanoag were the first Native people to contract novel diseases from whites who arrived on their shores. To the west, the Wampanoag’s longtime enemy, the Narraganset, had not suffered such calamity. Massasoit figured that in teaching the Pilgrims to become competent woodsmen, he could enlist their help in fighting the Narraganset. But Massasoit never could have predicted that his teachings on deer hunting, combined with a robust deer population, would ultimately give the new Europeans strength, stability, and power to take over the entire East Coast during the next century.

In early American life, deer were not only valued for their meat but were the drivers for one of America’s earliest economies. Deer hides became a commodity that could be traded among Native Americans and whites.

The deerskin trade between Colonial America, Europe, and Native Americans was one of the most important trading relationships in America. By the late 1700s, the documented trade in deerskins had grown to more than 500,000 annually. The Catawba, Shawnee, Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, and Chickasaw traded deerskins to

backcountry middlemen who in turn sold to English, French, and Spanish exporters. In later years, Native Americans traded directly to the developing American government.

Trade goods were advanced to Native hunters against an expected return of deer hides following the fall hunt. Competing traders often used rum to lure hunting bands and purchase the season’s take before the skins reached the trading post. The need to pay trade debts increased pressure on Native Americans to come up with more deerskins or give up their lands, leading to overhunting.

As compensation for trade debt, Native Americans were eventually forced to cede lands to the colonial government. The system began to implode in the mid-1700s when deer populations plummeted, making it impossible for Native tribes to pay their debt. For example, by the early 1770s, the Creeks and Cherokees in South Carolina were forced to relinquish millions of acres of tribal land to colonial powers.

The regulated deerskin trade came to a close in the early 1800s when southeastern deer populations crashed and did not recover for decades. While deer populations in the East were already succumbing to a growing human population and unregulated hunting, deer numbers in wilder portions of the unsettled West remained strong.

On May 14, 1804, Lewis and Clark set out on their famous expedition to find a northwest passage to the Pacific Ocean. The expedition was an ambitious enterprise that required meticulous planning, supplies, boats, guns, and lots of food. In fact, far more food than could be carried. Their keelboats were stocked with nearly seven tons of dry goods, including flour, salt, coffee, pork, cornmeal, sugar, beans, and lard. They carried approximately 193 pounds of

Omaha mocassins, Bata Shoe Museum, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

portable soup, a concoction that was boiled until gelatinous and then left to dry until hard. This was hardly a favorite meal, but it saved the men from starvation on more than one occasion. While this might seem like a tremendous amount of food, it would never be enough to feed the 45 crew members. The Corps would have to rely on hunting to survive.

Looking at the amount of food consumed provides some understanding of how difficult and physically demanding the expedition must have been. On July 13, 1805, Clark wrote: “We eat an emensity of meat; it requires four deer, or an elk and a deer, or one buffalo to supply us plentifully 24 hours.” When wild game was abundant, each man consumed up to nine pounds of meat per day.

In reference to his hunter, George Drouillard, Clark wrote, “Came home after a long hunt, he killed three deer and left them in the woods to be retrieved later. On the next day, he shot three more deer and five turkeys.”

The animals they hunted and the meat they ate were naturally a reflection of the season and ecosystems they traversed, but it seems clear that without deer, their crew members might not have survived. Of the 1,700 hooved animals killed for food during the expedition, 59 percent were deer. One could argue that the success of Lewis and Clark’s expedition, including routes they opened to the Pacific Ocean, did more to shape America’s history than any other event, and to think that success hinged on the flesh of deer.

Unfortunately, opening a passage to the West came with substantial consequences for deer, other wildlife, Native people, and even entire ecosystems. Lewis and Clark’s tales of rich land and abundant resources, like beaver and bison, triggered great interest among Americans with adventurous and entrepreneurial spirits. Fur trappers, mountain men, ranchers, gold miners, and eventually

railroad men beat a path to explore the wilderness and cash in on what lay beyond the new frontier.

By the 1820s, deer populations on the eastern seaboard were already declining from overhunting, the booming trade in deerskins, and deforestation. Populations in the Midwest, Great Plains, and eastern Rockies held on until wagon trains of settlers, market hunters, and the transcontinental railroad arrived.

Completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869 made it easy for market hunters to reach the Great Plains and to ship their hides back east. By the early 1880s, as many as 5,000 market hunters were working every coulee from the Dakota Territory to Texas. Their primary quarry was the bison, which numbered up to 50 million animals in unfathomable herds that stretched from horizon to horizon. Killed only for their hides, market hunters like Tom Nixon, Vic Smith, and Frank Mayer laid waste to the bison herds.

As bison became scarce, and market hunters needed some way to “pay the bills,” deer were elevated from a secondary target to a primary target. Venison was selling for around three cents per pound and hides for one dollar. Accurate estimates of harvest rates are hard to obtain, but the following examples offer some insight into the carnage. In 1880, one Michigan freight office reported handling more than 100,000 deer destined for Chicago and the East, and a Minnesota father-son team claimed to kill more than 6,000 deer in just a single year.

While on its face, the annihilation of the white-tailed deer and overall disregard for the natural world was an environmental catastrophe, one must also consider the other side of the coin. What role did all that venison play in supporting a rapidly growing America?

In the late 1800s, only a poorly organized system of meat

This shipment of white-tailed deer leaving Cheboygan, Michigan, is testament to the millions that were killed by market hunters during the middle and late 1800s. Photo courtesy of Detroit Public Library Burton Historical Collection.

production and distribution existed in our country. Swelling populations in Chicago, Boston, New York, and other cities had to eat something, and that something was venison. Venison was the fuel upon which the Gilded Age took flight. Factory workers bought cheap deer meat to cook up in their squalid shacks, while the wealthy donned hats festooned with egret feathers to have venison tenderloin in downtown restaurants.

Unfortunately, in a cruel twist of fate, the industrial success facilitated by venison enabled the robber barons of the Gilded Age to continue pillaging natural resources, bringing wildlife populations to a tipping point and causing the most acute environmental crisis of our nation’s history—a crisis that galvanized the highly successful hunter-led conservation movement of the late 1800s.

While market hunters in the West were killing bison and leaving the meat to rot, Civil War soldiers in the East were starving on the battlefield. By all accounts, military rations were nearly inedible and meager. Soldiers found their strength to fight bloody hand-to-hand battles by supplementing their diets with venison. On December 3, 1862, in a letter to his father in Rolla, Missouri, George A. Remly (22nd Iowa Volunteers) wrote, “Company D returned last Monday evening bringing into camp three deer and twelve wild turkeys that they had killed on their way back. They report game very plenty.”

In fact, deer and other game meat were such an important food source for troops that they became used as a tactic of war. In keeping with his scorched earth policies, in the fall of 1864, General Phillip Sheridan dispatched his Army of the Shenandoah to hunt, burn, and destroy all useful provisions that Confederate General Jubal Early’s command might find useful. All deer were to be shot at once, robbing Confederates of food and helping to turn the tide of the Civil War in favor of the Union. It’s interesting to think that abolishing slavery rested in part on the importance of white-tailed deer.

Eventually, the steady decline of deer in the East, coupled with the market hunter’s western slaughterhouse, spelled disaster for whitetailed deer populations nationwide. Prior to European settlement, the population size of white-tailed deer in North America is estimated to have been from 24 to 62 million animals. By 1900, the deer population had been reduced to an estimated 300,000 to 500,000 animals range-wide.

To put that in perspective, today several states, including Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Georgia, have annual harvest rates exceeding 250,000 deer, and in 2022, Texas hunters alone took a whopping 756,000 animals!

So what changed? How did we go from an extinction tipping point in 1900 to thriving deer populations in the twenty-first century? The short answer is regulation and strategic conservation, including establishing a system of public lands. Outraged by the wildlife slaughter, hunters, naturalists, and government officials

began taking action. In 1887, Theodore Roosevelt and George Bird Grinnell founded the Boone and Crockett Club, which began championing legislation to protect wildlife. Perhaps the most impactful law was the Lacey Act of 1900, which outlawed the interstate shipment of illegally killed game, bringing an end to market hunting of deer and other wildlife.

By the time World War II veterans began returning home in the late 1940s, deer populations were solidly on the upswing, and deer hunting as a recreational activity took off like a prairie fire. Once again, deer were shaping American history.

During the past 80 years, deer have developed a cult following among hunters. Generations of kids have grown up going to deer camp every fall. According to the 2023 Deer Hunter’s Almanac, American hunters, along with family and friends, consume 315 million pounds of wild venison each year. That’s more than 600 million meals of natural organic meat that, unlike industrially raised animals, did not contribute to depleting our planet’s resources.

As it turns out, restoring deer to the landscape wasn’t just vital for deer or even natural ecosystems; it was essential for human society in myriad ways. The 2018 edition of Hunting in America: An Economic Force for Conservation provides a staggering look at deer hunting’s impact on the American economy. In 2016, more than 7.9 million deer hunters spent 115 million days in the field. Of the $27.1 billion spent by all hunters, more than half, or $15.7 billion, came from deer hunters.

Deer hunting supports the financial burden of conservation work through license sales and the Federal Aid in Wildlife Restoration Act (an excise tax on equipment), which has distributed more than $12 billion since its inception in 1937.

The author’s wife, Debbie, helping to replace the camper’s dinette with a chest freezer in a Wyoming Sam’s Club parking lot.

Photo: Ron Rohrbaugh

The modern contribution from deer isn’t just financial. In its 20-year history, the Venison Donation Coalition has donated 1.4 million pounds of venison to help feed 5,608,000 people who are food stressed. Hunters for the Hungry has donated more than 30.9 million servings of venison since 1991. Imagine the young lives changed—even saved—through deer and the generosity of hunters.

Despite all the attention that deer and deer hunting receive, there’s another aspect that goes largely unnoticed. Perhaps the most lasting gift that deer provide isn’t funding or even food; it’s an undeniable connection to the natural world. An astonishing number of conservation professionals, agency leaders, politicians, and grassroots environmental advocates became hooked on nature through deer hunting.

Today, kids are more disconnected from nature and the sources of their food than ever. Many suffer from something called “Nature Deficit Disorder.” A modern suburban lifestyle of screens, carbased travel, busy school life, and a lack of nearby natural areas has combined to utterly disconnect them from the outdoors. The longterm impact is a nation of citizens and leaders who are apathetic to the natural world and always willing to prioritize other choices over environmental protections.

Fortunately, for kids in hunting families, deer remain their conduit to nature. Even if it’s only an annual trip to deer camp, through hunting, kids are learning self-reliance, natural history, and even how to work with others to become leaders. As our human population grows and access to nature becomes more difficult, the tradition of deer hunting—the annual urge to just get out there— might be our best hope in keeping kids deeply engaged in nature

and producing the next generation of leaders and decision-makers who will put public land and wild places first.

It was for all of these reasons that I knew our family must continue to hunt and eat deer, even if we were going to be living in a camper with a tiny freezer. About two months into full-time traveling, we got a bright idea. At the Sam’s Club in Casper, Wyoming, we found a chest freezer on sale for $200. In the parking lot, we chucked our dinette in the dumpster and put the freezer in its place. A few days later, I bought some pine boards and sheet metal screws in Sheridan and fastened a tabletop to the freezer lid. A few days after that, my wife, Debbie, found some barstools in a thrift store. Now we had a freezer that doubled as a countertop-height dining table to enjoy delicious meals of venison. Problem solved! It was time to continue the great North American tradition of deer hunting.

BHA member Ron Rohrbaugh is a professional conservation scientist, award-winning author, and ardent supporter of protecting wild places. His recent books include Tine to Table, A Traditional Bowhunter’s Path, and LIVING WILD with the Orions—an adventure/historical fiction series that uses storytelling to teach kids about nature, history, survival, hunting, and more. In 2023, Ron’s book, Echo, was named Book of the Year by Children’s Book International. His books can be purchased on Amazon or at www. LivingWildMedia.com.

Editor's Note: This article was excerpted from the author’s book Tine to Table.

The author passing it on to his young son. Whitetail hunting is often the gateway to nature for many kids who become wildlife conservation professionals. Early in the 20th century, white-tailed deer numbers dipped to 300,000 – 500,000 animals, but today hunters in some states sustainably harvest nearly that many in a single hunting season. Photo: Ron Rohrbaugh

THANK YOU, BHA SUPPORTERS

LIFE MEMBERS

A Small Drinking Lake with a Fishing Problem

BY LESLIE ALAN COATES

The garage door lifts, creating a slow-motion reveal of pre-dawn morning. Streetlights illuminate a haze of moisture produced by suburban irrigation sprinklers. By the time the sun breaks over the horizon, early summer will be in full view. I roll the boat out onto the driveway and lower the trailer tongue onto the hitch of my pickup. Among the many gifts to be counted is the pleasure of a nearby destination. Living in Kansas, where the percentage of public land ranks lowest in the United States, there are few places for the commoner to recreate. I take a sip of black coffee and breathe in my good fortune.

I am heading to Cheney Reservoir, 35 miles west of my home in Wichita. It is a reservoir, like all, born of necessity. In the late 1940s, Wichita city planners were on a hunt for water. The Equus Beds of nearby McPherson, Harvey, and Sedgwick counties, where the city sourced much of its water, were showing significant signs of strain.

Area Osage and cottonwood trees were dying in mass quantities. The low water levels were creating high iron levels, staining laundry and concerning residents. Certain crops were no longer viable, such as alfalfa, which needs root contact with water.

City planners had ideas, but managing costs and relationships with neighboring counties proved difficult. Of several options, the most notable was to redirect water from the already established Kanopolis Reservoir in Ellsworth County, over 100 miles away. This would require state permission, unlikely to be granted. Finally, they proposed building a reservoir of their own. After much deliberation, the city of Wichita, in cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Reclamation, broke ground on Cheney Reservoir in 1961 and finished the project in 1965.

This water connects me, and many other Kansans, to the outdoors. It is home to walleye, crappie, catfish, and several other species, mostly non-native but thriving. It serves as a resting place for migratory birds as common as Canada geese and rare as whooping cranes. The wildlife areas surrounding the lake are open to public hunting of waterfowl, whitetail deer, turkeys, and upland game. These activities move us outside of the city and inside ourselves, reconnecting with traditions of yesteryear and food cycles long broken by factory farming and industrialized food production. Yet, without management, it would not exist.

Once loaded, I slowly motor through the no-wake zone of the loading ramp and look at the underwater contour map on my phone. The meandering line of the original, now flooded, Ninnescah River cuts through the middle of the lake. Shoreline

points extend underwater well into the main body of water. What may have been local farms before the building of the reservoir now create a variety of breaks, humps, and underwater structures. I power up and cruise to an area of shallow water running along the west edge of a long point. Using medium-action rods and reels spooled with light six-pound test, I tie a short Berkley Flicker Shad on one rig and a slightly larger shallow-water Rapala on the other. Using an electronic fish finder and phone map in concert with one another, I troll the shallow edge near the bank in hopes of catching an early summer walleye.

I make one pass through the shallows and peel away from the shore, avoiding an extended sandbar threatening to stick my lower unit. Pushing to the end, I make a wide turn to account for the trolling lures and point the nose again toward the original run of shallow water. Before I get there, the rod pulling the Rapala jumps three times and bends in half. Fish on. I disengage the engine and engage the fish. Because I am fishing with a light line, the surging fish keeps me on my toes, diving and cruising toward deeper water. This is not a walleye, better known for their dead log fighting tactics. This fish is a live wire, and it takes me some time to get it reeled to the boat. I net the beautiful specimen with lined sides and a torpedolike football shape and hoist it into the boat. In Kansas, we call this hybrid fish a wiper, which is a portmanteau of the names white bass and striper, the two parent species. A great freshwater fighter and great table fare, this game fish has exploded in popularity since its first introduction in 2003, another success of KDWPT. My sample is a couple of inches short of the 21-inch length limit, so I revive and release it.

As I watch the great fish swim away, I consider the ease of it. The short drive, boat ramps, and navigable waters all work in my favor for meaningful recreation. The origin of these spaces rests squarely on the shoulders of those before me, but to keep them will rely on us here today. For longer than I have been walking on Kansas dirt, these waters have been a part of my life. The access we have to fish within, camp the shores, and hunt the surrounding territory is a construct determined by public interest. My days of taking it for granted are behind me.

Leslie Alan Coates is a BHA member living in the suburbs of Wichita, Kansas. A theater teacher, outdoors enthusiast, and writer, rarely does a weekend go by where he is not in rehearsal, pursuing wild game, or trying to put it all into words.

Photo: Leslie Alan Coates

I am Predator

BY TONY JONES

I am a predator, and I am prey. But that’s not something that religion ever prepared me for. I cannot recall a single sermon or seminary lecture about my place in that cycle. Instead, I sat in a pew for years, thinking only of myself, my needs, wants, desires, and fears. How would God tend to me or to my loved ones? We’d pray and pray for God to do something miraculous, to intervene in someone’s body and magically excise cancer. Never did we acknowledge cancer as our predator, or ourselves as predators of the broasted chicken we’d eat in the fellowship hall after the service.

It wasn’t always so. Ancient people acknowledged the relationship between themselves and the animals on which they preyed, and that relationship was honored in myths and rituals. “The basic hunting myth is a kind of covenant between the animal world and the human world,” said master mythologist Joseph Campbell. “The animal gives its life willingly, with the understanding that its life transcends its physical entity and will be returned to the soil… through some ritual of restoration.”

Not long ago, I had conversations with two very different hunters: an elderly Catholic priest of the Passionist Order and a young transmasculine pagan huntress. Each told me a story about hunting deer, and each said virtually the same thing: when they shot the deer, they had the sense that the deer was giving itself to them, that the deer had some kind of agency in the encounter. In spite of their dramatically different religious commitments, each of these hunters was tapping into an ancient ethos in which the prey animal and the human predator have a conscious exchange based on mutual respect.

Ancient people did not take the kill for granted, as we too often do today. For the Native Americans who inhabited the Plains, the buffalo hunt was infused with religious ritual, as was the salmon run for the Indigenous People of the Pacific Northwest and the eland hunt for the Bushmen of the East African savannah. The first bite of raw meat was a eucharist of sorts, and the valor and ferocity of the animal lived on in tales told of the hunt around campfires for years.

Campbell says that the myths that grew up around the hunt were meant to assuage the guilt for the kill, turning the animal into an emissary from God, carrying a divine message: “The religious attitude toward the principal animal is one of reverence and respect, and not only that—submission to the inspiration of that animal. The animal is the one that brings gifts.”

In the early church, the story was told of St. Eustachius. In the time of Augustus Trajan, there was a soldier named Placidus. He was a fine soldier. One day, on leave from the army, he went with some other men into the woods to hunt. Placidus found the trail of a deer and followed it deeper into the woods, away from the rest of the hunting party. He came to a clearing, and there he saw a massive, beautiful stag. He nocked an arrow and drew back his bowstring.

Then the stag turned toward him. Placidus saw something between the stag’s antlers, something glowing, shining like the sun in miniature, taking the form of a cross. It was the cross of Christ. The beast spoke, saying, “Return to Rome and be baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Have your wife and sons baptized as well. And hunt no more. From this day forward, you shall be called Eustachius, which means steadfast.”

The stag began showing up in his dreams, warning him of great calamities that were to befall his family. And just as the animal prophesied, Eustachius and his family lost everything and were sent on the run as refugees, far from Rome.

They arrived at a rushing river but could not even afford to hire the bargeman to take them over. So Eustachius carried his sons across, one at a time. He dropped the first son on the far side of the river, and as he was going back to get the second son, the first son was grabbed in the jaws of a lion and taken away. He then dropped the second son on the far side of the river, and as he was going back to get his wife, the second son was snatched by a wolf. As Eustachius swam back across the river, trying in vain to save his sons, the barge pilot stole his wife and floated away down the river with her.

Utterly alone and without any belongings or money, Eustachius spent the next fifteen years guarding farmers’ flocks, sleeping in their fields at night, and praying to the Lord. One day, two messen-

Photo: Courtney Perry, courtneyperry.com

gers of Augustus Trajan approached him and said that the emperor needed him back in Rome to quell a revolt, being that he was one of the greatest warriors alive. He did as the emperor asked, and Trajan then made him a general and sent him to the frontier where he won many battles.

During one such battle, his troops overran a village and, after killing a captain in the opposing army, that captain’s wife recognized Eustachius as her true husband and ran into his arms. Meanwhile, two captured soldiers were brought to him, claiming they had been raised by wild animals, and Eustachius recognized the young men as his sons.

Eustachius and his family returned to Rome and were invited to the Palatine palace for a dinner to celebrate his many victories. But the new emperor, Augustus Hadrian, was no friend to Christians. When he discovered that the family dining at his table were Christians, he ordered them to make an offering to the gods of Rome. They refused, steadfast in their faith in the Lord.

Hadrian had the family jailed that night, and the next morning they were thrown into a pit of hungry lions. But the lions did not touch them, for the son who was raised by a lion knew how to speak with lions. The next day they were thrown into a den of hungry wolves, but the son who was raised by a wolf told the wolves not to eat them.

Finally, on the third day, Hadrian had the family thrown into a furnace. Though they died, their bodies were not consumed, and the Christians of Rome retrieved them and placed them in the catacombs, where they were venerated for years.

Eustachius’s revelation was later conflated with St. Hubert, an eighth-century Belgian nobleman who was crazy about hunting. He, too, encountered a stag sporting a crucifix between his antlers, and he, too, converted. Later hagiographies record a sermon the stag gave the hunter, expounding on the ethics of the hunt. The

hunter should have compassion for the prey, preached the deer, should always take clean shots, should not shoot a trophy buck when an injured deer is available, and should not kill a doe who has a fawn in tow.

In this medieval tale, the predator and the prey are in conversation about their relationship. The first ethical code of hunting was not written by a hunter but by the hunted. The stag represents the hunter’s conscience, the voice of every animal the hunter has killed and will kill.

Eustachius died in 118. His feast day is September 20, right at the start of hunting season.

Hubert died in 727 after a long and fruitful career as a bishop. His feast day is November 3, right when I hunt deer each year. He is the patron saint of hunters.

Tony Jones is the author of The God of Wild Places. He’s an award-winning outdoors writer, former pastor, and canoe guide, and he serves on the board of the Minnesota chapter of BHA. You can hear him on episode 183 of BHA Podcast & Blast, and you can find him at ReverendHunter.com.

Editor’s Note: This is an excerpt from The God of Wild Places (Rowman & Littlefield, 2024), available wherever books are sold. Signed copies available for purchase at GodOfWildPlaces.com

Solar Storm Gobblers

BY BRIAN J. STONE

The Wabash River bottomlands were flooded, but there was a strip of land that ran along the shoreline, a safe haven between the river and a flooded ravine, complete with a creek swollen with floodwaters. Three gobblers were roosted there, and for good reason. They would fly down from the roost, strut on that strip, and use the slightest changes in elevation to remain hidden from view. After working them for a couple of days, I had finally gotten them to come in, but they stopped just out of view, hidden by the otherwise imperceptible hill, gobbled in chorus a few times, and then slipped away.

My buddy Craig Arnold, a BHA member from just across the border in Illinois, had been having a hard time getting Indiana birds to cooperate, too, and we only had one day left to hunt before the season closed. Just a month before, we had met at a grassroots BHA workday, ripping out Japanese honeysuckle on that same property. At the pint night following the invasive plant carnage, we shared beers, hunting stories, and by the end of the evening, contact info. Over the course of the next year, an Illiana BHA crew formed, and in the fall, we would travel to South Dakota together with an archery antelope tag—a story for another time.

I offered to get Craig on these birds with a chance to double up. I had them roosted. We just needed the stars to align. All he had to do was bring some waders—not a common turkey hunting request.

The night before the hunt, a rare solar storm hit the Midwest. Buddies in Minnesota and Michigan sent me pictures of the pink and purple psychedelic show in the night sky. The scene

above the Hoosier National Forest looked like something out of a Greenland boat tour pamphlet. How often do you get to see the aurora borealis in the skies above southwestern Indiana in the middle of May?

Craig and I met at the parking area well before sunrise, as the solar storm haze still lingered among the stars. It was the last Saturday of the season, and we expected we would have company, but we didn’t. It turns out the end of turkey season has the folks who haven’t filled tags fed up and weary. We put on our waders, loaded up our vests, and made the mile or so hike out to the river. Once we came within a couple hundred yards of where we were hoping they were roosted, we killed the headlamps. It was still dark, but we just walked slowly and carefully.

In the dark, we placed decoys haphazardly, not sure if we were directly underneath the birds. As we found our trees and got situated, I looked up and studied the canopy of the old-growth cottonwoods. The solar storm still hung in the sky, and as the sun broke the horizon, the shapes of black branches against the fading pink and purple haze met the rising fog.

I blew the owl call a couple of times, but there was no response. So, we waited, and as shooting time approached, our lead tom broke the silence on his own. Shortly after him came two more gobbles, each progressively nearer. The three amigos were once again roosted together, and they were right where I had hoped they would be, in the cottonwoods about 70 yards from our position.

These birds had proven wary, so we held off on calling for more light. With the first subtle yelps we threw, all three gobblers responded, still on the roost, and at that moment, a jake launched from his roost directly above us and landed at our feet. At the

Photo:

Brian J. Stone

same time, a hen returned the call from just out of view. The jake jumped up on a log and curiously looked around with a strut. The hen putted her way around the perimeter, appearing suddenly, along with another jake.

Obviously, when surrounded by turkeys, you can’t talk, let alone move. Craig had a diaphragm call, and I was using the trusty glass pot call. In other words, I was done calling. But Craig read it just right, and he let out a series of gentle yelps. At that, our top gobbler exploded. I could tell he was coming in and coming in hot.

We heard the birds long before we saw them, putting and kicking through the leaves and tall grass. All of a sudden, a row of five birds emerged on my right, strutting along the river, heads keeping rhythm with each step. I had a shot, but I knew that Craig probably didn’t. This is the fateful decision time that makes a double hunt like this one tricky. We weren’t next to each other in a blind, where we could signal or whisper. I anticipated the situation, though, and earlier we had agreed that when the moment came, we would take the bird nearest us and that a series of three whistles would be the signal to shoot, the third being the moment to let loose.

For a minute, it looked like the birds were going to swing around behind us and be gone. After a season of frustration chasing these guys, I wasn’t willing to risk it, and I was prepared to shoot the lead gobbler and hope that Craig could get a bead up fast. But as I was briefly contemplating this, the jake right in front of Craig attacked the decoy with gusto, making quite the ruckus. At that, the gobblers stopped, turned, and headed back right where we wanted them.

There was a good tom leading the pack, and a couple of younger gobblers behind him, but the last two birds were jakes. It was a strange grouping of birds strutting and gobbling together. The gobblers came right into my shooting lane, and I knew that Craig, to my left and behind me by about 15 yards, was in range, too. They were moving quickly, and I only had a couple of moments before the lead tom disappeared behind that deceptively tricky landscape that had concealed them so well all week. I whistled: one, two, three!

The gobbler I hit went down immediately, the CZ Sharp-Tail side-by-side 20-gauge doing the good work. Craig shot, too, but I didn’t see another bird go down. At first, I thought he missed, but he had decided to shoot the jake on his decoy because it was a clean, ethical shot and a sure thing on the last day of the season. And just like that, after days spent afield, exciting “safetyoff” close calls, flooded boots, mosquito bites, duct-tape strips of ticks—the whole nine—just like that, the season was over at 6:44 a.m. We had doubled up not long after shooting time, on the banks of the Wabash River, which forms the border between Indiana and Illinois in the southwestern part of the Hoosier state. We refer to this area as Illiana, and when we have a Hoosier and an Illinoisan, both dedicated to BHA, drop birds from the same roost at the same time, we have to call that an Illiana BHA gobbler double up.

Brian J. Stone is a freelance writer who lives in southwestern Indiana and serves on the board of directors for BHA’s Indiana chapter.

Photo:

Skyways

BY WENDI RANK

There’s something that needs to be said.

And I think I’m the one to say it.

I have decimated Rendezvous.

No, no. Don’t try to placate me. I know the damage I’ve caused.

Just look at the arc of Rendezvous since I began attending, from Boise in 2019 to Minneapolis in 2024.

I remember Boise—hat, long sleeves, bottle after bottle of sunscreen. We were outside, like, all the time, you and I.

And I complained about it. A lot.

I mean, you guys are outdoorsy folks. It’s your whole mission. What was I expecting? Mimosa brunches and power walks through the shopping mall?

Then there was Missoula. Dinner in a barn and campfire stories in the Wilma.

You’d think I’d be happy, all that indoor time.

But I still complained.

Which brings us to 2024. Minneapolis. Minneapolis has the Skyway.

Do you know what the Skyway is? It’s a network of enclosed bridges, high above the city.

Yeah. You seldom have to go outside in Minneapolis. Once the Skyway is accessed, you can use its nearly 10 miles to traverse the city.

Completely indoors.

Well, some of the Skyway bridges are not climate-controlled, which is basically outside.

But still.

Guys, what have I done to you?

It shouldn’t be like this.

We shouldn’t be crisscrossing indoor tunnels.

We also shouldn’t have BHA staff members texting me about Rendezvous and crashing at my house en route to Alaska. I am not cool enough to handle that.

But one problem at a time here.

And just so we’re clear, we shouldn’t let the needle hit the other extreme, either. The sleeping-in-a-tent-feet-away-from-portabletoilets extreme.

That’s just ridiculous.

I’m thinking we can dial Rendezvous away from that indoor time you’ve so graciously granted me. I’m thinking old-school Missoula, with vendors outside, snow falling, and wind propelling said vendors’ wares across the fairgrounds.

That was just right.

Wait. Let’s back up a minute.

Minneapolis and its Skyway are fine for Rendezvous. Just fine.

I just don’t want you guys using it.

I want you guys outside, ruddy-cheeked and clad in weatherproof gear.

I mean, I’m pretty sure no one in BHA has actual skin. I think you’re just made of nylon, wool, and raffle tickets.

Say what you will, but we in BHA know how to do a raffle.

So, with Rendezvous 2025 coming to Montana, let’s agree you’ll stay outside. That, despite my penchant for locating indoor bathrooms, my perpetual whining about reptiles, and my distaste for tents—let’s agree you, BHA, will revel in the great outdoors.

I’ll watch from the window.

BHA life member Wendi Rank is an indoors enthusiast from Pennsylvania. Wendi works as a columnist for American Community Journals.

ACCESS REDEFINED

Is Fanning and Reaping for Turkeys Fair Chase?

BY PATT DORSEY AND PHIL T. SENG

Ever since wild turkeys were restored across much of North America, the consensus among turkey hunters about the “proper” (fair chase, ethical, and safe) strategy for the spring season has involved wearing full camouflage, setting up in a fixed location, calling a lovesick male turkey to their position, and making a shot at roughly 40 yards or less with a shotgun or bow. There are variations depending on habitat, personal preference, and subspecies, but generally, that has been the acceptable approach. Like many time-tested traditions, this was a “fair chase ethic” that evolved as turkey populations were restored across the U.S. and turkey hunting grew in popularity.

But today, the techniques of fanning and reaping are surging in popularity, raising important questions about fair chase and safety that turkey hunters need to consider. Fanning or reaping involves calling and/or stalking a tom turkey while holding or wearing a strutting gobbler decoy or a turkey fan—in essence, disguising oneself as another turkey rather than camouflaging as part of the habitat. Advocates of the technique claim that it is extremely effective, especially where a smart and wary gobbler isn’t responding to traditional methods.

Spring gobblers, like rutting deer or elk, are hunted during their breeding season. During the pre-breeding season, they develop a social hierarchy or “pecking order,” and the fittest birds do most of the breeding. With traditional hunting methods, younger, less dominant toms are more likely to respond to calls and are more exposed to harvest than stronger, wiser birds that have won the right to breed. This ensures that the physical traits of the fittest birds are passed on to the next generation.

Using the traditional shotgun, a few calls, a foam hen decoy, and a setup at 40 yards, hunters rarely saw, let alone shot, the dominant gobbler, “the unkillable tom.” However, fanning with hyper-realistic decoys or turkey fans allows hunters to access those experienced birds by presenting themselves as a rival. The “unkillable” gobbler, which had been content to stay with his harem of hens rather than investigate the calls of a lone hen, presented with a challenger, will often rush headlong toward a hunter who is on their hands and knees with a turkey fan invading his harem.

We must ask ourselves: Is a tactic that allows hunters to openly approach game in a bare field without fear of spooking the animal “fair chase?”

There are biological considerations as well. When a dominant gobbler is removed from the population, chaos erupts within the social structure of the flock, right at the most critical time of year, delaying breeding and reproduction. A delay may sound like a minor impact, but it can be significant. Research has found that the earlier a hen nests, the better the chances that the offspring survive.

With turkey populations declining across much of their range, some biologists are hypothesizing that disruptions of social structure and resulting impacts on reproduction could be at least partially to blame. Much more work is needed to determine if this theory has merit, but it certainly bears a closer look.

Finally, the fanning and reaping techniques raise serious questions about hunter safety. Although there currently are no data on the number of “mistaken for game” incidents that have resulted from the use of this technique, it isn’t hard to imagine how putting on a “turkey costume” and stalking through habitat could be dangerous to the hunter. Especially when combined with the use of denser-than-lead shot, which allows hunters to take shots at much greater distances than before, the risks to hunter safety are real. It’s true that the safety of hunters is not a fair chase issue, but it certainly has a bearing on the quality of the hunt for all concerned.

At Orion – the Hunter’s Institute, we staunchly support a hunter’s privilege to select the techniques that give them the most satisfaction—sometimes right into the gray area where it violates the tenets of fair chase. But if your state allows fanning or reaping for turkeys (it’s banned in seven states), it’s worth considering whether fanning and reaping enhance—or violate—fair chase and the quality of your hunting experience, as well as your responsibility to other hunters and the health of the turkey population. The same can be said for any other hunting tactic: What techniques make you the best hunter you can be?

BHA member Phil T. Seng is a board member of Orion-the Hunter’s Institute and president of DJ Case & Associates, a research and communications firm that specializes in natural resources conservation issues across North America.

Patt Dorsey is a life member of BHA and is a board member of Orion-the Hunter’s Institute.

Comic: BHA member JJ Laberge is the creator of Clade & Genus, an online comic that focuses on the business of nature. His inspiration comes from spending time in the outdoors within Northern Ontario’s vast public lands pursuing whitetail, moose, ruffed grouse and woodcock. You can find Clade & Genus on Instagram @cladeandgenus or online at www.cladeandgenus.com

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NEW: THE CAMPFIRE SOCIETY

BHA’s all-new Campfire Society is an ideal way to align your passions with your charitable giving. Join to engage directly with BHA President and CEO Patrick Berry, gain access to benefits and experiences distinctive to BHA, and ensure an inspiring future for the next generation of conservation-minded hunters and anglers.

OTHER WAYS TO GIVE

• One-time or Recurring Donation

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Please contact admin@backcountryhunters.org or visit backcountryhunters.org/donate for more ways to support BHA.

KUNG PAO WILD TURKEY

BY ADAM BERKELMANS

Ready for a spicy, wild take on a Chinese classic? Kung Pao, usually made with chicken, has variants worldwide, but this version stays closer to the original Sichuan version than what you might find at your local takeout joint. The wild turkey breast adds more flavor than chicken and also benefits from the tenderizing effects of a velveting marinade.

Some of these ingredients may be tough to find outside of a Chinese market, so I’ve listed suggested replacements. The proper ingredients are worth the effort, though!

Serves: 4 people

Prep and Cook Time: 45 minutes

Marinade Ingredients:

• 12 oz. wild turkey breast, cut into small cubes

• 1 teaspoon cornstarch

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• 1/8 teaspoon white pepper (or black pepper)

• 1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

• 1 teaspoon soy sauce

• 1 tablespoon Shaoxing wine (or cooking sherry)

• 1 teaspoon lard or oil

Sauce Ingredients:*

• 2 teaspoons sugar

• 1 tablespoon Chinkiang black vinegar (or balsamic)

• 1 tablespoon soy sauce

• 1 teaspoon dark soy sauce (optional, for color)

• 1/8 teaspoon ground Sichuan peppercorn (optional)

• 1 teaspoon cornstarch

• 1 teaspoon water

Stir Fry Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons lard or oil

• 1/2 red bell pepper, chopped

• 2 teaspoons minced ginger

• 3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

• 1/2 cup whole dried Sichuan chilies, deseeded and chopped (or arbol chiles)

• 4 scallions, sliced into ½-inch pieces

• 1/4 cup peanuts

In a medium bowl, combine the marinade ingredients, then toss in the turkey cubes until they’re coated. Let marinate for 30 minutes.

In a separate small bowl, combine all of the sauce ingredients. Set aside.

Heat the 2 tablespoons of lard or oil in a wok or large skillet over high heat. Add the turkey cubes and cook, tossing regularly, for 3 to 5 minutes, or until the turkey is just cooked through. Transfer the turkey to a bowl and set aside.

Add the bell pepper, ginger, and garlic to the wok or skillet. Cook, tossing for 1 minute. Add the dried chilies, scallions, and peanuts. Cook, tossing, for 30 seconds, ensuring the chilies don’t burn.

Reduce heat to medium-high. Add the turkey back to the wok. Give the sauce a quick stir to reincorporate the cornstarch, then add it to the wok, stirring until the sauce thickens and coats everything.

Serve with rice. Enjoy!

BHA member Adam Berkelmans, also known as The Intrepid Eater, is a passionate ambassador for real food and a proponent of noseto-tail eating. He spends his time between Hull, Quebec, and a cozy lake house north of Kingston, Ontario. When not cooking, he can be found hunting, fishing, foraging, gardening, reading, travelling, and discovering new ways to find and eat food.

Staying Fresh

If you have been following BHA updates over the past few months, you’re likely aware of the significant developments surrounding our public lands and waters. Some news has been quite positive, such as the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 10th Circuit’s ruling that corner crossing IS legal and the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision NOT to take up the State of Utah’s land grab case, but there are also numerous threats looming. Whether you’re a full-time staff member, a chapter leader, or a new member of BHA, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the constant flow of information. This feeling intensifies if you’re actively advocating for our wild public lands, waters, and wildlife (as we all must be doing right now). When exhaustion starts to set in, I’m often reminded of Ed Abbey’s words:

“Do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am—a reluctant enthusiast ... a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive…”

This reflection got me to think about my need to get out on our public lands and waters. With this in mind, my family made a spring break trip back to southern Utah—Abbey country— providing a chance to disconnect from societal noise for a week and reconnect with the rhythms of the desert. Beyond the escape, I cherish opportunities to engage with the landscapes we advocate for. These days, trips with our 4-year-old daughter often involve national parks, well-maintained roads and trails, and paved campgrounds for biking. However, on our last morning in Utah, I persuaded my family to let me lead them down a rough two-track, guided only by an X on a map and a few steep topography lines, onto “unappropriated” BLM land—land owned by all Americans that the state of Utah still believes it should take for itself and sell to the highest bidder. We parked at the end of the road, and the adventure began, traversing sandy washes and slickrock ledges, past the tracks of seldom-seen desert mule deer, coyotes, and foxes. We peered over a canyon wall to discover untrammeled drinking pools below thousand-foot canyon cliffs and found the “X”—a rarely visited natural arch—where I experienced the renewal of spirit I had been seeking.

We’re at a pivotal moment in the history of conservation and the management of our public lands and waters. The calls to sell off public lands are no longer mere whispers or rumors. Those advocating for resource extraction in irreplaceable wild landscapes, such as the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and Boundary Waters, are becoming increasingly vocal. National monuments, critical areas for hunting, angling, and wildlife habitat, are under review for reduced protections or elimination altogether.

BHA Podcast & Blast host Hal Herring has often reminded me: “Now is our time.” This is our opportunity to shape the future of our public lands and waters, and we must not shy away from this moment. However, we must also avoid burning ourselves out, as this will not be a short-term battle.

Fortunately, spring is a time for rejuvenation and anticipation of what lies ahead: The return of migratory birds, the first green grass and wildflowers, and the adventures to come. In just a few short weeks, I’ll begin slipping away for evening sessions glassing for bears, chasing trout and calling turkeys with my daughter, and meandering in search of morels. I wish you your own spring adventures to come, even as we engage in our critical work on behalf of the wild public lands and waters that we hold dear. It is our time.

Crossword Puzzle

-Zack Williams, editor

Kid’s Corner answers from page 23.

“WE AFFIRM.”