Western Hunter Magazine | Issue 5 2025

Stories

24 Out of My Comfort Zone

B Y J A K E H AV L I C E K

34 Bittersweet

BY C H A S E H A R R I S

44 Hail Mary

BY CO N L A N M c CO N N EL L

62 If Given the Opportunity

BY R EM I WA R R EN

70 Heart of Endurance

BY R A N DY U L M E R

78 Ancestral Pursuits

BY CO DY B A R N E S

94 Failure as Fuel

B Y H E AT H S E I N E R

Quick Reads

58 A Million Ways to Die in the West

BY L E V I S O P EL A N D

60 Made in America: McMillan Stocks

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

74 Fuel, Fire, & Freezers

B Y M AT T W A R D

84 Generations Apart

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

102 The Library

B Y B R O DY L AY H E R

108 Take Care of Your Gear

B Y B R O DY L AY H E R

110 Dialing it Back

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

Gear

20 Gear Highlights

B Y W E S T E R N H U N T E R S TA F F

32 Leica Geovid AB+

B Y B R O D Y L AY H E R

40 Sig Sauer Oscar6 HDX Pro

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

50 MKC Elkhorn Skinner Review

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

76 Backou Mule SD

B Y J A M E S YAT E S

82 Garmin Tactix 8

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

92 Hearing Protection Matters

B Y P E D R A M PA R V I N

Good Stuff

12 Western Hunter Origins

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

30 Tough Between the Ears

B Y M A R K “ C O A C H P ” PA U L S E N

52 Elk Music

B Y M A R C C A R LT O N

68 Mind of a Hunter

BY C A R L A D EN H A M, M D

88 The Red

BY ED G A R C A STI L LO

98 The Trail Ahead

B Y G E O R G E B E T TA S

104 Featured Artist: South Cox

B Y P E D R A M PA R V I N

Letter From the Publisher

W

elcome to the newest edition of Western Hunter Magazine. I have been waiting six months to write that line! Even though you are only on page 4, you can already feel some of the changes; even the paper is different.

The one thing that has not and will not change is the original content that has always set Western Hunter apart from other publications.

For 25 years, we’ve done more than just tell hunting stories; we’ve told the whole story of the hunter. Western Hunter has always aimed to entertain, educate, and inspire, but we’ve also taken bold steps that others wouldn’t, tackling topics like skin cancer, mental health, suicide prevention, and nutrition, because hunting is just a part of who we are. Through gritty adventure stories, honest gear reviews, and thoughtful takes on current events, our mission remains the same: to celebrate and preserve the legacy of the western hunter.

Western Hunter is part of a family of companies that includes Wilderness Athlete, Outdoorsmans, and The Western Hunter TV. Within this family, we have a motto of “improving our customers’ lives every damn day.” That phrase underlies each decision we make regarding our products and customer service, and it guides our team as we build each issue. By the time you reach the last page, I hope this first page makes even more sense.

By the way, when I talk about “being different from other publications,” this does not come from a spirit of competition. I currently subscribe to nine different hunting-related magazines, not because I am trying to keep up on them, but because I truly want to read them and, hopefully, learn something new. Your subscription to Western Hunter is $40 per year and includes access to over 120 episodes of Western Hunter TV. We can all agree

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

that amounts to pocket change in today’s world. When you hold each issue of Western Hunter, we want you to feel like it was not pocket change, but instead, it was money well spent.

I met Wayne Carlton 35 years ago, and to this day, he is still one of the most creative and inspiring people I have ever met. A few years ago, I drove to his Colorado home and hunted with Wayne and his son Marc. Even ravaged by the symptoms of advanced Parkinson’s disease, his sense of humor was still fully intact as we talked about “the old days.” While one article cannot encapsulate the life of a legend, Marc lets us into their family kitchen in this issue.

Speaking of legends, Randy Ulmer is back! Randy has been fighting his own battle with cancer. His ongoing series, starting with this issue, is as personal as anything I have ever read. We are honored, and I mean honored, to have his contribution. Grappling with your mortality is scary; letting the world in on your battle takes courage and humility. I ask that you don’t just read this series but truly ponder it and make yourself the main character of this story as well.

Every time I look at this cover, I’m reminded just how far we’ve come, and how many people made the journey possible. Each issue brings together 30 to 50 voices, stories, and perspectives. Do the math, and that’s over 6,000 contributors who’ve helped shape what Western Hunter is today. But numbers only tell part of the story. The truth is that you, the reader, are part of this legacy too. Every time you take something from these pages and apply it in the field, whether it’s a tactic, a mindset, or a moment of reflection, you validate everything we do. That’s the real reward. WH

Q&A with Chris You burned a lot of points on some good hunts last year, do you plan to restart the point-building process in states, or are you going to start doing more lower-point hunts in those states?

My application strategy is based on two important facts. First, I am 62 years old, so I am only looking at hunts that I can draw in the next 5-10 years. I would like to think I will still be able to handle difficult hunts into my 70s, but I am not counting on that. Secondly, I love to hunt and want to spend as many days in the field as possible, so I am willing to take my chances on what may be perceived as a low-quality tag. Last year, I had tremendous success with this philosophy, but I realize that it is unlikely I will ever be able to duplicate that. I’m okay with that, and I will be in the field giving it my best and enjoying every moment.

You have been a pretty religious 6.8 Western guy in recent years. What is it about that you like so much? Do you foresee yourself changing from that anytime soon?

The 6.8 Western checks every box for western hunting. The heavy-for-caliber bullets (up to 175 grains) launching around 2900 FPS deliver plenty of energy for big game, with very manageable recoil. I have hunted with multiple 6.8 Western Browning X-Bolts since the cartridge was intro4

WESTERN HUNTER

duced, and all have been extremely accurate (under one MOA with factory ammo). The 6.8 Western may be a dream come true; excellent accuracy, plenty of energy, and pleasant to shoot.

and the hunting community there are exceptional, plus, the weather is pretty nice too. If I had one wish, it would be that I could hunt every species in Arizona every year. I truly love my home state.

You’re known for your “Chris Denham” Breakfast Mash Ups where you throw everything and the kitchen sink into a big pan for breakfast, and it comes out amazing, but when you’re on the road for 40-60 days per year, what’s a normal breakfast look like, assuming you don’t have a ton of time?

All of my best hunting camp meals seem to start with bacon, onions, and peppers. With those basic ingredients, it doesn’t really matter what else you put in the pan; it is going to taste good! On early-season deer and elk hunts, breakfast usually comes after the morning hunt, so everyone is good and hungry. A balanced meal with plenty of protein and quality carbohydrates is always my goal.

So, eggs, bacon, and sausage for fats and protein, combined with sweet potatoes, red potatoes, or my wife’s homemade bread, lightly fried in butter.

From traveling around the country as a rep to now traveling around the country to hunt, where have you found the weirdest people to live? What about the nicest?

Alaska is hands-down the winner for the strangest people! In my opinion, people who don’t quite fit in down here in the lower 48 end up in Alaska, and they’ve been doing that for 100 years. But that’s exactly what I love about them. And they are proud of their uniqueness! I’ve traveled all over Alaska on nine different trips, and the people never cease to amaze me with their individuality and adventurous spirit. Wyoming would get my vote for the most polite people. I wouldn’t call them all “nice,” but they are respectful and look out for each other.

Folks have watched you hunt all over America for what seems like every species in every environment, but what’s one place or one animal that you really want to hunt?

Honestly, my checklist is complete. But I would really like to hunt in Hawaii again; the scenery

Got a question of your own?

Send us your queries to info@westernhunter.net and you might see them answered in a future issue.

Publishers Chris Denham

Floyd Green

Western Hunter Staff Ryan Berg

Brody Layher

Pedram Parvin

Courtney Guillen

Kelsey Mannino

Levi Sopeland

Dave Bond

Kevin Guillen

Joe Mannino

Douglas Morales

Nate Simmons Randy Stalcup

Contributing Writers Cody Barnes

Mark Paulsen

Edgar Castillo

Randy Ulmer

George Bettas Carla Denham, MD

Heath Seiner

Remi Warren James Yates

Matt Ward

Reader Submitted Stories Marc Carlton Chase Harris

Jake Havlicek

Conlan McConnell

16851 East Parkview Avenue Suite 101 Fountain Hills, AZ 85268

(480) 993-6972

WesternHunter.net

Copyright 2025 Western Optics Hunter | All Rights Reserved Proudly printed in the USA

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Photo: Justin Nelson

“Our ability to perceive quality in nature begins, as in art, with the pretty. It expands through successive stages of the beautiful to values as yet uncaptured by language.” ~ Aldo Leopold

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12

WESTERN HUNTER

Origin Story

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

It was 2002. There was no Facebook, no YouTube, no Instagram. The iPhone was still five years away.

America was reeling from the aftermath of 9/11, the dot-com bubble had just burst, and unemployment was sky-high. It wasn’t exactly a great time to start something new. Marketing options for small businesses were limited, expensive, and often out of reach, especially for a company selling high-performance, high-dollar gear with razor-thin margins.

Even keeping basic inventory on hand was a major financial stretch. But Floyd Green, owner of Outdoorsmans, isn’t the type to back down from a challenge. Instead of waiting for better times, he created his own advertising tool: a magazine.

WESTERN HUNTER

13

Floyd Green's big Arizona bull was featured in an early edition of Elk Hunter Magazine.

“We rolled the dice, poured in every dime we had, and launched Season 1 of The Western Hunter.”

A

t the time, desktop publishing was exploding. Thanks to Apple and Adobe, a determined graphic designer could lay out a full magazine on a single machine. Enter Clay Delcoure. He was just 20 years old, fired up, wildly determined, and completely untrained in graphic design.

He had never done anything like it before. But what he lacked in experience, he made up for in stubborn grit. With guidance from our friends Rusty and Lesa Hall, owners of Trophy Hunter Magazine, and more than a few brutally long days, Clay somehow pulled off the first issue of Western Optics Hunter in the fall of 2002.

We called it a “matalog,” a mix of magazine and catalog. Outdoorsmans had just launched the first lightweight hunting tripod ever made, and we needed to get the word out about this revolutionary product. Premium optics were our bread and butter, but this new gear changed the game. Back then, we could still purchase hunter mailing lists from several western game departments. So we built our strategy around that concept: mail the magazine, free of charge, to hunters who applied for big game tags in multiple western states. These were serious hunters, the kind who would recognize quality gear when they saw it.

So that’s what we did. Outdoorsmans produced, printed, and mailed over 30,000 copies of Issue One, completely free. No paid advertisers, no subscribers, just a bold leap of faith. It was a massive gamble, especially during uncertain economic times, but Floyd believed in the plan, and it worked.

Western hunters were hungry for information on cutting-edge gear, and their response proved we were onto something.

I wrote an article for each issue and served as an advisor to Clay, whom I had known since junior high. After a few years, Clay decided it was time to get serious about his education and wanted to enroll in college full-time.

“Working from home” wasn’t really an option back then, so Floyd and I sat down to figure out a plan for the magazine’s future. We decided to spin it off into its own business, and I would take over as editor.

There was just one problem: I had almost zero computer skills. My first move as editor was to find a graphic designer. Through my conservation work, I had met Randy Stalcup, who had formal design training and was working at an ad agency. He was also a serious hunter, which made him a perfect fit. Randy jumped at the chance to help build the magazine as a side gig. That was over 20 years ago, and to this day, he is still our lead designer.

With Randy on board, everything leveled up. The magazine went from simply functional to visually sharp and even more effective. Before he even wrapped up his first issue, Randy pulled me aside and said the title Western Optics Hunter was just too much for a cover. He was right. We shortened it to Western Hunter, and with that small but meaningful change, a new era began.

Not long after, privacy concerns started changing the game. One by one, western states stopped selling hunter mailing lists. We held on for a while, but eventually the quality of our list dropped off. It became clear we could no longer rely on that strategy. So, we pivoted. We became a true magazine, offering subscriptions, selling ad space, and finding new ways to reach our audience. It wasn’t easy, but it forced us to grow up fast.

Mike Duplan had been a friend and trusted mentor for many years. Some of his photos appeared in our earliest issues, and one day he called with a new idea: start a second publication, Elk Hunter Magazine. I knew right away this was outside the limits of my self-taught editing skills, so I brought in Ryan Hatfield, a trained and experienced editor. With Ryan handling content and editing, I was finally able to shift more of my focus to marketing and sales.

We launched Elk Hunter Magazine alongside a refreshed Western Hunter in late 2011. We published four issues of each title every year. For a threeman team, that was a tall order. Then, Ryan pitched what I thought was his worst idea yet: a TV show. Every hunting show I had seen was campy, overproduced, and honestly, hard to watch. I wasn’t interested–until he told me Nate Simmons was available.

WESTERN HUNTER

15

I didn’t know Nate well. We had crossed paths once or twice, but everyone who knew him had nothing but respect for his work and who he was as a person. That was enough for me to give it a shot.

The pilot episode that Nate’s team produced blew me away. We started drawing up contracts with the Sportsman Channel. We rolled the dice, poured in every dime we had, and launched Season 1 of The Western Hunter.

The response was immediate and bigger than we expected. Nate and his partner, Randy Rockey, had the rare ability to turn a simple deer hunt into an unforgettable story. The visuals, the music, the pacing–it all just worked.

The technology has changed, but 13 years and over 150 episodes later, the

“ We hike into the mountains with hope in our hearts and camp on our backs.

That part is timeless.

And I hope to God it stays that way.”

formula is still the same. We drive our own trucks, set up our own camps, cook our own food, hunt on our own, and pack out our animals, just like the people watching at home.

Our contributors have always shared that same philosophy. They are not professional writers. They are serious hunters with real-world experience and a passion to share what they have learned. People like Randy Ulmer, Remi Warren, George Bettas, Zach Bowhay, Kristy Titus, Mike Duplan, Nate Simmons, and dozens more have helped make this whole thing work. They pay to hunt; they don’t get paid to hunt. That distinction matters.

For six years, we kept grinding, producing eight magazine issues and 13 TV episodes every year. But by the end of 2016, Elk Hunter Magazine was running on fumes. We found ourselves covering the same ground and rehashing old topics. In spring 2017, I made the call to fold Elk Hunter into Western Hunter and shift to six issues a year. Looking back, I am still not sure it was the best business move, but it gave us more time to focus on each issue and made the content better.

Today, our team runs four companies: Western Hunter Magazine, The Western Hunter TV, Outdoorsmans, and Wilderness Athlete. Each of them has grown and brought new talent into the fold. Earlier this year, we decided it was time to give Western Hunter Magazine a full-scale remodel, not just a facelift, but a complete rebuild. You are holding the result of that effort in your hands.

To say the world is changing fast is an understatement. With AI tools, anyone with a laptop can look like an expert. But we have built this brand on something real, and we intend to keep it that way. Hunting is about as real as it gets. Sure, we have gear our grandfathers could not have imagined, but the soul of it has not changed. We still draw tags. We still count the days to opening morning. We hike into the mountains with hope in our hearts and camp on our backs. That part is timeless.

And I hope to God it stays that way. WH

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// R O O M T O R O A M A tribute to wild western places.

Independence Mountains, Nevada 18

WESTERN HUNTER

Deep in northern Nevada’s high desert lies the Independence Mountain Range.

These rugged peaks sit within the Carlin trend, a 60-kmlong strip considered the most important gold-producing area of north-central Nevada. Once hallowed ground for the Shoshone, for centuries this has remained a place for sustenance and spiritual practice.

More recently, the range’s looming, craggy escarpments have served as a beacon for miners seeking fortune and gold.

Needless to say, this place is rich in history.

Now, with tough draw odds and solid trophy potential, the Independence Range is, again, a highly sought after place for hunters–those of us who seek fortune and spirituality of a different kind.

WESTERN HUNTER

19

FIRST LITE NAVIGATOR JACKET

Fleece has been the go-to mid-layer for hunters this century.

Previously, it was wool, and previous to that, it was the skun hide of the last critter you killed. Now, synthetic hybrid jackets dominate the market. This new jacket from First Lite is the latest version to hit the market, and with its extremely weather-resistant face and quick-drying insulation, it checks all the boxes for nearly any western hunter.

FirstLite.com

STONE GLACIER HALO SUN HOODY

A sun shirt is a sun shirt is a sun shirt. Sure, but some of them suck.

Many are way too heavy and accomplish the goal of getting your skin out of the sun but leave you soaked in sweat. This new piece from SG gets you out of the sun, but it also keeps you cool and stink-free thanks to Polygiene.

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ARMAGEDDON GEAR SHMEDIUM MID-SIZE GAME CHANGER SHOOTING BAG

Most people don’t think about passing down a shooting bag to their kids, but that’s because they haven’t seen one of these bags.

It’s basically a work of art, even though the name is extremely long for a leather bag full of beans. Oh, and it’s great for shooting off of.

ArmageddonGear.com

ZEISS SFL 12x50

A 12-power binocular is normally a great happy medium for a guy who wants to be able to handhold his binos out of the truck as well as set them on a tripod and digest a landscape for hours. The SFLs not only fill that niche, but they also don’t break the bank, fit in any average-sized bino harness, and punch well above their weight class when it comes to glass quality. Think Swarovski EL, but maybe a little better.

Outdoorsmans.com

20

WESTERN HUNTER

GEAR HIGHLIGHTS

Gear worth sharing

VORTEX PRO TORQUE WRENCH

The yellow wrench that you keep in your range bag, which now only has two out of the ten bits it came with, is tired and begging to be replaced. This wrench allows you to be more precise with your torque specs and allows you to use a ¼" wrench for when you really need some extra leverage.

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MDT HNT26 CHASSIS

ZPACKS SLEEPING BAG

This is not a sexy piece of equipment; it’s a couple of pieces of .51 oz/sq yd Ventum Ripstop Nylon sewn together with 900-fill Muscovy down in between. What that means is it’s extremely light, ultra-packable, and will keep you warm in just about any situation.

A quality sleeping bag doesn’t need useless features to do its job.

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Skeletonized rifle chassis have been around for several years, but they’ve always been on the heavier side for hunters. MDT changed that with this chassis. You get all the benefits of a chassis-such as the ability to have a folding stock, ARCA forend, and a vertical grip-without adding any additional weight to your rig. The chassis is rigid enough for any cartridge and will be a staple for guys building lightweight rifles for years to come.

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it takes to perform without hesitation—and to

mountain, in the field, and in the gym.

give everything you’ve got.

Introducing the Relentless Series—a collaboration designed for those who train with purpose, hunt with intent, and live without limits. This isn’t just about products. It’s a mindset. A way of showing up, no matter the terrain, the mission, or the challenge ahead.

So whether you’re chasing a buck across unforgiving country or grinding through your toughest workout, we’ve got your back.

Out of My Comfort Zone

A southeast Alaska mountain goat hunt B Y J A K E H AV L I C E K

“Are you still afraid of heights?”

“Uhhh, yeah?” “ Well, it’s looking like I might not be able to go to Alaska for my mountain goat hunt... and I was thinking of sending you.”

That was the conversation I had with my boss, Steve Speck, just three weeks before I headed out for a mountain goat hunt in Southeast Alaska.

Many of you may recognize Steve’s name. He has been in the hunting industry for years and has helped build several notable brands, including S&S Archery, Pure Elevation Productions, Solid Broadheads, and, most importantly, Exo Mtn Gear, where we design and build pack systems for backcountry hunting. Steve has been a huge influence on me and has done more than most would for a young employee, including sending me on this once-in-a-lifetime hunt.

In 2024, Steve had planned three Alaska hunts–caribou, moose, and mountain goat–with the goal of capturing them all on film for a new video series we called The Experience Project (available on our Exo Mtn Gear YouTube channel). After successfully completing the caribou and moose hunts, he had to sit out the goat hunt due to business obligations. That’s when he asked if I was still afraid of heights.

Despite my lingering fear of exposure and vertigo, I said yes. It’s not the kind of opportunity you turn down.

26

WESTERN HUNTER

Preparing for Goat Country

I’ve struggled with a fear of heights for as long as I can remember. My dad has it even worse, so I’m pretty sure it runs in the family. For me, the feeling hits when I’m on open slopes without trees or cover–the kind of country mountain goats live in.

I had three weeks to prepare. Every day after work, I strapped 40 lb to my Exo pack and hiked the local hills. My goal was to show up in the best shape possible, mentally and physically, knowing I’d be pushing my limits.

Arrival in Alaska

I flew to Southeast Alaska with two of my coworkers: Mark Huelsing, who also had a goat tag, and Justin Nelson, who would be documenting the hunt on camera. Weather delays forced us to take a ferry to our final destination, which gave us our first look at the terrain. The mountains were steep, rugged, and intimidating. As we cruised past them, my stomach turned, but I knew I’d have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

Once we landed, our guide, Mark Rowenhurst of Limitless Alaska Guiding, picked us up and brought us to his cabin. We got settled in, checked rifles, reviewed our game plan, and packed our gear.

This was uncharted territory for all of us, including our guide. He had picked out a remote spot he’d never been to before. I’ve packed for backcountry elk, mule deer, and moose hunts, but Southeast Alaska goat hunting is another level. Rain gear wasn’t optional–it was essential. I was told I’d only need one pair of pants: rain pants. Everything was recommended to be synthetic to avoid soaking up moisture. We debated crampons, reviewed gear one last time, and packed carefully. My pack weighed in around 80 lb.

Into the Mountains

We woke early the next morning and started shuttling up the river in a small boat–four guys and a pile of gear. Eventually, we reached our jumping-off point and set up a base camp near the river. We had enough daylight to glass, so we started picking apart the terrain. We spotted some nannies and kids, along with a few lone goats we assumed were billies–too far to confirm, but promising.

The next morning, we hiked 1.9 miles and gained 2,700 vertical feet through thick brush and timber. It took nearly six hours. The spot we had marked on OnX turned out to be the only flat area around–just big enough for a couple of tents. We spent that evening glassing, spotting a few goats across the basin. We planned to go even higher the next day.

Climbing Toward the Billies

At sunrise, we emptied our packs and left camp light, climbing another 1,200 feet. The higher we went, the sketchier it got, especially for someone like me who doesn’t do well with heights. We traversed around a bluff that made my knees wobble. I was grateful to have Mark and Justin there for encouragement as I picked my way across.

Eventually, our guide Mark stopped and whispered, “Goats.”

Two billies, standing about 300 yards away, skylined against the slope.

Justin set up the camera and confirmed what we suspected–Roman noses, thick horns, large scent glands. No doubt. Billies.

We quickly discussed options. Should we try to shoot both, or take one and hold off? Weather was coming in, and our guide was concerned the river could drop too low for extraction. We never made a firm decision. We just dropped our packs and got into position.

Mark had already insisted I shoot first. That’s the kind of hunting partner he is–selfless.

I found a good prone spot and began getting steady, ranging, dialing, dryfiring, and adjusting for wind. I wasn’t focused on which billy I wanted–just whichever one gave me the best shot.

I looked left at Mark. “I’m going hot.”

Then I glanced right at Justin. “You rollin’?”

He gave me a nod. I chambered a round, clicked off the safety, settled into my breathing, and squeezed the trigger. Impact. The billy dropped immediately. I stayed in the scope, ready for a follow-up, but it wasn’t needed.

Emotions started to rise–I had just shot a mountain goat. Then I noticed the second billy standing from his bed, looking down toward the one I had just dropped. Our guide’s voice came through quietly, “You can shoot the other if you want to, Mark.”

A few seconds later, Mark squeezed off a shot. His billy dropped in its bed. We looked at each other in disbelief. Two goats. Two clean shots. One unforgettable moment.

WESTERN HUNTER

27

The Packout Begins

We high-fived and hugged, but knew we had work to do. As we climbed to the goats, we hit the snowline around 4,000 feet. I started getting dizzy again–the steep slope and exposure triggered my vertigo. I had to sit down, eat, and drink before I could safely move again.

Eventually, I laid my hands on my goat–a moment I’ll never forget. We snapped a few photos, then got to work quartering and packing. With just over an hour of light left, we loaded our packs, each of us carrying part of both goats, and began the descent.

That hike back to camp was brutal. Thick brush, uneven footing, and navigating in the dark made it slow going. We didn’t roll into camp until well after dark. We ate, talked about the day, and tried to rest–because the hardest part was still ahead.

Snow, Stumps, and a Close Call

We woke to colder temps and snow. The mountains were covered, and the trail was slick. We packed up, loaded our heavy gear, and began the long descent to the river.

It was one of the hardest packouts I’ve ever done. Falling multiple times in the brush, struggling to stay upright on slick slopes, and trying to beat the daylight added to the challenge. Eventually, we made it down.

28

WESTERN HUNTER

We loaded the boat again and started the shuttle. The water had dropped noticeably since we went in, and new stumps had appeared in the channels.

While navigating one of the tight stretches, our guide made a last-second decision. Too late. We hit a submerged stump, hard.

The impact threw Justin out of the boat. I reacted fast and grabbed his legs before he went under. It could’ve gone bad in a hurry, but we got him back in and made it the rest of the way without further incident.

Full Circle

Back at the cabin, we checked our goats in with Alaska Fish & Game. The biologists were impressed–my goat was aged at 12 years old, which they said was rare. Most billy goats they see are 8-10. As it turned out, I was our guide’s youngest client, and that goat was the oldest he’d ever packed out.

This hunt pushed me out of my comfort zone in every way–mentally, physically, and emotionally. From exposed climbs to intense weather and long days under load, I was challenged at every turn. But I’m grateful that I said yes.

Sometimes the best memories come when you lean into discomfort and say yes to something that scares you. And lastly, thank you again to my boss, Steve Speck, for sending me on this hunt. WH

OSCAR6 HDX PRO ™

COMPACT SPOTTER WITH OPTICAL IMAGE STABILIZATION™ Meet the OSCAR6™ HDX PRO — the most advanced image-stabilized spotting scope ever built. Powered

by SIG SAUER’s next-gen OmniScan™ Optical Image Stabilization, a digital accelerometer kills shake in real time. Pair that with our most advanced HDX PRO™ glass system the OSCAR6 delivers rock-solid clarity no matter the conditions.

It’s not just a spotting scope. It’s a force multiplier.

TOUGH BETWEEN THE EARS T H E P S Y C H O LO G Y O F T O U G H N E S S B Y M A R K “ C O A C H P ” PA U L S E N

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uch has been written about the importance of fitness for the Decades ago, I stumbled across a formula that I’ve never forgotten due to modern hunter. Multiple podcasts, websites, and countless indi- its simplicity. The formula came to me through a lecture by an 85-year-old viduals are currently dedicated to guiding and instructing in all lady named Cheryl Adams.

Cheryl was a wild child–an orphan surviving on her own in the mosquithings pertaining to backcountry fitness. This attention to fitness is a wonderful thing, since it pays dividends not only for the actual hunt but for a to-infested swamps of Florida from a very young age. She pulled herself up through grit and toughness and went on to raise nine children while servbetter life in general.

It appears that the days of Gordon Eastman trekking through the Yukon ing as the lead secretary in the White House under four Presidents, starting in a pair of blue jeans and a cowboy hat are over. And to some degree, I with Harry Truman.

Talk about tough. And I never forgot her words: miss it. Not Gordon per se–although I have much admiration for Gordy– DESIRE = ENERGY ÷ PURPOSE so much as the simplicity of his approach, drive, and determination.

Certainly, times have changed for all of us, and most things have evolved to the benefit of safer and more enjoyable hunting. Most of you remember What exactly does that mean?

Well, if I’m asking you to train your brain for mental toughness as well picking up topo maps and using your woodsman skills to navigate between peaks and drainages. Now, with the push of a button, the map systems on as your body, there needs to be sufficient motivation in your wheelhouse to your phone bring all things unnerving into a more manageable perspective. accomplish the task.

Allow me to serve up a scenario that might help you understand: I must admit–I like the new system better.

Let’s say I come home from putting in a long, tiring day at work and I’m My admonition today is not to try and turn the clock back on any of the current technology that we’ve all come to know and love. It’s simply to re- bushed. So much so that I just want to sit in my La-Z-Boy and try to forget mind you that mental toughness plays a key role alongside fitness, and I pray about the last 12 hours. So tired that I don’t even want to turn on the TV. that we never get to a point where that rugged spirit is lost or marginalized. Please–no one talk to me. I’m gassed.

Then, my cell phone rings. My spouse So let me ask you–how tough do you runs to pick it up before me so as not to think you are between the ears? disturb me. Didn’t work. I put the device Since you can’t really quantify toughto my ear and say, “Hello.” ness, that is probably a difficult question The voice on the other end launches to answer. You just know it when you into an excitable diatribe that results in see it. me vaulting out of my chair and yelling to Now to be sure–paraphrasing John my wife to throw something on a plate Belushi–“Tough and stupid is no way to for me to eat in the truck. go through life.” And there’s no doubt, – Bill Belichick, Unbeknownst to her, my hunting tough can get you killed if you don’t balformer New England Patriots Head Coach buddy Bob just called to tell me that one ance toughness with intelligence. But of their hunters backed out on an elk most of us stand in awe of the folks who hunt in a great unit–and the hunt starts just flat out consistently get things done.

Let me frame it another way. Which hunter would you rather take into tomorrow. Bob said that if I can meet him at the gas station in the morning in Pagosa Springs, the tag is mine. the woods?

“Count me in!” I excitedly respond.

A) A fit hunter who is mentally soft?

Sure, it’s an eight-hour drive and it’ll take me an hour to get out of the B) An unfit hunter who is tough as nails? house–but I can do it. It was as if a triple espresso was just injected into my Not sure what your answer would be, but mine would be B. veins and the meaning of life became crystal clear.

Five minutes ago, I was despondent. Now, I’m alive.

So what’s my point?

DESIRE = ENERGY ÷ PURPOSE Simply this: as you take time to physically prepare your body for the In this scenario, my desire was always there–I love to hunt. The purpose hunt, don’t forget to challenge yourself mentally. came in the phone call. And with that came the necessary energy it would Are you mentally prepared to pack out moose quarters?

Are you mentally prepared to drop into a canyon after a bull, knowing require to pull it off.

If you are going to toughen up, you have to have enough desire to make what a dead bull would mean? it happen. To train for mental toughness, simply tap into the ultimate fuel Are you mentally prepared to spend the night on the mountain?

Prepare your brain for toughness like you prepare your body. Run through source–your brain.

Back when I was coaching young men and women around the country, potential scenarios in your head–good and bad–and address any potential I always emphasized: “If you motivate the mind, the body will follow.” Or, problems before they happen.

Navy SEALs are trained under extreme conditions to control their blood put another way, “Your head creates your world.”

We humans have a tremendous capacity to suffer if we have a passion for pressure and emotions and think things through. Emotions affect clear thinking. You might take a page from their playbook. It’s been my experi- something. You simply need to identify it, bottle it, and use it as the daily ence that the tough guys I’ve come to know, like SEALs, don’t get rattled inspiration you need to get better–physically and mentally.

You should look at it as another challenge to improve yourself. And easily. They navigate difficult situations and keep their cool.

Physical and mental toughness, it seems to me, is being systematically strangely enough, that’s where the fun is.

So, let me encourage you to identify your desire. Tap into the inherent removed from our society. But we don’t play by the rules of a soft culture. power it provides. Continue to work on your fitness, for sure, but build in Just like stupid can get you killed, mentally soft can get you killed. some mental toughness training and go write the next chapter of this everSo how do you mentally fund this added piece of the puzzle? evolving process called life.

Easy. You just have to want to.

Long may you run. ~ Coach P

“I DON’T LOOK FOR THE MOST TALENTED GUY IN THE DRAFT, I LOOK FOR THE TOUGHEST.”

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// G E A R R E V I E W

Leica Geovid Pro AB+ B Y B R O DY L AY H E R

n 1992, Leica invented the world’s first laser rangefinding binocular. It was a large, blocky optic with no hinge to change your IPD (eye width) and would absolutely not fit in any modern binocular harness. If you’ve ever seen a pair of Pulsar thermal binoculars, they resembled those in many ways. The Geovid 7x42 BDA was jet black, featuring the classic red Leica logo in the lower right-hand corner. Leica must have been pretty happy with that name and design because 33 years later, they’re still using both. That is, until the Geovid Pro AB+. Instead of the classic black, they’ve gone with a beautiful shade of baby-poo brown.

They’re not the most pleasant binoculars to look at, but much like their great-grandfather, they are innovative.

The “AB+,” as I have come to know it, features the same chassis, glass, display, and app as its predecessor, the Geovid Pro, with two major upgrades: Applied Ballistics Elite built-in and new software called Shot Probability Analysis (SPA). The “AB” part allows you to skip the $3.99 per month for Applied Ballistics Elite. SPA gives you the ability to see what your first round impact probability is on a variety of targets at any yardage, in any condition.

Now, SPA may not seem like something you need or would ever use, but once you start to mess with it a little, it can be a great tool for comparing different bullets, calibers, and cartridges. SPA can also give you an important wake-up call when it comes to figuring out why you may have missed an animal or target. I can tell you for certain that it’s made me a better shot and not because it’s physically helping me in any way, but because it’s telling me I am the problem and not the gun.

As I mentioned above, the meat and potatoes of the binocular are the same as the 2023 released Geovid Pro in the 42mm objective model. The glass in them is great for a rangefinding binocular, but it is not as easy on the eyes as something like a Noctivid or NL Pure. The edges can have a slight blur, but anytime you add a display to the barrel of a binocular, you’re going to degrade the image.

The Leica Ballistics App has seen tons of updates in the past few years.

It’s gone from a clunky, crashing nightmare to an easy-to-use, intuitive masterpiece. I can easily add different ballistic profiles, change settings in the binocular, and make accurate wind calls using the HUD feature.

It’s hard to speak on the durability of a binocular after only six months of use, but so far, so good. I dropped them off of a tripod at sitting height

I

and it does look like the focus wheel might have bent slightly, but nothing has changed on the binoculars. They still focus without any issues. I stuck them in the freezer for a couple of hours to see how they handled the cold and, short of a low battery sign, (which is a flashing reticle indicating you have 50 ranges left before the binocular dies... yeah, maybe not the best way to show that) they still functioned quite well. Normally, I would expect to see the ranging and solutions to lose some speed, but that wasn’t the case.

The AB+ has onboard temperature and pressure sensors just like its predecessor to ensure you get the most accurate solutions possible. After the aforementioned freezer time, when I checked the temp on the HUD in the app, it matched my Kestrel, which I trust. The one issue I did notice is that it took a long time for the optic to read the correct temperature once removed from the freezer. I could only see this being an issue if you’re doing something like truck hunting in eastern Montana in November. If that’s the case, maybe take a click or two off your data.

Overall, I think this is one of the top three rangefinding binoculars on the market. They may not be the prettiest binoculars to look at, but they will absolutely allow you to find your target, give you an accurate range, and show you a correct solution. WH TECHNICAL SPECS: Magnification: 10X Objective Lens Diameter: 42mm Battery Type: 1 x 3 V / Lithium-type CR2 Battery Runtime: Approximately 2,000 Measurements Weight: 34.2 oz Dimensions: 4.6" x 6.0" x 2.8" Cost: $3,849 Learn More: Outdoorsmans.com 1-800-291-8065

Scan to watch my full video review of the Geovid Pro AB+ and get a taste of how SPA works.

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Bittersweet Triumph follows tragedy on an exclusive Idaho mule deer hunt

BY C H A S E H A R R I S

This deer season was short and sweet–a few incredible days packed with adventure, set in some truly remarkable country. My wife, little brother, and I drew amazing tags and were fortunate enough to harvest three incredible bucks! But the story of how this season came to be actually begins back in 2020.

F

our years ago, my father, wife, brother, and I drew the same tags as a party. Riding the high of that rare luck, we launched into a season of intense scouting. My dad and I e-scouted and camped nearly every weekend, trying to learn every detail of the unit. Each trip turned up countless bucks and only fueled our anticipation for opening day.

We had a couple of archery elk weekends planned before the deer season started. Over Labor Day weekend, we were up on the mountain, chasing bugles with some close friends and family. On the night of September 6th, my dad took the four-wheeler down the road, looking for grouse. Less than a mile from camp, he rolled the quad and tragically passed away before the paramedics and Life Flight could arrive. Just like that, my best friend was gone. The hunt we had spent so much time dreaming about together was now just a couple of weeks away. All the wind had been taken from my sails.

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How could I return to the places that we had just spent so much time in without him?

I had no intention of going on opening day. With friends and family in town for the memorial, I had pretty much written off the first few weeks of the season. But the night before the opener, a few great friends told me they had taken the day off work and that we were going, no matter what. They picked me up early, and we hit the road. That day is still a blur, but after a couple of blown stalks, we got on a great 4x5 that I punched my tag on. By mid-afternoon, we were back in town after a very emotional pack-out.

My wife and brother both took really nice bucks that season, but we didn’t hunt nearly as hard as the tags–or my dad–deserved. Still, we made sure to spread his ashes throughout the unit so he could keep tabs on the monster bucks he always dreamed of chasing.

“ I laid down, glassed them again, and saw one with a hook cheater and good mass. He was a shooter.

After ranging and dialing the scope, I got him in the crosshairs.”

Fast-Forward to 2024

I put the three of us in for the same tag, not expecting much with just a 3% chance. But when the results came out, there it was: “SELECTED” in green letters. I had to triple-check the hunt number to make sure it was real.

Somehow, we had drawn this once-in-a-lifetime tag again.

Scouting began, and just like before, we found nice bucks everywhere.

Excitement, eagerness, and a little stress built as the opening weekend approached. Before we knew it, it was time to load up the truck and head for the mountains.

Sarah’s Buck

We had one day to scout before opening day. After striking out at a few spots, we climbed to a high vantage point for the evening. About 10 minutes before last light, I spotted a four-point buck well beyond “shooter” status. He became the morning’s target.

A good friend from work met us a few hours before daylight, and we staked our claim on the glassing knob. As the sun rose, the buck was nowhere to be found. Over an hour of glassing later, we finally spotted a worthy buck bedded a couple of ridges away, and we set off.

It took some time to reach the ridge, and we worried the buck might have moved. But through a small gap in the trees, I spotted his antlers sticking out of the brush. At 230 yards, Sarah made a perfect shot–her biggest buck, down within hours on opening day!

Because of work and school, I brought Sarah and my brother back to town the next day so they could finish their week. I turned around and headed back to the unit for two more days of solo hunting. That afternoon, intermittent storms and strong winds kept the deer bedded. I didn’t lay eyes on a single buck.

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RAISED LOAD LIFTERS

MODULAR BUCKLE PLACEMENT

SOFT ADJUSTABLE LOAD PANEL

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INNOVATIVE SHOULDER HARNESS & HIP BELT LASER-CUT MOLLE

T H E

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MODFRAME For nearly four decades, Eberlestock has pushed the boundaries of high-performance gear—born in an Idaho garage where Glen Eberle, an Olympian and veteran, set out to build equipment that could go further and carry more. What began with a rifle scabbard evolved into a revolution in how people move through the world.

That same relentless drive led to the Mainframe and the launch of our EMOD™ system—a modular, chassis-based platform that gives users complete control over how they use their gear. We’ve refined our systems alongside operators and adventure seekers who demand performance in the harshest conditions.

MODFRAME™ is the next evolution. Built from the DNA of the Mainframe but forged through years of real-world experience, it’s a lighter, stronger, and more adaptable foundation engineered for any environment. Whether you’re deep in the wilderness, navigating rugged terrain, or preparing for the unknown, the Modframe is designed to adapt and endure. This isn’t just another pack—it’s the result of decades of innovation, miles under load, and a mindset that refuses to quit.

WE DIDN’T START HERE. BUT EVERYTHING WE’VE BUILT HAS LED TO THIS. GET OUT THERE •••

E B E R L E S T O C K . C O M

Time and Effort

The next morning was forecasted to be clear before more afternoon storms.

I chose a ridge to cover as much ground as possible at first light. As the darkness lifted, deer began appearing all around me. Every drainage held bucks. I even found one of the biggest three-points I’d ever seen, and it took all my willpower not to pull the trigger.

By noon, I’d hiked six miles and passed on over 30 bucks. With storms rolling in and lightning getting closer, I slowly made my way back down and cruised a few more spots. But just like the evening before, everything had hunkered down. I had one more day before I needed to be back in town.

A fire a few weeks earlier had closed access to some areas, but after the recent rain and containment, I hoped the roads were open. I woke up early, drove 40 minutes, and was relieved to find the barriers gone. I appeared to be the first one in.

I reached the first main ridge and hiked up about a mile to glass the first big drainage. Just as it was getting light enough to use binoculars, I scanned the finger ridges across from me and saw two deer moving through the sagebrush. I set up my spotting scope and saw enough antler to know I needed a closer look.

I hustled down the hill, across the ravine, and up onto a knoll 300 yards across from the bucks. I laid down, glassed them again, and saw one with a hook cheater and good mass. He was a shooter. After ranging and dialing the scope, I got him in the crosshairs. Just then, he lifted his head and revealed a matching hook cheater on the other side. The gun went off–solid hit. He moved just 10 feet before I gave him a follow-up shot and watched him drop.

A wave of emotion hit me.

Bittersweet

I left my rifle and spotting scope and walked back to the truck to grab my pack. I called a buddy from the office, and he started heading up to meet me, take photos, and help with the pack-out.

Still unsure what I had just shot, I made my way to the deer... and was floored. He was one of the coolest character bucks I’d ever seen. I admired him for a while and propped him up for pictures. As I waited for my buddy, I climbed a hill that overlooked the valley. I sat alone and watched the sun come up over the country my dad and I had explored together just four years earlier. I know he was there, taking it all in with me.

It was bittersweet. After months of scouting and preparation, the hunt was over in just three days. But this will always be one of the most memorable seasons of my life–not because of the buck I shot, but because I got to spend quality time with the people I love and watch both Sarah and Trey tag their biggest deer on a second chance at a once-in-a-lifetime tag. WH

CRITICAL GEAR LIST: Rifle: Tikka T3 300 WSM Scope: Vortex Viper 6-24x50 HST Ammo: Winchester Deer Season XP 150-grain Binoculars: Sig Sauer ZULU6 16x42 Stabilized Binoculars Rangefinder: Vortex Razor HD 4000 Clothing: Eberlestock Lochsa Merino Hoody, Eberlestock Camas Pants Boots: Crispi Mid-Attiva Pack: Eberlestock Mainframe with Batwings and Lid Knife: MKC SpeedGoat Nutrition: Wilderness Athlete Hydrate & Recover – Peach

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OSCAR6 HDX Pro hen it comes to image-stabilized optics, SIG Sauer has set the bar high with their new OSCAR6 HDX Pro. Having spent time in the field, at the range, and running around town with this high-tech unit, I can truly say it redefines what I thought was possible with a spotting scope.

W

First Impressions The first thing you’ll notice with the OSCAR6 HDX Pro is its robust build.

It’s not lightweight by any means, but for its intended purpose–whether window-mounted, hand-held from a vehicle, or used for long-range shooting–the weight feels justified. It’s like holding a precision instrument built to take a punch, not a toy. The integrated ARCA-Swiss base is a wellthought-out addition, allowing seamless attachment to tripod heads like the Outdoorsmans Gen 2 Pan Head or a window mount. The electronics and batteries add some heft, but I wouldn’t call it extremely heavy.

SIG’s OmniScan optical image stabilization software is the OSCAR6’s party piece. This scope can truly be used handheld with almost the same level of stability as if it were on a tripod. Fortunately, unlike the ZULU6 binoculars, with which I often found myself battling a touch of motion nausea, the OSCAR6 delivers a buttery-smooth image without the disorienting 40

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I M A G E - S TA B I L I Z I N G S P OT TI N G S CO P E

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

shake. This is likely because it’s a single-eye system. It’s not an overwhelming effect, and it almost feels like cheating–like the scope knows what you want to see and locks it in place.

Optical Performance The optical system of the OSCAR6 impresses with enhanced light transmission and glare reduction. Even with a relatively small magnification range of 16-32x and a 60mm objective, the image is sharp and clear. As with the ZULU6, the stability certainly increases the perceived optical performance.

On a recent bear hunt, I was particularly impressed with its low-light performance–details remained sharp even as the sun hid behind thick and overcast rain clouds most of the trip.

Practicality and Design The OSCAR6 comes equipped with a hand strap that, while a good idea in theory, leaves something to be desired in execution. It reminds me of the Peak Design Clutch strap I use with my camera but falls short in terms of comfort and convenience. Still, it adds a layer of confidence when handholding this otherwise hefty unit. I appreciate the thoughtfulness, even if it’s not quite there yet.

// G E A R R E V I E W

The detachable eyepiece is another forward-thinking design choice. This modularity hints at future compatibility with varying eyepiece configurations, adding an element of future-proofing that’s rare in the optics market.

SIG is building for what’s next, not just what’s now.

Reliability Waterproof and fogproof with an IPX-7 rating, the OSCAR6 is built for harsh environments. It runs on two AA batteries, delivering an impressive 50 hours of continuous runtime. SIG recommends alkaline over lithium for optimal performance. Reliability with electro-optics is always a concern, but so far, I have had no issues. If the alternative is a “regular” non-imagestabilized scope, why not have the option to use it handheld? If the stabilization or batteries were to fail, you would be left with a good spotting scope that just needed to be used on a tripod.

Final Thoughts Overall, the OSCAR6 is a remarkable addition to SIG Sauer’s lineup. It is a very solid spotting scope with one of the most interesting and useful new functions we’ve ever come across. It works well on a tripod, but when you need it in a hurry, it works nearly as well without one. The idea of stabilized

optics is becoming more and more appealing to hunters, and the OSCAR6 is likely the first of many spotting scopes to utilize this technology. At a $2,000 street price, it’s not cheap, but you’re paying for reliability and innovation in a piece of equipment that is built for war. It’s competitively priced with other spotting scopes in the category, disregarding the stabilization factor. Add that in, and it starts to seem like a bargain.

For those ready to embrace the latest technology on the market and rethink what a spotting scope actually is, the OSCAR6 HDX Pro is well worth the investment. This isn’t just a tool–it’s an experience. WH TECHNICAL SPECS: Magnification: 16-32X Objective Lens Diameter: 60mm Battery Type: Two AA Alkaline Batteries Battery Runtime: Up to 50 Hours Weight: 55.2 oz Dimensions: 11.5" x 3.70" x 4.32" Cost: $1,999 Learn More: Outdoorsmans.com 1-800-291-8065

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Weapon of Choice Outdoorsmans Gen 2 Aluminum Tripod Outdoorsmans Fluid Head Outdoorsmans Tripod Holster Outdoorsmans Self-Timing Muzzle Brake PROOF Research Carbon Barrel - 6.5 PRC Leupold Mark 5HD 5-25x56 RCM Short Action Unknown Munitions Premier Scope Rings Rise Reliant Pro Trigger MDT HNT26 Chassis Gunwerks Elevate Bipod Salmon River Solutions Fore End Weights

Hail Mary A last-second gamble leads to a giant Montana bull

BY CO N L A N M c CO N N EL L

A “ I stopped him quickly with a loud cow call with my mouth reed, guessed that he had walked four yards further, held at the top of his shoulder, and executed what felt like a perfect shot.

One second, the pin was where I held it, and the next, the bow surprised me by going off.”

pparently, after 25 years of bowhunting elk, I was due for a Hail Mary to finally work out in my favor...

Montana is my Disneyland, and the last three years have been nothing short of amazing. I’ve been bow hunting elk in Montana since I first backpacked into my favorite range with my pops at 19 years old. Since then, my hunting partner and I have taken countless bulls in the Treasure State and plan to keep going back every year we are able.

For the last decade, we’ve loved going late in the bow season. It means tons of bugling and rutting activity, broken-up bulls, and very little calling unless it’s a last resort. I always keep my favorite Phelps reed in my mouth and ready to stop an elk at a moment’s notice, but we’ve found that calling truly big bulls has always been a high-risk, low-reward strategy. In open country and with vocal elk, I’ll take my ability to use stealth to get into bow range undetected any day. Sure, it’s not the same rush as when Scott called in my WA Roosevelt bull this year to 15 yards, but I’ll take success and the chance of a giant over potentially eating my tag.

Worth a Shot

On day three of the hunt, I was cruising the top of the mountain, glassing and listening for herds transitioning from bedding to feeding areas. I reached a known glassing point where I could cover miles and spotted a stud bull with 8-10 cows moving about a mile below me, headed toward a huge meadow to feed. With about an hour before dark, I doubted I could get there in time, but I figured, why not? What better option did I have but to try?

I tore down the mountain, closed the mile in about 30 minutes, and positioned myself with the best possible wind. But as I crept to the edge of the meadow, I realized the herd was halfway across and 200 yards from any edge I could get to. I could hook around and close the distance, but there was no way I would get a shot based on where they were. My only hope was that they would turn back and move toward the timber’s edge they had come from.

I moved as quickly and quietly as possible, but by the time I reached a high point overlooking the meadow, the elk had simply disappeared. With just 15 minutes of light remaining, I figured I would sit and enjoy whatever nature would provide for the last minutes of light. I was not disappointed. Shortly thereafter, and 80 yards to my left, two whitetail bucks came out of the Quakies and started alternating between sparring and feeding.

Rallying Cry

As I watched them, dejected that I had lost the elk, I eventually heard a bugle rip off below me. It seemed to be coming from the meadow’s edge, out of sight below me. Somehow, the herd had circled back, and the elk were feeding in a sheltered undulation I hadn’t been able to see. I quickly crawled 80 yards to a cluster of trees overlooking the hidden pocket below, where I could finally see the elk moving back across the meadow in the opposite direction.

By the time I got into position, the elk were 150 yards out, way out of range.

I was very frustrated with myself for not checking this edge earlier, where I would’ve had a 40-yard shot at the most. Now, with only about 10 minutes of light remaining, I was stuck behind a few trees with no good options. I quickly realized it was time to try a Hail Mary.

If you had asked me the odds of calling the bull back into bow range, I would’ve said 1%, and I would have bet my life savings against it working out.

I figured he would bugle back, the cows would eventually get nervous when they couldn’t see an elk, and they would all walk away, never to be seen again.

The story of my life when it comes to big bulls.

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My goal was to call in a cow–just one would work–10-20 yards closer. Then, I might have a chance. I gave two loud regathering cow calls, a sound I’ve only heard when elk get split up and a cow tries to bring them back together or relocate the herd. This is my go-to sound for calling cows. The bull immediately screamed back but didn’t move, and neither did his cows.

I waited a minute, then gave two louder calls. He turned and bugled again, but still didn’t budge.

Did That Just Happen?

That’s when God gave me a bit of a miracle. Just as I was about to call again, a bull a third of a mile above me started screaming and glunking; something I only heard thanks to my enhanced hearing. I could not believe it. I told myself, “You’ve just been given a gift, don’t F this up!”

I responded with the same two cow calls, and this set off the herd bull below. He took a few steps my way but stopped. Meanwhile, the bull above had closed 200 yards and was clearly getting angrier and more interested. I cut him off with two more cow calls, and that’s when the bull in the meadow started charging toward me.

I leaned to my right as the bull below moved behind a tree, and I ranged him well inside my effective range. I drew my bow, stood up, and shifted to the right for a clear shot. He had already started walking back to his cows, and my heart started to sink. I stopped him quickly with a loud cow call with my mouth reed, guessed that he had walked four yards further, held at the top of his shoulder, and executed what felt like a perfect shot. One second, the pin was where I held it, and the next, the bow surprised me by going off.

I almost couldn’t believe it. The arrow couldn’t have been placed any better; the Trypan punched through his front shoulder, took out the top of his heart, both lungs, and broke his offside shoulder. He took one step, nose-dived, and then plowed 100 yards before expiring. As I watched in a state of euphoria. All I could say was, “Did that just happen? I cannot believe that actually worked!”

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When I first glassed the bull, I guessed he was 330". I knew I would be happy with him and that he was a mature bull, but when I walked up, all I could say was, “Are you kidding me!?” over and over. He was the biggest and oldest Rocky Mountain bull I have ever seen, and with 298 pounds of boned-out meat, I figured he was pushing 900 pounds on the hoof. He later ended up being aged at nine years old. The bull’s body size had skewed my perception of his antlers, just like a big Roosevelt.

MOA

*Internal ROA

Z5i+ 5-25x56

After 25 years of bowhunting, I had finally killed something that I would call a giant, and the feeling was surreal. It took me days to come down from that high. Even now, I can’t believe that Hail Mary worked out. The bull was a gift from God. He’s also the first Rocky Mountain bull I’ve ever taken on an evening hunt (out of 200+ evening hunts); all my other Rocky bulls were taken in the morning or midday (which seems very odd in retrospect).

Banner Year

The 2024 season was nothing short of a dream come true. Not only did I take my biggest Rocky Mountain bull to date, but I also accomplished a milestone that many dedicated hunters aspire to achieve–the North American Deer Slam.

From the dense rainforests of Western Washington, where I harvested a mature 6x6 Roosevelt bull and an ancient 11.5-year-old blacktail buck, to the mountains of Montana, where I tagged this Rocky Mountain bull and a mature four-point whitetail later in November, and finally to the desert of Arizona, where I sealed the season with my first massive old Coues buck. Every hunt was an unforgettable experience and a testament to perseverance, dedication, and way too many PTO days to count. WH

Making Dreams a Reality for Kids Who Need It Most Conlan McConnell is president and founder of Outdoor Dreams, a nonprofit organization dedicated to making the outdoors a source of therapy and unforgettable experiences for deserving children. Their mission is to grant once-in-a-lifetime hunting, fishing, and backcountry adventures to kids who have faced life-threatening illnesses or come from financially underprivileged backgrounds in need of mentoring and positive influence.

For these children, life has often been defined by hardship; hospital stays, treatments, and challenges beyond their years. But when they step into the wilderness; stalking a big game animal, casting a line, or simply taking in the fresh air, something incredible happens. They are no longer defined by their struggles; they are adventurers, hunters, and fishermen, living out dreams that once seemed impossible.

Beyond changing individual lives, Outdoor Dreams is committed to strengthening the heritage of hunting and the outdoor community.

But they can’t do it alone. If you are inspired to make a difference; whether through donations, sponsorships, or volunteering, please reach out. Every hunt, every trip, and every memory they create is because of people like you who care enough to contribute.

Contact them today and become a part of something truly life-changing.

Visit OutdoorDreams.us or find them on Facebook and Instagram. WH

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50 Years of Relentless Innovation Crispiusa.com

// G E A R R E V I E W

MKC Elkhorn Skinner

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

ou can tell a lot about a knife before it ever makes a cut. First with the ocular pat down–does the blade have the right angles, point, length, belly, for the way you like to break down game?

Then the grip test–does it seat well in your hand? Is it nimble? Does it tuck clean into your kit? Most importantly, is it going to stay put once your hands are slick with blood?

The Elkhorn Skinner from Montana Knife Company, made in collaboration with Remi Warren, passed both tests before I even got it out of the box. Add the polished stainless steel Magnacut blade and an attention-grabbing G-10 handle, and this knife doesn’t just look the part–it goes to work and makes it look easy.

I didn’t have to wait long to put the Elkhorn to use–on a Coues buck, no less–my first with a bow.

Unlike most fixed blades, I never had to reach for a backup to pop joints or work into tight spots. It held its edge and sat naturally in my hand from the first incision to the last pull. After breaking down several animals with it now, I’ve come to appreciate its compact, stout 3.125-inch blade. It’s short, strong, and razor sharp.

Montana Knife Company doesn’t make knives to sit in display cases (even though they look good in one). They make tools that earn their keep. And with Remi’s input, drawn from the hundreds of animals he’s broken down in the field–the Elkhorn was built with purpose. It’s not just a collector’s piece; it’s a hunter’s instrument, plain and simple. WH

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Cost: $300 Learn More: MontanaKnifeCompany.com

Elk Music

Wayne Carlton and the origin of the mouth reed call B Y M A R C C A R LT O N

A Trojan condom, duct tape, and a lead top cut out of a Johnson & Johnson toothpaste tube, fashioned with a file in hand, into a queer sort of horseshoe-shaped sandwich–destined to become the modern-day mouth reed. A pivotal hunting accessory that most turkey and elk hunters would never leave home without. This is one of Wayne Carlton’s (my father’s) favorite recollections as a school-aged redneck kid from Florida in the 1950s.

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e first became mesmerized by wildlife language while listening to a turkey-hunting connoisseur (an uncle) found sitting in a corner, formulating bird sounds that no normal human being should be able to replicate while running his Frankenstein-esque turkey call. The audacity of putting the unsafe lead, hardware store duck tape, and a rubber prophylactic in one’s mouth was missing.

Being a descendant of this family tree, I’m unsure if I feel proud or terrified. Like all first ideas, I see and imagine it was a thing, an idea passed through word of mouth from hunter to hunter and adapted and modified, as humanity does with all first tools useful and practical. The beginning was inauspicious for a Bowhunting Hall of Famer and elk call pioneer. A redneck kid that grew up on the railroad tracks in Campville Florida, where real estate was cheapest and trains rattled the windows and front door. By the time he was 20, he’d already lost three siblings to the harshness of life.

Early Lessons

Raised by a well digger whose only attributes were being a hard worker but an ass of a person and an abusive father. Wayne’s saving grace was his uncles who lived in the Florida swamps, willing to take an eager kid hunting, changing and saving his future. The palmettos and sand never lacked adventure, from gigging frogs to running blue tick hound dogs that were, back then, the best method for taking down deer and coons. Tree stands had another 10 years before they showed up, so his famed lead dog Snapper usually won the day.

One summer night with a full moon, tagging along with the family legend Uncle Harvey to a tree full of coons that paid a nickel a piece for the pelt, the game calling cause & effect took a permanent seat in Wayne’s young, impressionable brain. Using his natural voice, Harvey let loose an imitation of “an angry dog having a pissed-off raccoon wrapped around his head and fighting for his life.”

Every furry bandit in the tree turned and looked down to bear witness to which one of their friends was dying as Harvey belted out this raspy scream of coon-death and dismemberment, simultaneously shining the light up into their eyes. I’m told that the Cypress tree looked like someone had hung Christmas lights as those beady little eyes lit up. Firing then commenced with little Wayne’s single-shot .22. The lessons and benefits of calling critters were well learned with a decent payday of coon pelts that was better than shucking watermelons into trucks, the usual summer job. A few years later, that kid turned 17, dropped out of school, skipping his last two years, and joined the Navy to get away from home. Six years after that, he was selling services for the Sapp family at Florida Pest Control. Sales was a natural fit for him, foretelling what was to come.

Every year, the boys from Florida Pest Control made a trip out west to do what every southern boy wanted to do. That was to take an adventure after big game. He found his way out to Colorado on these company-justified hunting trips with the boys, which were cherished and preserved in time via the sharing of camp elk meat and Coors beer that you could only buy in Colorado at the time. After a few life-altering encounters chasing elk, those early events turned into the ultimate “here, hold my beer” moment of youthful bravado. Wayne permanently packed up his life and ventured west like one of the Clampetts on TV. He made his way west in 1976 with no job, no prospects, just a desire to be more with a 66 Bronco, a wife, two kids, and one ill-tempered Weimeraner.

Wayne was self-admittedly very fortunate; it’s a crazy story that writes itself so colorfully that it’s unfair, and there are so many pieces of his journey that I’ll never get it all down on paper. Still, I always find the origin story of every person is the best part.

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Reed to Rut

In the early ’80s, the city of Montrose put money toward promoting the area for tourism and hunting as a resource. Wayne had become a known big personality character from Florida who started the first NWTF chapter in Gainesville, Florida, and then the western Colorado chapter. The National Wild Turkey Federation was only a few years old, founded in 1973, and was a very new thing that garnered attention. Wayne, with a creative mind, had also learned to bugle on a turkey mouth diaphragm. One fall he heard a distant elk bugle and thought it was a lost turkey doing a kee-kee run, (a high-pitched, shrill whistle), looking for other turkeys.

Hearing the distant bugle and making the connection, he did the obvious thing. If one can make a kee-kee run on a turkey reed, one could probably make and replicate a high-pitched bugle on the same call. The local legend was born–a crazy guy with a southern accent who could bugle like a nut on a turkey call. Wayne, who then owned Carlton’s Pest Control, was drafted to guide a city-sponsored hunt for outdoor writer Rich Laracco. It was the kind of hunt that lasted a lifetime, where bulls were called in and fights broke out in utter mayhem, which rarely occurs in the woods, as a cyclone of elk chaos ensued. The kind of things never to be forgotten in a lifetime.

Rich pulled Wayne aside and gave some life-altering advice: “Wayne, I don’t know if you like killing bugs, but you have a unique thing here that will change everything. If you grab it and make something of it, you may have a new career.” Just like that, Wayne Carlton Calls, the Red, the Double Blue, and Triple Brown mouth reeds were born, along with the first bugle tube and a how-to audio tape, Elk Calling with Wayne Carlton. In 1981, our culture was born.

Rapid Expansion

Back then there was no media, and education on a subject like this was impossible to find. Outdoor magazines were the center of the world to learn from, and at one point Wayne had a featured article in most, if not all of them. Wayne bashfully admits to having to go home after his first elk hunt in the early ’70s to read in an encyclopedia that those big mud wallows in the mountains were, point of fact, made by elk and not some elusive mountain pig Wayne had yet to see because, mistakenly, that was all a Florida boy knew. Pick-up trucks were still rocking eight-track tapes, cassettes were cutting edge, and VCR was still five years out.

Having the outdoor magazines grab hold of you was like going on the Joe Rogan Experience and becoming an overnight sensation. It was a priceless lightning-strike opportunity. Only a staggering 1% of all startup companies make it, so to be in that 1% that rides all the way to the Hall of Fame is a rare story indeed.

“Yes, we are an odd bunch, proudly fanatical and obsessed.

What went unsaid was the unconscious connection between man and nature, in which we became closer as we spoke in some small measure to each other during the real million-year-old Hunger Games in what became a version of Marco Polo to the death.”

Fast-forward a little to 1983. In the first days of Wayne Carlton and Larry D Jones pioneering elk calls, a new passion was sown while chasing buckskin-colored bulls through black timber and aspen benches. The pair were calling elk on an old Double Straight turkey reed that was destined to become the Wayne Carlton Double-Blue. The first mouth reed/diaphragm ever used for bugling, seemingly overnight, started carving out new landscapes in modern-day hunting–creating jaw-dropping reactions, weaving their way into our stories and experiences, and emotionally branding us with each encounter as a new language developed.

trade shows, being the key part in magazine articles, etc. Inspiring, mentoring, and passing on the simple traditions gifted by an uncle a lifetime ago.

He both taught and entertained–the original influencer.

In 1998, Wayne Carlton Calls was sold to Dave and Carmen Forbes, owners of Hunters Specialties. This allowed him some great years of bringing ideas and making and sharing hunting stories, finishing out a storied career.

In 2017, Native by Carlton was established and co-founded by Wayne and Marc in a grassroots rebuild to get back to the hunting core and as a final place for Wayne to hang his hat.

Speaking the Language

Wayne’s Legacy

We became more than hunters. We became today’s elk callers–connected through new little blue widgets of latex and duck tape, squealing and chuckling through (to my mother’s dismay) vacuum cleaner hose, butchered down and rattled-canned with a child’s pride–all while trying to master the most unnatural of things.

Most people would think it was next-level weird and crazy and, truthfully, it was... How do you even describe it? “Do ya wanna hear me sound like a rutting bull elk in mating season? Here’s my Elk diaphragm made out of duck tape and a condom!” It sounds like the worst pickup line ever... All woke jokes aside, if some woman bites on that one in a bar, you better do a full Crocodile Dundee crotch check, to be safe!

Yes, we are an odd bunch, proudly fanatical and obsessed. What went unsaid was the unconscious connection between man and nature, in which we became closer as we spoke in some small measure to each other during the real million-year-old Hunger Games in what became a version of Marco Polo to the death.

Like a favorite gun or bow and time spent spinning arrows, the calls we used started to tether into our stories, making them more than just things.

They became characters and lore. Calls and calling wild game had become the instrument and hymn of a new religion. The Carlton telling is one chapter of many, reaching all the way back to probably Compton. Each story is inspiring but always seeds the next branch of the tree–Pope and Young and Ishi.

Cultural Phenomenon

From there, it was Fred Bear, Tom Jennings, and Howard Hill. Wayne was in that next generation of road pavers of a young and growing industry in the ’80s along with the likes of the Ben Lees and Knight and Hales. Treebark, Realtree, Mossy Oak, Eastman’s, Muzzy, Hoyt, and Mathews’. The boys at NWTF, Brown, Rob Keck, and Kennemer. All RMEF members are called family today. It’s a lineage and culture built on passion and sacrifice by the ones who laid out that road we all walk today. There was and is, and should be, a family tradition, an uncle, a close friend, a strong mother–mentors who inspire and guide all of us to a fraternity of traditions. Wayne’s life was made better by Uncle Harvey and so many more who taught and guided his path–so many that I’ll never find enough room in a magazine article to tell you about it and thank them. He, in turn, passed it along in buckets to the rest of the hunting world.

Wayne’s story isn’t about the rise to the Hall of Fame as the elk guru. It’s rooted in conservation and community as he started the first NWTF chapters when his name meant nothing. It was just a sincere effort from a Florida redneck with the honest intention to make things better. He was undoubtedly gifted some opportunity, but I credit him for seeing the moment, taking it in a death grip, and never letting go of that fateful offer of chance. God puts things in front of us all the time. It’s our job to grab hold and do something with them. Wayne grabbed it.

Within a few years, he was asked to appear as the RMEF Elk Country Journal TV host, bringing what he did best to thousands of new hunters and filling his fall seasons for seven years. Every spring for 17 years, Wayne hosted a turkey hunting school at Vermejo, teaching and educating, all the while developing ideas, building a business, hunting, giving seminars, doing 56

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Parkinson’s and Dementia finally caught Wayne in the end after 20 years–no doubt from all the pesticides he used back in the pest control days. Although, in every season, there was, in all honesty, a near-death experience from all his countless crazy adventures. From jumping off aircraft carriers in the Mediterranean Sea during flight drills on a $90 bet in the Navy to calling bears and gators to six feet, harassing rattlesnakes, swimming rivers on mules during spring runoff, and countless other dumb ideas that would challenge any testosterone-filled teenager to do crazier things, we never thought he’d make it this far. And, although he would have preferred a glory-filled ending like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, a bear death with Bowie knife in hand, we’ll have to settle for all the stories of him almost dying instead.

In the end, what makes legends and mentors great are the tangible parts, relatable to things in our own life experience. He was always reachable with a handshake, and he probably gave out more free calls to kids than anyone.

Wayne, at the beginning and the end, was just one of the guys who was never far removed from the railroad tracks outside his front door. One foot always in the sand on a single-lane road in Campville, with his single shot .22 and a box of shells in hand, straining an ear for the dogs baying in the dog box, with Harvey just coming around the corner to take an eager kid hunting. WH

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// A M I L L I O N W AY S T O D I E I N T H E W E S T

DESERT DRAGON The Gila Monster is one of the great semi-mythical creatures of the Southwest. Extremely rare to encounter, it holds the title of the largest native lizard species north of the Mexican border–with accounts of specimens spanning 24 inches in length and weighing 35 lb.

With skin that both appears and feels to the touch like a brand-new indoor basketball, its appearance is nearly unique in the animal kingdom.

Similar to its desert floor cohabitant, the rattlesnake, a glimpse of this wildly unusual shape invokes a primal, I-had-better-not-get-near-that-sucker kind of fear. Although extremely slow and relatively docile, the Gila monster’s bite is worthy of its cryptid moniker. Its bite contains gut-twisting, skin-melting venom that, while rarely fatal, generally results in a horrific day (or several) for its recipient.

On a positive note, it turns out this venom carries a hormone that is much better at balancing insulin production than the one that naturally occurs in humans. This discovery led to the creation of a new type of extremely effective diabetes drug. So, if you’re a diabetic on the receiving end of a semaglutide injection or you know someone who has lost an inexplicable amount of weight recently, remember to thank the Gila monsters who donated their spit to help create Ozempic.

While shrouded in Native mythology and tales of curses, possession, and man-killing tendencies, the Gila monster is simply a creature that should be observed and left alone.

Whether you believe that seeing one brings good luck or marks you for death, as some of our predecessors proposed, one thing is for sure: It’s a wonderful example of the creativity and mystique of nature.

// M A D E I N A M E R I C A

McMillan Stocks B U I LT B Y H A N D , P R O V E N B Y F I R E

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

here are many beautiful things in the anatomy of a rifle. Its tapered and elegant barrel. The crisp and precise break of its trigger.

The fluid repeatability and strength of its action. Its balance, its weight, its sound. And its stock–the component that is both skin and skeleton of a rifle, bringing everything together, turning machined aluminum and steel into a functional instrument of art. Viewing a rifle in this way stems from a handcrafted approach to manufacturing, one that began with Gale McMillan building his first stock in 1970.

During my visit to the McMillan facility in North Phoenix, I could see the same attention to detail and handcrafted perfectionism alive and well today in their commitment to American-made precision rifle stocks. In a world of shortcuts, McMillan still does it the hard way, and that’s why their stocks are trusted from PRS podiums and NRL Hunter matches to combat zones.

The story of McMillan begins the way many great things do–at a workbench, in pursuit of something better. In the early 1970s, Gale McMillan, a benchrest competitor with a relentless eye for precision, began layering fiberglass to build a rifle stock that could meet the exacting demands of his sport. By 1973, he had crafted his first competition stock. A year later, McMillan Stocks was born.

What followed was a ripple effect through the precision shooting world, first with the HTG, the military’s first purpose-built sniper stock, and soon after with the M40-A1 rifle, issued to Marine snipers and built from the same bones. By the 1990s, McMillan’s fingerprints were on rifles carried by Navy SEALs, including Chris Kyle, whose .338 Lapua deployment rifle was built by McMillan Firearms, a sister company. These weren’t just stocks– they were instruments of trust in life-or-death conditions.

And yet, walk through the factory today, and you’ll see that much of the process hasn’t changed. Fiberglass still forms the foundation, now joined by carbon fiber in select models for those seeking even lighter builds. The same lifetime warranty still stands. What has evolved is the understanding of how design, ergonomics, and consistency come together to create repeatable performance, no matter the shooter or scenario. What began as a mission to serve precision professionals has expanded to hunters, competitors, and

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everyday riflemen–each with their own goals, each with a stock built for their discipline. From competition benches to battlefield sand, McMillan hasn’t lost its soul. It’s simply learned to speak more languages of precision.

Inside the McMillan facility, the air carries the scent of work. It’s a blend of epoxies, glues, and chemical concoctions that somehow land on the pleasant side of industrial–equal parts laboratory and garage. The sounds are subtle, but constant: the swish of a brush laying finish, the rasp of sanding, the gentle spray of texture, and the occasional thump of a stock being staked into a mold. It’s not loud. It’s not sterile. It’s a workspace that breathes.

Dust floats in the air, but only just enough to remind you that this is a place where things are made by hand, not by accident.

The shop has an old-school soul, yet it scales with modern precision.

Humming CNC machines sit alongside weathered benches, and every room is arranged with the quiet efficiency of a process carried out by focused men and women. People move with purpose. Each station has its rhythm, its role, and its craftsman. And at the center of it all is Varian Zingaro, the general manager, fielding questions, offering opinions, and trading laughs with a team that clearly respects him. There’s pride in the work here–visible in the way parts are passed between hands, in the eyes that double-check an edge or line. It feels less like a factory and more like a guild–tight-knit, confident, and quietly obsessed with getting it right.

In talking with Varian, it’s clear that today’s McMillan carries deep respect for where it came from, but it isn’t stuck there. The team moves with a balance of confidence and humility, knowing they won’t please everyone, but believing they should always listen. That mindset shows in how they’ve evolved. In a rapidly expanding market of new actions and rifle platforms, McMillan has kept pace, offering a wide variety of stock options and custom inletting without compromising their standards. What impressed me most is how they’ve maintained that precision fit and purpose-built feel, even as others have moved toward molded, mass-produced “Tupperware stocks.”

While much of the R&D we discussed was off the record, I can assure you, McMillan refuses to follow that path. They’ve carved their own–helping customers shoot better and looking good while doing it. WH WESTERN HUNTER

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If Given the Opportunity Fatherhood and my new perspective on hunting

BY R EM I WA R R EN

I

h ad been on hundreds, if not close to a thousand, elk kills in my 21 years of professional elk guiding and have also taken many incredible bulls myself with both a gun and a bow. None of those were quite like what I was feeling when I watched the fletching of my wife’s arrow bury itself just behind the shoulder of the bull standing before us.

It was a long stare-down as we waited, frozen, for what seemed like an eternity in the open, legs cramping and shaking as she waited for an opportunity to draw. Her smooth draw and steady aim were followed by a perfect shot. After a few years of trying, it was her first successful archery elk hunt. Although it was an incredible elk and an amazing day, it was not just that. It was more. It was the culmination of life up to that moment–our family and my wife’s journey into hunting capped off the whole experience. The memories of when we started dating and I took her on her first hunting trip, the moments we have shared in between, and the family we had waiting for that call that mom got her elk. The fact that it was also one of the best elk hunting days you could ask for just topped it off.

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Newfound Passion

I always used to think that my best hunting memories would be those days when I checked something off my bucket list, tagged that next big buck or bull, or snuck in on that animal with a once-in-a-lifetime tag. While those things are great, as my wife and I have started our own family, I think back to those moments with my dad when I grew up hunting and the opportunities that he gave me. I know that these experiences with my own family far outweigh what I have done on my own. The days in the field with my wife, my daughter, and my son are the ones that hit just a little differently, and my hope is that they, in some way, will enjoy this lifestyle the way that I have my whole life.

My daughter is the bold type, willing to strike up a conversation with anyone who will listen. At just under four, she is about as talkative as they come. As we sat at a table near an older couple recently, the conversation began. After the initial interaction, the couple asked, “What do you like to do for fun?”

“I love hunting,” she proudly replied. Her two-and-a-half-year-old brother chimed in, “Yeah, we love hunting!” as to not be left out.

“Wow!” they said, not expecting that response from a four-year-old and a two-year-old. “Do you go hunting with your dad?” they asked.

“Yeah, and my mom, we all go hunting.”

What do you like about it? They asked.

Her reply? “All the steak!” with a big smile.

As a fairly new dad, I often think about nature versus nurture. Are we programmed a certain way from birth, or does our upbringing dictate our passions and motivations? I believe it is both. I see it in my daughter’s boldness. It is uniquely hers–we don’t know who she gets that from. She was 64

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like that from nearly the time she was born. As for hunting, it does make sense that someone from a big hunting family would love to hunt. However, I think there is more to it than that.

She loves hunting like I did when I was a kid. I can already tell there is a deep passion. She wants the stories, loves the meat, and always is down to go.

But, in many ways, I think my daughter’s passion for it is not necessarily due to me liking it. I could 100% love hunting and yet she could be unfazed by it without the opportunity to experience the lifestyle for herself. I think just having a dad who loves to hunt is one thing, but having a mom and dad who love hunting together and take her and her brother out, well, that is something more.

Becoming a Hunter

When my wife Danielle and I first started dating, I spent most of the year hunting and guiding. We met and shortly after, it was time for me to head to New Zealand to guide hunters. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to date her and just say, “See you in three months,” I asked if she would like to join me. The fact that she said yes speaks to her spirit of adventure.

She grew up near where I did in Nevada. She also was accustomed to hunting, as her dad hunted a bit when she was young, but she had never been out on a hunting trip or been hunting herself. Dating me, she was about to get a crash course in all things hunting. After my first few weeks of guiding, we loaded up our backpacks and headed into the wilderness for an overnight trip. We were looking for red stag or tahr, whichever came first, and after nine miles of hiking we set up camp and I spotted a young deer at the top of an avalanche chute. We made our way up, I shot the deer, and we spent the next day packing it out.

For her, the experience was new and exciting, and I was impressed by how well she did. She was tough, kept up, and really didn’t complain. I got the sense that she was enjoying herself and probably would have gotten into hunting sooner if given the opportunity.

Fast forward to later in the year, after joining me on other scouting and hunting trips, she signed up for her hunter’s safety class with another girl she went to school with. This was completely unprompted by me, I might add.

She completed it and took the first step from going on hunts to hunting for herself. Still not knowing if she would want to be the actual hunter, it was not until a few years later she found herself with a license in her pocket.

Her intro to hunting for herself came while she was teaching. During a break in her schedule, she joined me in Montana. Armed with a shotgun in September, we ventured out in search of one of the easiest game birds to get on–mountain grouse. Armed with the experience of one of the best hunting guides in the area, me, we managed to turn up a grand total of zero birds.

The journey made her go from unsure if she wanted to actually shoot something to more than ready to take aim on a grouse, that is, if we could ever find one. It was not until a second trip that she took aim and found some well-earned success.

Bird hunting later turned to big game as we embarked on a mission to chase deer and elk over the next couple of years. In this time she went from my girlfriend, to fiancé, to wife, to soon-to-be mom. I watched her passion for hunting increase, but in that time she had never drawn a tag in our home state of Nevada. With a desire to hunt in-state for big game instead of traveling, she asked what she needed to do to draw a tag. I told her she needed to bow hunt. It didn’t take much debating on her part. That year, she applied, and with five years of no draw prior, she secured her first archery tag. Three months pregnant with our first child, she took her first deer with a bow.

Bringing Them Along

As far as the jump into parenthood, you really don’t know what you don’t know. You have all these grand ideas of what it will be like, how you will parent, and the things you will do as a family. But the reality of how difficult those things can be doesn’t fully hit you until you are in it. We traveled a lot before kids, and we said that we would bring our daughter along for the ride. It was not always easy, but we made good on that.

Our daughter joined us in Montana in the fall at the lodge where I guided after she was born that summer. We went on a lot of road trips and did a lot of traveling. After the fall season, we did what few would probably opt to do with a very young child–we took her to New Zealand the following May. My wife and I wanted to chase fallow deer, visit where we got married, and see the friends we missed while COVID had locked us out for a few years.

We loaded her in a pack, hunted deer, found success, ate fresh deer steaks, and had a lot of fun. Honestly, that time hunting and traveling often felt more like type-two fun, but it gave us a lot of incredible memories and experiences. These experiences my daughter will never remember, but they are experiences she can look back on in pictures and see the things we did with her as parents. I imagine the value of those images and stories will not be fully realized until she one day has a family of her own.

I think back to a picture of myself at nearly the same age, being held by my mom near a river in Montana. I remember the stories of my dad and grandpa going out hunting and my mom and her new baby in the hay in the wall tent. I always value the fact that they included me on these types of trips, but I never fully understood the value and difficulty of doing so until I became a parent myself. Although my mom never hunted an animal for herself, she was always down to go along, spot, pack, and make a hunting trip a family adventure.

“These experiences my daughter will never remember, but they are experiences she can look back on in pictures and see the things we did with her as parents.”

Unexpected Grit

Last year, in nearly the same area my parents took me to as a baby, my wife Danielle, my daughter, my son, and I headed out on a hunt. It was archery season, and I had a doe tag in my pocket and a long bow in my hand. It was nothing rugged or hard, per se. We took it easy and success was the last thing on the list in my mind, but my daughter was pretty set on eating one of those deer for lunch.

On one of the failed stalks, she started to cry as we walked back to the truck where we left Mom and her baby brother. She wanted to keep going up and over the mountain after the spooked deer, telling me we don’t give up. That might have been a speech I gave her at some point, but to my three-year-old, I was not expecting to have to explain that you don’t get them all every time and also be accused of not giving it my all.

We continued to hunt for a few days, going out, letting out some calls, stalking some deer, shooting the toy bows, watching shows in the car, having picnics, and taking naps. I did end up finding success on that trip. Although to some it was just a doe, to my kids, that was the coolest, most incredible hunt on the planet.

To be honest, it was for me, too.

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We got the deer, took it back, and cut it up. Then, we cooked it while fishing on the river. As we cooked the deer my daughter said, “Dad, isn’t this the best? We can hunt deer, cook steak, and go fishing, too, if we want.”

I could not have agreed more. It was the best.

I often think back to the generations of hunters in my family before me and the legacy they have left behind. Some of my best memories in the field involved going out with my grandfather and dad. My grandpa was such an inspiration in my life and paved the way for what I have done. He was a guide in the Selway and Bitterroot wilderness. He hunted many of the same mountains I spent most of my adult life guiding in. His stories of guiding and adventure paved the way for me to know that I could carve out the same path. It was not just a pipe dream but something doable.

I also like to think about the generations going forward and the potential of a granddaughter down the line who knows that it is okay for girls to hunt and love it because of her grandmother (my wife) or her mom (my daughter) paving the way and making it more attainable. Maybe it is too early to know whether my kids will take up hunting or not. Honestly, that is up to them. But the chances are high that they will embrace a lifestyle so many generations before them have enjoyed by just being given the opportunity to pass the legacy on. WH

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“Life is like riding a bicycle.

To keep your balance, you need to keep moving.”

- Albert Einstein

B

alance is something I think about all the time, since I believe it’s so critical for physical, mental, and spiritual/emotional health.

It’s tricky, though, since by definition, balance is a point of tension and unease. It’s often simple enough to achieve for a brief period of time, but maintaining equilibrium is another story. If we focus too much on the inherent tension, we can forget to keep moving!

Think about watching an Olympic athlete on the balance beam. Even just observing, we are tense, holding our breath, and probably thinking we are doing well not to fall off our chair, while she is navigating complex acrobatics on a four-inch-wide wooden beam. But the athlete? If she has reached that level of expertise, she has honed the ability to sustain incredible physical tension with deep mental quiet. She has learned that to have true balance, each aspect relies on the others. No matter what the situation, if we don’t take into account physiology, cognition, and emotion, we’ll all fall off our beams.

For the Olympian and the rest of us mortals, we can’t find balance, despite the often-used term. That’s too passive, bringing up visions of stumbling across this perfect recipe for equilibrium that will allow long-term stability.

Instead, balance is something we create and hone; it’s an ongoing balancing act. This is both good and bad news, because it gives us control, but also it’s just really HARD, not only to create it, but also just to recognize when we are out of it. I struggle with this, and I bet I’m not alone. It often takes me a minute (or several hundred thousand) to understand why I’m feeling off, or down, or irritable. Nearly always, it’s because some aspect of my life is off-kilter.

Although I don’t hunt myself, I’ve had PLENTY of opportunity over the years to develop some strong opinions about hunting itself and those who do it! For those who go into the field with integrity, hunting is rich with the need for balance. All of the hunters I know love animals, and so the most obvious balance would be between nurturing animal life and taking it for food. But there are other, perhaps less obvious “balancing acts.”

Recently, I asked some hunters to help me understand what they love (and don’t love) about the hunt. Within the scope of a few seconds, I heard both “It’s the adrenaline-fueled challenge and adventure” and “Hunting teaches you how to be bored, and how to be patient!” It occurred to me that over time, both need to be true, and it’s the balance between them that keeps hunters moving forward. Too much action leads to burning out; too much boredom or worry about other issues, giving up. For our ancestors, it was the ability to excel at the extremes and to tolerate the tension in the middle that literally enabled the tribe to survive.

There is also a need for an equilibrium of physical energy, especially on long or extremely challenging trips. To know when to push through pain and fatigue and when to rest and recover is the hallmark of the experienced and most often successful hunter. Realizing that these decisions are about 68

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much more than raw physical condition is critical. A realistic assessment of current knowledge of the area and feelings surrounding being away from home is what separates the wise from the smart.

As with most activities that humans have done for the last 300,000 years they have been on the planet, expertise in one area bleeds into all areas of life. In other words, what makes one an expert hunter also makes one an expert human being. We are strivers, but often, reality comes up to hit us hard. I’m assuming that most people reading this aren’t afraid of attacking things that are difficult, but that doesn’t mean we don’t struggle with balance. As Nate says, straddling that line isn’t easy.

Where do we start? As a psychiatrist, my patients, by definition, are out of balance, and most of them recognize it to some degree. But, I hear over and over again: “I know I need to work on my physical condition, but I want to focus on my mental health first.” I can say without hesitation that that will not work. (I learned this the hard way.) This may sound contradictory, since I also firmly believe that our mental and spiritual/emotional condition is every bit as important as our physical. But, to simplify for purposes of discussion, physical organs are the place where thought and emotion arise.

Our brains produce logical thought, and our digestive system is the gateway to the outside world, and so is the first contact with energies that create the feelings that make us human, both positive and negative. Psychiatrists and gastroenterologists have long known this, but more recently, “feeling it in your gut” has become scientifically acceptable. This is yet another example of how we ignored thousands of years of wisdom in favor of “hard science,” but don’t get me started.

Since our thoughts and emotions start with our organs, if our physical brain and guts aren’t healthy, we can’t do enough therapy or meditations to make a difference. What the physical body needs to be healthy is not just clean nutrition and restful sleep, but strength. Eating and sleeping well are inherently positive experiences, so we tend to jump on board with those relatively easily. Building physical strength can be literally painful, much of the time. It also requires playing the long game. So, the only way to keep your mind and spirit healthy is to make certain your physical body stays as strong and fit as possible.

Of course, if we stop with physical strength and don’t work to balance that with our thoughts and emotions, that won’t create harmony either. Usually, it’s the aspect of health that you’ve been avoiding the most that needs the most immediate attention. Within each category, look for low-hanging vegetables (see what I did there?) and commit to incremental changes. The challenge is yet another balancing act. Striving to achieve what brings you peace and joy each day, along with what you know will make you wiser, stronger, and more significant in the world.

Happy Hunting (and balancing) ~ Dr. Denham

// T H E M I N D O F A H U N T E R

“Straddling that line between ambition and realism isn’t easy.” ~ Nate Simmons

Heart of Endurance

BY R A N DY U L M E R

I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y R A N D Y S TA LC U P

In this series, Randy Ulmer, one of the most prolific and studied bowhunters in the history of archery, shares a deeply personal and reflective account of what could potentially be his final challenge as a somewhat able-bodied backcountry adventurer. Facing a devastating surprise cancer diagnosis, he offers a unique third-person look at the sheer impossibility of dealing with being forced to slow down before age would typically require that of him. This excerpt is parts one and two of a multi-part story that is exactly the type of wordcraft that Western Hunter was created to share.

Part 1

This is a mountain meant to break a man’s heart, he thinks. False summit after false summit. He pauses to rest, his feet sliding before finding purchase on the steep talus slope. He leans heavily on his climbing poles to support the burden on his back. He is breathing hard. The air in this place has disappeared.

“You are an old man,” he mutters to himself. This revelation has been a recent, shocking discovery. Old age is meant to come upon one slowly. His pounced with the swiftness, brutality, and weight of a grizzly.

Climbing was the kind of difficulty he once loved–and tried to teach others to love. This type of effort usually took his mind off the travails of life and gave him comfort. Not today. He is deeply troubled.

The full extent of his decline has hit him hard. He remembers the strength and the endurance of the man he once was–unconcerned and disregarding the effort of a climb. On past hunts, he rarely stopped to rest, but paced himself–constant and steady, like the marathoner he was.

An idea, floating around in his head for some time, suddenly reveals itself starkly and harshly. This might be my last mountain hunt.

The tears on his face surprise him.

He is weeping.

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The shock of his diagnosis two years earlier has worn off, replaced by acceptance and resignation. Cancer. Four years life expectancy. No cure. Extreme pain. The doctor said it was a rare cancer with no predisposing factors– random. How can this be random, or rare? Dwight, his mentor, friend, fellow endurance athlete, and bowhunter, was just laid low by this exact same order of demon.

Since his diagnosis, he has been beset with a certain species of melancholy. He thinks of his ailment as an unwelcome companion. Is there any place I can go where this disease will not follow me?

The chemical poison they euphemistically call “chemo therapy” has been dripping into his bloodstream for the past two years. It has taken its toll. He lost half his lung this summer, making the thin air here seem thinner still.

He fantasizes about dropping his pack, walking deep into the wilderness, and disappearing, abandoning the difficult journey ahead. It is a coward’s way out, perhaps, but it would relieve his loved ones, as well as himself, of the brutality of a slow and undignified decline.

He still considers himself a mountain hunter. So, he still hunts the mountains, trying desperately to maintain normalcy–for as long as normalcy is maintainable.

He is hunting a particular buck. He realizes it is absurd, but he has given the deer a name–“Old Unkillable”–something he rarely does. He keeps it to himself. He discovered this buck three years earlier, back when he was healthy. That first year, the buck sported wide, deeply forked, and deeply fanned typical antlers; a certain candidate for the Boone and Crocket record book. His straight back and tight girth identified him as a relatively young deer with potential for future growth.

With other deer to hunt himself, he sent friends to hunt the buck. They returned unsuccessful, the first to brand the deer “unkillable.”

The following year, the buck is larger still, having added a few non-typical points. He sends friends after the buck. They too return empty-handed, throwing their arms up in frustration, proclaiming the buck is “impossible to hunt.” A combination of the harshness of the terrain, the lack of oxygen, and the wariness of the buck combined to render their attempts “futile.”

While scouting this summer, he found the buck once again, frequenting the same high, hanging avalanche chutes and couloirs as in past years. The buck had added even more points to his rack. He is a true monarch.

He wants to hunt the buck this year, most likely his last. “Go out with a bang,” so to speak–ego apparently unaffected by disease. He has enough sense remaining to realize that in his declining state, the job of carrying gear into this remote, rugged country would be a fool’s errand.

He formulates a plan: To have a chance at success, he must hunt the buck from above. He needs someone with a strong back and legs to pack his necessaries far back into the wilderness and then up the 3,000 vertical feet to the top of the trail-less, waterless mountain.

His college-aged son and a friend volunteer for the task. They carry the camp, as well as food and water, to the top of the behemoth ridge. They hide the gear near a saddle on the ridge-top, under a tangle of branches and bushes–difficult to find in the dark.

He climbs on. He must find the cache before nightfall. It is not a camp, as of yet. It must be set up. He climbs further, until nausea overwhelms him.

He sits in the shade, then lies down and closes his eyes. One of his favorite quotes crosses his mind and he smiles. “Never stand when you can sit; never sit when you can lay down; and never remain awake when you can sleep.”

Then, another, more ominous quote crosses his mind: “Pride goeth before the fall.”

He realizes he is falling. However, his pride has not waned.

Part 2

He wakes to find himself sweating. The sun’s westerly arc has moved his shade. He slowly sits up, reaches for his pack, and drags it to him. He deliberately dons it without rising. He seats his poles firmly into the earth, leans forward, and pushes hard, slowly lifting his haunches from the ground. His feet slide and his knees buckle; he sits abruptly.

His head sags between his legs and he sighs.

Long minutes later, he again gathers himself and orders his legs to stand. Once more, they mutiny.

He slips his arms from the straps and then crawls into the shade of a steeply angled aspen clinging to its precarious existence among the cliffs.

A secret known to none; he has always dreaded the physical hardship of mountain hunting. He suffers it for the rewards it brings. Always before, he’s overcome this reluctance by sheer will, merely by standing and taking the first step. Once moving, momentum carries him.

Not this day. He yields to the exhaustion.

He lies on his side without motion, eyes open.

Stillness and quietude reveal much–the simplest of wonders in this wild place full of wonders.

A hummingbird moves along his quiver, green and red iridescence flashing in the sunlight. It threads its beak into the groove of each brightly colored nock, seeking nectar. It flits from one arrow to the next, not having learned from the last. One small wonder amongst myriad small wonders.

All part of the greatest and most sacred of wonders. He rediscovers God’s existence–wisdom and insight often dispossessed of him when immersed in civilization.

He could spend his final days in this place, he thinks, no matter how long they be, content in the looking, listening, smelling, and feeling. Still, he could not experience everything there is to experience here.

He longs to have God’s perspective–to behold and understand all of nature’s wonders profoundly and as a whole, not rudimentary and fragmentary as man must.

He sinks into an intensely melancholic tranquility. I will never see these mountains from this place again, he thinks. He feels tears on his cheeks and realizes he is weeping again.

He is not grieving his plight–the loss of his health. He simply mourns the loss of this place, where he had oft been before. He will miss these wild things, this beauty.

He also weeps for all of the wild places he has been; the places he will never see again. He mourns all those untamed places he has not been and will never be. He mourns the loss of the future and all its promise.

He visualizes his brother as an adolescent, as clearly as if he were sitting here beside him. The paucity of entertainment and money in their tiny hometown nudged them into the woods often as boys and young men. He misses the deep connection of their youth and the adventures they shared.

Why do time, maturity, and money rob us of things so simple, yet so precious? He wishes him here now–companion, confidant, guide, cheerleader, and pack mule.

He wonders what compulsion, what yearning has led him here in his diminished state. Is it pride? He is sure it must be the same irrational pride of the aging boxer breaking retirement to “prove himself ” once again, heedless that there is nothing left to prove; an aging Don Quixote tilting at yet another windmill. Strange how arrogance and pride are so long to linger, well after their usefulness has waned.

Perhaps he is here because his days have dwindled and he wants to spend the remainder wisely, savoring them the way you savor the last spoonful of ice cream. This immersion in nature has always been what he cherishes most. He nourishes his soul in the wilderness, these lonely places impart a powerful feeling of connectedness, peace, and wonder.

Wresting himself from his meditations, he speaks out loud. “Enough!” he says, “Get your sorry, decrepit carcass up this mountain or you’re gonna’ freeze to death tonight.”

Again, he dons his pack and rolls to his knees. Using both poles, he slowly pushes himself upright.

Once moving, he rests frequently. Not daring to remove his pack, he sits on the edges of boulders and logs, allowing them to take the weight, until he is able to move again.

He reaches the ridge’s crest shortly after sundown. Moving along the knife-edge summit in the fading light, he finds the first shallow saddle–his son’s marker for the cache.

He makes camp quickly on a tiny flat spot devoid of rocks. He rarely pitches his tent when bivouacking, unless precipitation is imminent. He does not use it this night, either. Holding a flat rock with both hands, he smooths over the buck tracks deeply pocking the dried mud where he will sleep.

He boils water, pours it into a pouch, and lays the hot meal in his sleeping bag to steep. He prepares his gear for the morning’s hunt. He eats, drinks water, and lays back, gazing up at the stars, his feet angling towards one massive drainage, his head towards another.

On moonless nights at high elevation, his back pressed to the earth, he never fails to reach an enlightened state. This night is no different. His eyes drink in all of creation. He is overwhelmed by the vastness of the night sky, deliciously filled with galaxies of stars, brilliant in the thin, crisp air–the most ancient and eternal wonder of wonders.

He finds his troubles less momentous, less relevant, and less pressing than he believed.

To be continued... WH WESTERN HUNTER

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Fuel, Fire, & Freezers B Y M AT T W A R D

Back in 2018, I found myself on a mountainside in British Columbia, lungs burning, pack heavy, chasing elk with a group of buddies–none of whom, I later realized, really knew how to hunt elk. The odds of success were slim, but I didn’t care. I was hooked. Hooked on the challenge, the adventure, and the idea of mastering a new craft. Hunting, for me, started with food.

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Long before I picked up a rifle, I was obsessed with cooking. Since 2005, I’ve been trying to make food not just taste better, but mean more. What began as a party trick for dinner guests and dates turned into a full-on passion. I loved the social side of food, the ritual of gathering, sharing, and feeding people. But eventually, once you learn how to sear, braise, make sauces, pair wine, and season properly, it all comes down to one thing: ingredients.

That’s what changed everything. Why does a plate of bruschetta in Italy taste better than anything at home? It’s not magic. It’s just better inputs– fewer additives, more intention. The quality matters, and that mindset pushed me closer to the source. If I care about what I cook, then I should care about where it comes from.

But it didn’t start off picture-perfect. The first time I tried wild game, it was some poorly handled deer meat I got from a friend. It was tough, strong-tasting, and dry. I remember thinking, This is what people rave about?

I wasn’t impressed.

“ That’s when it clicked: treat the backcountry like your kitchen table. Slow down, cook wild, and create something meaningful.”

That changed when I harvested my first animal: a 6'2" black bear in the mountains of B.C. I made breakfast sausage from it, and it was unbelievable.

From that point on, I started taking real care with the meat I harvested, because it wasn’t just food. It was the memory of the animal, the hunt, the people on the trip, or my wife back home supporting me. It was about honouring the process all the way to the plate.

My journey with food has always mirrored my path in fitness. I’ve been a pretty decent athlete my whole life–triathlon, track, mountain biking, golf, and weightlifting. That lifestyle eventually led me into my career as a chiropractor and physiotherapist. It started with wanting to keep myself and my teammates moving. Now, that’s my job: helping athletes, from pros to weekend warriors, stay healthy, strong, and pain-free.

Food and fitness are both long games. There’s no shortcut. If I want to guide for weeks and then come back straight into clinic hours and training, I can’t rely on convenience food and expect my body to perform. I need real fuel. The kind you earn. The kind that fills your freezer and tells a story.

One of the most memorable meals of my life happened during a bowhunt on Haida Gwaii. We’d spent five days chasing Sitka blacktail in the alpine and were hiking down toward the coast to fish. We had two choices: slog through the steep rainforest in the dark, or stay high and make a meal. We chose the second option. That night we cooked tenderloins on a rock with a couple of close friends, overlooking the ocean. The flavour, the feeling, the moment–it was unforgettable. That’s when it clicked: treat the backcountry like your kitchen table. Slow down, cook wild, and create something meaningful.

So next time you’re out in the mountains, grinding up a steep face, or just standing in the grocery store, staring at the easy option–think about the long game. Think about what kind of fuel you want in the tank when life pushes you to redline. I have chosen the harder path: wild food, real ingredients, good movement.

It’s not just a choice. It’s a way of life. WH WESTERN HUNTER

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Bakcou Mule SD T H E N E X T G E N E R AT I O N O F E - B I K E S B Y J A M E S YAT E S

he evolution of e-bikes has been extremely rapid in the last 10 years. E-bikes were nearly completely unknown 10 years ago, and today there are so many options available. Trying to find a bike with all the right features and accessories for your style of riding and hunting can be daunting. I’ve been using e-bikes for hunting since 2016, and in that time I have used and owned e-bikes from four major brands.

The one that has stood the test of time for me is the Bakcou Mule. I bought my Bakcou Mule in 2019 and it’s been with me on many hunts all across the West. I’ve beat the crap out of this bike, and it just keeps going. I’ve been so satisfied with my 2019 Mule that I’ve never even considered upgrading.

That is until I caught wind of the new Bakcou Mule SD (Super Duty). New for 2025, Bakcou has completely redesigned the Mule, and I’ve had the privilege of testing one out this spring!

T

New Frame The first thing to discuss about the new SD Mule is the completely redesigned frame. There was nothing wrong with the old frame, this new frame is just better. First, you will notice that there is no upper cross tube, this means that it is a step-through design. That sounds like a nice way of saying this bike was designed for old grandpas who can’t swing their leg over the top tube. If that’s what you are thinking, you are horribly mistaken. This thing is burly and rugged, and the convenience of stepping through (the frame) to get on the bike versus swinging your leg over is actually really nice.

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What I appreciate the most about the elimination of the top tube is being able to dismount from the seat with both feet flat on the ground on either side of the bike without having that top tube jammed into my crotch, as happens with my 2019 Mule on a sloping trail. I straddle the bike like this often, while I am scouting, to glass intermittently as I cruise down a trail quickly, stopping as I go.

You will also notice right away that the battery is now contained inside the frame, which just adds to the protection of the battery (which is probably the single most expensive part of the bike). The battery is a 52V Samsung lithium-ion and has a 20 amp-hour capacity, but the cells have been upgraded to be more efficient. The new 20 amp-hour battery gives the same (if not a little more) output as the 25 amp-hour battery of a few years ago.

The feel of this new frame is night and day better than the old frame. The handlebars sit up a little higher and wider, and the end result is a more comfortable ride. Instead of feeling like your back is arching over to grab the handlebars, with the new SD Mule, your posture is much straighter, more upright, and more comfortable. The angle of the front wheel fork has changed on the new SD, and that helps with posture comfort as well.

New Display The other major frame change is the integrated display that is built directly into the handlebar stem. The display no longer sticks up and out and is just more sleek and rugged on the new SD. I’ll touch on that more later on.

// G E A R R E V I E W

New Hardware The new front fork shock has 20% more travel than the previous Mule and has an inverted (upside down) design. The inverted front fork offers increased rigidity, less flex, and improved handling/responsiveness for the rider. To accompany the front fork, the Mule SD (which is a hardtail model) has a new shock-absorbing suspension seat post. The old Mule had this, as well, but this new one has more travel and is more comfortable.

Rounding out the hardware, the new Mule SD has smaller upgrades across the board with bigger rotors, quad-piston hydraulic brakes, and best of all, a new 11-speed cassette (11tx42t vs 11tx36t) for better climbing.

Those bigger gears have really helped me tackle some steep terrain this spring. All of the cables for the brakes and shifting are internally routed inside the frame, which is a subtle but substantial improvement. The Mule SD continues to use the Bafang M620 Ultra smart torquesensing motor. This thing is undeniably the most capable and rugged mid-drive motor in the e-bike world. It is the best, and you can’t argue with me about that!

Speaking of the Bafang Ultra motor, the Mule SD has unique on-demand programming that allows for easy (at home) selection and modification of the e-bike classification selections (rules regulating the output and speed of the motor). This is easily changed right in the electronic display in the stem. You can easily switch between Class 1, Class 2, Class 3, and unrestricted modes to stay within the legal bounds of the area that you are riding. To further this, Bakcou has included an easily removable throttle for strict adherence to Class 1 rules.

Modularity and Accessories Arguably, the best part about the new SD series is how modular the system/frame is. If you have been a reader of Western Hunter for a few years, you likely read my review about the Bakcou Mule Jager. The Jager model has a Rohloff speed hub transmission in place of a conventional derailleur. I rave about this Rohloff hub. If in the

future you ever want to upgrade to the Rohloff speed hub on the Mule SD, that’s easy because of the modularity of the frame. The other thing that is so great about the system modularity is the accessories.

Do you want to double your battery capacity and go twice as far? Easy.

Bakcou has designed the rear rack to accommodate a quick-release 20 amphour battery pack. That is a total of 40 amp-hours of capacity! It snaps in and still gives you a rack to use for panniers or other accessories. Want a large and rigid basket to store and transport things? No problem. You can even install a rack on the front of the bike over the front tire.

Bakcou Connect The last feature that I want to cover on the new Mule SD is likely the most unique of all: Bakcou Connect. Bakcou Connect is a new, intuitive smartphone app that takes your user experience to the next level. The app links to the bike via satellite, which allows you to track the location, mileage, battery life, and health of the bike. You can even remotely disable the bike if it is ever stolen.

I think this is a great feature for the location tracking and remote disable functions. E-bikes are a big purchase and as hunters, we often lock them up and leave them unattended for hours (or days) as we hunt. The peace of mind that Bakcou Connect provides is worth the subscription price of $99 per year (the first year is free). Bakcou didn’t just stop with the Mule with the new SD series, they have also upgraded the Flatlander and the Kodiak models. Both of these bike models include many of the SD features described here.

Conclusion I’ve used e-bikes for hunting about as long as anyone. I’ve used enough of them to know which are built with the best components and how well the bike system works together. I’ve beaten the crap out of my 2019 Mule, so I know firsthand that Bakcou knows how to build an e-bike. This new SD Mule takes it to a whole new level. It truly is the latest and greatest generation of e-bikes from Bakcou with some outstanding improvements. WH TECHNICAL SPECS: Size: 24" and 26" Frame: Air-Craft 6061 Aluminum Alloy Battery: Integrated 52V - 20ah Lithium-Ion Battery with 52v / 4amp Smart Charger Display: Integrated Stem Display Suspension: Inverted High-Performance 120mm AIR Front Fork Cost: $5,799 Learn More: Bakcou.com WESTERN HUNTER

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Ancestral Pursuits Woven Into Present

BY CO DY B A R N E S

P H OT O S B Y N I C K H I G M A N

The familiar weight of a western saddle sat upon my hip. My angst is fixated on the rising of the sun and my desire to be down the trail. In the midst of saddling, a fine line of sweat has begun to develop across my brow. It’s August, an ideal time to be strolling the California wilderness for bears.

Hyperphagia is the season, and I’m hoping to capitalize on their inability to remain satisfied by a single meal. While this particular area isn’t known to be bear-dense, the idea of this state holding a conservative 65,000 bears has my hopes set high.

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A

s I lead my gelding to the trailhead, he sighs, sharply exhaling partially chewed hay across the back of my neck. Our initial departure is met by a large expanse of sagebrush steppe, which quickly gives way to channelized timber. The dry scraping of high desert habitat against my horse’s legs is replaced by the trickling of a creek surfacing from a nearby spring. With each stride, I peer left and right as though I’m reading through a glossary of new fauna which I’m still new to understanding. Our gait is too quick; I’m too new to this country. I’m too new to this species. I dismount and begin inspecting the landscape.

I realize quickly I’ve been passing up sign. Scat piles begin appearing as though they’ve been placed just for me to find. With each discovery, my grin widens.

Attempting to rein in my content, we continue down the drainage. I begin to lose myself in thought, scrolling through the Rolodex of clues we’ve come upon. My imagination is brought to a halt as the rein in my hand unexpectedly becomes taut. I look back to my gelding. His attentive ear and wide eye speak with more haste than words.

I quickly pan over to the location that’s captured his focus. Nothing. I continue to look, I hold my breath, I listen. The clarity of the surrounding noises becomes amplified. The stillness of our presence is as if we’re permanent fixtures on the landscape. Despite an attempt to blend in, our inability to camouflage is soon confirmed by the loud snap of timber and rhythmic gait of a juvenile color-phase bear fleeing the area. A single loud snort and steady rearward pressure on the rein remind me this is his first interaction with a bear. I lead him forward with reassurance that he is the larger of the two species. The reinforcing sound of smacking lips is followed by his forward momentum. I smile, knowing innate disposition can’t be taught.

Shortly down the trail, we’re met by a similar encounter. My excitement about this location has mounted–so much that I’ve gone most of the day with very little water or food. As we near our final descent to the mouth of the drainage, we’re met by the beauty of a winding creek, hidden amongst vibrant green willow.

The soil beneath our feet softens and transitions to open grasslands. The sprawling, open meadow seems the ideal spot to unsaddle and regurgitate thoughts of this successful preseason outing. I tether leather hobbles to his front legs and take cover under the shade of a single pine. My legs are tight, my horse is sweaty, and my heart is full.

With little restraint, the weeks pass by until I find myself parked at the same trailhead. I make no waste of time to highline my gelding amongst a pocket of aspen. Looking toward the sky, I forecast the amount of shade that’ll encompass him on what I hope is a long day of still-hunting the country below.

A puff of talcum powder reveals a lazy thermal headed down the drainage. I pause at the edge of steppe and timber and dial my scope to its lowest power. Momentarily, I ponder the decision to have brought such a setup.

My father’s iron-sighted Marlin .30-30 would’ve been a fine contender for such country.

“In this passing moment, I consider those who’ve wandered these woods before my time. I feel a sense of ancestral legacy– not the kind from familiar kin, but one inherited by simple human existence.

Traits, instincts, and behaviors that have perpetuated the survival of mankind for thousands of years.”

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As the darkness of timber envelopes my descent, I hug the creek’s edge. The moving water provides just enough noise to muddle my travel. Slow progress eventually leads me to the belly of the drainage where the ground has leveled. I check thermals and am reassured to see a very stagnant movement of powder. If there was a time to prepare myself for the imminent discharge of my rifle, it was now.

Metal-to-metal contact of lugs, bolt, and chamber brings my sense of awareness to a more heightened state. My forward movement decelerates yet again. As late morning hours set in, I find myself traversing duff and downed timber. I can feel myself losing the initial energy and focus which so steadily coursed my veins in the early morning hours.

Ahead I see an opening amongst a stand of thick alder, forcing me to naturally turn a bend. With little regard, I make the turn. Laid before my eyes is a solidly statured color phase bear.

We’re both in a state of surprise. Our locking gaze disintegrates in almost an instant before he turns in haste. The fleeting moment concludes with the dispatch of my rifle and a loud groan. The bear shoots forward, as though my projectile has sent him into a tailspin of energy to flee the area. Without hesitation, I begin running after him. The bruin quickly turns off-trail, crossing a portion of the creek. As I near his fleeting location, I observe forceful back-and-forth movement coming from a thick stand of alder.

In my rush to follow suit, I trip, falling to the ground. An old spool of barbed wire has quickly become the demise of expensive technical clothing.

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I assess my leg and move it with little pain. I make a beeline across the creek, where I find myself nearly face-to-face with the alder thicket, now containing a wounded bear. My position is poor. Should he decide to charge, I’ll have very few options to maneuver.

Glancing around, I realize a steep embankment is at my back–just enough to provide an elevated position. Each step up the embankment is met with two sliding down. The angle is sharp and the soil loose. An assisted hold of roots growing out of the embankment sidewall eventually allows me to scale the slope. I turn back toward the thicket, expelling my previously fired cartridge. I hear deep panting coming from amongst the dense alder. Quietly, I sit, hoping he will reveal himself and allow me to swiftly bring this hunt to an end.

Less than a stone’s throw away, the bear walks out. My rifle barks one final time. I briefly sit, allowing everything that’s just taken place to sink in. In this passing moment, I consider those who’ve wandered these woods before my time. I feel a sense of ancestral legacy–not the kind from familiar kin, but one inherited by simple human existence. Traits, instincts, and behaviors that have perpetuated the survival of mankind for thousands of years.

The woods feel quiet again. Kneeling next to the bear, I’m filled with gratitude, respect, awe, and other contradicting emotions that describe the feeling of taking an animal’s life. These experiences have filled more than space in my freezer–they will remain woven into the fabric of who I am and why I love this way of living. WH

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Garmin tactix 8

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

I’ve had a fascination with digital watches since they first hit the market, and yes, that was a long time ago. I still remember buying my first “sports watch,” a Timex Ironman, back in the mid-’80s. It had a light, a stopwatch, and could track eight lap times. That was it. Pretty simple, but I felt like a stud wearing it. Every time a new feature came out, I’d start saving for the next model. Heart rate monitor?

Had to have it. Step counter? Had to have it. GPS? Had to have it now. Before long, these watches were packed with dozens of features and required hours of reading and tutorials just to learn how to use them.

I’ve owned an iPhone since the 5 and use an iMac, iPad, and MacBook, so I understand the Apple user interface (UI) well. Still, I resisted buying an Apple Watch for years.

It seemed about as un-manly as a watch could get, and it was expensive. But when I learned I could control all the apps on the watch through my phone, I gave in and bought one.

// G E A R R E V I E W

Apples and Oranges At the time, I had been using a Garmin Instinct Solar, which could run for nearly a month with its built-in solar charger. By comparison, the Apple Watch only lasted 36 hours between charges. That just didn’t cut it, especially during hunting season.

Then, Garmin introduced the tactix 8. It solved every problem I’d had and added even more functionality, all wrapped in a rugged, great-looking design.

The free Garmin Connect app can be downloaded to your phone, allowing you to manage all the watch’s settings and build a personalized dashboard.

Mine shows heart rate, intensity minutes, steps and distance, active and resting calories burned, elevation changes (floors), and sleep quality.

The tactix 8 feels like having a full-time personal trainer right on your wrist. There are dozens of built-in workout programs to choose from. As a hunter, I particularly appreciate the hiking, rucking, and HIIT workouts, but no matter what activity you choose, the watch monitors, measures, and manages it all. The system’s core is Garmin’s latest-generation optical heart rate

sensor. With multi-wavelength LEDs, it delivers more accurate readings during high-motion activities and across all skin tones. For even greater accuracy, Garmin offers a compatible chest strap, the HRM-Pro ($129.99).

If you’re a golfer, don’t worry. Garmin’s famous golf course database is also included in this tactical watch.

Wearable Solutions Garmin also partnered with Applied Ballistics to bring advanced shooting data straight to your wrist. The watch can pair with your phone or directly with a laser rangefinder, creating an intuitive, easy-to-read shooting solution. Competitive shooters will be glad to find a dedicated stage timer app, perfect for both practice sessions and real NRL matches.

For me, though, the battery life sealed the deal. The tactix 8 can run for more than two weeks on a single charge with normal use. Even with the GPS running most of the day, I can still get over a week between charges.

When it’s time to plug in, the watch fully recharges in about one hour.

This article barely scratches the surface of what this watch can do; there are over 50 applications with multiple subcategories under each. When you pack this much technology into a wristwatch that is water submersible to 100', it comes with a price, and that price is $1299. Given my watch buying history, I would be kidding myself to say this is the last timepiece I will ever buy, but I can’t think of one thing the tactix 8 doesn’t excel at.

Garmin does offer dozens of other beautiful watches with a few less features at a lower price, especially if you are not interested in the Applied Ballistics collaboration. The Fenix 8, for example, is very comparable at $799.

The Garmin website is extremely user-friendly and will help you find the perfect watch for you.

Final Verdict The Garmin tactix 8 isn’t designed for everyone, and that’s exactly what makes it special. It’s not meant for office meetings or casual jogs. It’s built for serious users who need reliability, precision, and durability. For hunters, especially those who value stealth, navigation tools, performance data, and rugged construction, this is one of the most capable pieces of gear you can wear. WH WESTERN HUNTER

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Generations Apart Some inherit money. Others, land.

I inherited a rifle scope.

BY K E V I N G U I L L EN

A Leupold Vari-X II, built seven years before I was born. It’s simple by today’s standards–no big turrets, no illumination, no range-finding wizardry. A simple, well-built piece of equipment crafted by American hands with the latest innovation of its time. But through that glass, I saw the beginnings of who I would become. As the technology evolved, so did I–both shaped by time, experience, and an insatiable appetite for the knowledge I didn’t yet have.

My grandfather, from whom I inherited this scope, wasn’t much of a hunter. To my knowledge, this scope and the .270 Ruger M77 that it was mounted on only made it into the woods on a handful of deer hunts.

I didn’t grow up with stories of big bucks or the great adventures my grandfather had with this rifle. In fact, I didn’t grow up with any stories about it at all. What I do remember as clear as day was an instant fascination and curiosity about this rifle and scope. For years, when I would visit my grandparents, I would ask him to show it to me. He’d pull aside the shirts and pants hanging in his closet where he kept it, open the bolt, and help his seven-year-old grandson shoulder the rifle that was too much gun for him, and would be for several more years.

He passed away when I was 16, and I inherited that rifle and scope.

It wasn’t until college that I began taking it to the range and obsessing over shooting tighter groups and greater distances. Today, I can’t help but smirk at how little I really knew back then–and at the old gear I used to build that early understanding. The elevation turret used tension instead of clicks. It had no parallax adjustment, a crisp but simple reticle, and a humble 3-9x magnification range. In those early days behind that scope, I hadn’t killed my first deer yet, I knew little about ballistics, rifle scopes, firearms, or the mechanics and skill of shooting. Yet, I felt my curiosity racing towards passion.

These days, much like the Leupold VX-6HD Gen II that sits on my rifle, I’m a hunter shaped by seasons in the field, hours on the range, and lessons learned the hard way. The gear has evolved, but so have I. The Vari-X II taught me to rely on fundamentals–skills that still serve me well. But the VX-6HD reflects how far I’ve come. What used to be guesswork is now measured. What used to be luck is now preparation.

I know how to read wind, dial for elevation, compensate for angle, and push a rifle further than I ever imagined back when I was that kid standing in my grandfather’s bedroom, cradling a rifle I couldn’t quite hold up.

The scope I inherited will always remind me where I started. The one I use now reminds me how far there still is to go. WH

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The Red

A Legacy of Wood and Metal

BY ED G A R C A STI L LO

A father handing down a shotgun to his child is a significant event, often rooted in a desire to pass down an instrument that goes beyond a tool for just bird hunting. The act symbolizes the transfer of family history, building tradition, and the preservation of the shared sentimental reminiscences that have been established through its uses. The long-lasting impacts the shotgun has endured afield make it a living heirloom. A legacy made of wood and metal.

It was the late 1980s, and I remember seeing my father’s reaction when he was handed the white cardboard box with the red phoenix emblazoned in the center. His dimpled smile was a rare display of emotion. The wait was finally over. We’d been visiting the local Olathe Gun Shop weekly for a few months so he could put down layaway money on the $1,100 price tag.

He had made regular efforts to stop by and see, feel, and hold the Ruger Red Label over/under.

He’d chosen the 12-gauge model, but in later years he would confide in me that he should’ve bought the lighter 20-bore.

“The Red”

No time was wasted when we got home. I was a mere teenager, but my father’s giddiness was youthlike as he uncased the over/under shotgun. I watched him carefully manage “The Red,” as it came to be known. The highly polished stainless steel receiver and hammer-forged barrels were connected with precision. The long, blue stacked tubes glinted from the bouncing light of the room. The gleaming finished wooden butt stock and forend were made from American walnut and glistened as he dabbed drops of Hoppe’s oil onto them. Details such as intersecting checkering on the pistol grip and a multi-point scalloped design on the forend gave it a classy look and helped with grasping the shotgun. Appealing to the eye The Red was. It was simply an artistic mix of forged alloy and lumber assembled to shoot birds.

My father continued wiping down the gun, coating its barrels lightly with oil and strategically placing lubricant where metal-on-metal friction occurred. It was The Red’s initial baptism by gun oil, as he put it. He spoke of the importance of maintaining a clean and functioning shotgun. It was one of many lessons he shared with me.

He must’ve sensed my gaze, as he stopped and gently presented me the shotgun. Immediately, the weight of almost eight pounds was felt. One of its few, if any cumbersome negatives indicated by overly persnickety naysayers.

I swung the shotgun, tracking an invisible bobwhite quail.“Bang,” I said.

Unbeknownst to me, that would be the last time I would hold The Red.

From Afar

My affair with The Red would be one of admiration, done at a distance. My father had a strict discipline that he instilled in me. I had to become proficient with pumps and semi-autos before I could move on to an over/under.

The kicker was that I outshot him consistently and never arrived at that point. The Red made its mark across the Kansas uplands for nearly three decades. It shot down and whiffed on a number of ringnecks and bobs. The shotgun did double duty in the marsh as his waterfowl gun as well as in the September dove fields.

My mother cringed at him using such an expensive gun in harsh conditions. His cavalier attitude was that the shotgun was made to hunt with and, by gosh, that’s what he was going to do. It impressed me my father was not afraid to bust through thickets and heavy cover while he carried the Ruger Red Label. Neither rain nor snow deterred its use in the field. As years passed, he and I shared countless fields and duck blinds. I found myself wondering how it would feel to carry The Red and to shoot it on flushing birds. It was an unspoken rule that only he could touch it, carry it, shoot it.

Or so I thought.

I discovered that others were not immune to The Red’s allure. The shotgun’s shiny receiver served as an accent to the deep, lustrous wood that caught people’s attention. Many family members, friends, and strangers were drawn to The Red. Though I expected my father to shoo them away, he openly allowed the shotgun to be handled and even shot! The shotgun, however, never found its way to me. I never asked. I continued to admire The Red from afar.

“Abrelo”

Everything would change on Christmas Eve in 2014. Being born and raised in Central America, our cultural and family traditions had us celebrating at midnight. After calling family members in Guatemala and Spain, we congregated downstairs for my father to enact his patriarchal duties and facilitate the passing out of gifts. In Spanish, he instructed everyone to quiet down and take a seat as he went back upstairs. I caught a glimpse of my mother looking at him in a whimsical way. His footsteps signaled his return.

My father was carrying an old, worn-out, brown fabric with fringed ends.

It was the towel he wrapped The Red in before he put it away in its case.

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“Abrelo.” – “Open it.” he said in Spanish as he gently placed it in my lap. I was confused as I pulled back the towel and saw The Red. There before me was the wooden stock. I could smell remnants of linseed oil. The barrels hinted of Hoppe’s No. 9. Both aromas permeated the airspace, and they mixed and filled the room with a sweet odor. I was bewildered. I asked myself, did he want me to clean it before we started opening gifts?

“La escopeta es tuya ahora. Es su tiempo pa’ ser memorias.” – “The shotgun is yours now. It’s your time to make memories with it.” Tears formed and ran down my face. He knelt down and put the pieces together, opened up the action like he had done hundreds of times, and checked the barrels to make sure no shotshells were present. With a firm snap of the action, he closed the shotgun and presented it to me.

With outstretched arms, I grabbed The Red. I immediately felt the warmth that wood gives off, offset by the coolness of the metal receiver in my hands. In an instant, I swung the over/under at an imaginary bird just like I had done many years before. He watched me, as fathers do when their young sons do something for the first time, however, I was a grown man at forty-three years old. He pulled me close, and we hugged. There was not a dry eye in the room.

My strange emotional attachment to The Red had come full circle. Within a week, I found myself walking alone across a wintry landscape in pursuit of December roosters. The Ruger Red Label connected easily on a couple of ringnecks for its inauguration into my life. The over/under managed to squeeze in a couple of late-season predawn hours as it saw action during unwavering weather patterns while duck hunting. Its powerful recoil was becoming customary as quail fell to the shotgun’s lethality while I busted through plum thickets in pursuit of coveys.

By season’s end, prairie chickens rounded out The Red’s induction across the Kansas uplands as I made up almost three decades of lost time. Its physical sensation captivated me as I carried it. There was no awkwardness in the twelve-gauge’s bulk, as it swung smoothly, and its aim was true. A familiarity was growing as the shotgun became an extension of me.

As the years progressed, The Red was taken to places where most bird hunters wouldn’t take such a valued shotgun. The shotgun was carried, hauled, and used in a wide range of environments and conditions. It was ferried across Arizona for desert quail, over vast Wyoming sage flats for sage grouse, shrubby draws in Montana for sharptails, up Colorado mountains for Duskies, and countless other states.

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Stories and Scars

Through care, The Red maintained its remarkable condition, even with heavy use.

On occasion, I would observe a slight nick, a new barbed-wire scratch, or an occasional blemish on the wood. My father would say that I was adding my own chapters and stories. The shotgun had been a bridge, made of steel and crafted walnut, between my father and me, as it transcended each of our generations. It has been a focal point of shared memories, tall tales, and inheritance.

The shotgun has fostered a deeper understanding of the uplands, its gamebirds, and my relationship with my father. To this day, The Red has continued to keep the allure and mystique it had when I was but an observer of its use.

The Red became a tangible object of my father’s patrimony. Something to hold in my hands that was a constant reminder of his presence. This especially rang true during those times he couldn’t hunt with me. I dread the day when he can no longer accompany me along a fenceline or share a blind with me, but I know it’s near. It’s comforting to know that his spirit will be there with me through The Red. The Ruger Red Label debuted in 1977 and was the last domestically produced over/under made when it was discontinued in 2015. It remains a distinctly soughtafter shotgun, giving it even more relevance. My father not only passed onto me a high-quality shotgun but paid it forward with the legacy he built wingshooting with it. He imparted me with a sentimental and physical connection we both have experienced by carrying the shotgun. What has become of the double-barrel?

Well, it continues to transcend locales where most wouldn’t dare take such a shotgun. Someday, I will have to decide who to pass it on to, but until then... it will continue to be an accompaniment as I search for wild birds in wild places.

Oh, one final thing. You may have wondered what shotgun my father used after he bestowed The Red on me. Well, soon afterward, he pulled out a very nice and fancy Spanish double that made my “new” shotgun look like an ol’ scattergun.

He proceeded to say in Spanish, “No, no puedes tocarla o usarla. La escopeta es mia.” – “No, you can’t touch it or shoot it. The shotgun is mine.” I had no words.

I was dumbfounded. WH

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Hearing Protection Matters (Unless You Want to Spend the Rest of Your Life Saying “Huh?”)

B Y P E D R A M PA R V I N

hen it comes to shooting, the most overlooked piece of equipment is often the one that could save you from a lifetime of regret: quality hearing protection.

I’ve seen it all–fingers stuffed in ears, makeshift earplugs fashioned out of crumpled tissue, and cheap foam plugs from the nearest gas station. Sure, they’re better than nothing, but if you’re running top-tier gear–expensive rifles, upgraded triggers, and premium optics that cost more than your first car, and still relying on $2 foam plugs... then you’re doing it wrong.

Whether you’re out hunting, dialing in your shot at a local range, attending a long-range shooting course, or competing in an NRL Hunter or PRS match–your hearing is one of your most valuable assets. And once it’s gone, you can’t just go to the nearest Bass Pro Shops and pick up a new set of ears. That ringing in your ears after a day of unprotected shooting? That’s your hearing cashing out early, and the truth is, tinnitus–that constant ringing you’ll never escape–isn’t a badge of honor. It’s a thief that steals from your quality of life, often in ways you don’t fully realize until it’s too late.

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The Truth About Noise Exposure (Hint: It’s Worse Than You Think) You might think, “I don’t shoot that much without protection so I’m safe from permanent damage, right?”

Wrong.

The average rifle shot can range from 150-170 decibels, which is way above the 120 decibel threshold where hearing damage occurs. For reference, safe everyday sounds hover around 70–85 decibels. So, even a single shot without proper ear protection can cause irreversible damage. Plus, when we’re at the range or in a match we’re shooting way more than one shot–you can see how those could add up pretty quick.

If you’re serious about protecting your hearing and staying sharp, electronic hearing protection is the best way to go. These devices let you hear what you need to hear while blocking out harmful sounds. The market is flooded with options, ranging from in-ear to over-the-ear models, but not all are created equal. In-ear models are often more affordable but lack the durability for extended use. Over-the-ear models are more rugged, comfortable, and built to last, even under heavy use. Sure, they come with a higher price tag, but they’re an investment in your ears, and they’ll serve you for years. That’s where the Safariland Liberator HP 2.0 stands out.

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// G E A R R E V I E W

TECHNICAL SPECS: Noise Reduction: Rating of 26dB Battery Life: 160-300 Hours Battery Type: Two AAA or One CR123 Three Hearing Protection Modes: ENHANCED: Blocks dangerous impulse noise, while enhancing nearby speech and audio. MOVE: Blocks all external noise. CLARITY: Blocks all external noise, while enhancing nearby speech and audio.

Cost: $360-$525 (depending on configuration) Learn More: Safariland.com

Why the Safariland Liberator HP 2.0 Reigns Supreme I have used a lot of hearing protection over the years. My previous pair, a popular over-the-ear model, was demoted to my back up pair. It did an adequate job, but after switching to the Safariland Liberator HP 2.0, I was blown away by the quality difference.

I’ve spent long days on the range and at an NRL Hunter match, where shooting was happening constantly around me and clear comms were necessary, and my ears never felt better. I can clearly see why it’s used and preferred by so many law enforcement and military units around the world.

Here’s why I liked them:

Long Battery Life You won’t be scrambling for fresh batteries mid-match or at the range.

With up to 300 hours of runtime on just two AAA batteries or one CR123 battery, the Liberators outlast just about everything. There’s a rechargeable battery setup option too, but I prefer using the physical batteries.

Situational Awareness It offers active noise reduction and real-time sound localization, which is crucial when you need to hear everything around you–footsteps, radio chatter, even a whisper from your spotter saying, “The buck’s bedded at 200 yards.” Three customizable modes–Enhanced, Move, and Clarity–instantly reduce dangerous impulse noises while enhancing important sounds. No more missed communications.

All Day Comfort It’s easy to forget you’re even wearing them. The padded headband and contoured ear cups provide a snug fit, and the low-profile design won’t interfere with your cheek weld on your rifle stock. After a long day of shooting, you’ll take them off and be amazed at how much you were hearing all along.

The only drawback that I can think about for these so far is the cost, but you really do get what you pay for. It may not be in the price range for everyone, but if you can afford it, care about your hearing, and want to protect it for the long haul, the Safariland Liberator HP 2.0 is my confident recommendation. It’s comfortable, durable, and most importantly, it preserves your ability to hear what matters. No matter what brand or model you decide to choose, just remember one thing: Protect your ears. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck answering everything with a confused, “Huh?” for the rest of your life. WH

Built Like a Tank These aren’t just tough; they’re practically indestructible. Made in the USA, water-resistant, shockproof, and field-tested in some of the toughest tactical environments in the world–these things thrive in mud, rain, and whatever else nature throws at you. Plus, you can convert it to a behind-your-head or over-your-helmet setup.

Clear Communication They come equipped with an integrated mic system, so you can plug into a radio or simply chat with your hunting buddy without shouting across the ridge. The clarity is clear, crisp, and unmatched from my experience–no more sounding like you’re trying to talk while at a loud concert.

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Failure as Fuel Heirloom lessons that build strength of character B Y H E AT H S E I N E R

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I was extremely fortunate as a child to have been touched by many fingerprints that guided me down a lifetime of outdoor pursuits. Great Grandma carried me into the field to check trap lines, Grandma tended the garden with me by her side, my first outof-state hunt was with Grandpa, Dad shared the traditions of our whitetail openers, and my uncle introduced me to the booming gobble of spring longbeards. As with most experiences in life, the passing of time has opened my eyes to those remarkable childhood experiences, the wisdom that was shared, and the legacy so many individuals left in my care.

Those lessons freely given to that young boy now rest within a man, a father of daughters, and are mixed with experiences of my own gained in the field. The burden seems to weigh heavier with each hunting season to ensure I honor those who invested in me.

Not in dollars, but in a way of life that spans generations that simply cannot be bought.

A perpetual nagging from the past fuels a purpose within to keep aged traditions alive and ensure the flames of history remain stoked.

Easing Into It

When the time came, I hoisted my daughters onto my shoulders and carried them, along with gear, snacks... lots of snacks, and juice, into the deer woods. Unfortunately, we never stumbled upon a whitetail blind and deaf to the continuous chatter, crinkling snack wrappers, and the smashing of leaves. As each season passed, they continued to tag along, enjoy fresh deer sausage, and absorb much more than I realized. The moment snuck up at the close of a season several years ago, like a big buck that seemingly materializes from the shadows–my youngest determined she was ready to fill her own tag.

We spent the off-season in preparation, gaining a hunter safety certification, spending time at the range, installing food plots, and clearing shooting lanes. My intention was to pave the way to a successful hunt and ensure my daughter bagged her first whitetail. As we crept ever closer to the opener, my mind raced with various scenarios of how things might unfold. A proud dad moment almost certainly awaited. I was confident we’d soon be notching a tag, reliving that memorable moment with family and friends, grinding up some fresh sausage, and banking a forever memory. “The best-laid plans of mice and men, they often go awry,” as the poet once penned down.

Our season opened on a crisp and calm November morning. The Missouri deer woods, blanketed by frost, sparkled like a sea of diamonds as the rising sun began to slice through the oaks, which had dropped their canopy weeks before. We nestled into one end of a long and narrow draw which held native grasses growing between two hardwood thickets, providing solid cover and food for deer in our area. The landscape formed a perfect corridor for whitetail on the move, a gently flowing creek slightly below us to the north and a naturally elevated bench to the south. Our opening morning hunt ended with glimpses of brown ghosts slipping effortlessly through the timber, deer skirting the shadowy edges of transitional cover, and the occasional sound of leaves rustling in the distance.

Armed with knowledge from that morning’s hunt, we quietly slipped our way further into the draw and leveraged an old brush pile as natural cover for our evening hunt. Anticipation was high as we settled in. My eyes scanned east as she faced west, ensuring the draw was covered. The warm afternoon sun melted into the western horizon and the wind all but evaporated. A hush fell over the woods and a chill nipped at our faces. A whisper broke the silence, “It’s a buck...”

“ Rifles handed down hold stories in the worn edges.”

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Crafting Character

I could see her eyes were locked in, following movement through the native grass. I soon heard the familiar “click” of the safety. “Breathe... take your time...” was my advice for her, and myself, in that heart-racing moment. In the end, shots were fired, and when the dust settled, there was no blood to be found. The disappointment reverberated throughout the rest of the season, and I worried whether the season’s struggle to fill a tag would diminish the long-term interest.

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Failure became the fuel that inspired the follow-up season. Leading up to the opener, while checking cattle on the farm, my dad had put eyes on a buck and passed the details on to his granddaughter. Scouting the area we believed the deer were using to bed up during the day, we developed a game plan based on wind direction and available cover. Within minutes of settling in for the hunt, antlers began bobbing through the thick brushy cover heading towards our makeshift ground blind.

My heart raced, adrenaline surged, and I began whispering directions while memories of last season flooded my mind. She whispered, “Shhh, I’ve got this.” After a few slow, deep breaths followed by a gentle “click” of the safety, a shot rang out that found its mark. The bolt cycled rapidly, and within seconds, another round struck true, ensuring a quick and ethical kill.

Practice rebuilt confidence. A bit of luck never hurts, but climbing back in the saddle provided the opportunity. From a father’s perspective, through spending time in the field with my daughters, I’ve come to realize it’s imperative that we let our children fail, struggle in the pursuit, and strive to persevere. It’s those trials that forge true grit and ignite the flames of determination. The challenge to overcome instills the true value of the hunt, a lifelong respect for the animal, and, most importantly, that the true reward isn’t defined by the tag filled or limit taken.

Bloodlines

I contend we should all be so fortunate as to witness our children fall, pick themselves back up, wipe the sweat from their brow with a sleeve, dust the dirt off with each hard lesson, and press forward into the fray. For in those moments, we will know our future remains strong, resilient, and ready to carry our legacy forward while forging a new one of their own. WH

The Trail Ahead...

Eight Lessons for a Lifetime of Stewardship B Y G E O R G E B E T TA S

W

ith the rapid changes that are upon us today, we have no idea what changes will come in the future. We are living in an era where everything is changing exponentially to the point where it is a challenge to simply keep up with the positive changes that enhance the hunting and outdoor experience. In addition to enhancing our treasured hunting values, ethics, and overall experiences, these changes are designed to make the hunting experience easier and more “efficient.”

These changes push the hunting experience far from age-old traditions and customs to the point where hunters can become simply opportunists. Reflecting upon the hunting and life experiences of grandparents will help us reaffirm the important life lessons and hunting ethics that have been developed over the lifetime of today’s grandparents. Passing on these lessons from life will provide the foundation for our grandchildren to build upon, learn, grow, and learn to cherish their outdoor experiences.

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#2: Approach Change with an Open Mind

Change is always difficult, regardless of how it impacts you. You will be confronted with some changes that will be beneficial to you and help you grow as a person or professional. Some will be possible to modify or minimize, and others may be worked through so they are more acceptable or tolerable.

How you approach change will make a huge difference in how it affects you.

An attitude of “making lemonade out of lemons” will likely transform change into an opportunity for learning and growth, even if the change initially seems negative. Managing change, both personally and professionally, can involve talking with the individuals being affected by it about its need and its benefits. It may involve modifications to timelines and negotiations between the affected parties to make the changes more acceptable, but lemonade is always better than lemons!

#3: Preserve Our Ethics

#1: Be Nice

It is often easier to be critical, get angry, and fight in today’s world than it is to be calm, positive, and take on challenges with a positive mental attitude.

It’s not always easy to be that way, but in the end, the success that may be attributed to a positive mental attitude and collaborative problem-solving almost always leads to durable and long-lasting solutions. The alternative leads to continuing conflict and long-lasting animosities.

Individuals who go through life without a positive mental attitude often see life through a lens that dwells upon the negative side of situations that they encounter. For them, the glass is half-empty instead of being half-full when new opportunities and challenges are presented. Individuals with a positive mental attitude about life are often happier and more productive than those who have a negative attitude about life and often, themselves.

Positive people are often excellent leaders who have high expectations of themselves and others, and they inspire others to attain goals that may not have been possible without a good attitude. These leaders often convey their expectations of others with sincerity and a smile. The life lesson is: Be nice.

It will pay back in many positive ways.

Ethics are the guidelines that provide boundaries for our decision-making whenever we are faced with making choices in life. Personal ethics relate to how we interact with others, including our parents, family, and teachers, while other ethics relate to decisions we make in school and professionally.

We are taught these ethics by our families, teachers, and mentors throughout life. Land ethics are the guidelines that apply to our behavior when we are out in the mountains and public lands of our country.

These ethics are learned from our mentors, scout leaders, and hunting and conservation organizations. Essentially, land ethics involve “taking good care of the land,” whether it is public land or land that our family owns. Taking good care of it is more important than ever, especially as the rapid changes upon us will continue to increase the pressure to privatize the public lands that our forefathers set aside for all of us to enjoy. Whether you live in a city or rural areas, these public lands are yours and will provide you with opportunities for adventures and experiences that you may never have envisioned.

Hunting and fishing provide very important opportunities for you to enjoy on our public and private lands in America. These activities have a special series of ethics and laws that govern our conduct. We are required to follow the hunting and fishing laws and regulations, but in addition, there are personal ethics that relate to how we conduct ourselves. What may be legal may not always be ethical when personal ethics are considered.

The “Fair Chase” ethic, which originated with President Teddy Roosevelt and the Boone and Crockett Club, has to do with giving the animal you are hunting a reasonable opportunity to escape. The “chase” is the most important aspect of any hunting situation. Therefore, hunting animals in “escapeproof ” enclosures is unfair and violates the principle of “Fair Chase.”

A grandfather’s advice is to always make the highest ethical choice, especially when no one is watching.

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Think about the joy of planning and preparing for the hunt. The special experiences in nature that add important qualitative values to the hunt, the new knowledge a person may learn related to the use of horses and mules on the trip, or the feelings of success related to backpacking into a remote wilderness area all add to the overall success of the trip. Hunting with someone who is not happy until he bags something is a miserable experience for both him and you.

#6: Understand Firearms

#4: Have Respect

Respect is a value we learn as children, beginning with our parents and extending throughout our family, others who care for us or become our mentors, and other groups or individuals who have had a positive influence upon our lives. Respect extends to the natural environment and how we engage with it, as well as the wildlife that thrives there. Nature’s bounty signifies the abundant resources that are found in the natural world and contribute to an ecosystem’s sustainability and richness.

Respect is involved when we engage with the mountains, rivers, oceans, and other natural resources.

It simply means taking good care of our natural resources, regardless of how we are using them.

Hunting instills in young people a respect for nature and what is out there in the natural world. While hunting, when we take the life of a wild animal or bird, we do it with respect for the animal or bird, by taking only clean, killing shots, then carefully retrieving, handling, and harvesting the meat promptly to avoid waste.

Hunting provides young people with a kind of love and respect that is learned only through mentoring by an adult and experiencing it first-hand and also requires respect for others one may encounter while afield. A positive mental attitude will involve working with others, rather than competing with them for a “special spot.” Hunting involves respect for nature, for the land, for wildlife, and for other people.

#5: Don’t Get “Skunked”

Getting skunked means being shut out or overwhelmingly defeated. The term has been around since 1831, and in sports, it means an overwhelming defeat by the opposing team. In hunting and fishing, it is often used to describe not catching fish or bagging whatever bird or animal one may be hunting.

Hunters who go through life with the attitude that if they were unable to “get something,” they got “skunked” are hunting or fishing for the wrong reasons. Although bagging a particular quarry is an important part of the pursuit, it is not the most important, and the use of the term degrades all of the other special aspects involved in the hunt.

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Firearms have been part of American culture since the first colonists arrived in Jamestown in 1607. Firearms were originally practical tools, but as the United States developed, the American gun culture changed to include recreational shooting, gun collecting, and hunting as a sport. Recently, the gun culture has shifted from recreational and leisure pastimes to armed self-defense. Today, firearms are embedded in our culture to the point where it will serve you to be well-versed in firearms safety and proper use, whether you become an enthusiast or not.

From a safety perspective, I highly encourage you to absorb any information you can related to how guns function. The safety rules passed down alongside the traditions of hunting will, without a doubt, prevent accidents. Safe recreational firearm use can lead to a lifetime of positive outdoor experiences involving hunting and various forms of target shooting.

Unfortunately, we have gun violence in our country. Knowledge of firearms and the social issues behind gun violence will be helpful in understanding and avoiding dangerous situations.

#7: Take Pride in Our Country

Our grandparents grew up in a world where wars were often a life-altering experience for them.

They learned from the hardships created by unrest and war during their lifetimes. Your grandparents served in the US Armed Forces during these times and made sacrifices ranging from death to serious mental injuries. Understanding and appreciating what our forefathers sacrificed in order for us to have the freedom we enjoy today is a vital part of being an American. Learn to honor our flag, our pledge of allegiance, and our national anthem, for they are essential to living in a free, democratic America.

#8: Honor Your Parents and Grandparents

Your parents and grandparents care greatly about you and are the reason you are living in a free country, despite our social and economic challenges today. Your positive mental attitude is imperative throughout your life, regardless of the joys and the hardships you may encounter. WH

K 9 At h l e t e ®

BECAUSE ‘GOOD ENOUGH’ ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH —for Them or You.

WILDERNESSATHLE TE.COM

// T H E L I B R A R Y

Listen and Learn: Books and Podcasts Worth Your Time Apache Wars by Paul Andrew Hutton

A thrilling account of the struggle for control of the territories of the Southwestern US. This book shares stories from some of the most famous characters of the region with vivid descriptions of adventure, battle, and the unforgiving landscape that so much blood was spilled over.

Alaska’s Wolf Man by Jim Rearden

Learn about the life of one of the most interesting men ever to traverse the frontier state. Stories about the adventures and jobs of a government wolf trapper in the 1960s. The man bred wolf-dogs and used them to lure other wolves in so he could shoot them. I mean, come on, how cool is that? He also walked from Valdez to Fairbanks with a wooden pack board and boots that most of us wouldn’t walk our dog in.

Hunt Backcountry Podcast #515 Hunting with 6mm Creedmoor

Great listen for those who may be thinking about shooting smaller calibers at big game. The guys at Exo Mtn Gear killed multiple moose and caribou with a 6mm Creedmoor last year.

They discuss their experiences and what they will be using in the future.

The Joe Rogan Experience #2172 Sebastian Junger

Former war reporter and creator of the Academy Awardnominated documentary “Restrepo” explains his experience with his own “death” and how it changed his life. This is the only podcast I’ve listened to in many years that truly changed my outlook on life and death.

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// F E AT U R E D A R T I S T

south cox Of Stalker stick Bows WHM: Please give a bit of info about you–where you grew up, where you live

now, how you got started with your work.

South: I was born and raised in northern California and started shooting a

bow in 1974 when I was five years old after I found an old wood recurve under a neighbor’s house. I grew up in a hippie family of artists of various mediums. My mother was a vegetarian, but I’d acquired a taste for meat early on, and this only fanned the flames of my interest in hunting I’d somehow discovered My love for woodworking and building things started out about the same time. As I grew up, I spent a lot of time in my father’s woodshop. My family homesteaded several times throughout my early life, giving me ample opportunities to increase my woodworking skills. As my passion for woodworking grew, so did my interest in hunting. I shot my first deer with a compound bow in 1985; if I wasn’t addicted by then, my love for bowhunting had taken over my life. As I launched into adulthood, I got a job doing hardwood floors, stairs, and handrails. At the same time, I started backpack hunting for black-tailed deer–later finding my true passion, bowhunting mule deer. In 2007, I was able to buy Stalker Stickbows from a friend. It’d been dormant for a decade. I spent the next five years honing my skills as a bowyer and rebuilding the company as I wound down my construction business.

WHM: How has hunting influenced your work?

South: Prior to the bow business acquisition, I’d been happily hunting with

a compound bow. I’m not going to lie, I knew how much more challenging hunting with a traditional bow was going to be. My biggest concern was I was going to have to go back to eating tofu. I’d been fortunate in my former woodworking career, getting to work on a lot of high-end houses and having an outlet to express my creativity through my work. Building bows became a new canvas for me to express my creativity in both design and utilizing a wide range of woods from most continents on the planet. The longer I’ve been a bowyer, the deeper my passion for it has grown. The opportunity to blend my two greatest passions has been one of the biggest gifts I’ve been blessed with.

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WHM: What makes your work unique?

South: It took me years before I began to acknowledge myself as an “artist”

instead of just a woodworker. To me, cutting and gluing pieces of wood together just didn’t qualify. As time has passed and I’ve developed many different bow models and designs and I’ve watched many of my fellow bowyers do the same, I’ve come to understand that we are all artists of varying degrees.

I’ve carved out a bit of a niche, becoming known for having some of the most unique and highly-figured woods that God has created. One of my favorite parts of building bows is sourcing the woods from around the world and then individually selecting the pieces for each customer’s build.

Though the canvas is somewhat limited, I think one would have a hard time not acknowledging that they are not functional art pieces.

WHM: What is your favorite hunting memory?

South: I love the struggle one experiences on a backcountry hunt. The longer

and more challenging the hunt is, the greater it ranks in memories. When you limit yourself to a more primitive weapon, it provides ample opportunities to create lots of those types of experiences. In 2016, I was hunting with four friends; a couple of buddies who were carrying compounds, a friend who was along to video the hunt, and a photographer.

Over the course of 10 days, first one, then the other buddy had both tagged out and left, along with the photographer. What had once been a lively camp had slowly dwindled to myself and my cameraman. As camp got quieter, so did the hunting opportunities, as we’d pushed most of the deer within a large radius of camp. As the hunt neared its close, I was facing the likely reality of eating my tag. The exodus of the rest of the party only exacerbated the feelings of loneliness and desperation.

Late in the day on the next to the last day of the hunt, I found a group of bucks bedded in a willow patch on the far ridge. I was able to worm my way through the willows and got to the edge of the group. I had tension on the string as I waited for one of the largest bucks of the group to clear a small jackpine. He was slowly feeding closer to me when I noticed an old, regressed buck below me.

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We’d been watching him through the week–massive-bodied with heavy, stunted antlers–carrying seven points on each side. Though he was smaller in antler and wouldn’t score as well, I did something I never do, I shifted from the more certain opportunity to one that I hoped would come together.

The gamble paid off when I was able to take the buck with a 15-yard shot.

As the shadows lengthened, I got to absorb all the feelings one experiences when you hit that last-minute buzzer shot and share it with Wes Smith, my cameraman. You can watch the hunt “Blessed” on the Stalker Stickbows YouTube channel.

WHM: What is your favorite piece you’ve done?

South: [Laughs] Almost every month I build my new favorite piece. I have

built so many bows that I have struggled to ship out, wanting instead to add them to my own collection. I love it when I find a new wood species to work with or stumble into an exceptional piece of figured wood. I love wood with character. It takes me the same amount of effort to make a bow from a 2x4 as it does from beautiful materials. I love building bows with stories behind them, whether a customer comes to my shop and personally selects the wood or provides it to me.

I’ve had many customers provide wood that has some nostalgic attachment. I had one customer from Kansas who dug up an old, weathered, 100-year-old Osage fence post from his grandfather’s farm and shipped it to me for his bow handle. That is where a large part of the artistic work takes place, selecting and pairing woods together.

I would urge anyone interested in the process to watch Stalker Stickbows Bow Build on my YouTube channel to get an idea of how my bows are built.

It is an older video and many of my processes have changed since then, but it will give you a solid idea of what goes into my work. WH One lucky subscriber will win $1,000 credit towards custom South Cox recurve bow (Stalker Stickbows) Support Hand-crafted Bows at StalkerStickBows.com

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Take care of your gear

BY B R O DY L AY H E R

B RO U GHT TO YO U BY O UTD O O R S MAN S

Working with the Outdoorsmans optics trade-in program for the past couple of years, I have seen high-end binoculars in every kind of shape imaginable. I loved cutting open a box to see a dusty pair of Swarovskis that had turned a whole new shade of green from some dude’s hand grease. I always knew those binos had some soul, they had probably seen some cool stuff, and there was plenty of life left in them.

While it may seem like those would be hard to sell, that isn’t really the case. In order to prepare them for sale, our General Manager, Josh, developed a routine to get those binoculars to nearly “mint” condition with relative ease. Below are the steps we follow to get our glass back to like-new condition even after the dustiest or dirtiest of hunts.

1 Use a coarse brush soaked in isopropyl alcohol to scrub the armoring of the binoculars. You can spray the isopropyl alcohol directly onto the armor, as well. If you’re cleaning a high-end (waterproof) binocular, you can actually rinse the binocular right under your faucet.

Repeat until the armor is completely grime-free.

Take a Q-tip wrapped in a microfiber cloth, again soaked in isopropyl alcohol, and scrub/scrape any tight crevices and/or corners of the bino to remove toughto-reach dirt.

2

Remove the eyecups from the binocular and scrub all the areas where the eyecups seat in the binocular.

This area collects a lot of dust and dirt. Also, wipe off the eyecups themselves with an isopropyl-soaked microfiber cloth. Wipe all exposed surfaces to remove any grit that may have accumulated while working the eyecups in and out.

3

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4 Use a soft lens brush (a local camera shop will have these for a few bucks) along with compressed air to knock any dust loose from the glass itself.

5 Prep TWO new microfiber or lens cloths, one with a good spray of isopropyl alcohol and one dry.

6 Apply the wet cloth to the lens and wipe in a circular motion. The key here is to rotate the cloth while you're wiping to ensure that you never wipe the glass twice with a dirty section.

7 Use the dry cloth to “buff” the nowclean glass. Repeat this on all four lenses.

8 Screw your eyecups back in and you’re ready to rock with a fresh, clean optic. Use the same process for spotting scopes.

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// D I A L I N G I T B A C K

Holding On While Moving Forward

BY C H R I S D EN H A M

It was late August 1981.

I had just completed my freshman orientation at Arizona State University and sat staring at my dorm room desk, trying to gather my senses. I had left my small town, my family, my girlfriend, and all the comforts of home for the big city university. Both of my parents were ASU alums, and I had visited the campus many times, but this time it was different. I wasn’t a visitor; I was a resident. But I still didn’t feel like I belonged.

For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I reached for my freshman Chemistry book–a strange move, considering I wasn’t exactly known for my academic drive. The first line of the introduction stopped me cold: “The only thing permanent about our world is change.” I stared at it for a moment, then quietly shut the book. That was more truth than I was ready for, but somehow, I knew it mattered.

Over the next five years (I was on the extended plan), I changed my major three times, lived in five different dorms, worked as a resident assistant in three, met and married my wife Carla and held summer gigs building swimming pools, lifeguarding, and doing farm labor. Change was permanent, it seemed.

My adult life hasn’t been much different. Depending on how you count, I’ve had about a half-dozen different jobs. None of this was by design. In fact, many of those changes weren’t even my choice, but each one challenged me to adapt. Whether I liked them or not, whether I chose them or not, those changes shaped who I am.

With each career shift, I was starting at the bottom, a rookie, learning new skill sets and figuring out who I could trust. It has taken me years to fully appreciate those challenges and to be thankful for them. Each one helped me grow.

Growth doesn’t come without discomfort, just like the old gym saying: “No pain, no gain.” Learning new skills, confronting our preconceived notions, and maybe even feeling a hint of desperation might not feel good in the moment, but they build flexibility and resilience. I’m not bitter about the changes that weren’t my choice, but if I had truly understood this principle back then, the pill would’ve been a little easier to swallow. Change isn’t just a vehicle for growth–it’s a shield against obsolescence.

This isn’t one of those “I wish I knew then what I know now” kind of things. This is applicable at any age. A sure sign of aging is getting more set in your ways. Sometimes, that’s a good thing–we shouldn’t bend with every new-fangled trend that shows up, but we also need to stay open to new ideas.

Wisdom is knowing which road to choose.

The speed of change is ever-increasing. On that, we can all agree. As sportsmen and conservationists, we’re going to be challenged. How do we preserve our hunting traditions in a world that won’t stand still? There’s no AI program that’s going to figure that out for us. We each need to take responsibility, for ourselves, and for the people who count on us to help them find those answers.

So, what do we do with all this? We lean in. We recognize that change isn’t our enemy–it’s our training ground. Whether we’re navigating career shifts, evolving traditions, or the shifting terrain of life itself, we adapt not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. Growth demands motion, and motion demands courage. If we want to preserve what matters while remaining relevant in a world that’s moving faster than ever, we’ve got to keep moving, too, with grit, humility, and a willingness to evolve. That’s not weakness.

That’s wisdom in action. WH

Looking Ahead We hope you have enjoyed this issue of Western Hunter Magazine. If you have, please consider sharing your thoughts with your friends, family, neighbors, or anyone else who might enjoy it. We have invested a significant amount of time into the creation of something truly new and, at least in our opinion, special. By the time you’re reading this, our next issue will already be deep into the production process, so we thought we’d give you a little preview of what to expect in just a few short weeks: Issue 6 will be centered around the time of year that it’s mailed. Some highlights include, but are not limited to, stories of hunts during the holidays from Remi Warren and Edgar Castillo, reflections on 2025 and inspiration for 2026, some truly incredible wintertime photography, and, of course, plenty of hunting stories that will have you glued to their pages.

The cover of Issue 6 is taken from a story that will be featured within that involves both our founder, Floyd Green, and several members of our team.

We can’t wait for you to hold it in your hands. Thank you for your continued support. Please let us know if there’s any way we can better serve you and your interests! WH Have a story you want published?

Send us your stories and photos and you could see them published in a future issue!

Submit at WesternHunter.net

Cody Barnes pays tribute to a one-of-a-kind huntin' rig that helped build his foundation.

James Yates details the stalk that ended a long winning streak for this gigantic buck called "KK."

Joe Mannino's story reflects on a successful elk hunt and the challenges of growing older.

Heath Seiner writes of a chilly late-season hunt with the mission of harvesting a wild pheasant in each of Iowa’s 99 counties.

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