Written Work
Elk in the Twilight Years
“I stood, cemented in place, watching as he worked away up the ridge. And I felt somehow that I was witnessing the completion of something. That the moment was a memory from a time already long gone. I saw the moment like a grainy snapshot in a dust-covered photo album. I was already reminiscing. It was at once both beautiful and crushingly finite; it couldn’t be one without the other. The final piece in a puzzle, set in motion long before I’d joined the world. I felt a deep sadness. I felt an even deeper gratitude.”
“As a younger man I hunted to kill, as I think many young men do. I hunted to be successful, and to me that meant going further, climbing steeper, staying longer and ultimately killing an animal. I thought that anyone who said they hunted strictly for meat was a liar, and in fact, I still do. There’s more to it than that.”
My Old Man
Edge of Edinger
Gary Edinger grew up in rural Wisconsin in the 1950s. As a youngster, he learned to hunt, fish and trap in the hardwoods he called home. Edinger glided through the woods, equally efficient at felling and skidding a stand of oak as he was at swiftly skinning a deer. Hard work and a hard way of doing things weren’t lost on Gary, lifted as he was by six generations of homestead family pride. The outdoors laid a foundation for Edinger to not only survive, but thrive in a sometimes harsh and unforgiving world.
Jump Training
JOURNAL ENTRY: APRIL 16, 2018
Our lead trainer was a hatchet-faced man with laser-sharp brown eyes that didn’t miss and a French crop haircut, combed over. Not a big guy, maybe 5’6”, with the build of an Olympic gymnast. He looked like the type who could do push-ups for a week straight. As it happened, he was precisely that type.
“Down, down, down, down,” he barked out a set of 25 cadence push-ups. “On your backs.” 35 sit-ups followed. “Push-ups,” he said flatly. 25 push-ups followed. “On your backs.” 35 sit-ups. “Pull-ups, hustle.” We ran to the pull-up bar. Ten pull-ups. “Dips, go.” 15 dips.
Redding, California
“Embrace the Ruck- Challenge”
What does it mean to be physically fit?
That’s a tough question.
If you asked five people, you’d probably get five unique answers. Different organizations assess fitness in different ways using different metrics. The military and other physically taxing professions demand candidates be able to perform a minimum number of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups, followed by a timed run. Wildland firefighters are required to pass a very similar physical fitness test, complete with an added rucking section. Though minimum requirements and specific distances vary, the standards for most of these high-stress professions are roughly similar—and all require that candidates have some balance of muscular strength and endurance, together with cardiovascular health.
Preventing and Reporting
It was another unseasonably warm September afternoon as Zack and I hiked up a long drainage into a beautiful section of famed Western mule deer habitat. It had been a wet spring, and record rainfall across much of the West had wreaked havoc on many communities, blowing out bridges, flooding towns, and destroying entire sections of highway. Consistent rain had continued into the early summer months, loading the mountains and low country alike with thick brush and tall grass. As summer progressed, the rain slacked and temperatures climbed steadily into the 90s through July and August, turning much of the Western U.S. into a tinderbox of dry, fine fuels.
Wildfires In The Backcountry
Rifle Elk Hunt and E-Scouting for Success
Morning light crept through the hazy eastern sky. Scorched skeletons of a once-green forest reached dead and dying for the sky. We crept forward through the burn, eyes up and scanning. The bull screamed again; we could hear limbs cracking and hooves on soil.
High-Country Mule Deer + E-Scouting
I woke in the dark and checked my watch. 5:30 AM, September 15. Opening day in the Wyoming high country.
A light breeze rustled the tent fabric. Even at 9,000 feet, it was warm. Far below, a bull elk bugled somewhere in the blackness. I rolled over, poured filthy water into my pot and flicked the starter on my stove. The nearest water I could find was a mile away and 2,000 feet down, but luckily a bit of snow clung to the shady parts of the mountain. I’d filled a garbage bag with snow and hung it from a tree in the sun, then poked a hole in a corner of the bag, rigging a sort of poor-man’s water fountain.
As I later discovered, the trash bag was scented.
I sat up and sipped the coffee, then crawled from the tent and laced my boots in the pre-dawn dark. As the light grew in the east I hiked the hundred yards or so to my glassing knob and set up. A mile away, three bucks grazed in the lush green beneath a cliff.
Draw Tags: A Double-Edged Sword
Every spring, thousands of hunters nationwide apply for limited tags, coveted units, and once-in-a-lifetime hunts, then anxiously refresh their email when results draw near. The hope (understandably so) is to draw a special tag, have an incredible hunt and take the buck, bull, or ram that has always haunted your dreams. And while drawing a controlled tag might increase your chances of success, it certainly doesn’t mean that the hunt is going to be a slam dunk.