Winter 2025 issue of Backcountry Journal

BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL

The Magazine of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers Winter 2025

15 STATES WORKING AGAINST AMERICA’S PUBLIC LANDS LEGACY

THE GREAT BETRAYAL: AMERICA’S PUBLIC LANDS LEGACY IS UNDER SIEGE

If you live anywhere in the country where public lands exist, be warned: Special interests have become more emboldened than ever to privatize and profit from our public lands.

As many Americans remained transfixed on the Nov. 5 election, Backcountry Hunters & Anglers has been pushing back against an ominous tidal wave of opposition and antagonism to our public lands legacy. In one of the greatest betrayals of recent times, a growing coalition of elected officials in multiple states are shamelessly pushing for the divestment of public lands owned by us all.

The most insidious of threats at our doorstep is the State of Utah’s lawsuit filed in August with the U.S. Supreme Court to seize a staggering 18.5 million acres of public lands managed by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Shockingly, elected officials in 14 states—along with a variety of self-serving trade groups and other anti-public land interests—have since jumped on board with legal support.

them, or lease them to private interests. These are our lands we’re talking about, yours and mine. These are publicly owned assets passed down by generations of Americans, and cherished by hunters, anglers, and outdoor enthusiasts in every corner of this country.

The money being funneled into Utah’s PR machine to deceive the public of their rights and to influence the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision to take up the case is staggering. In addition to the $14 million burden placed on Utah taxpayers to cover the cost of the lawsuit, Utah residents will also have to pick up the tab for a marketing blitz reported to top $2.6 million. And then there’s the money being burned up by various special interests that are working overtime to back Utah’s case. Without direct financial support from people who cherish public lands, and direct engagement from leading public lands advocates like BHA, the scales will tip dangerously in favor of those seeking to exploit our public lands for profit, with consequences almost beyond comprehension.

If Utah’s lawsuit succeeds, the consequences will extend far beyond its borders. At a minimum, 211 million acres of BLM lands across the West would be at immediate risk—and potentially all federally managed lands. This includes national forests, parks, wildlife refuges, and wilderness areas. That means the repercussions would extend far beyond Utah, leaving our public lands across the country vulnerable to privatization, exploitation, or even forcing the federal land agencies to directly sell all of it rather than transfer it in the first place.

No matter how saccharine the spin from the spendy gaslighting campaign out of Utah, their true intentions starkly contradict their well-rehearsed claims that “public lands will remain in public hands.” History proves they won’t. States that forcibly attempt to seize federal public lands cannot afford the immense costs of maintaining them. Essential responsibilities like infrastructure upkeep, oversight, and wildfire response would certainly bankrupt them, leaving our public lands vulnerable to privatization and exploitation.

So, what is the real objective here? The ultimate goal for commandeering publicly owned lands is to sell them, sub-divide

Throughout our history, land barons and developers have preyed upon the inattention of hardworking Americans busy with the rest of life to swipe lands right out from underneath us. Now these longtime swindlers have a growing roster of accomplices in the form of politicians who have zero shame cutting Americans out of our own public lands legacy.

In a flurry of unknowns, one thing is certain: As nonpartisan advocates, BHA will remain unwavering in our commitment to defend our wild public lands, waters and wildlife, regardless of who holds elected office. The next generation of conservation-minded hunters and anglers is counting on all of us to stand tall in the face of incredible adversity and defend the special places where sportsmen and women pursue their passions. The question is, will you stand with us?

-Patrick Berry, President & CEO

Your support — whether through donations, advocacy, or action — is essential to ensuring these lands remain public and protected. Visit www.UtahIsNotForSale.org to join BHA in this fight..

“In the end, we conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.”

~ Baba Dioum

THE VOICE FOR OUR WILD PUBLIC LANDS, WATERS AND WILDLIFE

NORTH AMERICAN BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Ryan Callaghan (Montana) Chairman

Dr. Christopher L. Jenkins (Georgia) Vice Chair

Jeffrey Jones (Alabama) Treasurer

Katie Morrison (Alberta) Secretary

James Brandenburg (Arkansas)

STAFF

Patrick Berry, President & CEO

Frankie McBurney Olson, Vice President of Operations

Bill Hanlon (British Columbia)

Jim Harrington (Michigan)

Hilary Hutcheson (Montana)

Ted Koch (Idaho)

Ray Penny (Oklahoma)

Nadia Marji, Vice President of Marketing and Communications

Katie DeLorenzo, Western Field Director

Britney Fregerio, Director of Finance

Chris Hennessey, Eastern Field Director

Dre Arman, Chapter Coordinator (ID, NV)

Brian Bird, Chapter Coordinator (NJ, NY, New England)

Chris Borgatti, Eastern Policy and Conservation Manager

Kylee Burleigh, Digital Media Coordinator

Tiffany Cimino, Membership and Community Development Manager

Trey Curtiss, Strategic Partnerships and Conservation Programs Manager

Bard Edrington V, Habitat Stewardship Coordinator (NM)

Brady Fryberger, Office Manager

Contributors in this Issue

On the Cover: Wading through the bunchgrass and starthistle high above the Snake River. Read “Could Breaching the Lower Snake River Dams Be a Win For Hunters?” on page 7. Photo by Ben Herndon

Above Image: In the blind, Florida, Derek McNamara, 2022 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

Dre Arman, Arrows North, Charlie Booher, Christopher Borgatti, Mandy Carlstrom, Hugh Cummings, Caitlin Curry, Frank DeSantis Jr., Nick Fasciano, Jacob Greenslade, Ted Hansen, Leland Hart, Ben Herndon, Dalton Wayne Hoover, Henry Hughes, Dan Jordan, Cameron J. Kirby, JJ Laberge, William Lakey, Joshua Lawhorn, Jordan Lefler, Shawn McCarthy, Devin O’Dea, Don Rank, Wendi Rank, Jordan Rash, Christine Sawicki, Phil T. Seng, George Wallace, Bill Young

Journal Submissions: williams@backcountryhunters.org

Advertising and Partnership Inquiries: mills@backcountryhunters.org General Inquiries: admin@backcountryhunters.org

Don Rank (Pennsylvania)

Peter Vandergrift (Montana)

J.R. Young (California)

Michael Beagle (Oregon) President Emeritus

Mary Glaves, Chapter Coordinator (AK)

Andrew Hahne, Habitat Stewardship Coordinator (ID, MT, WY)

Aaron Hebeisen, Chapter Coordinator (IA, IL, MN, MO, WI)

Jameson Hibbs, Chapter Coordinator (IN, MI, OH, OK, KY, TN, WV)

Bryan Jones, Chapter Coordinator (CO, WY)

Kaden McArthur, Government Relations Manager

Josh Mills, Corporate Conservation Partnerships Coordinator

Devin O’Dea, Western Policy and Conservation Manager

Kylie Schumacher, Chapter Coordinator (MT, ND, SD)

Max Siebert, Operations Coordinator

Joel Weltzien, Chapter Coordinator (CA)

Briant Wiles, Habitat Stewardship Coordinator (CO)

Zack Williams, Backcountry Journal Editor

Interns: Maisie Kroon, Taigen Worthington (senior operations intern)

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

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

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

Published Jan. 2025. Volume XX, Issue I

COULD BREACHING THE LOWER SNAKE RIVER DAMS BE A WIN FOR HUNTERS?

BY BEN HERNDON

Two chukars zigzagged erratically across Wawawai Road along the Lower Snake River, five miles upriver from Lower Granite Dam. Experts in navigating vertical, rocky terrain, the birds seemed at a loss on the featureless asphalt near Granite Point in southeastern Washington state.

“Everyone knew and loved that place,” said lifelong outdoorsman Warren Bakes, referring to the now mostly submerged landmark. “It should have been a state park. It had these wonderful big knobs and crevices down to the river.” Bakes hunted the Lower Snake from a young age, starting around 1953. “It was seldom that you didn’t have three or four types of birds you shot in one day. Whitetail and birds—it was outstanding for both.”

Today, the Lower Snake River is tame here—a wide, slack, manmade lake backed up by an aging dam and cradled by steep canyon

walls of bunchgrass and basalt. Lower Granite Dam was completed in 1975, part of a blitz of large federal hydropower projects by the Army Corps of Engineers across the Pacific Northwest in the mid1900s. It’s an impressive feat—a towering monolith of earthen fill and concrete. Two massive curving gates loom in front of the fivestory-high lock, a 674-foot-long elevator primarily used to raise and lower commercial river barge traffic navigating to and from the West Coast’s farthest inland port at Lewiston, Idaho, 465 miles from the Pacific. The dam is one of four major hydro projects on the Lower Snake River (the others are Little Goose, Lower Monumental, and Ice Harbor). Beneath the roughly 140 miles of slack water between the four dams lies 14,000-plus acres of riparian habitat inundated between the 1950s and the 1970s, drowning what many, like Bakes, recall as the best hunting on the Lower Snake. These areas—places with names like Penawawa, Almota, and Wawawai—signal their long importance to the Palus and Nez Perce tribes. Restored, the

Lower Granite Dam on the Lower Snake River

Photo: Ben Herndon

Warren Bakes in front of the now-mostly-submerged Granite Point area of the Lower Snake River a few miles above Lower Granite Dam. “I was 10 yearsold. I cried when those dams went in.”

Above: Kyle Smith and Derek Johnson swinging beautiful waters on the Lower Salmon River near the confluence with the Lower Snake River, Idaho. Right: Kyle Smith and his dog Sadie hunting the hills above the Salmon. Photos: Ben Herndon

Beneath the roughly 140 miles of slack water between the four dams lies 14,000-plus acres of riparian habitat inundated between the 1950s and the 1970s, drowning what many, like Bakes, recall as the best hunting on the Lower Snake.

“For every industry that relied on these dams, there was another slowly dying due to the loss of a free-flowing river,” said Dre Arman, Idaho and Nevada chapter coordinator for Backcountry Hunters & Anglers.

canyons and bars could again become thriving habitats.

Alpinist, author, angler, and hunter John Roskelley recalled hunting the Lower Snake River in the 1950s and 1960s with his father, Fenton, an outdoor writer for the Spokane Chronicle and The Spokesman-Review for 63 years. “There were these wide, fertile benches where farms were located,” said Roskelley, recalling his father buying vegetables from farmers in the fall. “At that time, the farmers couldn’t farm real steep stuff like they do now, so there would be these eyebrows. That was prime habitat. There was so much cover for the birds. You almost never came across a ‘no trespassing’ sign. The pheasant hunting was just wickedly good. You couldn’t walk anywhere without busting five or 10 birds. I remember opening day one year—I couldn’t walk 20 feet without flushing a bird. I fired off a box … but that doesn’t mean I hit anything,” he said with a laugh.

“I’m still disappointed with myself decades later. It was a wild river, quite different from the big pool it is now.”

The Army Corps of Engineers knew what was at stake for hunting even as they built the dams. A 1971 Army Corps report estimated that “upland game hunting would be expected to be reduced by 28,400 hunter-days” due to the impact of the four dams.

“‘Hunter-days’ is a metric used to quantify hunting activity and the impact of environmental changes on wildlife and hunting opportunities,” said Aaron Lieberman, executive director of the Idaho Outfitters & Guides Association. “In the context of wildlife and hunting, a ‘hunter-day’ represents a single day of hunting activity by one person.”

As the riverine flats were submerged, so went prime lowland hunting. “For every industry that relied on these dams, there was

Phil Evans heads back to camp with a chukar above the Salmon River.

another slowly dying due to the loss of a free-flowing river,” said Dre Arman, Idaho and Nevada chapter coordinator for Backcountry Hunters and Anglers.

How much land would become public and huntable after a potential breach of the Lower Snake River dams is unknown. However, any increase in hunting access on the Lower Snake would be a win for hunters, as much of the surrounding “banana belt” canyonland is steep and privately owned, with limited access.

“In terms of hunting opportunities, there’s no question it will be beneficial,” said Lieberman. That’s partly because good hunting and healthy fish returns go hand in hand.

“Hunters are some of the most avid conservationists,” Lieberman said. “They understand ecosystems, ecosystem health, and habitat viability. And there is a very direct relationship between keystone species and overall habitat health.”

“It’s not just about 140 miles of restored river,” said Eric Crawford, Snake River campaign director for Trout Unlimited. “With renewed runs, that means increased nutrient loads,” he said,

According to a 2022 Washington state report, nearly $25 billion has been spent on salmon and steelhead restoration from 1980 to 2018 (adjusted for inflation) by the Bonneville Power Administration, which manages power from the Lower Snake River dams. “It’s the most expensive species recovery program in history,” said Maki. Regionally, a quarter to a third of utility bills go to fish restoration.

referring to the anadromous fish that spawn and die upriver, their decomposing bodies feeding riparian ecosystems downstream.

“Those fish act like 30-pound bags of fertilizer,” said Jack Hurty, salmon and steelhead coordinator for the Idaho Outfitters & Guides Association.

Not long ago, seasonal migrations numbered in the millions, but with the dams’ arrival, fish returns past the four Lower Snake River dams have plummeted.

Recent dam breaches, though smaller in scale, offer a glimpse of what a post-breach Lower Snake might look like. “We can see the Elwha [River], the Klamath [River],” said Kyle Maki, North Idaho field representative for the Idaho Wildlife Federation. “We see the recovery that happened in these systems.”

People often assume reservoir shores would take a long time to recover, but they wouldn’t remain wastelands, said Crawford. On the Elwha, whose two major dams were removed in 2012 and 2014, “It recovered almost immediately,” Crawford said. “You can’t even tell it was under hundreds of feet of water.” While the Lower Snake is drier than western Washington, shoreline habitat restoration would be measured in years, not decades.

What about heavy metals or farm runoff trapped in sediment behind the dams? “They would be systematically breached, piece by piece, ideally with controlled drawdowns allowing newly exposed sediment to stabilize,” Crawford said. Even with limited sediment release, there could be some temporary fish die-offs, particularly for non-native species. “Salmon and steelhead could be less affected, with work being conducted outside of major migration periods,” he said.

“Dam breaching gives us the best odds of getting fish started on recovery,” said Maki. “It’s going to take work. It’s going to take money. But the end result will be worth it, and we’ll be getting land back for the public and hunting.”

According to a 2022 Washington state report, nearly $25 billion

John Roskelley poses for a portrait in his hunting gear in front of the now-mostly submerged cliffs and spires of Granite Point along the Lower Snake River at Wawawai, a long-time fishing and hunting site for the Palus and Nez Perce tribes.

has been spent on salmon and steelhead restoration from 1980 to 2018 (adjusted for inflation) by the Bonneville Power Administration, which manages power from the Lower Snake River dams. “It’s the most expensive species recovery program in history,” said Maki. Regionally, a quarter to a third of utility bills go to fish restoration.

“That’s how much you’re paying for something that doesn’t work,” said Lieberman.

“There are certainly challenges to removing these four dams,” said Arman. “But we had the audacity and innovation to build these structures in the 20th century, and we can have the audacity and innovation to remove them in the 21st.”

“If you knew what the Lower Snake looked like before, it’d make you sick,” said Bakes. “It was marvelous.”

BHA member Ben Herndon is a freelance photographer, writer, and filmmaker based in the Inland Northwest with a focus on outdoor adventure, recreation, and conservation at the intersection of rock and river.

Messages advocating for the removal of four Lower Snake River dams to save ailing salmon populations are projected hundreds of yards onto Lower Granite Dam, June 2021. The projection on the right is a historic photo of a tribal member fishing at Celilo Falls, an important fishing site for many Northwest tribes on the Columbia River that was flooded by the completion of the Dalles Dam in the 1950s.

Photo: Ben Herndon

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BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL

Photo: Shawn McCarthy, 2023 BHA Armed Forces Initiative Priority Landscapes Trip

W A Y S T O GIVE

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

Newly Launched

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

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

HEADQUARTERS NEWS

BHA VETERANS SPEAK OUT ON PUBLIC LANDS ISSUES STATE BALLOT WINS

“As a veteran who has dedicated my life to serving this country, I am deeply troubled by an amendment to the National Defense Authorization Act that would revive the Ambler Road project.” wrote BHA Armed Forces Initiative Board Member Hunter Owen in an article for the BHA website. “As a veteran, I fought to protect this nation and its values, which include a commitment to protecting our public lands. The use of national defense measures to further erode our nation’s public lands legacy feels like a betrayal of those principles.”

“We are facing an existential threat to the public lands that we and those who came before us fought to protect. In late August, Utah officials launched a multi-million dollar campaign to convince the American public that nearly 18.5 million acres of our shared public lands would be better managed in their hands. Here’s the simple truth: This land is not theirs for the taking,” wrote AFI member Garrett Robinson. “Backcountry Hunters & Anglers and the Armed Forces Initiative strongly oppose Utah’s selfish attempt to seize millions of acres of cherished wild lands owned by all Americans. We urge you to join us in standing up against this injustice by signing BHA’s petition and supporting our opposition campaign. Together, we can show Utah officials that our shared public lands are not up for grabs.”

Read Owen’s and Robinson’s full stories on the Armed Forces Initiative page at backcountryhunters.org/tags/afi_featured_stories

We hunt, we fish, and we Vote Public Lands & Waters. BHA celebrated several significant wins at the ballot in November:

☑️ Colorado’s Prop 127, which sought to ban mountain lion, bobcat, and lynx hunting, failed.

☑️ Florida’s Amendment 2, affirming the right to hunt and fish, passed.

☑️ Minnesota’s Amendment 1, extending the Environment and Natural Resources Trust Fund through the state lottery, passed.

Thank you for advocating for BHA values with your ballot!

BHA Armed Forces Initiative veterans know what’s at stake with the proposed Ambler Road. Photo: Shawn McCarthy

RENDEZVOUS 2025 RETURNS TO MISSOULA, MONTANA

BHA’s family-friendly annual gathering of public lands and waters enthusiasts will return to Missoula, Montana in a new location at the University of Montana!

Join us for events like the Wild Game CookOff, seminars, demonstrations, panel discussions, games, vendors sharing the latest in gear, the one-of-a-kind Field to Table Dinner, and so much more.

See you there June 13-15, 2025! Tickets are on sale now. Visit backcountryhunters.org for more information.

MONTANA TAG RAFFLE WINNER SHARES HIS STORY

During the summer of 2023, BHA’s Montana chapter successfully argued before the Fish and Wildlife Commission that there was a better, more equitable way than auctions to raise funds for conservation efforts. The chapter was granted the opportunity to instead lead a raffle of the highly coveted statewide mule deer tag.

Not only did the chapter prove that this is a viable option, but hunters helped raise the most money for mule deer conservation the Montana tag had ever generated: $56,620! This exceeded the previous Montana mule deer auction record ($41,000) by 38%.

Matt E. was the lucky raffle winner and shares his story here:

“My hunting buddies and I had an amazing experience that we will all remember for a lifetime. We did this hunt DIY and 100% on public land, making it extremely rewarding and hopefully honoring the idea that quality hunting should be available to everyone, not just the wealthy. We saw over 100 mature mule deer bucks in our six days of hunting. I finally shot my buck on the last day I had to hunt. The local biologist thought the buck is 9.5 years old, which is pretty cool.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without BHA’s efforts to convince states to move away from the auction tag format. This is important work because these opportunities mean so much more than just getting the tag itself or shooting a trophy animal. The tag is an admission ticket to an amazing experience that will become a lifelong memory.

“Everyone should have the chance to share in these experiences, celebrating our public lands, wildlife, and our hunting heritage. I am truly grateful. Keep up the great work, BHA! Cheers, Matt”

JAMES BRANDENBURG JOINS NORTH AMERICAN BOARD

James Brandenburg joined BHA in 2018 as a volunteer after his sons introduced him to deer hunting (a reversal of the usual way of things) and the joys of wild foraged and harvested foods. Arkansas did not have its own chapter in 2018, but in 2020 Brandenburg and other like-minded individuals established the state’s thriving community. He led the Arkansas chapter until 2024, when he received the Mike Beagle-Chairman’s Award, the highest individual award BHA bestows.

A generalist hunter and angler, he is as happy throwing poppers to bream in an Ozark stream as he is pursuing black bears in the Ozark National Forest or ducks on unnamed public areas within a reasonable drive of his home in Bentonville, Arkansas.

RECENTLY ON THE PODCAST & BLAST

Almost 10 years ago, career firefighter and paramedic Beau Beasley embarked on a journey to tell the true stories of America’s veterans, honestly and in their own words. He was a respected outdoor writer and flyfishing guidebook author, and was deeply affected by the friendships he’d made through his involvement with Project Healing Waters, an organization that connects veterans with fishing and other outdoor opportunities.

Beau’s book Healing Waters holds the stories of 32 American military veterans who, through flyfishing, rod building, flytying, and being part of a vibrant outdoor community, “came across from the dark side of the river to the light.”

By turns harrowing, tragic, and joyful, these stories cut to the bone, portraits of the price that some of us are willing to pay for this mighty experiment in freedom and responsibility that is the United Sates of America. Join us by listening to Episode 192 of BHA’s Podcast & Blast wherever you get your podcasts. And please, if you are a veteran, or know a veteran, who could benefit from this book or Project Healing Waters or BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative, listen and pass it on.

CAITLIN CURRY, Utah Chapter Vice Chair

SANDY, UTAH

Why are you a BHA member and volunteer?

Public lands, public waters, and wildlife are what it’s all about for me, and there is no better organization to stand behind to ensure that these things are around and thriving for generations to come. BHA is not afraid to roll up its sleeves and get involved in challenging policy matters to defend the everyday hunter-angler, our wild places, and wildlife when it matters. The thing I find special about BHA is that it gives passionate public lands hunters and public waters anglers an avenue to be leaders in conservation. You don’t need to have a PhD in wildlife biology or a JD in public lands law. All hunters and anglers have special skillsets to contribute, and BHA has a way of effectively leveraging those diverse talents to move the needle in conservation and relevant policy issues at a grassroots level.

Utah is in the national spotlight with state officials attempting to grab 18.5 million acres of public land owned by us all, and you’ve found yourself on the frontlines of the efforts to push back against them. It’s an issue that is taking a tremendous amount of time and effort to mobilize and fight back against. What’s keeping you motivated? Why is this issue so important to you?

Public lands are the reason I live in Utah – period. Without the incredible opportunities I have nearby on federal public lands in Utah and throughout the West, I might as well move back East to be closer to family. I left everything familiar and started from scratch years ago in exchange for this everyday public land access and way of life, so I take this threat personally. I and many others have truly found purpose through public lands.

Our hunting heritage is more than just something to do on the weekends; it is a means to satisfy the natural yearning for adventure and challenge embedded deep within our DNA. It empowers us to connect with the natural world and disconnect from the stresses of modern life. It’s a way to harvest our own organic meat to nourish our bodies throughout the year. I see the risk that this land transfer attempt poses in exposing our public lands to privatization and weakening the multiple-use mandate that enables the opportunity to hunt and recreate on these lands. It’s a direct threat to that hunting heritage made possible through our public lands system, which allows all Americans, regardless of their economic status, access to these opportunities. If you value public lands, getting involved in this issue isn’t a choice; it’s just something you do.

You’ve found yourself working closely not only with your chapter but also BHA Headquarters on this issue. What has that experience been like? How do you think chapters and volunteers and BHA Headquarters staff can best work together to accomplish our shared mission?

Pairing the chapter’s on-the-ground, local policy knowledge with Headquarters’ expertise and resources has been instrumental in developing an opposition campaign to the land transfer lawsuit. One of the things I have found particularly useful throughout this process has been working together to develop a strategy and then clearly identify which parts of the strategy make sense for the chapter to execute and which are best for HQ.

BHA has a very talented and capable (but small) staff working on public lands, waters and wildlife issues across North America in the best interests of its members at large. Over the years, I have observed that chapter leaders (including myself) can sometimes get caught in this mental trap of looking at their chapter as somewhat of an independent organization reporting to HQ, but I think it’s crucial to step outside of the chapter silo mindset to recognize how the chapter fits into the bigger picture of what BHA North America is trying to accomplish and how the chapter can best collaboratively support that mission with HQ. Adopting this “one team” mindset allows us as chapter leaders to think bigger and make a more meaningful impact on a larger, continental scale rather than just within each individual state or province.

Edward Abbey once said: “Do not burn yourselves out. ... It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it.” Have you found time to hunt this fall? What type of adventures have you been enjoying on public lands?

My fall has essentially consisted of my day job, fighting the Utah land transfer lawsuit, and getting out in the mountains every chance I get. My husband and I have been fortunate to hunt big game across the West, and this fall, we drew Wyoming general elk tags. After a long, tiring, and unsuccessful 13 days of chasing bulls with our bows, we brought out the rifles in October and were able to fill our tags and freezer. Outside of that, I have been pouring my time into chasing deer and elk locally on the Wasatch Front with my bow pursuing my lifelong quest to be a halfway decent archery hunter (still working on it!). Lastly, my husband and I have developed an annual tradition of taking our red setter down to southern Arizona in pursuit of quail, other small game, wine country, and warmer temperatures between Christmas and New Years, and we’ll be headed down that way again at the end of 2024.

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BACKCOUNTRY BOUNTY

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

Forager: George Fischer, BHA member | Species: blackberry and chokecherry wine | State: Idaho | Method: hand-picked |

Distance from nearest road: five to ten miles

Transportation: foot

Trapper: Paul F Noel, BHA member | Species: fisher State: Vermont | Method: body grip trap | Distance from nearest road: two miles | Transportation: foot

Hunter: Cody Vavra, BHA member | Species: cougar | State: Oregon | Method: bow | Distance from nearest road: two miles

Transportation: foot

Hunter: James Fey, BHA life member | Species: blacktail | State: California | Method:bow Distance from nearest road: two miles

Transportation: kayak, foot

Hunter: Cole Chelmo (11), BHA member

Species: mountain goat | State: Alaska | Method: rifle | Distance from nearest road: three miles

Transportation: foot

Hunter: Dave Iverson, BHA member

Species: ruffed grouse | State: Wisconsin | Method: shotgun

Distance from nearest road: one mile

Transportation: foot

COLORING CONTEST!

Kids, ask your parent or guardian to email a photo of your coloring entry, along with your name and age, to williams@backcountryhunters.org by Mar. 1, 2025. We’ll choose three winners to receive a BHA hat or shirt of your choice! Winners will be announced in the spring 2025 Backcountry Journal.

About the artist: BHA memberTed Hansen is an artist and a middle school art teacher in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He is an avid angler, hunter, and distance hiker and those pursuits inspire most of his artwork. His work can be found on his website (tedhansenfineart.com), on instagram (@tedhansen_art), or through his etsy shop (etsy.com/shop/TedHansenFineArt).

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Engaging the Commission

BY JORDAN RASH

In the fall of 2021, the Washington State Fish and Wildlife Commission met via Zoom to discuss several items related to managing the state’s wildlife resources. Their agenda was broad, ranging from coastal steelhead fishing regulations and rulemaking for the state’s hydraulic code to planning future commission meetings and setting the season for the spring 2022 black bear hunt. Historically, these season-setting items provided little in the form of entertainment; commissioners typically supported the scientific analysis completed by Department of Fish and Wildlife biologists and set seasons based on their recommendations as well as the tenets of the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation.

But the months leading up to this vote were different. The tenor of the commission’s deliberations had been strained. Commissioners were finding it difficult to see eye-to-eye, and a majority faction was pushing policies that eroded hunter and angler opportunities as well as the principles of the North American Model. But it was this meeting, just before Thanksgiving, that kicked the metaphorical hornet’s nest.

When the commission took up a motion to set a special permit season for the spring bear hunt, there was extensive discussion on both the science used to establish the season and the ethics of such a hunt. While commission meetings had been heated, it was the anti-science rhetoric espoused by half of the policymaking body that made this particular meeting noteworthy. Several commissioners made inaccurate comments and uninformed assumptions about bear biology, hunting practices, and ethics

that poisoned the debate. Ultimately, the commission was split evenly, which prevented agency staff from moving forward with a spring hunt.

The commission’s decision has wide-ranging ramifications for hunters and anglers. First, while the state had recently closed the harvest of some game species due to diminishing populations— such as steelhead on the Olympic Peninsula or harlequin duck because of depleted numbers—the black bear population has been on the rise for decades. Thus, losing a harvest opportunity when there is a strong and growing population of a game animal is both confusing and concerning. Second, the mischaracterization of hunting ethics and practices by those in the commission majority demonstrates that hunters and anglers had ceded the narrative to anti-hunters.

Finally, the commission’s shift from the North American Model to a colonialist and anti-harvest regime represents a tangible threat to the sustainability of Washington’s public lands as well as the fish and wildlife that inhabit them. When a fish and wildlife commission takes away harvest opportunities, it is likely that fewer hunters and anglers will purchase licenses, tags, and hunt applications that generate revenue to support stewardship of wildlife areas. This is detrimental not only to harvestable game species but also to the many fish and wildlife species that utilize habitats protected and stewarded with revenue generated by hunters and anglers. While a state could backfill that lost revenue with money from the general fund (i.e., your regular tax dollars), those funds are closely protected by legislatures for other purposes. Losing this critical, dedicated source of revenue for fish and wildlife management is akin to shooting oneself in the foot.

Photo:

Mandy

Carlstrom

BHA’s Washington chapter develops a plan for engaging state game commissions

The actions of the Washington Fish and Wildlife Commission and other fish and wildlife commissions around the country do not happen in a vacuum. Rather, the actions they take are a reflection of the people they hear from—both good and bad— as well as the fish and wildlife policy direction provided by state legislatures.

With respect to actions taken by the commission, we as hunters and anglers became complacent. We were not organized to engage with the commission, our messaging was scattershot, and our presence in legislative halls has been largely ineffective at managing the public perception of hunting and angling. Long story short, our voice was not relevant, which was reflected in policymakers’ decisions.

The Washington chapter of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers, along with several other groups and individual contributors in the state, has been working to change that. Mandy Carlstrom is the communications lead for the Washington chapter and has served on the chapter board for the past several years while the chapter has organized its members to testify before the Fish and Wildlife Commission. “Knowing is the first battle; knowing what to do is the second,” Carlstrom said. “Our goal is to not only educate BHA members here, but all hunters and anglers, and provide the tools and encouragement to easily and effectively engage in these conversations to create one unified voice that neither the commission nor the legislators can dismiss. We can no longer assume someone else will speak for us or do so in an impactful way. It’s time for each person to step up. Collectively, we can make a difference.”

To change the narrative before the commission, the chapter provided talking points to its members, organized testimony, and used its email list and social media accounts to engage and encourage people to contact commissioners and elected officials on fish and wildlife topics. The chapter also began engaging with legislators who are responsible for everything from setting budgets and passing bills to holding hearings on gubernatorial appointments to the Fish and Wildlife Commission.

These efforts have shown promise. When the legislature introduced a bill to ban the sale of fur from wild animals, they

did not account for the negative impacts the bill would have on the state’s fly anglers. Hard to tie flies without elk or deer hackle, right? BHA, among other hunter and angler organizations, mobilized to oppose the bill as written and offered amendments to clarify its intent. Thanks to these efforts, the bill died before the “cutoff,” and now the chapter is ready to engage again on this issue should it arise in future legislative sessions. This example demonstrates our ability to effect change if we’re mobilized, provide clear, concise, and effective messaging, and offer that messaging forcefully but respectfully.

But this is an example from one year and one bill. State legislatures will be convening again soon, with new bills introduced and budgets to pass. How can BHA chapters and their members engage effectively with legislators as well as with other elected and appointed officials?

First, as an individual member, not just as a chapter, you can build a relationship with your state representatives and senators. You want them to know who you are, what your interests are, and what drives you to vote. Take them on a fishing trip, extend an offer to go scouting for deer, invite them to meet with the state chapter board, or any other way to show them what you care about. Personal relationships in politics are the basis for getting things done, and BHA would benefit tremendously from its members and chapter leaders being able to pick up the phone to directly engage their elected officials.

Second, work with your state chapter to get tuned in to what your fish and wildlife commission is working on, and then provide input on your commission’s agenda topics. Whether it’s season setting, harvest quotas, land acquisition, or any other topic, they need to hear from hunters and anglers when considering policy. Don’t take your commission for granted. If they’re not hearing from you, they’re going to set policy in your absence.

Third, in addition to engaging with your fish and wildlife commission, don’t be shy about contacting your state legislators, governor, or congressional delegation. An email or a phone call can be tremendously effective, particularly if it’s part of a coordinated campaign. You’d be surprised how few people actually contact their legislators, and thus how notable it is when a legislative office receives even four or five phone calls on a topic. And for the purposes of engagement with elected officials, ignore the political party. It doesn’t matter what their political affiliation is; they need to hear from you and what you care about.

Fourth, if you have the ability, the time, and the interest, provide testimony on a bill, budget proviso, gubernatorial appointment, or other policy proposal. As with the above, when we show up, elected officials take notice. Many legislatures now allow for remote engagement through Zoom or a similar program, so if you can’t drive to your state capitol to provide testimony, you can do so from the comfort of your home.

Finally, if you connect with those elected or appointed officials, be mindful, direct, and honest in your engagement. Avoid namecalling or characterizing their thinking; instead, articulate what it is you want to happen and why it’s important to you personally. Be direct—don’t go off on a tangent that has little or nothing to do with why you’re there to speak. Be honest; tell them what it is you want them to do, whether it is to introduce or vote for a bill, offer an amendment to existing legislation, support a budget request

Photo: Jacob Greenslade

(a “proviso”), or support or oppose a gubernatorial appointment. And when you connect with an elected official, unless you are doing a field visit or attending an event like a rally, skip the camo and hunter orange. Opportunities to hunt and fish are ours to defend and maintain. They won’t be taken away if we can keep the non-hunting public on our side. For if we do, when we go to engage with elected and appointed officials, we can remind them we are watching, and so are all of their constituents.

BHA member Jordan Rash is a freelance writer, podcaster, outdoorsman, and conservation advocate in Washington state. He’s spent his career on and around the forests, mountains, wetlands, and rivers of the Pacific Northwest fighting wildfires, developing public policy, passing legislation, and leading conservation real estate efforts. He can be reached via Instagram at @jordan_ rash1.

Photo: Mandy Carlstrom

Easing the Way

BHA’s New York Chapter advocates for wildlife crossing research and funding

BY CHRISTOPHER BORGATTI

The New York chapter of BHA, along with a coalition of organizations, is on the brink of a successful campaign to pass New York’s Wildlife Crossing Act (A4243B/S4198B). As it awaits Gov. Kathy Hochul’s signature, the bill could transform road safety for both people and wildlife by directing the New York Department of Transportation to identify locations for wildlife crossings that reduce collisions and connect habitats.

Roads do more than just transport people. According to awardwinning environmental journalist and New York native Ben Goldfarb, roads dramatically alter ecosystems, creating “a moving fence of traffic” that prevents animals from reaching essential resources like habitat, mates, and food. Goldfarb, author of Crossings: How Road Ecology is Shaping the Future of Our Planet, notes that while roadkill is often visible, the unseen consequences can be even more devastating. In many cases, animals may face genetic isolation, reduced access to food, and even starvation because they are blocked from traditional migratory routes.

This issue affects species from mountain lions in California to pronghorn and mule deer across the West—and it’s no different in New York. Here, animals like black bears, bobcats, and turtles struggle to navigate the road networks that intersect their habitats. In northern New York, for example, a study led by Dr. Kate Cleary, an environmental studies professor at SUNY Potsdam, found nearly 800 dead animals along a 12-mile stretch of Route 37 over seven weeks, highlighting the impact of roads on local wildlife.

Wildlife crossings—whether overpasses, underpasses, or even simple fencing—help mitigate these impacts by providing safe passageways and reducing collisions with vehicles. These crossings are more common in Western states like Wyoming and Colorado, where they serve predictable migration routes for large animals such as elk and mule deer. Studies show these crossings have reduced roadkill and helped maintain the genetic health of wildlife populations.

Eastern states like New York have traditionally hesitated to adopt such measures, citing a lack of clear migratory paths for wildlife. But recent studies in Virginia and Connecticut demonstrate that with proper planning, crossings can be equally effective on the East Coast. Simple directional fencing and culvert retrofits have dramatically reduced vehicle-animal collisions, saving lives and cutting costs for drivers and the government alike.

Beyond their environmental benefits, wildlife crossings make financial sense. New York reports more than 65,000 vehicle-deer collisions annually, most causing $20,000 to $40,000 in damages. Surprisingly, the cost of effective crossings in the East is much lower than many projects in the West. New York Chapter Coordinator Brian Bird worked in the Capitol to dispel misconceptions about the financial feasibility of crossings. “Cost is the most common concern,” Bird explained. “Directional fences are inexpensive and effective; they steer animals toward existing culverts.”

The Wildlife Crossing Act aims to identify key crossing sites and prioritize projects that improve public safety and wildlife movement. If signed into law, it would empower agencies to

“It’s incredible how wildlife crossings bridge political lines, just as they bridge habitats and cross freeways.”

collaborate on projects that consider environmental and safety needs, while also pursuing federal funding from programs, some of which are supported by the recent infrastructure bill. New York, as the largest state in the Northeast, has the potential to significantly impact regional ecology and safety for both drivers and wildlife.

One of the bill’s unique strengths is its broad appeal. It received overwhelming bipartisan support in both the New York Assembly and Senate. This widespread backing reflects the bill’s practical scope, laying the groundwork for New York to tap into federal funding for wildlife crossings—many of which could pay for themselves within a few years by significantly reducing insurance claims from wildlifevehicle collisions.

Goldfarb noted that an issue like this is rare in today’s polarized climate: “It’s incredible how wildlife crossings bridge political lines, just as they bridge habitats and cross freeways.”

As the New York chapter awaits the governor’s decision, it will continue to apply pressure and encourage the New York

conservation community to do the same. The goal is to raise broader awareness about the impact of roads on wildlife and the tangible benefits of wildlife crossings.

Christopher Borgatti resides in Massachusetts and works as BHA’s Eastern Policy & Conservation Manager

Note: This story and associated quotes are compiled from interviews conducted for the New England and New York BHA chapters’ podcast, “Conservation Cooperative.” The topic was featured in “Episode 3 –Road Ecology & Wildlife Crossings.” Conservation Cooperative is available wherever you listen to podcasts.

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Ever had a pizza delivered by helicopter several miles into the wilderness? In a critical effort to support Peninsular bighorn sheep and other native wildlife in California’s Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, the California Chapter of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers and the California Chapter of the Wild Sheep Foundation completed a major guzzler tank replacement project. This effort was made possible through tremendous helicopter support provided by the U.S. Marines from Camp Pendleton.

Chapter News & Updates

BHA chapters across North America spent the fall cleaning up public lands and waters, advocating for positive policy outcomes, and uniting a community around the BHA ethos.

ALASKA

• The Alaska chapter hosted a successful crayfish removal event at Buskin Lake in Kodiak, followed by its first annual board retreat and chapter planning meeting.

• On Oct. 26, the chapter held its first BHA Beer Dinner Fundraiser in Juneau, featuring Darren Bruning, deputy director of Wildlife Conservation with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, who presented on wood bison restoration.

• In November, the chapter partnered with Midnight Sun Fly Casters to host a Trout Fusion Film Festival screening in Fairbanks.

• Board member Paul Forward’s Sitka film series, “The Hard Way,” was released this fall.

ARIZONA

• The chapter’s fifth annual Dove Cook-off took place in Yuma over the season opener. The gathering included a group hunt, Pint Night, and dove dish competition.

• The eighth annual Family Squirrel Camp was a success, with more than 40 attendees hunting squirrels, band-tailed pigeons, and enjoying time with family and friends.

• The Arizona chapter honored founding member Kurt Bahti, who recently passed away. His dedication to conservation and ecosystem protection inspired many.

ARKANSAS

• The Arkansas chapter completed a pollinator project on Nov. 2, collecting wild seeds for a pollinator garden at Lake Winona Wildlife Management Area.

• On Nov. 22, the chapter toured the Cedar Creek property to plan a trash removal event. A parking area and gate were completed at Cedar Creek WMA on land purchased by Arkansas BHA and donated to the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission.

• The chapter partnered with the commission to remove cedar trees from sensitive glade habitats and sank them in Beaver Lake to create fish habitat.

• Volunteers are needed for projects and events statewide. Contact arkansas@backcountryhunters.org to get involved.

ARMED FORCES INITIATIVE

• With hunting seasons in full swing across the country, the Armed Forces Initiative has been hosting dual-skills camps to equip veterans with conservation skills for post-service life. In October, the AFI national board organized an antelope and mule deer hunting camp in southeastern Wyoming. Nine veterans, representing every branch of the armed forces, participated, focusing on conservation challenges in this National Priority Landscape. Contact your local chapter leadership to get involved in upcoming events.

Photo: Devin O’Dea

BRITISH COLUMBIA

• The B.C. chapter concluded its third annual alpine lakes citizen science survey in West Kootenay. Data were submitted to provincial biologists, and participants were entered into a prize draw.

• Advocacy and education for hunter-led CWD testing continued, including a live demonstration of sample submission.

• Stay connected for upcoming events across the province and visit BHA booths at outdoor shows this spring.

CALIFORNIA

• The California chapter hosted its annual Beer, Bands & Bitterbrush event, planting bitterbrush at Hallelujah Junction Wildlife Area.

• Members assisted with the California Department of Fish and Wildlife’s Lahontan cutthroat trout restoration project while holding a bear hunting camp in the same area.

• The chapter hosted a Range Day at the Sacramento Valley Shooting Center in Sloughhouse.

COLORADO

• The Colorado chapter welcomed Britt Parker and Janet George to its board.

• Co-Chair Don Holmstrom leads efforts to overturn restrictive public stream access laws, which are among the most limiting in the West.

• The chapter joined Sportsmen for the Dolores to advocate for a Dolores River Canyons National Monument proposal.

• Mark your calendars: The 2025 Colorado Public Lands Day Bash is set for May 16-18 at the I Bar Ranch in Gunnison.

• The chapter opposed a proposed ban on mountain lion hunting in the state.

FLORIDA

• The Florida chapter hosted its annual small game hunt at Dinner Island Ranch Wildlife Management Area on Dec. 14.

• The chapter celebrated the passage of Amendment 2, adding the right to fish and hunt to the Florida Constitution.

• A Pint Night was held on Nov. 21 at Old Kinderhook in Sanford.

IDAHO

• Public Lands Month was a success, with events held in North Idaho, Bogus Basin, Summit Creek, Boise, Moscow, and the Boise River Wildlife Management Area.

• Nate Collins rejoined the chapter board as policy chair.

• Learn-to-Hunt classes were successfully held in North Idaho and Treasure Valley this year, with mentors guiding students through fall hunting seasons.

ILLINOIS

• The Muddy Waters Tour continued to educate the public about Illinois’ limited stream access laws and the need for updates. Online and in-person events highlighted that only about 2% of Illinois waterways are public.

• Lake Shelbyville Archery Park is nearing completion, with a grand opening scheduled for spring 2025.

• The chapter has continued to grow and become a known steward of public lands in Illinois. Support the chapter by gifting memberships or sponsoring Illinois BHA today.

INDIANA

• The Indiana chapter worked on two stewardship projects in one day: a trout habitat improvement day on the Little Elkhart River in partnership with Trout Unlimited, and a river cleanup with Friends of the White River near Indianapolis.

• Educational efforts included a virtual session with the Indiana Natural Resources Commission on the rulemaking process, and a successful “Learn to Butcher Your Own Deer” workshop in Indianapolis, which sold out. The Indiana State University Collegiate Club hosted a table

at the “Explore Wabashiki” event, which included diverse conservation partners introducing kids to conservation, fishing, and hunting.

• The chapter hosted its annual Indiana Rendezvous, featuring a trapping workshop, stewardship events, and raffles supported by state sponsors.

IOWA

• In September, the Iowa chapter completed a public lands cleanup at Wicks Wildlife Area in Story County, removing old fencing.

• In October, with support from national sponsor Wilderness Lite Float Tubes, the chapter donated $1,000 toward purchasing 61 acres of public hunting land and 4,000 feet of stream access in Mitchell County.

• A tailgate fundraiser was held on Nov. 29 at the Iowa vs. Nebraska football game.

KANSAS

• On Aug. 15, Kansas BHA helped sink 220 cedar trees into Kirwin Reservoir to improve fish habitat.

• In September, the chapter participated in multiple river cleanups, including the One KC River Cleanup and a Manhattan Battery Cleanup Day on the Kansas River.

• Other fall efforts included brush clearing with The Nature Conservancy to enhance access to public lands at the Flint Hills Tallgrass Prairie Preserve and a cleanup at Wellington Walk-in Hunting Access Area on Nov. 2.

KENTUCKY

• The chapter’s second annual clay shoot, held in conjunction with the Kentucky chapter of Safari Club International, honored Herbert Mackey. Other summer activities included a fishing day at Falls of the Ohio, archery workshops, and habitat improvements at Otter Creek Outdoor Recreation Area.

• In September, the chapter celebrated its first Public Lands Pilsner Release in partnership with Country Boy Brewing.

• October highlights included the annual trout stocking in Red River Gorge and a Clay WMA cleanup and squirrel hunt.

MICHIGAN

• The Michigan chapter hosted an event with Chad Stewart, ungulate wildlife specialist for the Michigan Department of Natural Resources, discussing whitetail antler point restrictions.

• In partnership with Lansing Brewing Company, the chapter released a Public Lands Pale Ale to celebrate Public Lands Month.

• The chapter engaged in conservation advocacy on the Boyne River Dam issue and ATV use in the Jordan River area.

MID-ATLANTIC

• The chapter engaged U.S. senators about the Maryland Piedmont Reliability project and its potential impact on easements, farmland, wildlife habitat, and Chesapeake Bay watershed restoration efforts.

• The chapter officially supported Virginia’s Great Outdoors Act, which allocates $200 million from recordation tax revenue without increasing taxes or reducing local funding.

• The board is expanding, adding new members from Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware.

•

MINNESOTA

• The Minnesota chapter will host its third annual Icebreaker on Jan. 25, 2025, featuring demonstrations in spearing, winter camping, ice fishing, and a wild game cook-off.

• This fall, the chapter held a Learn-to-Hunt Grouse event for new hunters in partnership with the Trust for Public Land.

• Minnesota BHA also celebrated the successful renewal of the Environment & Natural Resources Trust Fund initiative, which passed with 77% voter support.

MISSOURI

• The Missouri chapter relaunched its Springfield branch, highlighted by a Full Draw Film Tour screening and a Pint Night at 4by4 Brewing.

• With over 15 events statewide in 2024, the chapter engaged in stewardship projects, Pint Nights, archery shoots, and Full Draw Film Tour screenings.

• The board has begun planning an even bigger 2025, with more stewardship and community events.

MONTANA

• The Montana chapter supported the protection of over 30,000 acres of publicly accessible land through the Montana Great Outdoors Conservation Easement project.

• Members wrote letters of support for wildlife crossing projects on U.S. Highways 93 and 191, and provided comments on the state’s mule deer management plan.

• Public Lands Day was celebrated with a river cleanup on the upper Missouri River, wrapping up the chapter’s 2024 stewardship efforts.

• The chapter sponsored the Montana Stream Access Rally and organized the General Season Send Off at the Sitka Depot in Bozeman.

• The chapter welcomed two new board members: Josh Liljedahl and Collin Peterson.

NEW ENGLAND

• The Rhode Island team sponsored a youth mentored waterfowl hunt, which was a resounding success.

• In New Hampshire, chapter members joined the University of New Hampshire and New Hampshire Fish & Game in checking more than 20 trail cameras as part of a moose and mesocarnivore study.

• The Vermont team hosted a Pint Night with local author Ethan Tapper, discussing his book, How to Love a Forest, at Bear Naked Growler in Montpelier.

NEW JERSEY

• In September, the New Jersey chapter held a virtual meet-and-greet where board members shared stories of memorable hunting and fishing experiences.

• In October and November, the chapter launched a virtual mentor series, giving members of all experience levels a chance to ask questions about hunting various game species.

NEW MEXICO

• The New Mexico chapter donated 100 care packages to support the Village of Pecos Kids Fishing Derby in late September.

• For the fourth consecutive year, the chapter held a drawing for a donated cow elk tag, gifted by the Soules family in honor of the late New Mexico Game Commissioner David Soules. The chapter is thrilled to put another coveted tag back in public hands. This year’s winner was military-affiliated member Austin Hannum. Thank you to the Soules family for their continued generosity.

• Several Pint Nights throughout the state provided opportunities for members and the public to connect, share hunting stories, and plan for the upcoming seasons.

NEW YORK

• The New York chapter partnered with The Nature Conservancy and NY Hunters of Color to host a mentored early season doe hunt. Six mentees hunted solo for the first time, and two harvested their first deer.

• The chapter packed out two full pickup trucks of trash from East Otto State Forest in Western New York.

• New York BHA is promoting the state’s Wildlife Crossing Act, which has passed the Senate and Assembly and is awaiting the governor’s signature.

NORTH CAROLINA

• Following Tropical Storm Helene, North Carolina chapter members organized a two-day relief mission to assist victims in remote mountain areas.

• The Armed Forces Initiative’s Whitetail Archery Dual Skills Camp at Uwharrie National Forest was a success, teaching participants new skills despite unfilled tags.

• Visit the North Carolina BHA/AFI booth at the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh, Feb. 8-Mar. 2, 2025.

NORTH DAKOTA

• The North Dakota chapter attended early engagement meetings for the Dakota Prairie Grasslands Travel Management Plan, with scoping to begin in 2025.

• The chapter donated $5,000 to the North Dakota Wildlife Federation’s Fire Relief Fund to support grazing communities affected by wildfires.

• Planning is underway for the 2025 legislative session.

OHIO

• The Ohio chapter welcomed new board members James Morton, Sarah Medziuch, Leslie Gair, and Jared Hostetler, while saying goodbye to several leaders who moved out of state.

• In September, 13 volunteers packed out 123 tires from Wayne National Forest.

OKLAHOMA

• In August, the Oklahoma chapter hosted a Full Draw Film Tour event in Oklahoma City at Rodeo Cinema.

• The chapter held a public land pack-out event on the Lower Illinois River, cleaning trash from the streambed and surrounding areas.

• Board members met with state officials to discuss conservation concerns.

Members of the South Dakota chapter join forces with the Black Hills Fly Fishers and the Black Hills Chapter of Pheasants Forever for a creek cleanup. Photo: Bill Young

OREGON

• The Oregon chapter hosted its fourth annual Adult Hunter Workshop, combining online classes with an in-person field day.

• In September, the chapter held a volunteer appreciation work party in partnership with the BLM, ODFW, and USFS, repairing and modifying a quarter mile of fencing.

PENNSYLVANIA

• The Pennsylvania chapter hosted its third annual Bustin’ Clays fundraising event on Oct. 6, which continues to grow and supports legislative work in Harrisburg.

• Chapter leaders celebrated successful public land hunts from Maine to Alaska, while reflecting and relaxing after a busy year of policy, outreach, and advocacy.

SOUTH DAKOTA

• The South Dakota chapter submitted comments on the Pactola-Rapid Creek Watershed Mineral Withdrawal proposal.

• The chapter celebrated the dedication of the Stengle Tract, a 560-acre addition to the Frozen Man Creek Game Production Area, in partnership with Pheasants Forever and South Dakota Game, Fish & Parks.

• A lake cleanup was held at Thompson Lake as part of the Adopt-ALake program.

• Chapter members collaborated with Black Hills Fly Fishers and Pheasants Forever for a creek cleanup.

SOUTHEAST

• The Southeast chapter, in collaboration with Mobile Baykeeper, hosted a public lands pack-out at Mobile Tensaw Wildlife Management Area on Oct. 12, removing 450 cubic feet of debris around the historic Ghost Fleet site.

• The chapter is organizing regional wilderness first aid certification events. Contact southeast@backcountryhunters.org for more information.

• Alabama’s Attorney General has joined other AGs in several states in filing an Amicus Brief in support ofUtah’s federal land transfer efforts. BHA Headquarters sent out an email containing an action alert. Please express your opinion on this matter to Alabama’s leadership!

• The chapter enjoyed a leisurely float and campout on the Perdido River in September, and plans are underway for more group activities, including the annual squirrel hunt.

TEXAS

• The Texas chapter met its $2,000 fundraising goal for the “Save the Cutoff” campaign, unlocking matching funds to support the initiative.

• The chapter’s R3 Chair, with BHA volunteers, hosted a whitetail deer hunt for new hunters on over 20,000 acres in southwest Texas.

• Preparations are underway for statewide public land workdays in February and March.

UTAH

• Utah BHA board members fielded media requests and published articles discussing their opposition to public land transfer lawsuits.

• The chapter participated in the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources’ proposal cycle, supporting efforts to grow mule deer populations while maintaining hunting opportunities.

• Utah BHA hosted “Stewards on Stage Presents: Taking Back or Just Taking? A Conversation About the Law and Public Lands in Utah,” fostering conversations about public land laws and their implications.

WASHINGTON

• The Washington chapter, in partnership with the Department of Natural Resources, organized a Capitol Forest clean-up, where 30 volunteers removed over two tons of trash.

• In October, the chapter hosted Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife biologists to discuss elk hoof disease, which is impacting herds across the coastal range.

• Chronic wasting disease was detected in Washington for the first time, and the chapter is working with WDFW to encourage hunters to test their harvests.

WEST VIRGINIA

• The chapter hosted a Backcountry Skills Camp at Sleepy Creek Wildlife Management Area on Oct. 12.

• A Public Lands Pint Night was held in Parkersburg to celebrate the deer season opener on Nov. 22.

• West Virginia BHA will participate in the WV Hunting and Fishing Show in Charleston from Jan. 19–21, with another Public Lands Pint Night planned for Jan. 19.

• The chapter is spearheading the first annual WV Sportsmen’s Capitol Conservation Day on Feb. 21.

WISCONSIN

• Wisconsin BHA called for a sustainable hunting season for Sandhill Cranes, advocating science-based management through public hunting opportunities of the state’s population of over 90,000 birds.

• The chapter’s R3 team hosted Learn-to-Hunt events for raccoons, white-tailed deer, and pheasants, teaching conservation, ethics, and public land advocacy to participants.

• Quarterly habitat clean-up days were launched in partnership with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, restoring critical habitats and improving trail access.

WYOMING

• In October, Wyoming Chapter leaders supported the rifle sight-in for the Wyoming Women’s Foundation Antelope Hunt.

• The chapter collaborated with six wildlife conservation groups to produce the Hunt-Fish-Vote Resource website, providing information for conservation-minded voters.

• Wyoming BHA submitted comments to Bridger-Teton National Forest about proposed trail enhancements in the Kemmerer Ranger District, focusing on impacts to mule deer and elk summer range habitat in the Wyoming Range.

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

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SOUTHERN SNOWSTORM

BY DALTON WAYNE HOOVER

I was the last person to arrive that day at the Old Post Duck Lodge in Gillett, Arkansas. I had driven five hours from Louisiana to participate in a Train-the-Trainer event for the Armed Forces Initiative (AFI) of BHA. I had only met a few of these veterans in person and only a few more on a Zoom call, but when I walked through the door, a crowd of people greeted me who you would have thought I had known my whole life.

There were members from all over the country taking part in this event, from Texas and Louisiana to Virginia and Michigan, all either active-duty military or veterans of some sort. We were here to gain knowledge and guidance on how to return to our respective homes and start a local AFI chapter of BHA, to complement our state-level chapters, which a number of us were already active participants in.

After we had eaten, we started the intros. The first thing I noticed was that each one of the members who sat before me and spoke was as enthusiastic about habitat conservation as I was, and we all possessed the same sense of dark humor that the military had instilled in us as a by-product of stressful employment.

I haven’t always been accepted with open arms by the veteran community. I only served for about two years before I severely injured my lower back during a training mission and received a medical discharge at only 21 years old. Though I attended many training schools in my short time, I never saw combat. Many fellow infantrymen with whom I didn’t serve treated me as if I wasn’t a veteran at all.

As soon as I was discharged, I vowed never to go outside again, to run and hide from my military past—many had made it perfectly clear I didn’t have one anyway. I no longer looked to nature for solace; instead, I turned to alcohol and drugs. This lasted for a few years until I made the decision to get sober. And then I got bored. I discovered public lands and decided to start hiking again for exercise, which turned into camping, which turned into light backpacking, which led to rekindling the fire inside me for fishing, a sport I had been absent from for years.

After a year or so on the wagon, just as I was beginning to falter during the summer of COVID, I met AFI member D.J. Zor at a gas station in Idaho where I was trying to obtain a fishing license. He invited me to share a meal with him and another friend who had just spent over a week in the wilderness bowhunting black bears

with traditional archery equipment.

I thought that was the coolest thing I ever heard, and when he noticed that I was intrigued, he introduced me to the organization which I now proudly call home. I bought a BHA membership and ran with it. I started fishing in the saltwater flats of southern Louisiana for redfish and speckled trout. I bought a cheap pump shotgun and began hunting squirrels and turkeys. Transformation was complete the first time I harvested a duck. Hunting and fishing had given me a purpose in life again, filling a hole that had been empty for so long. I can honestly say that it saved my life, as cliché as it sounds.

Once I found out that our public lands were constantly under attack, I found a new mission in life—one that I could use all of my military skills and training to pursue. Former AFI Coordinator Trevor Hubbs put it best in his Armed Forces Initiative’s Commander’s Intent: “To instill within the military community a knowledge of conservation practices and theories, a love of wild places, and a desire to elevate America’s public wildlands as fundamental components of American freedom.” As profound as that quote may be, my favorite quote by Mr. Hubbs is much simpler, and one that resonates through every fiber of my being: “We want to give the military community a new mission, and that mission is conservation.” I do not have PTSD, but once I realized that nature and conservation saved my life, I thought of the millions of fellow veterans out there suffering from the silent killer, and I wanted to help them.

A 3:00 a.m. wake-up call is jarring to anyone, even a dozen veterans. I don’t know about all the other participants, but this time my eyes were wide open and ready to go at 2:50. Many of us had never hunted snow geese before, and even more of us had never hunted in layout blinds, so in the waning hours of darkness we practiced rais-

ing up out of the blind and taking aim. Then many of us took naps, waiting on the daylight and the birds. Most of us ribbed each other in the dying darkness like we had known each other for years—like we had all served together in the past. The guide looked over and asked me how long we had all known each other, to which I replied, “We all just met last night.” I don’t think he believed me one bit.

That night, over a steaming plate of snow goose dirty rice, we sat around a large dining table and learned how to run an AFI event of our own. Members of the AFI board went over the checklist for events and gave us the necessary materials to get local funding for our individual AFI chapters. We went over proper medical procedures and emergency plans, which is when many of us realized just how serious this entire event was. That’s the moment when I realized the responsibility that we had to the members of our respective chapters as well as the veterans we choose to bring out in the future.

Later, each person told us the best part of their day, the worst part of their day, and who they thought the best hunter of the day was. It was easy as can be for each of us to pick who the best hunter was, and even easier for each person to describe the best part of their day. But every single person in the room struggled when it came to choosing the worst part of their day.

When it finally came to me, I grappled with the question just as much as anyone, if not more, because I didn’t have a flock of children to miss or a long drive home the next day. I decided to be honest, and I told the group the worst part of my day was the off-brand Pop-Tart I had for breakfast. While I do have an affinity for namebrand breakfast pastries, it was really more of a way to express that I could not find a single thing wrong with the previous 24 hours. On that day, I finally felt like the veteran community accepted me for

Photos: Hugh Cummings

who I was and not what I had done, and that this newfound passion of mine wouldn’t just be a hobby on the weekends anymore. I felt like I was a part of something bigger than myself, an emotion I hadn’t felt since I was discharged from the Army.

We all went to bed that night floating just above the ground. The next morning did not pan out for us like the day before. The weather didn’t cooperate, nor did the wind, and the birds began feeding—teasing us—in fields just 500 yards away. The geese unlikely to move anytime soon, we all thought of long drives home with ice chests full of yesterday’s birds and made the decision to pack up and call it a day. We ribbed each other while we picked up the decoy spread—700 shells and stakes to match 700 jokes and jabs. The dry, military humor hovered through the air, like ducks cupping into decoys at daybreak. The guide looked over at me again and asked, “Are you sure you guys just met only two days ago?”

Dalton Wayne Hoover is a writer from south Louisiana and the Armed Forces Initiative’s Communications Manager. When not pursuing his master’s in creative writing at LSU or spending time with his wife and daughter, he can be found following his GSP through the swamp chasing woodcock, trapping raccoons, or fishing in the diverse waters of his home state.

Hunting Ninja Squirrels of the Southwest

BY LELAND HART

Silent, scarce, and ghostly, the desert tree squirrels of the Southwest present challenges to even the most skilled small-game hunters. Before the military brought me to Arizona, I grew up hunting and fishing in Michigan. Now, I am the Backcountry Hunters & Anglers Armed Forces Initiative Fort Huachuca chapter leader, and I have become an avid public land hunter and angler. I’ve learned some harsh lessons about pursuing “Old Bushytail” in the desert Southwest. Squirrels in the “Sky Island” region of southeastern Arizona act wildly different from squirrels anywhere else in the country. They are difficult to reach, hard to find, and often scarcer than their cousins in wetter climates. However, the rewards are well worth the effort.

The Arizona gray squirrel (Sciurus arizonensis)—despite its name—is more closely related to, and behaves more like, a fox squirrel. These squirrels typically live in the “Sky Islands” of isolated mountains surrounded by arid deserts. Within these small mountains, they are most easily hunted in the valleys and river bottoms. The best hunting is often found in areas with open-canopy forest and sparse ground cover; squirrels may live elsewhere, but hunters have the best visibility in these areas. Still-hunting is the technique of choice for Arizona gray squirrels. Choose a creek or river bottom in the mountains. Plan to park and hunt the entire river bottom, out and back. Walk slowly, pausing frequently to look for movement or squirrel bodies. When desired, turn around and hunt the same bottom again, moving with similar caution and awareness. Once your party spots a squirrel, keep your eyes on it and move into position for a shot. A varmint-caliber rifle or shot-loaded shotgun is sufficient to bring the squirrel down. Although this may sound similar to squirrel hunting elsewhere, the

Southwest presents challenges unique to the species and environment.

The mountainous habitat of these squirrels is often at a high elevation. Oxygen deprivation is a well-known challenge for elk and mountain mule deer hunters but is rarely faced by Midwestern small-game hunters. Moreover, the riparian bottoms of mountain valleys are often rocky, steep, and unforgiving of careless hiking. Cacti and thorned brush abound, presenting obstacles not found in more temperate regions. Weather in these river bottoms is often windier and colder than in lower areas, and can be surprisingly chilly to those accustomed to desert climates. A sturdy pair of boots, physical fitness, and strong situational awareness are essential to overcoming these challenges. Utilizing public land with maintained trails and access points will aid hunters and help prevent mishaps.

One key challenge these squirrels present is a rare silence. Squirrels in other areas often chatter with one another, scold intruders, and screech challenges to rivals, accompanied by noisy movement along the ground. But the Arizona gray squirrel is almost ninja-like in comparison. To compensate, hunters must rely heavily on their eyes, focusing on movement and shape instead of noise. Fuzzy tails often betray their location, even when they are standing still. Hunters will often spook squirrels into moving, which can be the only clue to their presence.

Scarcity also presents a challenge not typically faced by smallgame hunters. Midwest whitetail hunters are often overrun by squirrels—sometimes by handfuls or even dozens. The Arizona gray squirrel, however, seems to be less gregarious than squirrels elsewhere. This may be due to the desert environment, the number of predators, or other unknown factors. This scarcity certainly impacts a planned hunt, but hunters can compensate by covering as much of a river bottom as possible. Dedicate as much time as you can, and

Photos:

Leland Hart

pass through an area multiple times.

Good shooting is a must. Using supported shooting positions pays dividends, and silence is more productive than noise. Teamwork is often the key to success, as more sets of eyes increases your chances. A shotgun hunter in the group can often bring down a moving squirrel that eludes a varmint-rifle hunter.

The challenges aside, Southwest squirrels are a rewarding quarry. Their meat is similar to that of other squirrels—flavorful and tasty. Moreover, the terrain may offer additional small-game opportunities, depending on the exact region, with some areas having game species like coatimundi or quail not found in many other hunting spots.

Even better than a squirrel-leg dinner on the cheap, hunting Arizona gray squirrels places hunters in some of the most scenic areas of Arizona and highlights the ability of even forbidding environments to provide hunting opportunities. Rare is the individual who can hunt a creek bottom in Arizona’s mountains without leaving more convinced of the need to conserve public lands and hunting opportunities.

Leland Hart is the Fort Huachuca Installation club leader with BHA’s Armed Forces Initiative. Originally from Michigan, he serves as a military officer in the U.S. Army. He is an avid squirrel, Coues deer, and javelina hunter, and an angler disappointingly stationed in the desert. He enjoys recruiting and mentoring new hunters and helping conservation causes.

This simple recipe for squirrel legs provides a delicious meal.

Ingredients:

• Squirrel legs, skinned and cleaned of hair

• Butter (about 2 ounces for every four squirrel legs)

• Buffalo sauce or hot sauce (amount and heat level to taste)

Instructions:

1. Skin the squirrels and remove the front and back legs. Ensure all hair and dirt are removed. If desired, save the saddles for other purposes.

2. Place the skinned squirrel legs in the slow cooker, with pats of butter underneath and on top.

3. Before cooking, lightly coat the squirrel legs with Buffalo or hot sauce. Avoid over-saucing to prevent flavor overload—the sauce will cook down and penetrate the meat.

4. Cook on low for 4 to 8 hours, or until tender.

5. Toward the end of the cooking time, add sauce to taste. Sauce added at the end won’t cook down and will coat the legs when served.

Serve warm as an appetizer or as part of a main course. As an appetizer, one squirrel will likely feed one or two people; as a main dish, plan on about two to three squirrels per person.

Buffalo Squirrel Legs

Wilderness in an Uncertain Future

BY CHARLIE BOOHER

As the 60th anniversary of the Wilderness Act has come and gone, it is easy to find ourselves both celebrating our collective, monumental achievements, while also confronting the complex realities facing wild lands in modern society. Since the act became a law in 1964, several Congresses have protected 111 million acres of our federal estate from development, safeguarding these public lands as refuges from motorized recreation and industrialization. For hunters and anglers, wildlife, and other outdoor enthusiasts, Wilderness areas represent an enduring promise—an escape from the constant hum of modern life and a sanctuary for (mostly) undisturbed natural processes. However, times are changing.

Today, these lands are under increasing pressure from forces that the Act’s authors could not have imagined: catastrophic wildfires driven by climate change, infestations of invasive species, and unprecedented levels of human visitation. A shrinking percentage of those visitors are fall hunters, creating nearly year-round disturbance for wildlife that once had at least some periods of respite from incursions. And evermore, Wilderness areas across the West are charred by fire each summer.

We can all agree that a wilderness experience hallmarked by solitude is inherently compromised by an increasing number of people on the landscape. However, I would argue that the experience is likewise compromised—in one way or another—if the health of an ecosystem begins to falter.

The 1964 Wilderness Act established a new designation for federal lands that was intended to conserve the most intact tracts of our public estate. Lands designated as part of the National Wilderness Preservation System are subject to additional rules and regulations, hallmarked by bans on motorized equipment or mechanized transportation. The ideals embodied by our NWPS are central to the very soul of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers, as outlined by the organization’s mission and values:

“Our freedom to hunt and fish depends on habitat. While many of us enjoy hunting and fishing on a range of landscapes, including

farm fields and reservoirs, there is something special—even magical —about hunting deep in the backcountry or fishing on a remote river.

“Wilderness hunting and fishing deliver a sense of freedom, challenge and solitude that is increasingly trampled by the twin pressures of growing population and increasing technology. Many treasured fish and wildlife species—such as cutthroat trout, grizzly bear and bighorn sheep—thrive in wilderness. Others, like elk and mule deer, benefit from wilderness. From the Steens Mountain Wilderness in Oregon to the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness in Idaho and the Boundary Waters of Minnesota, BHA members treasure America’s wilderness system and strive to add to it.”

In the face of our ardent commitment to this form of land conservation, these modern challenges raise a never-ending stream of questions and produce few answers. With managers constrained in their ability to maintain these lands by the very law that intends to protect them for both people and wildlife, we must ask ourselves, can wilderness survive?

Of course, it’s worth considering that the very concept of “wilderness” as we know it largely ignores the fact that all the lands on which we currently reside in North America were once occupied, managed, conserved, and utilized by Indigenous peoples. And North America’s first peoples often intervened in the ecological processes of those landscapes—and our modern introduction of Wilderness (note the capital “W”) changed our collective, legal ability to do so further.

The question facing land managers, lawmakers, and conservationists is whether the Wilderness ideal—of leaving these places “untrammeled”—can survive in a world reshaped by a changing global climate?

None of us can accept seeing our country’s most cherished places revert to the modern multiple-use framework, where logging, grazing, and mining share the landscape with wildlife, recreation, and cultural preservation. However, we may need to ask ourselves, is it time to reassess and clarify our society’s goals for Wilderness?

For many, the answer lies in the spirit of restraint that is embodied by these places. Wilderness areas are some of the last places where hunters and anglers can experience unmolested landscapes— without roads, without engines, and without crowds. These areas have historically provided important habitat for wildlife and, notably, undisturbed refuge from human pressure.

“We recognize the need to adapt to changing conditions and biophysical realities,” says Kaden McArthur, Government Relations Manager for Backcountry Hunters and Anglers. “But when we talk about managing Wilderness areas, we need to tread very carefully. Interventions should only occur when necessary, and even then, they must honor the spirit of the Wilderness Act. These places are more than just land—they are our legacy for the next generation of backcountry hunters and anglers. Any proposal that even hints at active management must be offered sparingly, scientifically, and with a firm commitment to maintaining the wilderness character that makes these places special.”

BHA’s philosophy is rooted in the belief that wilderness is not just a collection of plants and wildlife, but a shared cultural and ecological inheritance. Hunters and anglers—many of us who spend countless hours in these landscapes—understand the delicate balance required to keep these places healthy and thriving.

The Wilderness Act was not written to solve every environmental challenge, but it provides a guiding framework for conserving some of our continent’s last intact ecosystems. The role of hunters and anglers in this effort is critical: through advocacy, habitat restoration, and participation in well-managed hunts, hunters and anglers contribute to a landscape’s resilience. At the same time, it is essential to push back against proposals that would diminish the Wilderness ideal in the name of convenience or short-term gain.

Looking to the future, advancing the spirit of the Wilderness Act

will inevitably require both vigilance and flexibility. As conditions on the land continue to change, it will likely be suggested that some degree of human intervention is necessary to maintain the wilderness character of some places.

As we celebrate 60 years of the Act, the stakes could not be higher. Any path forward requires careful consideration and a shared commitment to preserving the Wilderness ideal. The decisions we make today will determine whether future generations will have the opportunity to experience these places as we do now: as sanctuaries of peace and places devoid of modern industrial intervention.

As of now, any ideas of facilitating more intentional management of Wilderness are just whispers, drowned out by both sides: calls to dispense with the concept entirely or to add more lands into this system of preservation. However, these conversations will rise, and hunters and anglers must remain at the forefront of these debates, just as we always have been.

“We have a responsibility to both protect these areas from incursions of modern humanity, while also adapting to changing conditions,” McArthur added. “But any management decisions must be made with the utmost care and respect for the land. Wilderness areas are not places to impose humanity’s will on the landscape—they are places to learn humility and to allow the world to shape us.”

BHA member Charlie Booher is a conservation lobbyist at Watershed Results LLC and holds degrees in wildlife biology, public policy, and natural resource conflict resolution from Michigan State University and the University of Montana. Outside of the office, you can find him hiking the mountains of Western Montana and relearning how to hunt and fish in the Northern Rockies.

ACCESS & ACCESSIBILITY

BY NICK FASCIANO

There was a knot the size of a golfball sending jolts of pain through my sunburned neck by the time I made it back to the truck. My pack was sagging heavy on my hips and shoulders, but I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to was banging my way through miles of rock and gravel hills hunched halfway over to keep hold of a wheelchair piled with 150 pounds of elk meat.

Even at 7,000 feet in October, the sun had the kind of fury you would typically associate with June, and sweat was dripping from the brim of my hat as I leaned my nose into one of the quarters to check if the meat had begun to sour. Still smelled clean.

“Anything I can do to help?” Dan asked, looking apologetic in the cab of his pickup that he’d been sitting in for hours.

“Don’t think so,” I answered as I piled swollen game bags in the shade of the truck bed, shooting him a surly look to indicate the kind of mood I was in before turning to hike back up the mountain.

An Unexpected Encounter

I often forget that Dan is in a wheelchair. We hunt together on a regular basis, chasing everything from the bugling elk and open country mule deer that Idaho is known for to spring bear that we’ll set up on over sickly-sweet piles of bait once trail cam photos start to show the promising hulk of serious boar activity. During

the depths of winter snows, when closed seasons blend with cabin fever in their annual cocktail of restless boredom, we might be out chasing cottontails or coyotes in bramble-filled canyons.

More often than not, when we get to the trailhead I’ll blithely hop out of the truck and start hiking, making it 50 yards or so before realizing that Dan is still sitting in the cab because I’d forgotten (again) to get his three-wheeled offroad wheelchair out of the pickup. He never waves or even turns his head when I do this.

“I know you’ll remember eventually,” he says with a shrug and a don’t-worry-all-my-friends-are-idiots smile.

One reason why it’s so easy to forget about the chair is that Dan is one of the most capable people I know. He owns a brewery back in town and is the kind of scrappy business owner where you can never quite tell if he runs the place or if he’s a day laborer they brought in to scrub pots and haul around spare parts. I’ve never seen him without some kind of mechanical grease on his jeans. I was friends with the guy for months before I managed to find out that he has an Olympic medal in riflery and that he led the University of Alaska to multiple NCAA championships as head coach in that same sport. And I only learned all that by looking it up.

But despite a track record of success ornamented by a thriving business, a box of medals he never looks at, and rows of antlers on the wall for visitors to gawk over, the early part of our elk hunt was a frustrating one for him.

The rut was still on, and the bulls were bugling, but the majority

In spite of the concern that we might be looking a gift horse in the mouth, it had the flavor of not being strictly above board – and none of us had an appetite for feeling the taste of success turn bitter by a murky encounter with law enforcement.

of activity in this broken country seemed to be a ridge or two over from anything reasonably accessible for Dan. The trails were all too steep, too strewn with deadfall, too narrow or too altogether nonexistent for him to get there. And the strain of not being able to reach anything other than the ubiquitous feral horses that fertilized the soil with Jurassic-sized dung heaps was beginning to show. So I perked up when he came into camp one afternoon with a smile on his face.

“I ran into a local ranch worker,” Dan said, sounding upbeat. When he recognized Dan’s situation, the man had been immediately keen to help. He was no fan of the seasonal road closures implemented by the Bureau of Land Management, which shut down motorized access for rifle seasons and winter to many of the prime routes that crisscross the unit. BLM closes these roads to provide for nonmotorized hunting opportunities and provide game security. But this local wasn’t shy about saying how much it pissed him off that the closures prevented people like Dan from getting around out there. He then hopped out of his rig and threw a salt block into the back of Dan’s Razor.

“You’re now my employee,” the man decreed, stating outright that Dan should ignore the locked gates and drive back into whatever country he liked. He said that if any law enforcement types tried to give him a citation, he could just tell them he was up there delivering

salt blocks for the ranch. If they gave him a ticket anyway, the man would pay the fine himself. He even had a key to the BLM gates, which he said Dan was welcome to use.

As promising as this was, it did present a bit of a quandary. It seemed legitimate enough, and if there were ever any occasions to bend the rules a bit, this sure seemed like one of them—both for the hunt and for everything that would come after if we were successful. Despite the surprising distances Dan can make it over puckered sagebrush trails on his own power, it always weighs on his mind that while he might fill his tag, he can never help much with the packout. Having motorized access would be huge for meat recovery.

Dan and I talked it over until late into the night, along with our friend Jim, who was the third member of our hunting party. It was a tempting proposition. Especially given the buckets of sweat we knew we would have to dump in the dirt slogging it up those roads under the Indian Summer sun. But still. In spite of the concern that we might be looking a gift horse in the mouth, it had the flavor of not being strictly above board—and none of us had an appetite for feeling the taste of success turn bitter by a murky encounter with law enforcement. So a few whiskeys later, Dan decided to grit his teeth and push his way up into the hills without taking the man up on his offer.

Wheelchair Bulls

I wasn’t with Dan when he shot his bull. I had filled my tag a couple days before and was driving back to our hunting camp after dropping the meat off at my place when I got the call. “Shot a spike,” Dan said in tone that made it clear he felt it was a personal favor to me that he hadn’t shot a bigger animal that I would have to suffer through packing out. “Three miles off the road.”

I spent the next hour gobbling up highway and playing out mental movies of high fives and backslaps, until my phone rang again. A hyperventilating Jim was on the other line, buck fever still quivering in his voice as he mumbled something about a second bull down, 500 yards away from where Dan’s spike lay.

I didn’t go so far as to suggest that now might be a good time to use the rancher’s key to the gate, but the thought of four good tires and a 2,000-pound payload sounded pretty good as I trudged my way through the moonlit canyon that night to meet up with the guys. They were two miles uphill along a closed BLM road, built of rocks and dirt, and another mile of washout strewn with bowling ball-sized stones and ruts deep enough that Jim had been forced to carry Dan over them for whole sections when they had hiked in earlier that day. Aided by cool night air, I clambered my way over the metal railing that marked the trailhead at just after nine in the evening and was at the sputtering fire Dan and Jim had built

of sagebrush scraps by 10. It had taken them four hours under the unrelenting sun.

Both bulls were untouched by the time I sauntered up to the small campfire. As a new hunter, Jim had never field dressed a big game animal by himself and the sagebrush hillside where the elk lay was too steep for Dan’s chair, to say nothing of a yawning dry creek bed that sliced its way between the hillside and the trail. I brought them each a beer to celebrate, and we sat there while the sagey smoke swirled around us and they regaled me with the adventure of their hike in, how it had been worth the sweat when they caught sight of Dan’s spike ambling into range over the pine-crested ridgetop across the canyon, and how an hour later the two had sat together while Jim steadied his rifle and Dan talked him through the shot that took the second bull down in the quiet and steady tones of a veteran shooting coach.

Beers fully drained and yarns fully spun, Jim and I spent the next few hours field dressing the elk, a steady steam billowing up from the body cavities as we rolled the piles of viscera a hundred yards downhill to occupy the coyotes that we could already hear yipping off in the dark. Unprepared to spend the night in the open, quartering and packing out the meat would have to wait until the next day. We rejoined Dan and hiked out, collapsing exhausted back at camp around 3 a.m.

On Two Legs and Three Wheels

Our shirts were sticky with sweat before the sun was much above the horizon and it was only going to get hotter. Even with my buddy Jon coming in to help, getting two elk off a shadeless south facing slope on backs alone would take long enough that we’d be running a real risk of meat spoilage. We had another short council of war to debate the use of the rancher’s key, but decided to stick to our guns. Since Dan would stay behind for the packout, I found myself clanging up the trail gripping the handles of an empty wheelchair —a surprisingly unwieldy device when unburdened by an occupant —that we would make the best use of while Dan went out in search of a more legitimate game cart.

The day worked on in drudgery, piling quarters into backpacks and as high and deep into the wheelchair as it could take without tipping over. The gamebags bulged with meat in the seat of that chair and drooped over the sides, and every few hundred yards I had to stop and adjust them so the friction from the wheels they were pressed up against wouldn’t burn a hole in the sides of the bags and start an impromptu barbeque. A couple times I was late on the jump, and the acrid tinge of hot rubber and singed meat would force me to stop in the shade of a stray cottonwood and squish the bags back into shape. It took several trips, and the sun made it from one horizon to the other, but eventually it was done, and we dragged our sore backs to camp.

Jon needed to get back to town for a family event and was gone by the time Jim and I finished carrying out the last load of meat, but shortly after I was back in cell reception, I got a call from him.

“So I ran into BLM Enforcement at the trailhead,” he said. “Guess who they were looking for.”

According to Jon, the enforcement truck had stopped in front of him moments after he’d come through the gate, sending a small cloud of the chalky dirt that covers this country billowing through the air and onto the game bags he’d been laying out in the shade.

“So sorry about the dust,” the officer said by way of a friendly greeting.

“It’s ok,” Jon said smiling, “It’s not my elk.”

BLM enforcement wasn’t in that area by accident. They were looking for somebody, and the description they gave Jon sounded very much like the ranch worker who had offered to help us get past the locked gates.

As it turned out, the man we thought was a rancher did not actually work for a ranch. (The officer emphasized that ranchers with grazing permits always give the BLM a heads up if they are going to drive closed roads in order to avoid ruining someone’s hunt.) He had been employed by one in the past but no longer worked there and should not have had a BLM gate key. Despite claims he might have made to be doing ranching work, he lacked any authority to drive on closed roads himself – let alone authorize other people to do the same. The man had even received a previous citation for driving up closed roads illegally and spooking some elk that other hunters had been stalking.

We had made the right call to leave the trucks behind. Or rather Dan did. If anybody has the right to complain about closed roads, he’s certainly one of them. But to him they provided the access he needed. Who knows if those elk would have even been using that route if we’d been able to rip back and forth through the area on a Razor, kicking up dust and screaming engines through the canyon.

In the end, those closures were probably the reason we all tagged out.

I’m sure it still ate Dan up that he couldn’t help us haul the meat off the mountain—even if he lent his wheelchair to the cause—but he never lost his wry sense of humor about it.

The morning of the pack-out I woke up after a few short hours of sleep, my feet still tender from the hike the night before. I glanced at my Garmin smartwatch and tried to start the day off with a laugh.

“Always nice to wake up and realize you’ve already hit your step goal for the day,” I joked by way of a good morning.

Jim gave a cackle, and we put off getting out of our sleeping bags by arguing over what the right step goal might be for elk season.

Dan, who to all appearances was still dead asleep, chimed in. “Mine is one.”

Nick Fasciano is a life member of BHA, and previously served as the policy chair for the Idaho chapter. He is now the Executive Director of the Idaho Wildlife Federation and is a devoted advocate for our public lands and outdoor heritage.

Editor’s Note: To help encourage sportsmen and public land users to continue our longstanding tradition of policing our own ranks, BHA offers a reward for reports or information leading to a citation for illegal motorized use. Help ensure that we continue to have quality habitat, hunts and access for all. More at backcountryhunters.org/ illegal_motorized_use_reward_program

The author packing out. Photo: Dan Jordan

Of Bucks and Bark Eaters

BY FRANK DESANTIS JR.

It wasn’t his first trip to the Adirondacks. At 15, as a budding big-game hunter, he harvested his first buck there—a yearling with spike antlers, like many first bucks. Even then, he knew much of the region’s history and was likely eager to tell others that “Adirondacks” was believed to be an Iroquois term of derision toward the Algonquins. The Algonquins, rumored to survive on tree buds and bark during harsh winters, were known as “Bark Eaters” and had historically used the Adirondacks seasonally for hunting before being displaced by the Iroquois.

This trip was different. Rather than hunting, he sought the spiritual renewal and mental clarity that time in unbroken forests had always provided. Soaking in the view from New York’s highest peak, he was unaware that the President’s condition was deteriorating. He had left for the Adirondacks days earlier, believing the President was recovering. While at Lake Tear-of-the-Clouds, the Vice President received word to return to the President’s bedside. He would not make it in time. News of President McKinley’s death would reach him en route, and in the great forests of the Adirondacks, Theodore Roosevelt would learn he was now President of the United States.

It is serendipitous that the country’s greatest conservationist president would inherit the White House while tramping

through some of America’s most legislatively protected lands. The Adirondack Mountains of New York have been called America’s cauldron of conservation, as it was here that the wanton exploitation of forests first raised public concern about human impacts on the environment. Lumber operations to supply a growing nation with wood were not alone in commercializing forest resources. A booming leather-tanning industry required vast quantities of hemlock for tannins, and the paper industry consumed immense volumes of spruce and fir. The charcoal industry also had an insatiable appetite for wood. By the mid-1800s, the logging of Adirondack forests was becoming a growing concern. Tree removal reduced the soil’s water retention capacity, causing significant erosion and flooding downstream during snowmelt and heavy precipitation. As the ability of forest soils to retain water diminished, the recharge of surface water bodies during dry months also decreased. Residents began to fear that public water supplies, such as the Erie Canal and Hudson River, could be jeopardized by drought.

In response, the New York State Legislature passed an act in 1885 declaring that state-owned lands in eight Adirondack counties should “be forever kept as wild forest lands” and could not be sold or leased. While this was a notable step, it was insufficient to halt the relentless development pressures. Dams were proposed to flood deeper forested valleys. In 1892, the Adirondack Park was formally

created. What was unique and revolutionary, even today, is that the park encompasses both public and private lands within its boundaries.

In 1894, New Yorkers voted to protect the public lands within the park by passing a constitutional amendment to keep these lands “Forever Wild.” Article XIV of the New York State Constitution clearly defines this designation, stating: “The lands of the State, now owned or hereafter acquired, constituting the forest preserve as now fixed by law, shall be kept as wild forest lands. They shall not be leased, sold, or exchanged, or be taken by any corporation, public or private, nor shall the timber thereon be sold, removed, or destroyed.” These powerful words provide constitutional protection, meaning any changes to the status of these lands would require an amendment to the State Constitution. This process involves approval from the State Assembly and Senate in two consecutive terms, followed by a public vote. In contrast, the lesser protection afforded federally protected lands, such as much of the western U.S., is governed by statute, which can be altered by the passage of a subsequent federal law.

At over 6 million acres, the Adirondack Park is larger than Yellowstone, Yosemite, Glacier, the Grand Canyon, and Great Smoky Mountains National Parks combined. It contains more than 2,800 ponds and lakes, 30,000 miles of streams, and 1,200

river miles. About half of the park is public land, with 1.2 million acres classified as Wilderness. These Wilderness areas are managed to preserve natural plant and animal communities in the absence of human influence. Nationally, Adirondack Wilderness areas constitute 20% of the remaining wilderness east of the Mississippi and 85% of the remaining wilderness in the northeastern U.S. In addition, 1.3 million acres of public lands are classified as Wild Forest, which maintains a primitive character while allowing some less restrictive uses.

BHA’s growing popularity shows that many hunters place a higher intrinsic value on the wildness of the environment from which a game animal is harvested, rather than physical attributes like antler size. This culture has long been established in the Adirondacks, where all bucks are celebrated, as none come easily due to the terrain and low deer densities. There is also a mystique about hunting in a vast wilderness, which can only be fully appreciated by those who have experienced it. Unfortunately, with whitetail deer now ubiquitous across their range, few hunters venture into large forest tracts, opting instead for easier hunting near human settlements. But ease dulls the hunter’s edge rather than sharpens it.

Aptly named, Buck Mountain is several miles in, most of it bushwhacking off-trail. On a gray day in November 1937, one forefather of our group was fortunate enough to take an 8-point

New York contains vast amounts of state-owned land and easements open for public hunting (green), including millions of acres of public wilderness found in Adirondack Park. Map created by the author using data from the New York State GIS Clearinghouse and Adirondack Park Agency.

buck—a long drag back to camp. The rack still adorns our Adirondack hunting camp, along with others from the 1940s, each labeled with worn metal tags stating only the year and mountain—a simple record of time and place. My group still hunts those same mountains, now from a “newer” camp established in 1963.

In November 2020, a small group of us returned to that same mountain. With the Covid pandemic raging, we needed to escape to the mountains and forests, just as Roosevelt had. A hunter’s mind needs this time to reset and recalibrate amid the distractions and hurry of modern life. For much of the year, we gloss over much in our domestic environment, as our minds cope with the constant stimulation of modern life. In the unbroken forests, the whitetail hunter finds focus, patience, and a renewed presence in the moment. We notice the smell of wet hardwood leaves, the stand of balsam fir, and a new rub on a high ridge that wasn’t there three days ago—a subtle change in a forest of thousands of trees.

It was a gray day, as many November days are in the Adirondacks. A light, misting rain quieted our approach to the backside of the mountain. While we call it a mountain, it is really a short rocky ridge above a softwood-choked stream. I’ve been to this rock before and had taken watch as snowflakes began to fall. It offered a good

vantage of the side of the ridge where thick softwood gave way to more open hardwoods.

The snowy silence was suddenly broken by the sound of sliding rock and snapping branches. I spotted the 10-point buck within 150 yards, bounding down the mountainside, likely startled by one of our party on the back side of the ridge. I followed him through the scope. As he leaped over a large deadfall at 50 yards, the .308 broke the silence. Another buck for the camp ledger and another story in the camp logbook—one worth telling: wilderness whitetails, a long, hard drag back to camp, and public lands in the Adirondacks.

Frank DeSantis Jr. is currently treasurer of the New York chapter of BHA. He lives in Syracuse, New York, where he works as an environmental scientist while longing to return to the Adirondacks each fall. He occasionally posts on instagram @adk_frank

I go by mingus

BY CHRISTINE SAWICKI

I wear permanent specks of mud on my milky coat

The coat is a quilt made of patches from the animals I have harvested

Those specks are ancestral stories, like stars in the sky, scattered across my back

They say my great grandfather picked them up on a fox trail long before we existed

And we all carry them ever since

My ears hang like damp linen sheets on the line in the wind of a June day

The linen catches the breeze like harriers’ wings and jet away from my cheeks as I run I run, and when I don’t, I sleep

The way I see it, there are few things worth spending your time on in life and if you’re going to spend that time at all, spend it on hunting or eating

Running or resting

It’s my paradoxical adventure

Satisfying what every bit of my bones wants and needs

In my life, it would be an injustice to not celebrate acquirement

When the day is done, you must rest; tomorrow will require it all to begin again

I am quite content with that

My grandest tales include ones of heroic sprints and believing my intuition to be honest

It’s the only path I know to triumph

Last winter, I scampered alongside my greatest companion

We went wandering about tall timber that was born before us

Sifting through snow like moles in the dirt

I buried my face in the snow just to know the way it would feel

And when I did, my cool face grazed against the scent of a cat

So, I began to holler, as you do, when you are so close to your dream

But you cannot quite see it in front of you yet

My greatest friend followed me, slowly but surely

His pursuit is patient and mine unabating

It is a balance I wouldn’t exchange for bone marrow and table scraps

The trail was made of burdock and my nose was a wool glove

I inhaled the intoxicating must that hummed louder as I followed the sharpening tang

An aroma of mule deer blood and a body that was birthed and raised in those woods

drew up like smoke from the trail

It sent shivers up my neck and widened my eyes, as a hunt can do

The scent of creek water muck mingled with lodgepole pine bark and I could envision the leaning tree the cat had not long ago drifted across

I studied the small shadows the sun dyed in the snow where the cat had made his imprints

The tracks, like a leash on the young and the one I once and rarely wore

Guided me along

The black hawthorn that struck my face was meaningless

My mind was thoughtless and my senses limitless all at once

Then my eyes chased the scent like a squirrel scaling up the tree

When I saw the cat, high up in the limbs, I did not greet him or ask questions

We did not speak the same language

Instead, I sang

The song of my descendants, it pours out of me like steam from a kettle

The notes need not be taught, they are engrained like the urge to quiet a pup under an autumn moon

This creature was larger than me, stronger than me, but far less courageous than me I let him know

And before he could decide for himself if what I had to say was true

My greatest friend arrived

And laid him to rest

I always remember the moment of that last breathing stare

Just before the body meets the ground

It is something like turkey feathers shifting to the forest floor after the bird spooks

Cracking branches, a rain of pine needles, a moment of violence

Then, quickly, peaceful silence

After a nod to one another, we moved in

Pressed our hands and noses to his golden fur

Smelled and felt and tasted the meat

We were bred for this

There is no time or need to question that Between sun rise and rise again

We go off and bay at tree roots, bellies full

While snow falls, without thinking to do so, without much thought at all

BHA member Christine Sawicki is an avid deer hunter, amateur duck hunter, and pursuer of time outdoors. Most of her writing focuses on experiences in nature and environmental conservation. This poem was inspired by a recent mountain lion hunt in Montana with a friend who was willing to let her tag along and trudge behind him and his determined bluetick coonhound.

Photo: Zack Williams

WAYFINDERS

BY GEORGE WALLACE

We had packed in some gear and camp supplies just a few days before, To a green grassy meadow below a Krumholtz timberline. We pitched the wall tent, laid by dry wood, set up the stove and more, Left highline, hotwire corral and a tack log, all looking pretty fine.

The sky was blue, the sun was warm, the leaves still dripping gold. Cat quiet, we slipped up and heard elk talkin’ n buglin’ there above. Then we rode down like hunters do, hoping for a little snow and cold, To show the tracks and keep the meat we aimed to find and hold.

A few days later, we rode back up, just before our season, Hit the sack early smiling, as sleet and half flakes filled the air. But when we woke up at four, the tent was saggin, water was freezin, Two feet of wet snow, three inches an hour, still coming hard—did give us a scare.

Horses and mules felt a strange falling sky that buried and muffled all sound. These salty veterans who knew bad weather, were stompin and snortin with dread, We needed to leave while we could, no choice, elk likely already down. We saddled in misery, laid down our camp, could barely see ten feet ahead.

In wet slickers n saddles, just headlamps, rifles, the clothes on our back, Snow wet and heavy trying to smother our will to move on. Once into the timber, we could no longer see any trail or track, Nothing to guide our way, set a course, all was covered and gone.

No way to find compass or map, we backtracked and circled utterly lost, A camp full of leaders did us no good, might have left us all dead, But there was one thing we’d heard, that might cut the final cost, With five blind miles to go, we should give the horse and mules their heads.

So, we slacked off the reins and shivering legs then waited anxious to see, Who’d take the lead, set a course, who had the blood to get us down?

Well, up steps Rosebud, with her empty Decker, Chuck’s bay Handy in her lee, The rest lined out, none left behind, feet steppin high, churning white debris, Tripping on buried logs n sticks, makebreaking trail, going down, just down, desperate to stay together, headed for some imaginary trailhead town.

We just held on, in blinding snow, pulled brims down over pinched eyes, One hand up to fend off branches, unseen until they were there, One hand on the horn, riding wild horses, hot avalanche remuda, parting white sky, Just hang on, forget control, it’s now an unbridled dream, moving along—beyond all care.

A good while later, things ease off, equines a blowin’ steam, and under the snow, The trippin n popping gives way to slidin n slippin, as the string starts to slow. Somehow, they found the rocky trail. Tell me, how in this world did they know? Some say a deep compass, some magnetic pull, some rare reversible flow.

Well now the snow is half as deep, we find a long rhythm, I’m half asleep, Remembering Nancy’s Grandma, buckboard blizzard lost - a remarkable yarn. She gave the horse his head, crawled under a blanket, said the Lord’s Prayer, Trot-rocked to sleep, dreamed of dying — and woke up in the barn.

Well, it wasn’t till spring when the snowline moved up, streams were roily high, That we rode back up to find camp cozy, in that grassy meadow too close to the sky, And found our flat tent, our food all moldy, graced with fresh elk tracks all around, Feed all gone; but under the leavings, warm deer mice nests, made of bright fibers From the clothes that they found.

George Wallace, a longtime BHA member, farms and ranches 13 miles north of Fort Collins, Colorado. George started writing poetry at age 75 to reflect on an interesting life. Some of these poems and essays can be found at www.agropoetics.com. Wayfinders was also published in the book Fencelines, published by Wolverine Farm Publishing, 2023.

Photo: George Wallace

WINGSHOOTER BOOTS

ICE FISHING

BY HENRY HUGHES

Busting open the padlock on your shack, we draw stares from an old man cleating home against the bitter wind. Heater cranked, holes augered, we tip small red jigs with waxy maggots dropped and twitched through the cyan glow. I pour whiskies, and you talk about your divorce, then a bite—There, there it is—and you reel up a husky yellow perch, gold flanked and tiger striped against the pale ice. For a while we’re all about the fish, then you start in again—the fights, the house, alimony— and I pull in a decent walleye. Go on, I say, skimming slush from the holes, refilling our cups. But the lake won’t keep still. It’s fish after fish, and you’re smiling, luck’s bent key freeing a few joys from the hard, cold vault of winter.

BHA member Henry Hughes is an Oregon Book Award-winning poet and the author of Back Seat with Fish: A Man’s Adventures in Angling and Romance. He teaches at Western Oregon University.

Finding my Freedom

BY WILLIAM LAKEY

When I was growing up, it seemed like I couldn’t hear someone talk about America without hearing it described as the Land of the Free. If I’m honest, that never really made sense to me. I am from the United Kingdom—the OG oppressor, if you will—and in the context of the Revolutionary War, freedom makes sense to me. I understand the nature of the freedom America’s Founding Fathers were fighting for. But the UK I left in 2012 bore little resemblance to the oppressor of old. I could vote, I wasn’t required to billet soldiers in my house, and taxes might have been a touch high by U.S. standards, but they weren’t oppressive. So I couldn’t understand what freedom these modern Americans were celebrating that I didn’t already have myself.

We moved to America because my wife is American, and when we found ourselves at a crossroads in our life together, moving to the U.S. was one of several options we had to choose from. (It was suggested that I write “best option” here, but at the time, I honestly didn’t know if that was true.) It wasn’t an easy decision; it required significant sacrifices, and there are still days when I wonder if it was the right choice. But it wasn’t forced upon us. We weren’t fleeing religious persecution, famine, or war. I was technically a subject of the Queen (may she rest in peace) rather than a citizen, but I wasn’t oppressed. We were free to move here, but we weren’t looking for freedom. As far as we were concerned, we were already free.

I moved here on a Green Card, which meant I had nearly all the privileges of an American citizen—except the right to vote and the risk of being deported if I stepped too far out of line. I had no plans to become a citizen when I first came here, and that remained true for the next eight years. I am proud of where I came from. I had nothing against becoming a U.S. citizen, and nothing was stopping me, but there is a line in the naturalization oath of allegiance that requires you to renounce all former allegiances. I take oaths seriously, and in order to speak that line with a clear conscience, I knew I would need a good reason. I was looking for something that the United States could give me as a citizen that I couldn’t get anywhere else.

I learned to hunt small game as a child in southern England. When I was in my 20s and living in Scotland, I became an “adultonset” deer hunter. By the time I emigrated to the U.S., I had experience hunting several species of deer, pheasants, pigeons, and rabbits. Hunting was an important part of my life, and when I moved, I brought my guns with me. I knew the U.S. could offer new hunting opportunities—many I was only just becoming aware of. I also recognized that many of those opportunities only existed on public land. But at that time, public land was an alien concept; I knew that if I wanted to go there, I would need guidance.

I heard about BHA on a podcast, and I must have been talking about it a lot because my wife surprised me with a membership for my birthday. I went to my first Minnesota Chapter Pint Night not long after and was fortunate to witness former President and CEO

Land Tawney stand on a table and get the crowd all riled up. I have been aptly described as shy or introverted— sometimes borderline antisocial—so it’s still a mystery to me what took me to a bar filled with boisterous and outgoing strangers (from my perspective) that I thought I shared little in common with—except for a love of hunting and the outdoors.

Probably the only words I spoke at my first Pint Night were “Is anyone sitting here?” and possibly an inward “Go! Fight! Win!” But despite my inclination to hide, it wasn’t long before members of the Minnesota chapter had me under their wing and were taking me on new deer, upland, and waterfowl hunting adventures. As I had hoped, thanks to their now-unsurprising generosity of time and information, I made the first steps of my ongoing public land journey. America’s public land opened up a world that had never before been open to me. I found adventure, I found food, and even though I wasn’t looking for it, I realized I had found my freedom.

BHA sells a lot of branded merchandise, and it didn’t take me long to add a few items of clothing to my wardrobe. There is one t-shirt that remained conspicuously absent, however—the one that says “Public Land Owner.” You may have seen them around. I wanted one, but it didn’t feel right. As BHA loves to point out, America’s public land belongs to all Americans... but I wasn’t an American. I could hunt on public lands. I could camp on them. I could run around and scream on them. But, technically, they weren’t mine.

It was during the COVID lockdowns that I decided to take the final step toward citizenship. Thanks to public lands, I had made up my mind to become a citizen. With time on my hands to think and a stimulus check in my pocket that conveniently dealt with the application fee, I realized there was no reason to wait any longer. So, in 2020, I finally applied for naturalization, and in August 2021, in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota, I stood in front of a judge and spoke the words that gave me the right to finally wear that t-shirt.

In the UK, I was one of the privileged few with access to land on which to hunt. There may no longer be feudal lords hoarding the right to hunt behind the point of a sword, but the same lands and deer are nevertheless still out of reach to the hunting public. For me, instead of being limited to my parents’ 40 acres and whatever animals happened to pass across them, I am now “limited” to 640 million acres and more animals than I can shake my fist at. Where in the UK I had to ask permission of the landowner, here I am a landowner. A Public Land Owner.

William Lakey is a member of the Minnesota chapter of BHA. He has finally hunted in enough states that his onX Elite membership is no longer just aspirational. He works as an ocularist and lives in South St. Paul with his wife and two cats.

Photo: William Lakey

THANK YOU, BHA SUPPORTERS

NEW LIFE MEMBERS

ALASKA

Alaska Seaplanes

Aziak Equipment

FishHound Expeditions Forbidden Peak Brewery

Fossil Ridge Pack Llamas

Gunnison Fly Fishing Outfitters

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Rooted Apothecary

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White Dog Brewing Co.

Two Forks Guide Service KENTUCKY

Chihuahuan Desert Cottontails

BY JOSHUA LAWHORN

Early one November morning, I began my walk through the creosote at a fast pace but slowed as I approached the public land foothills that parallel the flat country of the Rio Grande in San Antonio, New Mexico. I had been to these hills before. On a previous visit, I had flushed several coveys of quail, so with the season’s arrival, I was eager to return.

My pace slowed from a walk to a crawl as I made my way along the edge of the foothills. Entering mesquite thickets in the draws between the hills, I zigzagged, anticipating the calls of quail or a flush from my approach. As I walked, I heard something dart to my right, and glancing over, I caught a glimpse of a desert cottontail moving between the mesquite. I don’t know why, but despite hunting jackrabbits since moving to New Mexico, I hadn’t thought to hunt cottontails. I was too slow to react, but I thought, “Next time.”

Rabbit hunting in the Southeast, where I’m more familiar, is usually done with a pack of beagles, which jump rabbits from briar patches in pastures—often on private land. The dogs chase the rabbits back toward the hunter, who waits along the route, enjoying the music of the chase. The practice dates back to Europe, where elite hunters pursued game on estates. While centuries have passed, the method remains largely unchanged: hunters rely on dogs to pursue upland and big game.

About 2,500 years ago, long before the elite hunters of Europe or modern dog hunters of North America, Maltese hunters in Phoenicia used Pharaoh hounds—sight-hunting dogs—to chase rabbits across rocky landscapes. Once the rabbit entered a den, hunters would release a ferret to drive it out, capturing it with nets.

I didn’t have a dog or a ferret, but I did have a Winchester shotgun, and as luck would have it, a “next time.” As I approached an arroyo, I heard the same movement from earlier, this time to my left. With only about a two-foot window between creosote and mesquite, I aimed and shot. The rabbit fell behind the mesquite, and I was pleased to find it as I approached.

I bagged another shortly thereafter, near the end of the same draw. Then, I entered a familiar wide draw to find the best route through the dense mesquite and cholla. Navigating the thorny labyrinth required trial and error, often running into dead ends— places too thick to pass through quietly, impassable areas, or spots with poor visibility. After a few miscalculations, I picked the right path and spotted another cottontail. I shot him through a creosote bush just as he ran behind it. Enough shot made it through, and the rabbit fell.

To my knowledge, rabbit hunting in the Southwest isn’t especially popular, despite an abundant resource and a year-round season with no limit. Most hunters who pursue rabbits do so in a similar manner to me—walking edge habitats in a meandering pattern and jumpshooting. This may be because of the prickly vegetation, which isn’t ideal for a beagle’s pads, or simply because the practice has waned in popularity. In general, it’s safe to assume that most rabbits killed by hunters in the Southwest are taken by chance while pursuing other upland species. Rabbit hunting was once more popular, however. Indigenous peoples of New Mexico used rabbits for subsistence, including clothing and blankets. Much like me, they would stalk the desert, relying on skill with bows and rabbit sticks, which worked like boomerangs. Chaco cultures in northern New Mexico used snares and large-scale drives, where participants stretched a net to capture rabbits driven toward them.

Photos:Joshua Lawhorn

I had no net, no drivers, and no bow. After walking two miles, I turned to head back to the truck. My slow, meandering stalk turned back into a straight-line walk—unless my curiosity pulled me toward a thicket that looked like an appealing den. I was about a half-mile from my truck when another rabbit jumped, running uphill directly in front of me. I raised the shotgun and fired. The shot kicked up dust just as the rabbit crested the hill. The momentum from his run carried him six feet beyond the point where the shot struck, and I found him at the top.

After placing him in my game bag, I looked up to see two does and a four-point mule deer watching me curiously but cautiously. They never ran. We walked away from each other at an easy pace. I jumped one more rabbit just 20 yards ahead.

After only a brief glimpse, I ran up a small mound for a better view. The rabbit disappeared behind a creosote bush, which, upon closer inspection, had several entrances to a den. Too bad I didn’t have a ferret on hand.

With a four-mile trek through Chihuahuan desert behind me and a bounty of three rabbits in tow, I arrived back at my truck feeling satisfied, despite the lack of quail.

Joshua Lawhorn is a BHA member originally from Bedford, Virginia. He’s currently living in San Antonio, New Mexico, employed by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and working on a master’s degree in restoration ecology and habitat management through the University of Idaho.

Unfair in Your Favor

BY CAMERON J. KIRBY

An aged logging truck trundled ahead of me, coursing along with every curve it approached. Sawdust and shards of bark tumbled out and settled along the roadway—its scent faintly floated through the open windows, filling the cabin with its woody perfume. It was late fall in the Pacific Northwest and the uncharacteristic blue skies had burnt off the white ghosts—the hesitant sun took prominence in the sky. And I was going fishing.

I crossed a proud green bridge resembling the ribcage of a long-forgotten antediluvian beast and onto a dirt road covered in small ridges resembling the old washboard in my grandmother’s laundry room. I bumped along until I neared the fishing hole. It was downstream from a protected stretch of river where the state had spent millions defending the native bull trout against localized extinction; however, the other less fortunate species were still fair game.

Another angler approached as I pulled my gear from the back and organized my tackle. He was kitted out in all of the latest equipment – various tools prominently hung from his fishing vest, like medals earned in a foreign war.

“Good luck out there,” he said. “I’ve been fishing all morning and haven’t had a single bite.”

Better bring the beer, I thought to myself. “Oh yeah, that’s a bummer. It’s a tough time of year. What were you using?”

“Just about everything,” he vaguely said in stride as he continued to his truck.

I grabbed my cooler and double-checked its contents. Good, plenty of beer.

The path to the water wound naturally with the hillside, cutting this way and that way until I approached a nondescript cutoff, barely more than a divide in the grass. Channeling my inner Moses, I parted the shrubbery and slipped through, stepping over fallen logs and muddy troughs on my way to the river. To the left was a carcass of bone with tufts of fur jaggedly reaching out, the limbs below stretching out to the limbs above. The brutality of nature is framed in beauty, its constant state of survival pares back the unnecessary, leaving a minimalistic tapestry. Eventually, I reached a rocky outcropping with a fine overlook of the river below. Perfect. I set my tackle and cooler down and enjoyed the sun’s warmth for a moment—I could feel my vitamin D reserves being restored like hit points in a video game.

My first cast brought a bite, I quickly set the hook and began to reel him in. I could see his silver body dancing below the surface —a rainbow trout of respectable size. His scales reflected the sun’s refracted rays as he churned below. He rolled and fought—diving below and thrusting upward, breaking the water’s tension, until the last moment when he threw the hook and swam away from the indignation of it all.

The rainbow must have told his fishy brethren because the next few hours were spent unequally between curious nibbles and finishing the contents of aluminum cans. I began to pack up my equipment when three boisterous boys came rushing down the pathway, followed by their grandfather who plodded steadily

Photo: Cameron

J. Kirby

behind. They set up just below my vantage point and started unloading. The older man had placed his orange folding chair on the beach and was rigging up their lines with his pale arthritic fingers. I could overhear their conversation and chuckled at his short answers to their long questions.

“Grandpa, are we going to catch a big fish today?”

“Yup.”

“Why are you tying the line that way?”

“’Cuz, it works.”

“Do fish like yellow?”

“Sure.”

The youngest of the three (or at least the shortest) was the first to cast his line on the water; it was quickly followed by a splash.

“Fish on!” he yelled out. I looked in his direction as he quickly reeled in a large rainbow trout on his child-sized pole adorned with Spiderman. I swear that’s the same trout who threw my hook … good for him, I thought, as his brothers slapped him on the back, their cheers filling the basin of earth and water. With the success of their little brother, the older boys had something to prove. Soon there was a fusillade of lures striking the surface as they hoped to be next in line for fortune’s fickle favor.

I moved down the river—testing various pools along the way with little luck. A few probing nibbles kept me motivated until I realized the sun’s gaze had long since passed over me as afternoon rapidly turned into the early part of evening; I had to return home. As I hiked back up the trail and toward my rig, I checked in with the grandpa and his boys.

“It looks like you guys had a successful day,” I called out.

“Oh, yeah, it’s been great! I caught two trout!” the little guy said, holding up his two fish, like game-winning trophies.

The grandpa looked over from his folding chair and smiled, “It’s been a good day.”

I passed the carcass again on the way up; a stream of ants was slowly cleaning up the leftover flesh. I wonder if the brutality of life is by design or by necessity? I thought of all the times I had told my sons, “Life isn’t fair, but sometimes it’s unfair in your favor.” The only equality in this world is that we’re all given the gift of life and have an opportunity to do something with it. When you’re fortunate enough to succeed, you had better hold on tight, because your “right place at the right time,” is someone else’s “better luck next time.”

Trout lines became yellow lines as I navigated the road home. “I’m glad that kid got my trout,” I told no one in particular. The sun had set, and the moon had risen—its silver scales streamed with the river of stars above.

BHA member Cameron J. Kirby is a Pacific Northwest native who enjoys exploring wild places with his family and friends. As an avid outdoorsman and naturalist, he enjoys hunting, fishing, a good book and an even better whiskey.

Caribou Cafe

BY WENDI RANK

So I can’t let the Alaska story pass without sharing my side.

My husband and three BHA members spent the early days of September in the Arctic Circle, hunting caribou.

As the guys set out into the wilderness, one texted a flight update to the rest of the group.

And their spouses.

“Ha!” one of the spouses replied. “Now we have each other’s phone numbers!”

She created a group chat for the four of us.

I named it “Babes Not In The Woods.”

Opinions among the hunters vary as to whether this group chat was a good thing.

I maintain Babes Not In The Woods became crucial to getting the successfully felled caribou home.

Are we warriors? The A-Team of BHA spouses? Thundercats in SUVs?

I mean, probably, right?

Late in the trip, we awaited word on our Arctic hunters, eagerly anticipating the outfitter’s plane.

Four caribou sat ready for transport. Which—if I can just interject here for a second—would fly home to Wyoming and Pennsylvania on commercial flights.

In the baggage compartment.

Like luggage.

That—that’s weird, right? I’ll eat game and support hunting all day long. But I can’t really get behind caribou quarters sliding into baggage claim behind somebody’s Louis Vuitton.

Shouldn’t the caribou have, I don’t know, its own plane maybe? Or at least its own compartment in the plane? Perhaps a dedicated claim area at the airport?

It’s just a thought.

So the four caribou and four guys sat in the Arctic Circle, waiting to fly out. Our crew’s commercial flights needed rebooking when weather delayed the outfitter.

Babes Not In The Woods to the rescue.

“Working on it,” one spouse texted. I imagined fingers flying over a keyboard, tabs open on a computer, our hunters’ pertinent information in a manila folder for quick reference.

If we are Thundercats, she’s our Lion-O.

As the commercial flights were rescheduled, I received a text from my husband’s satellite device.

“I need you to call the Best Western in Fairbanks and find out if they have freezer space for four caribou.”

So many questions.

Do all hotels in Alaska have freezer space for hunted game? Do hotels in other states? What should I look for in a hotel’s game freezer?

I’m obsessive. I wanted—no, needed—to get this right.

I called the Fairbanks Best Western. Their freezers were at

But they knew of another hotel with freezer space. More questions.

How did the clerk at the Best Western know that? Does everybody in Fairbanks just know the status of the hotel game freezers, the way I just know where to find a Starbucks?

I called the hotel recommended by the clerk.

“Oh, yes. We have room,” the clerk there told me. “We also have butchering facilities and breakfast.”

I don’t hunt, but that hotel is, like, a hunting jackpot, right?

Well, since you guys weren’t around for me to ask, I had to ping my husband.

“Book it!” he said.

I booked it, struck with a memory as I did so.

It was the night my husband proposed. We were in a restaurant —I kid you not—called Caribou Cafe.

And I thought, huh. I really should have seen this coming when he took me to a place called Caribou Cafe.

It doesn’t serve caribou. There are no caribou in Philadelphia— not even at the zoo. It’s French, but France doesn’t have caribou, either. There’s no reason for that restaurant to be called Caribou Cafe.

Except as a warning to unsuspecting fiancées that someday, they’ll be responsible for locating Alaskan hotels with freezer space for hunted caribou.

That our hunters didn’t even use.

But I’m a warrior. I’m The A-Team of BHA spouses.

So we’ll just let that one go.

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

capacity.

ACCESS REDEFINED

Whose Wildlife Is It, Anyway?

And other thought-provoking questions that all hunters should be prepared to answer

BY PHIL T. SENG

Whose wildlife is it?

Public ownership of wildlife is the first principle of the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation. It has brought about a variety of benefits, but chief among these is it fostered a vested interest among the public for the conservation of wildlife as assets to be held in trust for and on behalf of everyone. Hunters historically have had a prominent role in conservation advocacy precisely because of their vested interest in sustaining healthy wildlife populations. This vested interest fostered the principles of fair chase and other responsible hunting practices to guard against abuse of the public trust resource.

However, there is an ongoing and accelerating erosion of this public trust principle. In some places, it is open war in the form of policies and legal challenges by private interests who seek a privileged status in access to wildlife. But in other situations, it lurks largely outside the public discourse. For instance, in places where the majority of the landscape is privately held, what would happen if all of the landowners put up fencing and restricted or prohibited access—to people and wildlife—across their borders? How would wildlife remain a public trust resource?

Relatively few people across this continent deny or even begrudge landowners their private property rights. But the ultimate result of those actions would be the “locking out” of the public from the shared resource and the reduction to a private trust. Across the continent, common interests are colliding with private interests. How do the values and benefits accrued by public trust resources compare to the values and benefits accrued by personal property rights? This is sacred ground, to be sure, on both sides of the proverbial fence.

When is killing justified?

Most North Americans accept taking the lives of animals as long as it is for legitimate purposes. This is another key principle of the NAM that is paramount for responsible hunting. Most hunters celebrate the experience and the chase of the hunt as much or more than the kill itself, but they also celebrate the special meals, garments, trophies, memories, and other benefits that bring value to humanity. So, what constitutes a legitimate purpose? Many people would quickly point to hunting’s benefits to conservation—population control, disease management, etc. And they wouldn’t be wrong. But what happens when society finds other ways to achieve these benefits? If our case for perpetuating hunting is based mostly on its conservation benefits, then we will have no hoof to stand on if that reason goes away. Would it be wiser to expound on hunting’s inherent values, and use the conservation benefits it provides as a supporting message?

Discussions about legitimate purpose often require hunters to draw lines between what constitutes hunting and, say, killing or

culling. A person may use hunting gear and techniques to reduce the deer herd at a park, where hunting was otherwise not allowed. Is that hunting? Where does hunting end and culling begin? And what about killing contests? Is that hunting? Do such events constitute a legitimate purpose for killing wildlife? Moreover, a method that is time-honored and revered by people in one place may be scorned and avoided by people in another. So, who gets to decide what constitutes a legitimate purpose? In the end, society will decide—not only questions about hunting, but about the whole of wildlife management and the institutions and people that do it. Thus, it is critically important for hunters and all other conservationists alike to carefully consider the optics of our activities to the uninvolved publics who currently tolerate them.

Who gets to hunt?

The democracy of hunting principle distinguishes conservation in North America from anywhere else in the world. The privilege of every citizen to legally hunt fosters a vested interest in conserving wildlife and wild lands that is essential to biodiversity conservation. Without it, market and societal forces inevitably drive the system toward a fee-based hunting model that excludes all but the privileged few. Most hunters cringe at the notion of shifting to this more European approach here in North America, and yet the perception among hunters is that the amount of land that is posted “No Hunting” or locked up in hunting leases and membership in private hunt clubs is higher than it has ever been.

So where do we go from here? My fellow board members at Orion - The Hunter’s Institute and I believe the privatization and commercialization of public trust resources is the biggest threat to both the North American Model as well as to the fair chase hunting ideal. We also have concerns about staking the value of hunting only on the conservation benefits it provides. Finally, and this may be the most insidious challenge to the viability of the Model and to conservation writ large, is the growing disconnect of people from nature. None of the rest of this matters if the public simply doesn’t care about the fact that the greatest gift we can pass on to our children is a continent enriched with wild animals and the opportunities they afford us to find meaningful engagement—whether as a hunter or angler, a bird watcher, or someone just out for a stroll.

All hunters—and indeed everyone who works or plays in the great outdoors—should fight for keeping wildlife in the public trust. And we all must grapple with these critically important issues that will have major impacts on what hunting looks like for our children and grandchildren.

BHA member Phil T. Seng is a board member of Orion - The Hunter’s Institute and president of DJ Case & Associates, a research and communications firm that specializes in natural resources conservation issues across North America. A lifelong hunter, angler, shooter, reloader, and outdoor enthusiast, Phil is personally and professionally committed to helping connect more Americans with the natural world.

Note: Read The Origins & Purpose of the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation, John Organ, Fall 2022, page 85 at issuu.com/backcountryjournal/docs/bcj_fall_22_web.

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

SUPPORT CONSERVATION, SUPPORT BHA

NEW! THE CAMPFIRE SOCIETY

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

OTHER WAYS TO GIVE

• One-time or Recurring Donation

• Appreciated Securities or Stock

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

BHA’S ANNUAL WILD GAME COOK-OFF

BY DRE ARMAN

“It’s our food!” Brandon Park concluded as he and his partner, Paige Berger of BHA’s Washington chapter, accepted their firstplace award in the 2024 Wild Game Cook-Off competition at the North American Rendezvous in Minneapolis. Searching for the perfect words to close their acceptance speech, Brandon seemed to have a small epiphany—this food isn’t anything out of the ordinary. It’s the incredibly ordinary, naturally occurring bounty of the world around us. Simple as that. “Living in Washington is a privilege. It provides access to public lands, offering opportunities to harvest ungulates, furbearers, and both fresh- and saltwater species. We are extremely fortunate to live in such a beautiful region and to be able to offer a rich and inviting meal representative of our state.”

The Washington chapter has been through the wringer in recent years, fighting to preserve hunting opportunities and maintain integrity within the state’s wildlife commission, which has seemed determined to remove science-based decision-making from its processes. Paige and Brandon’s winning dish—fried razor clams and pan-seared salmon with truffle morel butter sauce, hand-shaken ice cream, huckleberry jam, and a sumac apple bourbon cocktail—was earned alongside BHA’s 20204 George Bird Grinnell Award. This award is presented annually to the outstanding chapter who demonstrates hard work, innovation and successful initiatives.

It wasn’t only ungulates and fish on the 2024 cook-off menu. Another highlight was the black bear harvested by California board member Chris Moosios during BHA’s inaugural Beer, Bands, and Bitterbrush Stands event in 2023. Chris generously shared beer-

braised bear backstrap with a wine and fig reduction sauce with our volunteer crew in the first year, and bear burgers in year two—welcome treats after long days of planting bitterbrush on the California-Nevada border’s windy, high-desert landscape. At the cook-off, the bear was served as In-N-Out-style burgers with nopales fries and upland nuggets featuring quail and dove, as well as fig and honey hand pies fried in bear fat.

Another fierce dish was the Idaho chapter’s mountain lion sausage patties served over a smashed Idaho potato fried in rendered goose fat and drizzled with a huckleberry and birch reduction, accompanied by mead from North Idaho co-chair Melissa Hendrickson’s beehive, brewed by her husband, Jaime. All ingredients, except the salt, were hunted, grown, gathered, or harvested within 30 miles of their property. (The story is that this same mountain lion earned a pierced ear earlier in the season as a consequence for stalking Jaime and their young son, Anders.) Even the mustard seeds, Thai chili peppers, fennel seeds, thyme, parsley, coriander, sage, and juniper berries that seasoned the sausage patties came from Melissa’s garden.

To quote Brandon again, “It’s our food!”

Game meat doesn’t have to be elaborate to make a statement. The University of Minnesota collegiate club gained major style points with their Hamburger Helper-inspired meal, served with varied flavors of Twisted Tea. With the help of the JetBoil Genesis system provided to all 12 cook-off teams, their dish was ready for the judges in a jiffy. As I watched the judges take cautious sips of the Twisted Teas, I found myself reminiscing about a college dinner party years ago at my then-crush, now husband Paul’s apartment in Bowling Green, Ohio: There were six or seven different game species on the

Washington Chapter’s Winning Fried Razor Clams

Ingredients

• 1 lb. razor clams

• 1/4 cup cornstarch

• 1/2 tsp. salt

• 1/4 tsp. pepper

• 1/2 tsp. Slap Ya Mama seasoning

• 1/4 cup butter

Steps

1. Cut razor clams into 1/4-inch pieces.

2. Pat the razor clams dry.

3. In a gallon-size ziplock bag, mix cornstarch, salt, pepper, and Slap Ya Mama seasoning.

4. Add the dried razor clams to the cornstarch mixture and shake to coat thoroughly.

5. Heat butter in a frying pan over medium heat. Once the butter stops bubbling, add the coated razor clams.

6. Fry clams until golden brown and crispy.

7. Remove from the pan and enjoy.

table in the form of burgers, spaghetti, and other simple college staples. Paul’s best dish at the time was duck breast with an apple slice wrapped in bacon on the grill, drizzled with maple syrup. In 2024, Paul mastered the Idaho smashed potato as Melissa’s sous chef.

That wild-game dinner party led to my more accurate understanding of—and participation in—hunting and fishing as an equitable and welcoming space for all. Across the thrifted, beer-stained dinner table, information was shared freely, and no one scoffed when I expressed my interest in hunting—a breath of fresh air compared to my experience growing up surrounded by misconceptions that hunting isn’t something to share with little girls or young women.

“It’s our food!” speaks to our work at BHA in many ways. It represents the variety, nutrition, and joy that can reach the dinner table when we participate in the natural abundance around us, take care of our community, engage in policy, and manage our resources wisely. Since finding BHA, my palate has expanded exponentially. For that, I am eternally grateful and perpetually hungry for perfectly cooked game meats, ripe mountain berries, and an ever-growing connection to my food.

Dre Arman resides in Idaho and works as BHA’s Idaho and Nevada Chapter Coordinator.

Note: BHA’s Wild Game Cook-Off brings out the best of the best, and 2025 is sure to be another year for the books as we gather around proverbial and literal campfires in Missoula, Montana, June 13-15 for the North American Rendezvous! Will the Washington chapter solidify a dynasty with a third consecutive win? Could 2024 runners-up Missouri or Oklahoma rise to victory in 2025? Perhaps we’ll be congratulating an entirely new duo as our champions. Whether it’s a dish in our highly competitive Wild Game CookOff or a well-timed venison and cheddar snack stick shared with a friend during a panel or podcast recording, BHA’s North American Rendezvous is a place where we come together to share food, stories, and our collective passion for protecting wild public lands, waters and wildlife. Join us!

Photo: Arrows North

Photo by: Sam Averett

Thirty-Six Hours

Five weeks earlier, before opening day, a friend and I had backpacked into this same spot. That evening, under an unseasonably warm setting sun, we perched in t-shirts on the knob above camp, watching nearly 100 elk bulls and cows feed in small clusters throughout the hidden valley below.

Anticipation couldn’t have been higher for that opening morning. But as light filtered through idyllic grassy slopes interspersed with small strips of burnt timber and spring seeps, not an elk could be found. Not long after, we figured out why: Other hunters had blasted through the Valley of Elk in the predawn darkness. By midday, our tally of blaze-orange had exceeded 10. Elk spotted: zero.

Opening weekend passed without a shot fired. I headed home deflated, with a desirable antlerless elk tag and a general bull tag still in my pocket, unsure if life’s duties would allow the several-hour journey back to my antlerless unit again.

The next five weeks passed closer to home, hunting a day here or a half-day there on the general tag. I enjoyed myself, but I hadn’t seen an elk or even cut a fresh track or scat.

After a small, quiet and somewhat nontraditional Thanksgiving with just my wife and daughter (if you haven’t made Hank Shaw’s wild turkey nugget recipe, you should), I was gifted 36 hours to close out the season with a return to the Valley of Elk. Time was definitely not on my side, but there was still a chance.

After the midday drive, I parked with three hours of legal light remaining, quickly shouldered my pack, and began to hunt my way toward the Valley, careful not to blow a closer opportunity but eager to reach the holy ground some 3.5 miles away. Optimism sparked: I was in elk sign within a quarter mile of the truck, but none newer than a few days. As I neared the Valley, sign increased in both quantity and freshness.

With just 20 minutes of legal light remaining, binoculars in hand, I crested the knob. Sure enough, a dozen antlerless elk fed casually but they were on the other side of the valley, three-quarters of a mile away. After briefly considering just watching them and waiting for morning, I made the decision to try a last-minute stalk. Sprinting down the hill, I raced to close the distance. I counted down the minutes of legal light while working to control my breathing on the move and prepare for a potential shot. Crossing a small ravine, I pushed toward a downed tree below the elk. Four minutes of light. I tossed my pack down, steadied a rest, and hit my rangefinder just inside my max distance. Round chambered. Safety off.

A swirl of wind reversed course. Two minutes. It all felt rushed because it was. There was no time to judge the wind. No time to control my breath.

A dwindling season and an empty freezer don’t make a risky shot ethical, I reminded myself. I clicked the safety back on, grabbed my pack and rifle, and crept away hoping they’d still be there in the morning. Ten hours left to hunt for the season.

By 6 p.m., I had my trekking-pole tent pitched and crawled inside, lonely and seeking shelter from the single-digit temperatures and biting wind. I threw on every layer I could scrounge and began to boil water for a meal.

Did I just hear a voice? I hadn’t seen fresh boot tracks or any

signs of human life earlier that evening, but sure enough, voices approached. I unzipped the tent. Four hunters were exiting the narrow valley where I had just abandoned my stalk.

They were friendly, but it sounded like they’d pushed right through where the elk had been. Wishing each other well, I zipped the tent, now full of doubt the elk would still be there in the morning.

I had just burrowed into my sleeping bag for the night when my big toe felt wet. Urgently, I reached down to snatch the Nalgene bottle I’d kept in the bag to prevent freezing. Sure enough, the lid had loosened. A pool of liquid had formed in my bag in the singledigit temps a grave reminder of the seriousness of late-November backpack hunting. I rushed to mop up the water before it soaked through the down bag.

Dawn broke on the glassing knob, but the elk were nowhere to be found. Surprisingly, though, I soon noticed two raghorn bulls slipping into the timber across the valley. The hunt was back on.

Looping around to get the wind in my favor, I cautiously entered the timber. Step crunch. Stop. Glass. Repeat. Eventually, I spotted something tan in a sea of burnt logs. A bedded bull materialized. Then another.

I crept closer, searching for a shooting gap. At about 100 yards, I settled in and waited. I had a small gap on either side, but none directly at the bull. I’d have to wait for him to rise.

Twenty minutes later, when the swirling wind betrayed me, the bull vanished and my spirit flatlined. I built a fire, ate lunch, had a cup of coffee, and came to terms with the likelihood of failure.

Then I found the resolve to keep trying. Five hours remained.

The elk’s fleeing tracks angled toward the truck. I cautiously followed, lacking confidence in the crunchy snow. A half-hour into the track, I came to a bed. Distracted, inspecting its freshness, I was rewarded with chaos. Elk exploded. Bulls. Cows. Everywhere and then nowhere.

My eventual failure now expected, I stopped worrying about it. With nothing to do but follow, I continued after them until they crossed a ridge headed away from the truck four miles and counting too far solo for the last evening. I’d have to find new elk. I turned back toward the vehicle and soon cut more fresh tracks wandering, unmolested, and heading in the right direction. I slowed my pace. Four hours.

A stick broke across the ravine, wind in my favor. I crept on.

Three hours. A flash of tan. Another. Rifle up. Safety off. Safety on.

Damn brush. Just need a gap. Seven times that repeated, and then it was over. I followed heavy blood a short distance over the rise and punched my antlerless tag still in shock that it actually, finally, came together.

A little after 2 p.m., I sent an inReach message to my wife that I wouldn’t be home until morning. Season over, the real work began.

-Zack Williams, editor

MAKE NO MISTAKE, THEY WANT OUR PUBLIC LANDS