Pronghorn at sunset

The learning curve in hunting as an archer is steep.  Many seasons of spot and stalk techniques have left me close but empty handed. After years of hard work and persistence, I was fortunate enough to harvest my first Pronghorn Antelope with archery equipment.  This short video documents my first two weeks of the season – from stalk to harvest. Enjoy!

Sockeye Salmon on Lake Creek

21 years ago in April, while my mother was in labor with me, my dad was out fly fishing the Missouri River. Perhaps I was born to fish. When I turned 21, I held my dad to a ten year 21st birthday promise – we’d go to Alaska for a fishing trip.

Fairweather Range near Juneau from 36,000 ft cruising altitude

Growing up, my hunting and fishing buddies were my Dad, Paul, and my Dad’s two friends, Phil and Denny. Every summer Phil, Denny, and my Dad, would go on a fly fishing trip into Yellowstone Park. I was never invited. They said that when I turned 21 I’d be of age to join them on such a trip.

Recently, in the first week of August, I found myself along with Phil, Denny and my Dad, in Alaska in pursuit of big fish and an unforgettable experience.

We started our trip in the small town of Hope, on the Resurrection River, catching Humpies on fly rods. Humpy is the nickname for a pink salmon. The Humpies were running hard. We had no problem hooking and inadvertently snagging dozens of these fish with our fly rods. Male pink salmon have enormous hump backs, hence the name. Their humps make them very susceptible to being snagged on the drift.

Phil landing a Humpy on the Resurrection River near Hope, Alaska

After a successful day in Hope we drove down to Seward where we’d spend the next three nights. Our first day in Seward started at 5:30 in the morning.  I dropped the guys off at the marina for an all day halibut and salmon deep sea fishing trip with Captain Larry. I was more than happy not to join them in the ocean due to a traumatic deep sea fishing charter out of Homer, about 10 years ago. The charter with Captain Larry ended up being a bust. The seas were too rough to get out into the open ocean where the halibut were. The guys caught rock fish and ling cod in the bay – none of which they could keep. The additional coolers we had packed became excess baggage.

Over the next two days, the rain in Seward permeated my rain coat. It was time to ditch the coast and move inland. We spent the next two days on the Russian and Kenai rivers fishing for Sockeyes. Here I learned the slap, jerk and pull method of fishing. This involves slapping the water with your split shot weighted line, drifting the line down stream near the fishes mouth, and pulling hard hoping to snag one in the mouth. Sockeye salmon, when they are moving up the rivers to spawn are in their last stages of life and don’t have eating on their mind. To catch and legally keep one of these fish you have to snag them in the mouth – literally!

My dad, Paul, drifting an egg pattern on the Russian River

The fly fishing I have grown accustom to is very aesthetic and pure. Snagging fish, at first glance, seems like a cheap and lame way to fish. After attempting to snag sockeyes in the mouth for two days straight, I realized that it takes a lot of talent – which I lacked. There were about 100 people fishing the confluence of the Russian and Kenai River, and distinguishing a local from an out-of-state fisherman was easy. Locals had their three fish limit – which were all snagged in the mouth – in less than an hour. In the two days we were there I only snagged two fish in the mouth. I have a new found respect for this kind of fishing.

Phil attempting to land a big Sockeye after forgetting to set his drag

Next stop on the trip was the largest float plane sea base in the world, Lake Hood. From there, we took a Dehavilland DHC-2 Beaver 80 miles northwest of Anchorage and into Black Eagle Lodge on Bulchitna Lake. We spent the next three days, from 6am to 10pm, fly fishing nearby Lake Creek.

Mystery Ranch proto on the shore of Lake Creek

As predicted, a large wave of Humpies was moving up the river. Sockeyes, Kings, Rainbows, Grayling, Chum, and Silvers were also in the river. Our goal of filling coolers with sockeyes and silvers was nearly impossible with the amount of pinks. Every time we hooked a pink we’d intentionally try to lose the fish. I eventually gave in. Why fight it?

Denny with a Pink Salmon on Lake Creek

Between the four of us, we caught eight different species of fish on Lake Creek: pinks, kings, silvers, sockeyes, chums, dolly varden, rainbows, and grayling. Oddly enough, I snagged my first ever grayling – a five incher!

Rainbow Trout on Lake Creek

A poisionous Fly Agaric mushroom over the Russian River

Denny said, “Sitting on the deck hanging out with you guys.” My dad said, “Bonding with my son and the freshly caught sockeye we had for dinner in Seward.” I said, well, I can’t say, because certain memories are meant to stay in Alaska. As the saying goes, “What happens on the trip stays on the trip.”

Certain aspects of Alaska were different than I had expected and prepared for. The two spray bottles of Deet never left their packaging and the only mosquito that stuck me was in the Old Seward Cemetery. He must have been excited to see “live” meat.

Daisy in the Old Seward Cemetery

The .44 lever action never left its case.

Tracks of a sow with three cubs

The most productive fly was a bright red hook – the pinks hit it like it was bacon.

Phil with a Sockeye Salmon

Further, Phil caught fish with berries on a hook that had come from a brown bears intestinal tract. I wonder what we could call that fly pattern?

Wild cranberry bear scat

On our last day, as Denny was leaving the hotel for an early flight his parting remarks to me, or “Pearls of Wisdom” as he would put it, were this: Steve, when you’re our age I hope you have two great friends, like your Dad and Phil, to share these kinds of memories with.

Three stooges sniffing mushrooms, which really did smell like licorice

In large part, this trip wasn’t about the fishing. It was about bonding and sharing what is now a memory with three other people that have helped to shape my life.  I shot my first big game animal with help from Denny. I’ve learned from Phil that size doesn’t matter as he can drop goose after goose with his 28 gauge shot gun. As for my dad, in addition to what I’ve learned, I’ve been able to share and experience so many great things with him. Whether it be hunting pheasants, aiding a drunk woman on the Missouri who locked her keys in the car during a winter storm, or looking into his wide eyes while a cow elk came trotting down the trail on which he was lying – my dad has been there for it all. Fly fishing Alaska, for my 21st, was yet another adventure to add to the memory books.

Senior Chief Mike Day on the upper reaches of Mt. Rainier at sunrise

Mystery Ranch is proud to have sponsored Camp Patriot’s 4th annual Summit Challenge,  an attempt by 4 disabled veterans climb 14,411 ft. Mt Rainier in Washington’s portion of the Cascade Range.  As part of the marketing team at Mystery Ranch, we went along to outfit the veterans and organizers with U.S built backpacks, and to assist the team with photography and cinematography during the 4 day climb.
This year’s team included a heroic squad; Navy Seals Mike Day, Jason Redman, and Brian S, and Corpsman Kevin Ivory, all of whom received Purple Hearts for their services in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Their inspiration to climb Rainier was facilitated by heroic stories from past attempts, especially the iconic summit by Camp Patriot Vet Ryan Job.

Scott Parazynski leads our troops on the short lived dry trail

The kickoff to the event was hosted by the Seattle Seahawks at Qwest Field in downtown Seattle.  The event featured speeches from previous summits, other Camp Patriot adventures, and a spectacular presentation by climber and astronaut Scott Parazynski, who joined the team on the mountain.  His inspirational presentation about his 5 shuttle missions, an Everest summit, and life as a medic was a motivating speech that stirred adrenaline in all of us as we prepared for the next day’s trip to the base of the mountain.

Only 9,000 more feet to the top

Gearing up in Ashford at Rainier Mountaineering Inc. (RMI), the team spent the better part of the day packing, organizing, and fueling up in preparation for the hike to Muir the following day.  An early morning drive to Paradise (the trailhead to Camp Muir and NPS Headquarters) wound us through Mt. Rainier National Park, climbing a total of 5,000 feet up the Nisqually River.  A few miles from the trailhead we got the first glimpse of our objective, and within minutes we were staring at the broad south face of the Mt Rainier massif.  Graciously, members from RMI and International Mountain Guides (IMG) volunteered their time to guide the team on their summit attempt which began by organizing the team with trip details and timelines.  As the crew lined up in Paradise ready to march up to our first camp, Camp Patriot organizers bid farewell, and our 4 veterans set out on what they would all describe later as the trip of a lifetime.

View Camp Patriot’s Summit Challenge 2010 in a larger map

The hike to Camp Muir traverses the broad shoulder of the South flank of Rainier known as the Muir Snowfield, and after a sweltering 5 hours in the blistering sun, the team reached camp.  Guides Eryka Thorley, Tim Hardin, and a highly dedicated support group from the Lewis McChord Joint Base, moved quickly prior to our arrival to set up tents, boil water, and prepare food for the crew, which was much celebrated after hauling heavy loads in the hot summer sun.

Petty Officer Kevin Ivory and his dad Winn hike past Mt. Adams towards Camp Muir

As the team began to settle into the oversized IMG cook tent for dinner, no one could help but wonder if the increasing winds would prevent us from climbing any higher.  To pass the time as we awaited any  changes in the weather, the 4 vets shared their own stories of war and trauma as the rest of us listened with utter amazement at the strength and capacity of human nature.

Volunteer Jeff Chiles discussing incoming weather with the NPS ranger at Camp Muir

Sleep that night was difficult to come by as the once manageable wind intensified to gusts over 50mph, and another party’s reconnaissance higher up the mountain brought news of 80 mph gusts.  The next morning, after a restless night as our tents got hammered with consistent 70 mph, our crew awoke to a training schedule organized by RMI guides.  As veteran military personnel, training is second nature to the vets, who took to glacier travel, self arrest and rope management with the highest professionalism.
While awaiting a positive change in the weather, lead guides Curtis Fawley (Camp Patriot organizer) and Art Rausche contemplated the teams options as our time on the mountain was limited.  The forecast called for high winds in the region for the next 24 hours, which only gave us 1 more day for a summit attempt before we had to make it back down the mountain.  In an effort to try and summit that night, Curtis and Art decided it would be best to get some rest and see if the weather would cooperate, so that afternoon and evening was spent tent bound, praying for a break in the storm.

Mike Day tackling a leaning serac

Tuesday morning’s late wakeup call was an obvious sign that we would not be climbing that day, so in an attempt to keep everyone in high spirits and acclimatized, we set of for a day of ice climbing on the Ingraham Glacier.   Mike, Jason, Kevin and Brian all climbed the vertical ice with ease and the extra day of glacier travel was well received as the team looked dialed on the trek back to camp that afternoon.

Our troops first look into one of Mt. Rainiers gaping crevasses

Forecasters delivered some good news that afternoon.  A word of calming winds were scheduled to begin late that night, which gave us hope for a summit attempt.  After a few hours resting, hydrating and re-fueling, our team set off from Camp Muir at 11:30 p.m., roped up and full of adrenaline.

Still before sunrise our troops tower over Washington's 3rd highest peak Little Tahoma

RMI guide Eryka Thorley leads our vets over small cracks near the summit

The route from Muir traverses the upper Ingraham Glacier and across the Ingraham Flats towards the base of the Disappointment Cleaver, an iconic rock ridge in the mountaineering world.  Our team navigated this classic swath of rock smoothly and rested at the top, still in total darkness and isolation.  The route continued around the east side of the peak, traversing up the Emmons Glacier around impressive seracs, rock faces, and deep dark crevasses that appeared to have no end or bottom.  Our team moved strongly and methodically up the glaciated east face, taking few breaks, just for the essentials.  The sun began to present itself early, around 3:30.  The faint wisp of light on the horizon soon became sunrise and cloaked us in a pink auditorium of rock and ice.  As the light went from a faint glimmer to orange alpenglow and eventually bright white, our crew made their way up the upper flanks of the mountain towards the summit crater.  At 6:30 in the morning, 4 disabled veterans, wounded from war and exhausted from 7 hours of climbing, stood on top of the 14,411 ft. Mt Rainier.  It was one of the more emotional summits I have ever experienced.

Summit Challenge 2010 is a success with all four vets on top of Mt. Rainier

The sky was cloudless and calm which gave us an uninterrupted view of western Washington. Puget sound was 50 miles away, but from that perch seemed to be at the very base of the mountain.  Locals from the area were able to identify skyscrapers in Seattle, point out Tacoma, Olympia and the surrounding volcanoes: Adams, St Helens, and Hood.  Our summit experience was shared with photos, high fives, flying flags and plenty of smiles and hugs.

After many summits, including Mt. Everst and 5 trips to Space, the American flag and ice axe summit Mt. Rainier

After an hour on the summit crater, we shouldered our packs and began the descent.  The danger of the descent proved to be manageable as temps did not rise enough to see a lot of rockfall, nor did any of the snow bridges over crevasses melt out.  A brisk pace back to the top of the cleaver and a delicate downclimb brought us back to Ingraham Flats and eventually Camp Muir.  Our support team from Lewis McCord shouldered much of the load, as we packed up camp and began the long walk back down the Muir Snowfield and eventually Paradise, where the Camp Patriot organizers anxiously awaited.

LT Jay Redman treads lightly over one of Rainier's many snowbridges

Like years past, there was a warm welcome of both food and friends at the Whittaker’s home in Ashford and a celebratory Barbeque.  Our 4 vets, the benchmark of this memorable trip, stepped off the bus and were greeted with whistles and cheers, and a ceremonial award presentation for their continued accomplishments.

With crampons still on the group descends the Disappointment Cleaver

A special thanks to those involved in this experience of a lifetime; Mike Flood, GM of the Seattle Seahawks, Scott Parazynski for his inspiration, Lewis McCord AFB for their continued support on and off the mountain.  A huge thanks to our mountain guide support; Art Rausch, Anne Keller, Erika Thorley, and Tim Hardin. Thanks to Kim and Colleen for the BBQ and organizational support!

Thanks to Micah Clark and Curtis Fawley for their commitment to the troops in the creation of Summit Challenge 2010!
Brian, Kevin, Jason and Mike; thanks for all that you have done and continue to do….

Another evening spent locating spring black bear.

I started the spring season with two goals, one: see more bears than I had ever seen in a spring season, and two: kill a spring bear with my bow. Goal one would be easy. I had been working hard to get ready for the spring season. Talking with good friends about how they bear hunt and how to find more bears along the way. I had also been working hard making sure my new Hoyt bow was up to the task at hand.

Bear number one of the year.

The season got off to a bang when good friend Brain Barney and I spotted a huge boar five minutes into our first glassing session. The hunt was on! I bailed off 1500 vertical feet of steep hill crossed the river and made my way up the other side. After a very steep climb my stock was cut short by some very fickle wind, my first hard learned lesson of bear hunting. Bears have a nose that makes an elk look like he has no sense of smell at all! If you don’t have the wind right you might as well not even try it. You will be done before you even get started.

The next day another good friend of mine made it closer than I did to the big boar, but was also unsuccessful. For the next week we tried to locate the big bear but were unable to find him again. Food is key for bears in the spring; without good food bears will not stay long in an area. After not finding the big boar for the next five days, we were sure he left the area in search of better food.

Chocolate soe. not what I want but nice to have around to watch and learn from.

For the next couple of weeks, bears were few and far between. Spring turned back into winter. Foul weather and low bear numbers made it hard to stay focused. It was only about a week later that I ran into friend Steve Drake of Mystery Ranch. He was also having a rough spring chasing spring turkeys. So we decided to team up and see if we couldn’t figure this bear thing out. After a couple map sessions and a few conversations with other bear hunters we had a solid game plan.

As Steve and I walked to our first glassing spot, I could only wonder if this season would just be like all the rest. Within five minutes of being there my question was answered. Bears spotted – an awesome chocolate sow with a cub. Even though the sighting was short it gave me new hope for the season.  Good thing film cameras are a thing of the past, because I would have burned a lot of film taking pictures of bears through my spotting scope! About a week into our tag team assault on the bears I had to make a trip to Billings for work. I knew Steve would be heading into our bear rich area. As I sat in an afternoon meeting my phone started to ring. Guess who? Steve was calling to inform me that he had connected on his first Montana bear! I wish I could have seen the look on his face. Everyone in the meeting could tell he was pumped, from the excited yelling coming over my phone! I was bummed I could not help Steve get his bear out, but was confident that he would have no troubles. The Crew Cab is the best way off the mountain.

Sleepy little chocolate cub.

With Steve’s bear in the bag I started looking in other areas to see if we could take our new found knowledge of bears and apply it to other parts of the state. A long weekend trip found myself and good friend Karl Dagel, sitting behind the big glass doing what we do best. Karl was dumbfounded we found so many bears that close to town. Karl, is from an area that is better known as bear central. He was positive we would be on bears from the word go. He was right.

My bear before the stalk.

First night out I found myself with my boots and socks off wading the river on the stalk of what I hoped would be my first bear with a bow. If I learned nothing else from the spring season, it is that bears have a sense of smell that will put about any animal to shame. Don’t even attempt a stalk unless the wind is perfect. You will get busted!

Once on the other side of the river I worked my way into the trees not long after I spotted the all black bear feeding in the chronic green grass. The bear fed in every direction, never stopping for more than a brief second to get another mouth full of grass. I slowly worked in until I was at the end of the trees. I gave myself a “calm down, you got this” pep talk. As I waited for my chance to loose an arrow the bear continued to do everything in its power not to give me a shot. A couple minutes went by when the bear stopped perfectly broadside. It was really working a chewing – almost like it had got too much in its mouth to swallow. One more click of the rangefinder to make sure, and I came to full draw.

My first bow kill bear!

When the shot broke it surprised me, but where the pin was when it did could mean nothing but a bad day for Mr. bear. I watched as my arrow arched into his jet black coat. The bear jumped, let out a loud grunt and took off running right at me. Oh hell this is not good. I quickly loaded another arrow. But when I looked out from behind my shooting tree the bear was waded up in a pile a mere 13 yards from where he was hit!

I couldn’t help myself, after I realized the bear was stone dead, I did a little end zone dance! From across the river I could hear Karl yelling his approval! My first bow kill bear – I couldn’t be happier.

Packed and ready for the hike out.

Now came the fun part: Pictures, skinning, quartering, and loading the whole bear into my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab! Even Karl could not believe how well the pack rode with such a load in it.

Some good tunes make the hike out that much faster.

Even though my season was over it did not stop me from going out and still trying to learn as much as I could about bears in southwest Montana. Good friend and owner of Big Sky Archery, Gabe Roffe, still had yet to pull the trigger on a bear. He was more than happy to have the big glass picking the hills apart alongside him. On the first night Gabe and I went out, we saw seven bears. The next night we saw four – all different bears. Night three I watched as Gabe made a play on a very big boar. Problem was, as good as our hand signals were, they were tough to see them at almost 2000 yards. Even though Gabe, was unable to put eyes on the monster black bear, he was still sure he could find a good bear before the season  ended.

Gabe with his last minute spring bear.

On June 15 at 10:45 pm I got a text from Gabe, “You still up?” Gabe usually won’t call me unless he really needs help packing something out. From the sound of it, it was more than a one man job.

Double Crewcabs ready for the long walk out.

Early the next morning found Gabe and I a long way from the truck. As we made our way up to the top of the mountain the unmistakable shape of a very large bruin came into focus. With an hour to go in the season Gabe had managed to not only make it up to the top of the mountain, but manage to find his quarry in the fading light. The on again off again rain storms made pictures and skinning a bit more wet that I prefer, but we got it taken care of in short order. With double Crew Cabs filled to capacity it was nothing more than a scenic hike back down the mountain.

The end to what has been the best bear spring of my life.

This spring season was as fun as any I have been a part of. My total count for the year was one animal short of 20 bears. It would not have been nearly as easy to continue to push myself to go, if not for the company of good friends and an iPod playlist or two. I hope to add ten bears to my “seen it” list next year. Next spring, come rain, snow, or shine, you can bet I will be out picking the hills apart with the big glass.

The end of a fun filled spring

Author, Steven Drake, arcing big GS turns down the Gardner Headwall

“We are having way more fun than they are,” said Jake. He wasn’t kidding!

On the 4th of July weekend, I found myself perusing through Yellowstone Park en-route to my family’s cabin just east of Cooke City. I had no expectations for the weekend and expected nothing more than a lackadaisical few days, all while enjoy the beautiful scenery that the Beartooths have to offer.

Pilot and Index Sunset

With that said, you’d be a fool to drive into the Beartooths not toting ski gear. I’m no fool! On the morning of the 4th I drove up to the Beartooth Plateau in search of snow. Things were looking grim at the Wyoming summit. After descending the last switchback before the Gardner Lake pull out, I turned around and was treated to a pleasurable sight. Gardner Headwall’s north and south lines were very skiable!

Gardner Headwall from Gardner Lake

With my gear on in minutes, I hitched a ride back up the switchbacks to the summit and then anxiously trekked across the plateau to the top of the southern aspect of the headwall. The line hadn’t been skied for at least a week – I was more than happy to track it up with some big GS turns. Smooth, steep, corn laden turns funneled into a tight dog leg; followed by big turns down to Gardner Lake.

At the shore of the lake were two guys who had just descended the north line. While sharing our enthusiasm I realized that one of the guys was none other than Paul Gleason, a Mystery Ranch pack designer. Paul was there skiing the headwall with his friend, Jake. We were all wearing Mystery Ranch packs. After a steep climb out from Gardner Lake we piled into a truck and hitched a ride back to the Wyoming summit. A smooth shot between a set of switchback, followed by a second descent of the headwall, awaited us.

Paul Gleason Skiing the Beartooth Plateau

At the top of the headwall, while preparing for our second descent, Jake looked across the drainage to the onlookers and said, “We are having way more fun than they are.” It was a very fitting comment. It was mid morning on the 4th of July, the sun was shining, the snow was perfect, and we were about to drop into one of the most aesthetic lines on the Beartooth Plateau.

Author, Steven Drake, navigating the dog leg on the south line of Gardner Headwall

Big grins were plastered across our faces.

Jake full of smiles after run #2 on Gardner Headwall

After a great day of skiing I headed down to Cooke City for the fireworks. The Cooke City Fire Department, while parading down Main Street on 4-wheelers and retro fire trucks, sure know how to entertain!

Cooke City fireworks over the 1988 Yellowstone Park burn area

The steep canyon walls that surround Cooke, made for an incredible light show. It is the loudest 4th you’ll ever experience.

James Binkley weaving through Aspens

We work the winter trade shows in Salt Lake City and Denver, setting up early, talking shop late, and cram in as many days of skiing as humanly possible, because that’s what we do. With OR finished, we rushed directly towards the Wasatch Mountains. It’d been dumping while we’d slung packs in the SLC convention center, and plowed to a near-standstill, like a boat dragging anchor, in two hours of 8am Sunday stop and go traffic threading its slow way toward LCC. Clearly we weren’t locals, and neither was anybody else in line. As we reached the closed  mouth of the avy-controlled canyon, we turned around, like everyone else, and drove to BCC with hundreds, hopefully not thousands, of rippers several steps ahead of us, already parked on the road near Solitude and hiking to the ticket window. A solid three hour approach for out of towners to get some skiing showed us how far 20 or so miles can sometimes be, when one’s trying to flee the city for the mountains. 11 am came early: but our ratpack of 5 worked its way to the summit lift, was in line just after opening, and found  that light, blower, luscious Utah powder that clings in your brain.  The extreme avalanche danger kept ski patrol from opening the Solitude slack country, but somehow the crowds were light, and we swallowed lift-served pow all day.

James looking for a safe, speedy path through an Aspen grove

The sun found its way out Monday morning, but 4 feet of snow lurked on top of a terrible weak layer.  This combination resulted in 23 reported avalanches in the Salt Lake region over the weekend. Short on cash for a second day at the resort, we took to low angle backcountry skiing.  Big Cottonwood Canyon is lathered with moderate angle, aspen infested pitches fresh for our choosing. We found some lines.

Taking a turn on an untouched shoulder in front of Solitude

The stability tests we performed on the snowpack aligned with the forecast, consistently terrible,  so we packed the camper that afternoon and motored for Colorado to prep for the SIA (Ski Industry Association) tradeshow in Denver.

Of course, on the way to Denver is the little town of Crested Butte, with more snow and bluebird skies, but again unsettling conditions lurked in the snowpack, the new snow/old snow interface weak, the avalanche danger high. Did I mention we trailered sleds the whole trip? We stayed prudent though, confined ourselves to skiing only the base of the highest peaks, drooling over the possibilities in the higher lines. We used the snowmobiles to lap short lines and small cliffs void of avalanche danger, then packed again, not ready to test our luck further in another unfamiliar snowpack, fired up the camper, and drove to the biggest skiing party in Colorado.

The X-Games. Aspen. Two days, a Friday night. We did absolutely no skiing. Instead, a hearty effort was put into supporting the athletes who have trained hard to compete professionally, and figured the best way to do this was to take advantage of the sponsor companies throwing the parties. In Belly Up we were greeted with an open bar and catered lunch. We used several hours of this as motivation to make our way 5 miles to the events at Buttermilk. Do five matching backpacks makes us look like professional media? We stood just down from the packed bus stop, and in mere seconds a van pulled out of traffic to the side of the road asking if we were with ESPN and offered us a ride. The hesitation in our response and no credentials foiled this plan, but the second vehicle fell for our plot and gave us a ride. Two hours of witnessing ridiculous tricks sent us right back to the bars in Aspen. A few ridiculously caffeinated cocktails played a small, but key, role in closing down the bars. 9am meetings in Denver would be something. And on we went.

The author sampling some silky pow.

After Outdoor Retailer Dave Downing and I, plus 4 others, one dog and a ridiculous amount of gear strategically stuffed ourselves into a minivan and set off toward Carbondale, CO. Carbondale is where I grew up and I was excited to revisit after about a 10 year hiatus. Dave and I had planned to ski some of the backcountry outside of Marble, which is about an hour drive outside of Carbondale. Unfortunately avalanche conditions turned from bad to worse when a strong Southern storm dropped about 3 feet of fluff in 2-3 days. Our suspicions of instability were vindicated once we had heard reports of large slides being remotely triggered in Marble. We immediately opted for a whole new approach for our days in Colorado.

Dave looking good as always.

Low angle slopes and snowmobiling on safe open meadows was the obvious and reliable option- and the best remedy for my cabin fever. One area in particular, a local standby when conditions are questionable near Sunlight Ski Resort called Willie’s proved to have great skiing.

Yours truly hucking a small cornice

With only around 1200′ of vertical multiple laps are possible and with little traffic and plenty of pow to go around. Even on these slopes we still saw evidence in the snow of instability with lots of cracking and other signs of movement. Curious to see how unstable things really were, I stomped a cornice off very easily and was given a little scare when it rocked up under my downhill edge and lifted my leg in the air. The large block then proceeded to careen into a tree at the end of the short 50′ slope. To mix things up on another day we traveled to the top of McClure Pass and rode snowmobiles West back to a friend’s cabin.

Dave getting the tow.

After playing around on the snowmobiles a bit we threw our skis on and towed each other across the powder fields. It was like water skiing on glass accept with a touch more control. I experienced an excellent crash when my skis tips discovered a rock beneath the surface and I double ejected from my bindings sailing through the air and somehow ended up unscathed.

Skinning up with Mount Sopris in the background.

Our final day was a beauty and with little time we did a little skinning right outside of town and of course the views of Mt. Sopris were superb. That afternoon Dave and I reluctantly jumped into our next ride this one to Denver for SIA.

Jeff Christenson drops into the Alpental backcountry

It’s the end of December in the Northwest and it’s been 6 weeks since we have released a skiing blog. It’s not because we aren’t getting out and it’s not because we’re slacking. There just isn’t any snow to write about. The east cost and mid west have teamed up to steal December’s allotment of precipitation. I’ve been in Seattle for two weeks and we have accumulated 2 inches of snow at the pass. For an area that boasts 6” of precipitation through the month of December we have fallen well short. As it stands, I have skied two days in a resort this season, with none of them in Washington. It just isn’t worth skidding down an ice slope on rock skis. The boards I have reserved for the thin snow pack haven’t touched a file or a grind stone in over 5 years. With several separated edges and chunks of core littered on rocks in the northwest it’s not the first season these skis have been classified in the rock category. With ample coverage thanks to a large November storm we headed to the backcountry two take advantage of the wind distributed facets. A quick hike into the Alpental backcountry brought my brother, sister and me to wind loaded pockets of snow over a sun crust.

Slashing a turn on the tooth

With light fading fast, Tracy set up for a shot on a ridge in front of The Tooth. It was not her first photo shoot and she nailed her one turn down the shoulder with dust on crust to a spectacular finish in a tree. With the sun behind the peak and no more chances for stopping action we wrapped up for holiday events.

Hike to Chair Peak

The high pressure system held strong, with clear days and cold nights producing new snow in the form of facets. To ensure a smooth transition between family events, my mom scheduled a morning off before hosting her side of the family. My brother and I jumped at the opportunity and were out of the house by 5 am. My father who was aware of our plan the night before laughed at the idea of an icy dawn patrol. While racing the sun, we skinned as far as we could but resorted to boot packing when the relentless icy slopes would not allow for uphill travel.

Kicking up Snow

Chair Peak became the background for the sunrise and we quickly manufactured turns on a sunny wind loaded shoulder. We skied as long as the light held then turned back to the iced southeast face toward the car. The pictures we earned did not reflect the same morning my dad experienced at Alpental. Four hours late and just down the ridge my father took advantage of firm corduroy.

Hucking the first run

As luck would have it, I tagged out on a beautiful bull elk on the fourth week of this year’s archery season.  With eight more weeks of hunting, I had the opportunity to broaden my horizons and focus hard on finding myself and two others some wall hanging bucks.

October 25^th, opening morning of the Montana rifle season, friend and co-worker, Kyle Christenson and I trudged through knee deep snow and headed into high country.  At first shooting light we were surrounded by mule deer.  We saw eight bucks that morning but never took a shot.  Two weeks later, we went back to the same vicinity and Kyle took a gorgeous whitetail.  It was his first big game animal, one he’ll have a hard time topping.

The next week, friend and roommate, Sean Schroff and I went in search of mule deer. Frigid temps and inclement weather pushed some of the larger bucks down into the lower elevations offering us some great opportunities.  Sean was able to reach out and touch his first mule deer.

With seven days left in the season it was my turn to give it a go.  I went to an area that I had run into some good deer during archery season.  At first light I saw two decent bucks under a cliff band a half mile above me.  Off to my left on a steep hillside were four does. With them was a worthy looking buck.  His head was down and neck was thick.  This boy was rutting hard!

In an attempt to close the gap on this buck I jumped a doe which then spooked the buck.  He bounded up the steep hillside and went out of sight.  I hiked as fast as I could up the hill hoping to spot him on the other side.  The buck was gone.  I sat down, pulled out the binos and glassed some neighboring hillsides.  I spotted a small buck a half mile out.  He was moving my direction.

The buck managed to close the distance between him and I to about 300 yards before abruptly stopping.  He fixed his eyes on something above him and then began raking a tree.  Higher up, running down the hill was a dominant buck.  The two greeted each other violently!  Antlers clashed!  As the fight ensued, I ran up to a small knob, un-noticed, and dropped to the ground to get ready for a shot. The smaller buck was quickly defeated.  The winner stood tall and was swollen with pride.  I rested my crosshairs slightly above his back and squeezed off a shot, making a quick clean kill.

2 hours after the shot I had the head plate removed and the quarters, loins, and back straps in game bags ready to be hauled out in my Crew Cab.

With the meat and antlers secured, I strapped on my rifle and got ready for the big haul.

After a good struggle I stood up with the pack, cinched down my waist belt and was on my way.  At 135 pounds, the 150 pound load was surprisingly comfortable.

Two hours later I capped off my 2009 hunting season by flopping my Mystery Ranch Crew Cab, laden with an entire mule deer, onto my Ford Ranger’s tail gate.

James Binkley with his Alaskan moose

With only five days left on both our moose and sheep tags, the elusive Dall sheep was too tempting to pass up.  With an abundance of pilots throughout Alaska, my brother Wade and I called a friend who had told us about a small lake, deep in the White Mountains, that he could fly us into.  Our plans were quickly diminished when we learned that his plane was grounded for routine maintenance.  Without enough time left in the season to make the long trek into sheep country we opted for a quick moose hunt up the shallow, braided Salcha River.

Our shallow draft jet boat makes access a breeze to any stream or river over six inches in depth. We reconfigured our plan to include our uncle’s cabin and a case of beer… not too bad for our second choice. With a short jaunt up the highway we launched the boat and cruised 60 miles upstream to a small cabin.

Sunset from the tree stand

Hunting began before sunrise with the set-up of a stand in a spruce tree. With Wade perched 50 feet off the deck, I exercised the practice of cow calling and tree shaking. My attempts to mimic a bull’s horns scraping through trees were futile as nothing moved through the above average heat. 60 degrees is rare in September, so moose were beaded down for the afternoon. By evening the temperatures had cooled down, but still no luck.

Wade in his stand near the top of the center tree

Another predawn start put us on the trail by 5:30, hoping to catch something before the heat. Wade was sitting in the stand as the sun breached the horizon. I employed a similar tactic to the day before, but used grass instead of trees. My extra-tuf’s tromped through the swamp and grass in a noisy random manner. I didn’t travel 100 yards before a bull let out a grunt. Wade then saw a bull moose walk out of the woods into a marshy area on the side of the swamp.  He waited with hopes of the moose moving to an area with solid ground, but lost his shot before it could happen.  Once I finally saw the bull, he was walking through the trees about 100 yards in front of me.  As I was following him through my scope he stopped directly between two trees and looked over at me.  He had only one brow tine on the side of the rack that I could see, I paused for a second…only to loose the shot.  Upset with myself for not immediately taking the shot I started to jog as quietly as I could through the woods with hopes of catching the moose on the other side before he took off.  With no luck finding him Wade and I met up at the bottom of the stand to have lunch and formulate a new plan.  Not wanting to leave after all the excitement we sat in and by the stand the rest of the day with high hopes of the bull returning.  As the sun was starting to set we both had already replayed the missed opportunity so many times in our head that it was starting to take its toll so we decided to call it a day.  As we were packing up our gear we both stopped as we heard branches cracking somewhere in the area.  Wade climbed back up the tree to check it out only to see a cow moose sitting in the middle of the swamp.  With darkness upon us we made our way quietly back to the boat hoping that we wouldn’t scare off the cow.

Tuesday morning, and the final day of moose season, we woke up even earlier with high hopes that a bull had been hanging around the cow the night before and was still in the area.  We pulled up in the boat with barely enough light to see our trail through the woods.  As we were walking up to the stand we both heard a loud crash and something running through the woods.  Not knowing how far away it was we kept walking and started calling.  We immediately heard a response to our right and could see a large figure behind some spruce trees.  Not knowing if it was a bull or not Wade moved to the stand and I turned towards our sighting.  Once again the moose spooked started running, but this time it took off towards Wade. I stood and listened to his antlers rubbing on trees as he passed.  He stopped about 75 feet in front of me in a position that I could glass his antlers, but not take a shot.  I slowly moved towards a clearing to get a better shot, but didn’t have to go far when he doubled back right into my line of sight.  I set up with a clear path and anticipated his next move. He walked directly into my corridor at 50 feet and I took the shot.  He responded by running in the opposite direction. My stomach dropped, as I in disbelief missed a 50 foot shot on a 1,400lb beast. When I approached the area where the shot was taken I was extremely relieved to see that he had just fallen over into a small stream just outside my line of sight.

Wade next to the moose with the sun still on the horizon

Adrenaline quickly faded into reality as we calculated the logistics of getting the moose out of this stream.  Three hours, one broken come-along, and a couple broken ropes later we successfully had the moose on dry ground.

We dressed the moose out and got the first quarter off with no problem. We had already decided to carry out the quarters as they came so we could save a little time by having one person carrying and one cutting. The idea was to load a quarter onto the frame and hump it out. The only problem was that the quarter was huge! We bounced around the idea that if it can fit on the load sling then we will carry it…so we removed the crew-cab from the frame and adjusted the load sling for the massive load. To our amazement the load sling straps barely fit around this enormous hunk of meet and bone.  As we stood there in disbelief, with my adrenaline pumping again I eyeballed the largest load I have ever seen. Like a good brother Wade told me to saddle up as he helped lift the load to my back. I synched down my load straps and began the tedious journey through the black spruce forest and back to the boat.

Pulling the moose to dry ground

Myself hauling the first quarter

Wade hauling out the second quarter

It took me 30 minutes with many rest stops to cover the ¼ mile to the boat. With one load down, Wade stood up with the slightly smaller quarter number two and wrestled his biggest load back to the boat.

Switching to the crew cab for the bulky, but lighter 120lbs load with a 46” rack

Well deserved beers with all the meat on the boat!

190 lbs is a large chunk of meat!

In total it took 13 hours and several more 120lbs loads before we could settle down with our PBR in the boat. Back in Fairbanks we hoisted the quarters out of the boat with a forklift and a scale to find the weight of the first and second quarters, which were 190 and 150 lbs respectively and a total of 580lbs of meat and bone from just one moose.