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We are currently losing more hunters and anglers than we are creating. This decline is a huge problem that extends way beyond the bow or rod. Hunters and anglers pay a big part of the conservation debt. Therefore, one of the ways we can perpetuate public lands, access and our sporting heritage is by exposing non-hunters to hunting in the best ways possible. Typically food, a love of the outdoors, and explanations of game management are the most effective avenues to creating a positive impression of hunting.
This past April, at the annual Backcountry Hunters and Anglers Rendezvous, First Lite co-founder Kenton Carruth and Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard had the opportunity to sit down and discuss bringing the various branches of outdoor recreation together under one roof in defense of the places we all value. In the Rocky Mountain West, your average hunter is also typically a hiker, biker, skier and/or angler. Though some organized special interests wish for a different reality, rarely do outdoor recreationists fall into neat, categories. Moreover, whether you’re a kayaker or a pheasant hunter, we head for the woods and mountains for the same reasons.
Do Kenton and Yvon agree on every issue? Of course not but they are certainly ready to discuss their differences. More critically, First Lite and Patagonia are committed to ensuring that future generations will have the same public land opportunities we've so enjoyed. With that in mind, we sincerely hope that every member of the outdoor recreation community can take the time to educate each other in the woods for the betterment of our mutual playground. Sometimes all it takes is a little trailhead diplomacy.
Ryan Callaghan is the Director of Conservation and PR at FLHQ.
First Lite received this report recently from our buddy, Josh Kuntz. For context, Josh is a native Montanan, an Idaho BHA Co-Chair and a highly accomplished backcountry hunter.
The opening weekend of the Montana rifle season this year proved eventful indeed. The week before I hunted near McCall, Idaho and I passed on a few easy shot opportunities on a small muley buck and three trophy class Texas Longhorns. No shit, those crazy-horned bastards were up on top of a mountain hanging out in 3 inches of snow. I'm not going to lie, I thought long and hard about how sweet it would be to have a Euro-mounted longhorn in the living room. But the legal ramifications of killing a rancher's prize cow and picturing my wife filing divorce papers were enough to keep my trigger finger at bay.
Thursday afternoon I boogied towards Montana and turned up a hot date with a redhead on Adult Friend Finder. The smokin' ginger fed me a few beers at Lolo Peak Brewing, clearly trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me. Thanks again for the beers Ty , your beard has never looked better.
Friday morning I bought my Montana deer and elk tags, stuffed down a burrito and met up with my good buddy Tim, who also happens to be the new Hunting Sales Manager of Mystery Ranch Packs. We hauled ass to our favorite trailhead and were pleased to find the trail had no recent footprints or horse tracks. Friday evening we setup a camp a few miles in, then glassed and only managed to spot whitetails, one of which was a promising buck.
Saturday morning was the opener and our plan of sitting on a central ridge looked genius as we had 50-70 elk and a bull moose running our way about 9 minutes into legal shooting light. The lead cow was apparently a masochist of some sort, as she turned the herd and lead them all straight up into some nasty burned timber well beyond our shooting range. Thankfully I didn't have to admit to Tim that chasing elk uphill through burned deadfall was not at the top of my Christmas list. Instead, it made sense to focus on the 3 whitetail bucks that were on a leisurely stroll directly towards us. One was clearly a shooter and I was in a prime position. The one snafu was that he bedded down about 75 yards into private property, clearly mocking me as I repeatedly ranged him at 200 yards. We decided to bail off the ridge and still hunt through a prime bedding area just below us. Even though we had perfect wind and our ninja skills were primed we blew out a dozen or so whitetails during the first hour of tippy-toeing around. That's when we ran into the first area of the old burn and commenced the laughable task of navigating thousands of downed, burned trees that were hiding in tightly packed, nipple high, new growth pines. Brutal.
We decided to make a big move, hiking around some private property and heading into the adjacent Wilderness area, home to the largest mule deer I have ever killed (2012). Much to our dismay, we spied 8 horses tied to trees in the spot we were headed. I began softly speaking to the horses from a short distance and two rotund pumpkin bodies rolled out from behind a log to "greet" us. As suspected, these 2 guys were hunters with an outfitter. Their combined weight was nearly that of my Chevy truck and they informed us they were from West Virginia and there were 4 other hunters and 2 guides "WAY UP OVER THAT HORRIBLE RIDGE". These 2 good ol boys had attempted the Everest-like ascent of said ridge but turned back about 50 yards in because it was too difficult. I peppered these guys with questions and learned that most stereotypes of West Virginia were based on these 2 guys. The fatter and younger fella looked like the lovechild of Chris Farley and Larry the Cable guy and he was completely dumbfounded to learn that we had walked all the way in there and were camping out of our backpacks. Clearly befuddled, he asked, "what in the world do you use to heat your tent?" Every ounce of me wanted to say something about Brokeback Mountain, but he was armed and from West Virginia, so I kept my pretty mouth shut and we moved along.
Seventeen minutes later we heroically crested the "ridge of death" and found the 6 other guys sitting in a circle in the dead center of a giant treeless meadow. We chatted them up and then dropped off the other side to a basin containing a few lakes and a nice meadow. We set camp again and spread out to cover the meadows for the evening. Tim elected to pass on three small whitetail bucks. I glassed up a very nice bull about 1 mile away and up a distant ridge, about 300 yards from where we had camped in previous years. That night, some sort of polar vortex moved in and the tent had nearly formed ice by the time we finished dinner and crawled in to the quilts. I have night terrors occasionally and Tim was treated to some high decibel moaning in the middle of the night. The performance reached its zenith when I sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, bumped my head on the icy tent wall and created a snow shower inside the tent. This kind of unplanned entertainment in the middle of the night (in grizzly country) is perhaps the reason there is not a huge line of friends asking to go hunting with me.
Anyhow, Sunday morning was colder than a witches titty and we spent the first few hours overlooking an empty meadow. Visions of the big bull from the previous night and my big 5x6 muley from 2012 danced in my head as we made our plan. Around 9:30am we headed into another burned area but luckily it was devoid of new-growth pine and we only had to step over deadfall about 30% of the time. There was very little wind and being quiet was damn tough in the jumble of burned trees but fortunately Tim and I each honed our sneaky skills back in our 20's making silent retreats from the bedrooms of Bozeman's cougar population. Moments after re-shouldering our packs from a quick break I noticed a body materialize about 35 yards to my left. Tim was only a few steps away but was looking the other way, probably recalling a fond Bozeman cougar memory. Without a conscience thought about doing so, I was looking through the scope and with a small turn of the head I saw the antlers I was looking for. The body was obscured by trees but at 35 yards my crosshairs were dead solid on the neck when I pulled the trigger. It was all over in an instant.
The pack out was 3 miles, the first of which took over an hour to negotiate; some of the worst blowdown and new-growth I have ever had the misfortune of finding. But it was worth it for this great animal.
Best and happy hunting,
Josh Kuntz lives in Boise and hunts across Idaho and Montana. He currently serves as a Co-Chair for the Idaho Chapter of Backcountry Hunters and Anglers.