Articles

Kudeniuk

Don't put your fingers in the lake
Photo: Chris Hunt

Cameron donned the headphones in the co-pilot’s seat, the splendor of McGavock Lake spread out before him through the windows of the DeHavilland Beaver. For the first time all week, the sun overhead was beating back the clouds. It was warm, and after five mornings spent tucked in his rain gear, shivering as the boat pushed us into pike country, he was comfortable.

Repudiation

The kind of heroic rescue they used to sing songs and write epic poems about
Photo: Swaroop Bekal / cc2.0

The man had grown up in a family of hunters, in a place where the sport is woven deeply into the cultural fabric. It’s embraced, celebrated. Blaze-orange “Welcome Hunters” banners are such a commonplace that only their absence is noteworthy.

His particular passion was duck hunting and that alone should tell you how serious he was. You can be a casual pheasant or grouse hunter, even a casual deer hunter, but you can’t be a casual duck hunter. The sport is too demanding, too time-, gear-, and preparation-intensive. If you want to hunt ducks your only option is to go all-in.

New film ARTIFISHAL explores the disastrous impacts of hatcheries and fish farms

Documentary finds hundreds of millions of dollars wasted on an industry that does more harm than good
Credit: Patagonia

These days, iconic outdoor clothing and equipment manufacturer Patagonia may be as well known for its activism as it is for its gear. And if that's the case, there's a good chance that'd be just fine with the folks calling the shots behind the scenes who have made the conscious decision to use the brand's influence, reach and, of course, money to help move the world in what it thinks is the right direction.

Don't dress stupid

When chasing trout and other finicky fish, what to wear can be a crucial decision
Nice jacket, Chris (photo: Chad Shmukler).

Corey’s green-and-yellow plaid shirt stood out like a sore thumb. The yellow was almost a neon yellow. The green? Linda Blair vomit.

As we hiked along a lonely trail that stretched between two small Madison River tributaries, the southwest Montana afternoon sky shimmered with sunlight as it sliced through pockets of storm clouds. The grass of the lowland pastures was high and deep green. Below us, miles away, we could see the Madison, shining silver in the patches of sun the clouds failed to filter out.

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