For onX Hunt’s Wingshooting Manager Ben Brettingen, a household full of five dogs and one one-year-old daughter is just about right. After all, who has time to sit around and be bored? Whether he’s juggling five dogs at home or on the road heading out to an upland hunt somewhere far afield, Ben’s constantly seeking out new challenges and threading his way through the rapidly-changing wingshooting landscape.

Starting Young 

Ben grew up in Waconia, Minnesota, a small town with a rural western border, and a suburban eastern one. He recalls his family spending time visiting his uncle in Iowa, which had an incredible pheasant population at the time. 

“My upbringing in the hunting space was more commonplace decades ago than it is today,” notes Brettingen. “I was completely consumed with hunting from the get go. When I was too young to walk the fields, my mom would drop me off for the afternoon hunt, and my grandpa and dad would carry me on their shoulders. By the time I was four or five years old, I couldn’t even stand the thought of missing out on the morning of hunting. So, I did the only logical thing. When I thought my mom and dad were asleep, I scrounged up a couple bungee cords, and snuck into my parents room. I then attempted to fasten my dad to the bed so he wouldn’t be able to leave without me.

The Brettingen family brought home their first bird dog, Jack, when Ben was six. He recalls that despite Jack being a “complete menace to society,” he was a force to be reckoned with when it came to bird dogging. When the pair couldn’t be out hunting, Ben would ride his down to where the path dead-ended into a beautiful hillside of native grass. There, he would find and point pheasants, “shooting” them with a gun fashioned out of conduit and an old Soviet-era rifle stock. 

“Now that I think of it, that was a super cool gun,” he reflects. “Depending on how the mood struck, I could stack the barrels vertically for an over/under, or remove the tape and go horizontal for a side by side.”

It was, in his words, a “pretty awesome” childhood, and served as the core foundation for a life lived outdoors.

Five Dogs and a Home

Now, Ben juggles five dogs at home, in addition to a family and a bustling career. His eclectic pack of five ranges from young English Setter Fred to thirteen-year old Lily, who “holds the fort down” while Ben is on the road. In Ben’s own words, here are his five teammates:

1. Annie is the matriarch, as we’re closing in on a decade together. She is a Deutsch Drahthaar, and pretty much rules the roost. The queen of comfort, lives a pretty plush life nowadays. Three years ago she had a spinal stroke and lost about 70% of the use in her rear leg, so I now reserve her for short bird hunts. Really her bread and butter is waterfowling; I don’t think there is anywhere on earth she’d rather be than in the duck blind. 

2. Then you get to ol’ Herb who is the goofiest, badass dog I own. In my best Minnesotan accent, “He’s just a super nice guy.” In the same breath, Herb has so much prey drive he can really just be an a-hole sometimes. At six years old, he has roosters figured out. If somebody held a gun to my head and said you need to find a rooster. Herbert would be my go to. In addition to his love of feathers, he has a Germanic obsession with furred friends as well. Let’s just say it’s fun until it isn’t!

3. Amos (Hackberry’s Amos Moses) is just a flat-out thrilling dog to watch. When I hunt with new folks for the first time, they always want to see the two-and-a-half-year-old pointer rip. He’s a big-running dog but has the ability to adapt to different environments. On the prairie, his large stature and smooth gait make him look right at home. However in the grouse woods, he holds his own exceptionally well. Amos was the one that brought me into the field trial world, and has done an exceptional job of making me seem like a better trainer and handler than I really am. He’s had nine derby placements, including the Minnesota and Wisconsin Amateur Derby of the Year. What’s really cool for me is that he’s placed in three different types of trials: All-Age Horseback, National Bird Hunters Association, and the Cover Dog Derby stakes. 

4. Fred (High Point’s Snowman Fred) is my latest addition. He’s a 6-month-old Setter, and also the second in my Jerry Reed-inspired naming scheme. There is something about watching a field-bred English Setter in the grouse woods. Not only are grouse and Setters synonymous throughout history, they are simply just built for it. Fred was sired by arguably one of the most decorated cover dogs in history, Ponderosa Mac. Mac is an 8-time champion, two-time national champion and three-time runner-up champion. I have high hopes; we’ll see how the kid does for his first season. All I know so far is that during his first bird introduction at nine weeks old, Fred slammed on point with a twelve o’clock tail and proceeded to chase the pigeon for 75 yards. I’ll take that prey drive. 

5. Then there’s ol’ Lily, a prized Catahoula Couch Hound. She was a rescue from Louisiana, and holds down the fort when I’m traveling. At 13 years old, Lily is hands-down the best dog I own.

It may seem like five just as easy as four, just as easy as three, but somewhere along the line there’s bound to be a tipping point with the number of dogs in a household. Ben reflects honestly on the complications of a house full of working dogs. 

“There’s honestly nothing easy with bird dogs. It’s not like a bow or rifle where you can hang it up when you’re done,” he adds. “That’s why folks that run bird dogs, or hounds which are a different breed unto their own. One dog and five dogs would be the biggest transitions in my mind. Obviously with one your lifestyle changes with the responsibility of owning a dog. Then it’s really just more mouths to feed until you reach five.”

Ben explains the math. At five, it’s imperative to have a dialed-in set-up, especially for hunters traveling with their dogs. Using normal, off-the-shelf kennels, traveling with four or five dogs is—quite simply—difficult. 

“I started off running one or two kennels in the back of my truck under a topper,” he explains. “At the time I had a short bed truck, and by the time I had three dogs, the bed of my truck was essentially full of kennels which left little room for gear. Finally when I added Fred to the mix, I had to go to a dog topper with eight holes in order to fit all the pups and still maintain organization and a sense of sanity!

With five dogs, you just have a lot of….biomass. Four or five is the point where if you’re taking a non-dog trip it’s hard to just send them to one person to watch for a long weekend. The last trip I took resulted in having dogs spread between three different locations.”

Balancing a Family With the Pack

Ben juggles the pack of five along with a busy home life. He and his wife Sara have a one-year-old daughter, Bridget, who has presented a new set of adventures. He notes that now, with a daughter, time becomes all the more precious. When someone asks if he has acreage and a grand, dialed-in kennel set-up, he reminds them he doesn’t. But his wife understands that this—the dogs and the hunting—are what make him tick. And so they make it work.

“Everyone says, ‘I’m just too busy to do this or that,’ and the truth is we make time for what is important,” he points out. “I always said I was so busy but the truth is everything is relative. It’s still important for me to get out and work dogs multiple times a week while being a present father. What I’ve realized is that you just need to cut out things that are time sucks, whether it be doom-scrolling on social media, TV, or whatever takes a lot of valuable time. Sleep, that’s another thing. While important, you can always trade it for productivity time!”

For Ben, it’s an amazing experience to see Bridget continue to grow and to really start to take a liking to the dogs. She loves to crawl all over them, and he reports that for the most part, they’re “amazing” with her. She refers to the dogs as “Ahhs”, which was something they recently discovered. The foundation of this naming scheme is when dogs are in the way or getting into trouble, Sara would say “ahh,” as in, “cut it out.” 

“I don’t know if she’ll grow up to like hunting, but I’ll certainly give her the opportunity,” he notes. “My goal is to give her positive outdoor experiences growing up and if she takes interest, then I’ll nurture it. Right now, the dogs, outdoors, and hunting are just a part of life. It’s what we do, so she’s certainly immersed in it. “

onX Life

Immersion into hunting life is not a new idea for Brettingen. At onX, he works as the Wingshooting Manager, and works with upland and waterfowl ambassadors, as well as conservation organizations such as Pheasants Forever, Quail Forever, and Ruffed Grouse Society. He also represents waterfowl and upland customers and helps ensure they have the best tools available for their pursuit.

“I’m not trying to stroke some corporate ego with this statement, but the reason I came to onX was pretty cut-and-dried. In my tenure in the outdoor industry, I’ve never seen or used a product that has changed the game so drastically,” he comments. “I couldn’t make half the trips I do today or be even close to as successful without the Hunt App. I wanted to bring my skills and experience, and to be a part of crafting such an incredible product. My bird hunting and waterfowling passions really aligned well with my role at onX.”

Changes in the Upland World

It’s no secret to any of us that the hunting industry—most aspects of it—are changing rapidly. We’re in a fascinating time for hunters: public land, private land management, the use of technology, weapons regulations, and so many more “hot topics” make the headlines daily. And, as with most rapidly-evolving industries, there are good and bad elements to the changing tides.

“The popularity of upland bird hunting has dramatically increased, and while many aren’t thrilled with the increased pressure, I absolutely love it,” Ben opines. “When a lot of people think about upland hunting a stuffy tweed clad gentleman comes to mind, and that’s really not true. A community of bird hunters has really formed in recent years, with a majority of people being in their mid 20s to early 40s.”

He adds that he’s seen this younger cadre come together across the country to support each other. From raising money to help a fellow bird hunter with an injured dog, coming together and raising money to open up more access, or opening up their homes and fields to wayward travelers, it’s clear the community has strong foundations and continues to grow.

“The future for the industry is pretty bright but that doesn’t mean it’s without challenges,” he adds. “There’s some pretty frightening things happening with hunting dogs across the world, including bear hunting with hounds being banned, some of the e-collar restrictions taking place in Europe, and vague and overbearing animal welfare laws. However, the largest is habitat. Don’t get me wrong, I love access, but habitat is the real concerning factor. Because it doesn’t matter how much land we can access if there aren’t birds inhabiting it. In the past decade alone, we’ve lost an estimated 53 million acres of grassland habitat in the Great Plains Region. So I urge folks reading to not just join Pheasants and Quail Forever, or Ruffed Grouse and American Woodcock Society but to be active members, and support them however you can.”

For those looking to get into upland hunting, Brettingen advises to get involved with a dog group. 

“Whether that’s your local Pheasants or Quail Forever chapter, or a dog training organization such as North American Versatile Hunting Dog Association (NAVHDA), or a field trial group. Folks are so much more likely to help and support you getting to know them through these angles. Cold calling or reaching out on social media is much more difficult with limited results, where these people will be more than happy to help in this in person setting.”

Advice for Starting Your First Bird Dog

For those looking to start shopping for their first bird dog, Brettingen offers a wealth of advice. First, don’t do your research on the internet. 

“There are so many people I see who are hell bent on getting a specific type of bird dog based on how people talk about their dog on social media and the internet,” he cautions. “The problem is everyone loves their dogs, and loves to brag about them. The truth is, a lot of these people have  maybe only seen a few other breeds of dog, and don’t know what a good dog actually is. To be honest, I was one of those people who kind of drank the Kool-Aid for a while. It wasn’t until I started traveling more extensively, and hunting with other people that my eyes were truly open to what a “good bird dog” truly is.”

Next, go out and actually talk to other bird dog owners in person. Watch their dogs work. Remember to take everything they say with a (large) grain of salt—and Ben notes that if they say nothing but good things about their dog, then disregard everything they say. It’s important to find somebody who is willing to talk about their dogs’ faults in addition to the positive aspects. Field trails and (to an extent) NAVHDA are great places to watch dogs, and he notes he personally is biased to field trials—especially wild bird trials—because you’re watching the cream of the crop competing against each other.

“P.S. I just have to say this,” he adds. “Don’t feel the need to be different or unique when picking out a breed. If you want a true specialist bird dog, in my opinion there are only about four you actually need. Pointers, English Setters, Brittanys and German Shorthaired Pointers. If you want to talk about versatility then that opens the door for a lot more breeds but I can promise you as a whole, one of these dogs is going to outcompete some obscure breed.”

What Makes a Memorable Hunt—And the Things That Matter

When asked, it’s difficult for Brettingen to pinpoint his favorite hunt to date. 

“There’s so many that stick out in my mind for different reasons. For me, the actual hunting is only a small part of the equation. There are so many hunts that I would consider to be world-class in terms of bird numbers, and they tend to blend together. There are two parts that trip my trigger: good dog work and the camaraderie. Chukar hunting for the first time really sticks out in my memory; watching Amos roll along the cliff edges at six, seven, even eight-hundred yards was a sight seared into my memory. He finally figured out those red-legged bastards, but I also will remember the three coveys he blew up first!”

As for many hunters, Ben also notes that the right people help make a trip memorable or special.

“There have been some Kansas bird hunting trips with my Southern brethren where if you could die from laughing it would have happened. At some point in my journeys I ran across a kindred spirit or two that have become my absolute best friends. Guys I talk to almost every single day. People I never would have met if it wasn’t for a bird dog.”

Lastly, We’d Be Remiss to Not Talk Field Snacks…

Hang around the onX office for a day, and you’re likely to hear a lot of hunting stories, but also a fair bit of chatter about who is bringing what snacks to the range or the blind. We all know heading into the field well-stocked is key to a good day, and so we had to ask Ben what his go-to snacks are for a long day chasing birds.

“One of my favorite things to bring along on a trip is a sleeve of Ritz crackers and rillettes made with pheasant legs. It’s essentially a French potted meat, and a good friend of mine from Germany introduced me to it,” he explains. “I mean, you’re essentially combining pheasant, a copious amount of duck fat, salt, and Cognac. What’s there not to like? Well, in addition to fancy French meat, I’m not picky. For almost my entire professional career, I’ve been a road warrior putting 30 to 60,000 miles on a truck each year in search of birds, fish, and big game. So over the years I’ve become a bit of a convenience store connoisseur. Nothing is better than finding a gas station that makes homemade food. Dakota Food and Fuel in Platte, South Dakota, is probably the best gas station food I’ve ever had. I’m a complete sucker for bad gas station hamburgers!”

The post Five Dogs and One Kid: onX’s Ben Brettingen appeared first on onX Hunt.

My love for archery elk hunting began in 2015 when my dad took me for the first time as a wedding gift. He really spoiled me by choosing to take me to New Mexico, where I shot my biggest bull to date. It’s funny to look back on that because going into the hunt, I had never seen an elk before and I didn’t know what a bugle sounded like. It was really simple: I was going on a hunt with my dad. Why did I need additional details? Being with him was enough to say yes. 

More often than not, it’s the location and the people that I remember most about my hunts. Girls tend to look up to their dad and I’m no exception to that, so while my initial focus was about getting to spend time with him, going back home to Texas a week later with a big rack certainly had me whistling a different tune. This is when my life took a drastic shift and I found myself longing to be in the mountains chasing bugles. I grew up in central Texas hunting whitetail on private land so the contrast in terrain, species, method, and strategy really impacted me. Since 2015, I’ve hunted, guided, or been a part of an elk hunt every year in many units across the West.

My fall 2022 hunt stands out a little more than other years because it was just my oldest sister Candice and I on the mountain in the middle of a wicked lightning show. I’m obsessed with the sky; sunrises and sunsets, the moon and stars, and I’m especially fascinated by a good storm. I used to drive to my hometown lake and watch them roll in, so you could say I was on a high getting to chase bulls for hours in the rain, thunder, and lightning. I know they say to get off the mountain in those conditions but it brought a smile to my face to hear bugles mixed with thunder and lightning shortly after getting out of my truck.

My oldest sis and I ran ridge to ridge trying to catch up to a herd of elk that we believed had a handful of different bulls. They were on the move, pushing cows away from us and even fighting from time to time. The storm allowed us to move quickly in what’s normally very loud, crunchy terrain. I’ve learned if you can keep up with them and just stay close for as long as possible, a shot will usually present itself. It can be exhausting though; when they’re on the move like these were, you can’t slow down. So many times I thought, “Maybe we need to let them be and just come back in the morning,” because we were losing light fast and the storm made for even darker skies. At the same time, they were so wound up and rutting that I knew if we could avoid getting busted by a cow, we’d be okay. At the very least, we’d make some memories to share around the campfire.

When we finally caught up to them, a bull was running back and forth at the top of the ridge bugling and I couldn’t close the last 50-yard gap needed to let an arrow fly. It was wide open and he was directly above us, so I turned to Candice and said “I’m stuck, he’s not responding to my calls and it’s too open to get closer.” 

I’ll never forget her look of uncertainty as she said in a childlike voice, “Well I don’t sound very good but I can try my call?” She has less experience but is just as crazy about elk hunting and we had nothing to lose. 

“Might as well try it and have some fun!” I thought to myself. She dropped back about 20 yards and let out a calf call. The cows in the herd immediately lit up. Until that point, they weren’t making a sound. I thought for sure the cows would ruin the plan, but the bull lost it and let his guard down before them, coming into 20 yards and giving me a picture-perfect broadside shot after ripping a bugle. It was amazing.

After years of elk hunting, one thing I’m fairly confident in is the timing of my draw. Thankfully I had come to full draw as he came running in and put my 20-yard pin on him. I heard the crack of the hit, saw him run a bit and stop, then begin running again until I lost sight of him. I swore I heard him pile up but it was tough to know for sure with the constant rain and thunder. We waited to go look, which was a hard call because the weather was washing away any blood trail I hoped I’d have. It was absolutely dumping on us. I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to navigate the mountains in the dark with heavy rain and lightning all around you with nothing but a single headlamp, but it felt unsafe. I usually keep a backup headlamp on me, but for whatever reason it wasn’t in my pack this time. After waiting for quite some time, I attempted to follow the path I saw him take, feeling confident that he went down, but neither of us could find him. I told my sis we should get off the mountain and come back since the storm wasn’t passing anytime soon.

The next morning, it was a completely different experience. As always, I had marked my shot location on onX Hunt the day before, as well as the location of the bull. This is the first thing I do after the shot on every hunt, even if it’s less than 20 yards between the two locations. You’d be surprised how easy it is to get turned around when you’re looking for an arrow or blood. I’ve learned that the hard way on previous hunts!

As soon as we got back to those waypoints the next morning, I opened onX Hunt again and turned my Tracker Tool on. This always helps me to see where I’ve already walked if I’m struggling to find an animal. I’m a visual person, so I had my sister stand where the bull was standing as I released my arrow, then once again attempted to replicate his path both physically and verbally so she was a part of my thought process. If you’ve ever had a bull bugling in your face, you know how hard it can be to stay present and remember the details. It’s one of my biggest challenges as a hunter. One of my tips to stay present is to tap into each of your senses and acknowledge what you smell, see, hear, taste, and feel when your adrenaline is pumping. It makes your brain slow down and focus so that you don’t black out. How many times have you heard someone ask the hunter, “What happened? What do you remember?” and their response is, “I don’t know, I think he…” and a stream of uncertainty followed.

Within a few minutes of replaying everything, I spotted him. I couldn’t believe it, he had only run 65 yards from the shot! We must’ve passed him multiple times the night before, but again we were limited on light and the blood trail was long gone. It’s so frustrating, but also probably a blessing because my dad was able to come help break him down with us. And it wasn’t raining anymore, which was nice.

While I’ve tasted success on guided hunts and even solo, it was extremely special to have my big sis call this bull in during a lightning storm. We were just two chicks busting our butts and getting it done! It’s also the first bull I’ve shot while calling, as I normally sneak into their bugles without them knowing I’m there. It just goes to show that there are multiple ways to make it happen out there and you never stop learning. Once again I’m reminded why September will always be my favorite month of the year.

The post Archery Elk Hunting With Jessica Byers appeared first on onX Hunt.

Born and raised in Eastern Montana, I grew up hunting the sagebrush and coulees with my dad from a very young age, looking for mostly mule deer, whitetails, and antelope. I now try to hunt as many different places and species that time will allow, and have a particular passion for hunting elk with a bow. I currently reside in Missoula, Montana, where I have worked at onX for the past eight years focusing on Western Big Game Marketing. I spend as much time as I can in the field and am now looking forward to passing on my passion and the heritage of hunting to my two young boys. 

I vividly remember the first time getting to tag along with my dad on an archery elk hunt. Even at the age of eight, it didn’t take long for me to realize that there was something extra special about screaming bulls in September. My very first evening elk hunting was spent in the middle of several bugling bulls as darkness crept in. I remember telling my dad I wanted to stay and listen to the bugles well after shooting light was over before our hike out in the dark. It was one of those magical times in the elk rut that is almost impossible to try and describe. More than twenty years later, I still get the same feeling when hearing a bull bugle. 

The elk rut seemed to start out slow this year, at least in the spots I was hunting. I spent the first few weeks of the season tagging along with family and friends on hunts of theirs. We covered many miles on foot and even horses without hearing or laying eyes on a single bull. I knew it was just a matter of time, but oddly enough, I still hadn’t heard a bugle by the time I left for my hunt on the 25th of September. 

For the past several years, I have met my dad, uncle, and cousin for an annual week-long archery elk hunt in our home state of Montana. This year was no different. We arrived just in time to split up and find a vantage point to try and locate elk for the following morning. My cousin spotted the first bull of the trip that evening. A small five point, probably half a mile across an open sage flat, raking a burnt pine. With consistent wind, we decided to make a play on him but darkness ended up winning the race before we could turn him back up after we closed the distance.

Not having any other leads, we decided to head back to the same area the next morning to see what we could turn up. Wanting to listen for a while in the dark, we got there early. The plan was to hike to a high point to listen and glass from, in hopes to locate a herd. 

While getting the packs ready, probably an hour before legal shooting light, I finally heard my first bugle of the season, and it wasn’t far away. He sounded like a mature bull, but I have been duped by going solely off a bull’s bugle before. We quickly but quietly scrambled to get our stuff ready. As soon as I was confident the wind was consistent, I decided we’d be best to try and be as close to the herd as possible at first light. 

Using the onX Hunt App, I marked where I thought the bull was bugling from. He consistently bugled every five minutes or so, allowing us to keep pretty good tabs on where he was. Every time he bugled and sounded like he had moved, I updated the Waypoint in the Hunt App to the location I thought he was. He started up on an open flat and was making his way toward some breaky terrain with burnt timber I know they like to bed in from hunting this area in years prior. We continued to cautiously stalk his bugle in the dark, barely able to see the ground around us. When I was confident his last bugle was from over the next ridge, we got aggressive and crossed the large opening he had been in when we first heard him. I knew if we could get to the other side of the clearing without bumping any elk, we would be in a great spot. Legal shooting light was still probably 20 minutes away at this point. 

How Dylan Used the onX Hunt App on This Hunt

“The Hunt App was crucial for my success on this hunt. A few of the key features I used on this particular hunt were: Offline Maps, Aerial and Topographic Basemaps, Waypoints and Private / Public Layers. Had I not had the ability to, in the complete dark, read the terrain in the app and essentially mark and stalk this bull’s bugles in the dark to be in the perfect spot at first light, there is a good chance I would not currently have a full freezer of amazing elk meat and another European mount hung up in the house. After my elk meat was on ice, we struggled to locate more elk in the same area for a couple of days, causing me to spend a lot of time on the Hunt App studying maps and checking new areas within our hunt unit.”

As soon as we made it across the opening, the bull sounded off again. He was close! It was just light enough to see, but not to shoot yet, as I crawled on my hands and knees over a small knoll to try and get eyes on him. At this point, we had only heard one bull but I assumed he would have cows. I peaked over the rise and another timely bugle allowed me to pinpoint his location. He was probably 125 yards away, only one little ravine between us. I saw him long enough to know he was a good bull, but didn’t examine him too well as I quickly realized he was in a great spot to sneak in closer. I crawled back to my pack and my cousin, telling him what I saw. I contemplated setting up and trying to coax him in with a few cow calls, but decided against it as he was in a perfect spot to try to get above him without alerting him to our presence. 

We made a loop out of sight to get to the same ridge spine he was on and, to my surprise, the wind stayed consistent. We made it to the ridge probably five minutes after legal shooting light. I knew that we needed to make something happen before he moved again. I dropped my pack and started creeping up the knob, thinking he had to be under 80 yards. We made it to the top where it benched out for 30 or so yards. The bull screamed again, confirming he hadn’t moved. For the first time, we heard another elk down to our left. I knew we had a short window to make something happen. I nocked an arrow, opened the flap to my range finder pouch and started to creep forward. Approaching the end of the benched out top, I started crawling. About 10 yards later, I could see the tan color of an elk through the grass. A couple more feet and I saw the tips of his fourth and fifth points. He was facing straight toward me with his head down feeding, well within range for a shot but I had to make it a little further to be able to shoot over the rise. I made it a few more feet and slowly shifted my knees and hips sideways, setting myself up to shoot. I ranged him through the grass at 39 yards. He was still feeding, not a clue in the world that any sort of danger was near. 

I was thinking to myself that this was the perfect scenario, that he was going to turn on his own and present me a broadside shot, unknowing that I was there. But before I could finish my thought, I heard the ear piercing bark of an elk probably 20 yards below me and to my right. Things went from calm to chaos in a split second. I quickly put my release on my D loop. The bull picked up his head as the cow that barked ran up next to him. They were both looking around trying to find where the danger was. As soon as the bull took a step to leave, I drew my bow and slightly raised up on my knees. I expected to have to cow call to stop him, but by the time I had drawn my bow, the bull had stopped, slightly quartered away, looking up at my location. He hadn’t gone but a couple of yards from where I had originally ranged him. I settled my pin and squeezed until the shot broke. 

I watched my arrow sail through the grey morning light, hit its mark, then stick in the ground behind him. I quickly made several frantic cow calls as I watched him take off through the burnt timber. He ran out of sight and just moments later, I heard the unmistakable crash.

Wide eyed, and still in disbelief, I turned back to my cousin who was probably 20 yards behind me. I made my way back to him and gave him a big hug as we watched the bull’s cows head out of the country with a satellite five point now right on their tracks. 

Although I was very confident in the shot and both heard the crash, we sat still, looking and listening. We gave it thirty minutes or so before hiking to the other side of the drainage and glassing back to where I had last seen him. It didn’t take long to pick him up through the binoculars and confirm what I had thought. He has expired just out of sight and less than 50 yards from where I had shot him.

We walked back to the shot location, grabbed my arrow, then followed the short blood trail to my bull. I knew he was a mature herd bull, but hadn’t gotten a great look at him, as I knew he was one I absolutely wanted to take. He certainly didn’t ground shrink any as my cousin and I got closer!

Mornings like these in the elk woods are tough to beat. I try to soak each one in, not knowing when the next might come. I cut my tag and before taking photos, sent a Waypoint to my dad, uncle, and other cousin, so they could come enjoy the moment as well as help with the pack out. They arrived shortly and were just as excited as I was. 

We got the bull broken down and loaded into our packs for the relatively short but heavy pack to the pickups. The meat was taken care of and cooling on ice well before lunch time.

With five more days left in the hunt, and three more tags to fill, my bow stayed at camp and I headed out to try and help my dad, uncle, and cousin. A couple of days went by with only two white elk sheds to show for it. We glassed and hiked a lot of great country but couldn’t turn up any elk.

Persistence paid off as I finally glassed up a few elk with a good bull as they headed to bed down toward the end of the hunt. I marked their last known location in onX. Later that day, my dad and I snuck to 200 yards from the waypoint I had marked. Sure enough, we spotted a couple of cows followed shortly by the bull through the timber. We snuck to a creek bed and cut the distance in half before running out of cover and challenging the bull. He responded several times but ultimately pushed his cows in front of us, just out of shooting distance as darkness set in. We were surrounded by elk and sat tight, watching the bull’s antlers on the skyline while listening to him bugle over a dozen times, less than 100 yards from us. We waited well past dark before starting the hike back to camp. Looking back on that moment, it was a near exact replica of the very first time my dad took me on an elk hunt, listening to bugles in the dark, not wanting to leave. 

Another September had come and gone, and I was filled with gratitude as we hiked back to camp in the dark with bulls bugling in the distance. I was thinking how blessed we are to be able to spend September in the woods, chasing bugles and for the full freezer my family and I would have after this hunt. I want to thank my dad for taking me hunting as a kid, my wife for caring for our sons and home while I am away, and most importantly our Creator for everything that is given to us. I can’t wait to be back chasing bugles next September and to someday take my sons to experience their first archery elk hunt of their own.

Author’s note: a version of this story was originally published with Huntin’ Fool in March 2023.

The post Elk Rut: Screaming Bulls in September appeared first on onX Hunt.

Born and raised in Eastern Montana, I grew up hunting the sagebrush and coulees with my dad from a very young age, looking for mostly mule deer, whitetails, and antelope. I now try to hunt as many different places and species that time will allow, and have a particular passion for hunting elk with a bow. I currently reside in Missoula, Montana, where I have worked at onX for the past eight years focusing on Western Big Game Marketing. I spend as much time as I can in the field and am now looking forward to passing on my passion and the heritage of hunting to my two young boys. 

I still remember picking up the phone and my dad saying, “I think I am going on an archery moose hunt in BC in two years!”

A couple of months went by and his once-in-a-lifetime trip was booked. He was headed to northern BC for ten days in the fall of 2018 to archery hunt moose with his good friend and hunting partner, Lee. I had to find a way to go, and not long after, my spot was booked as a non-hunter in camp. It would be the very first time either of us would be that far north, on a float plane, or hunting moose and it couldn’t come soon enough.

Almost a year and a half and a thirty-two-hour drive through the most beautiful country we had ever seen later, we stood on a dock weighing our gear while anxiously waiting for the float plane to be fueled up. Little did we know, this trip would turn into one of the craziest adventures and hunting stories we had ever been a part of, let alone heard.

The sound of the Beaver’s roaring motor intensified as we took off. We had about an hour until landing on an unofficially named lake in the middle of nowhere, close to the Alaskan and Yukon border. We made conversation through the headsets while watching the landscape below. I remember trying to take it all in as anticipation grew as my dad sat next to me with a grin on his face for the duration of the flight.

Our pilot announced our arrival and tipped the plane, giving us a good view before circling the lake and interrupting the glassy water with the plane’s floats. 

After introductions to our guides, Pete, Karl, and Pete’s significant other Kelly, we transferred our gear to the two small plywood cabins built by Pete and Karl themselves, many years prior. The contents of ours were a wood stove, three cots, a lantern, and a can of bear spray next to the door. 

The guide cabin’s interior walls were covered with stories from past hunts written with permanent marker. On one wall, there were dozens of arrows hung up with nails, most stained red of dried blood, with names and dates next to them. The “Wall of Fame.” Past mementos from successful hunts. I noticed a couple of iconic names in the archery world written next to a few of the arrows.

I asked about the sections of the wall that looked newer than others. It was thanks to a few curious grizzly bears that would break in and make themselves at home while the cabin was unoccupied. I quickly realized why there was a sawed off shotgun hanging next to the bed.

We couldn’t hunt that day since we flew in, so we spent the next several hours organizing gear and glassing the lake’s edges from camp while my dad and Lee shot their bows. 

None of us got much sleep that night as anticipation was high. It felt no different than if I were to have had a moose tag in my pocket. I did, however, have a wolf tag with plans to use the rifle the guide carried for bear protection, if the opportunity arose.

The next five days played out the same as the last, with no moose sightings. We covered a lot of country, sitting and calling for hours at a time while glassing. We learned a lot and felt that if we were patient, things had to pick up. 

On the fourth day, after hearing a long, drawn out howl, I glassed up four wolves loping away from the country we wanted to hunt. We decided to let them go instead of attempting to call them back toward us in hopes to get a shot. Still, an awesome experience. 

We didn’t have our first real encounter until day six when we spotted a bull across the lake from us. We could tell it was a young bull but after six full days without much action, we decided to try and call him in. My dad and I pushed forward to find a spot to set up in the thick willows. Karl let out a long, drawn out cow call. The bull looked up and immediately began trotting along the shoreline. 

We could hear his paddles rubbing against the willows and grunts with each step, getting closer and closer. Antler tips appeared and my dad drew. The bull walked right into the only shooting lane we had, a mere fifteen yards away. He stopped, broadside. No arrow was released. Fifteen seconds later, the bull caught our wind. My dad let his bow down and looked back at me with a big smile. He said he was alright going home empty handed after experiencing that and he was going to continue to hold out for a more mature bull. 

On day eight, we woke up to an inch of snow covering the ground and the lake frozen farther out from the bay than usual. Pete used the small boat to drop my dad, Karl, and myself at the end of the lake, then we hiked two miles to another lake. It started snowing heavily again on our hike, turning our camo and gear white. 

We arrived and started the routine we knew well by now. Get comfortable. Call. Listen. Glass. Repeat. A couple of hours had gone by when we spotted a lone cow. 

Minutes later, I was glassing the same area and something caught my eye. At first, I couldn’t make it out. I was looking at two big white objects. As they moved, I quickly realized it was a bull’s paddles that were full of snow. I called for my dad and Karl. The excitement in Karl’s voice confirmed what I had thought, we found a giant.

He was close to a mile away, moving left to right. We quickly made a plan and ran to try and cut him off. We made it about a half mile when we ran out of cover. There was a large opening, littered with willows, until the next patch of timber. I relocated the bull. He was headed dead away from us. Karl pushed us out in front and said he would stay in the trees and call as soon as we were set up. 

It was impossible to guess where the bull might come by but after some debate, we set up. My dad nocked an arrow and Karl let out a cow call. It didn’t take long until we caught another glimpse of the bull. He was headed our direction. 

He held up at the edge of the trees, 180 yards from us. I watched through the willows as he stood in the sun, turning his head back and forth, showing off his impressive antlers, trying to get the cow he heard to come to him. 

He finally started across the opening, coming on a string, grunting every step. He disappeared eighty yards out, headed between us and the lake. We realized we should be closer to the lake, but couldn’t risk moving now. We could see the top of the bull’s paddles as he crossed us at fifty-five yards. I thought we blew it. 

But then, he veered left onto a closer trail. I told my dad I would give him a range. He came up the trail and for the first time was completely exposed. I was in awe. Even with little experience with moose, it was obvious that this bull was exceptional. Reading the yardages to my dad: 54, 50, 47, draw. 42 yards. The bull stopped but quartered toward us, not providing a shot. My dad was at full draw for what at the time felt like an eternity with the bull just standing there. 

The bull knew something wasn’t right and wheeled around. I quickly grunted to try and stop him. He slowed for a second and my dad released the arrow. 

We both saw his arrow hit him a little back. The bull ran about twenty yards and stopped. “How far?” I told my dad my guess and he released another arrow. It disappeared over the willows, and what I thought looked right into the bull. 

The bull took off but stumbled. He made it around the edge of the lake and disappeared over a rise. It all happened so quickly and we were both unsure of the hits. We took a few minutes to take it in and collect ourselves before looking for his arrow and blood. Without success finding either, we marked the spot and headed back to the edge of the timber. 

Karl was looking through his binoculars with a big smile on his face. He said the bull was bedded down, not thirty yards from where we lost sight of him. 

We told Karl we were unsure of the shots but he was extremely optimistic and assured us that it was a fatal hit. Just minutes later, we heard another bull grunting up the shore and glassed a small bull that seemed to be coming to our previous calls. As he approached, we could see my dad’s bull trying to get up to avoid confrontation. He stumbled to his feet and forty more yards to the nearest timber. Watching the bull, we all agreed that it looked like a fatal hit, but it might take some time. We decided to back out for the night. 

How Dylan Used the onX Hunt App on This Hunt

• At the time of this hunt, we did not have Canada available (we do now—read more here), but we still heavily relied on the Hunt App and used it multiple times every day during the hunt. Even in places that onX doesn’t support with private/public data, etc. onX offers some very usable functionality and tool sets for navigating the landscapes, regardless of where you find yourself. Some of the key things in the Hunt App we used on this hunt were aerial imagery, offline maps, seeing our GPS location on the map, marking waypoints, and tracking. 
• Before flying into the lake, I saved several maps for the area we would be hunting to ensure I had access when we were off the grid. We would study the aerial imagery maps in the evenings and plan out the best routes to navigate from area to area, marking potential calling and glassing waypoints along the way, then track our routes everywhere we went. If the route was good, I would save it in the standard track color. If the route we happened to take was not ideal, I would save that track in red to indicate that it was not one I want to take again if possible. 
• Additionally, I marked all known moose locations in the app, whether it was a sighting or if we heard a bull or cow call. Even the guides, who had years and years of first hand knowledge of this area, were impressed when looking at the app and how we were using it for this particular hunt. When we flew in to recover the moose, we had a different pilot that had not been to this particular lake before, so I showed him the Waypoint I had saved the previous fall and he navigated us straight there.

As hunters, we all respect the animals we pursue. It was difficult to acknowledge that it was not the quick, clean kill that we all hope for. All we could do now, was be smart and not try to push him. We were very optimistic that we would find the bull right away in the morning. 

We began the hike back. Pete asked what had happened when he pulled the boat to shore. Apparently we didn’t have good poker faces. We told the story and that we were going to leave him until the morning. His head dropped. The pilot called and had to move the flight to the next morning due to a major storm coming in. He said the plane was going to be here right away in the morning and unfortunately, we didn’t have a choice in the matter. After a quick discussion, we decided we had to go back and try to recover the bull before dark. 

We got back to where we had shot from in a short amount of time, drenched in sweat. It was dusk and we had to hurry. We went to where the bull bedded and found a large pool of blood and a broken off arrow. 

Following the blood trail, we made our way to the edge of the timber. We lost blood and fanned out looking for the next sign. I heard Karl whisper to my dad. We both quickly made it over to see the bull below. His head was down and at first, looked expired. But then, he sprung from his bed without giving my dad a shot. We did the one thing we didn’t want to do, we bumped him. He ran straight for the lake, just forty yards down hill. 

From the time we got to camp, Pete and Karl assured us that moose float and over the years they have retrieved several that expired in the lakes. 

The bull made it out past where he could touch bottom. He was thirty yards into the water and expired just seconds later. By this time, we had made it to the shore and watched, helplessly, as the bull disappeared below the water’s surface. I looked at Karl and said “he’s going to come back up, right?” He had a confused look on his face but nodded. Moose float.

Five minutes had gone by with no sign. Karl quickly shut down my idea of trying to swim out to see how deep it was by reminding me how frigid the water was. It was almost dark when we heard Pete and Lee coming around the corner, expecting to help take care of my dad’s bull. Karl met them. My dad and I stood motionless, staring into the water. I overheard Pete’s response to Karl:

“Moose don’t sink.”

It’s impossible to describe the rush of emotions. It had been a long day ranging from the highest of highs to the very lowest of lows. A series of incredibly unfortunate events that felt like a bad dream. 

It quickly grew dark enough that everyone was digging for headlamps while my dad cut his tag. There was nothing we could do now, but hike back and take the boat ride in the dark back to the cabins, now even more exhausted, physically and mentally. 

The hike back in the dark was one of the longest two miles I can remember. My mind was racing. What if he stopped broadside instead of quarter to? What if the other bull hadn’t come and bumped him out of his bed? What if we were able to leave him overnight? Why did he sink? Would he float overnight? None of that mattered now. Just one foot after another, through thick willows, following the light that our headlamps illuminated while hoping not to cross paths with a grizzly. 

We decided we were going to pack our gear that night and when the plane arrived in the morning, Pete and I would fly over to the lake the bull was in. He said that the moose should float over night. The plan was to fly over, find the bull, land and use the plane to pull him to shore. We would then start taking care of the meat. He said he wanted me to go so he could put my youth to work. 

The plane would then go back to pick up my dad, Lee, and as much gear as possible and fly them out before coming back to pick the meat and me up. 

That night over dinner, I showed everyone the video I got. Pete’s eyes lit up. He didn’t understand just how big he was until seeing him with his own eyes. We added to the “Wall of Fame” and hung my dad’s broken off arrow on the cabin wall. 

It was a sleepless night for the most part, but morale was higher than expected as we packed our gear and crawled into our sleeping bags. 

We sat on the shore the next morning expecting to hear the distant Beaver’s motor. It wasn’t until several hours later that we heard it over the horizon. The plane was late, and we would have had time to leave the bull and recover him that morning. Just one more frustrating “what if” to ponder on.

In no time, Pete and I were over the lake the bull was in. Pete explained to the pilot where the moose was. We got as low as we could and the pilot tipped the plane to better our view. With each second of not spotting the bull, my heart sank. He was right there, and there was nothing we could do. Any optimism we had was stripped away as we made one more pass and the pilot said he was calling it. 

Flying back was a horrible feeling, knowing my dad could see us and knew the outcome. As we landed and floated to the dock, I saw the same look as when we watched him sink. I stepped off the plane and hugged him before starting to load our gear for our trip home. 

Everyone was still in disbelief but it was no one’s fault. For whatever reason, it just wasn’t meant to be. 

As we lifted off the lake for the last time, we waved goodbye to our new life-long friends, not knowing if we would see them again. It was a somber flight back to civilization. We passed directly over the lake the bull was in. Looking down, searching frantically one last time. 

Although we wanted nothing more than to take home the bull, I started thinking about how we came for the experience, the solitude, the camaraderie, and the hunt. And we experienced all of those things, and then some. That bull would not be made into steak and burger, but he would enrich that lake, soil, and species in and around it. Thinking about these things, I had a strange peace with the outcome. 

We had a thirty-one-hour drive home, plenty of time to articulate my thoughts to my dad. He agreed and we moved forward. Still, we couldn’t help but wonder: What if he had floated by now and was right there?  

Not more than a week after arriving home, I got a call from my dad. He had excitement in his voice as he said he just got off the phone with Pete. They were scheming to fly back in the spring to try and recover the bull. We knew exactly where he was, we had to try. Even if unsuccessful, we would know we did absolutely everything we could. We were heading back North in the spring. 

Nine months, and many gear discussions later, my dad and I started the long drive. We had a wetsuit, rope, shackles, pulleys, an underwater camera, camping gear, and enough food for five days. Pete would have an inflatable raft, Come Alongs, fish finder, and whatever else he thought we might need. It was a long shot, but we had nothing to lose. 

The drive gifted us many hours of reminiscing on the hunt and discussing all possible outcomes. 

The next day, we made it to the small town we flew out of. Talking to locals that evening, we discovered that word had gotten out, and my dad’s bull was known by everyone as the “Scuba Moose”. 

The next morning, the roar of the Beaver came to life as the pilot pressed down on the throttle. I can still feel the anticipation and nervousness from inside the float plane as it gained speed and then slowly lifted off the water. It had been nine months since the last time we lifted off this very lake.

My dad sat next to the pilot and used the only other headset on the flight in. We had been flying for about an hour when the pilot told my dad to hand me the headset. I was sitting behind him and he wanted to be able to talk to me as he banked the plane around the lake, giving both of us a good view. 

I saw the exact spot we were standing when the bull walked by us as I explained into the mic where he sunk. As we approached, the pilot told me we were going to take three passes before landing. He then slowed the plane as much as he could, making it a little easier to search. 

I remember trying to cover every square inch with my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, just like nine months prior from a different plane.

When we made it around the lake, my hope faded. I remembered my dad and Karl could not hear my and the pilot’s conversation. As we approached where the bull sunk again, the pilot banked the plane harder, giving us an even better view. As we passed the spot again, I remember thinking that we were going to just have to do it the hard way. 

Moments later, the pilot cranked the plane 180 degrees as he said, “I see the bull, he’s on the bank!” I couldn’t believe it. At this point, I still had not seen him myself and asked the pilot one more time. I wanted to be 100% certain before telling my dad. 

I remember tapping my dad on the shoulder. My smile definitely gave it away. The look on his face was pure relief. I guarantee we all looked like we had won the lottery because in our eyes, we had.

The pilot told me he could already tell it was the biggest moose he had seen come out of the area as he eased down to the lake for our landing. 

The engine was cut about fifty yards from shore, letting the Beaver drift into the bank. We all looked out the window to see the bull shining in the sunlight. 

After reminding everyone a bear might be close, we told my dad to lead the charge. A few seconds later, we peaked over a rise and there he was. Laying palms down, the fronts of his paddles barely touching the water, the rest of his detached skull and giant paddles shining in the sunlight. We were speechless, just like when he sunk in front of us, nine months prior. To top it off, it was in near perfect shape. 

We did it, we found him. And he was every bit as big as we remembered. We discussed what we thought happened and agreed on a variation of the bull floating after we left and a grizzly pulling him to shore, as picked apart bones and a dug out bank were the only remains left. 

We took turns putting our hands on the bull before taking a minute to look around and appreciate this wild place one more time. 

It was bittersweet. We were extremely bummed we weren’t able to recover him last October and utilize the meat, but we had closure. 

As the pilot tied the skull to the top of the float, I jokingly told my dad that based on our record of events, there was a chance it might fall off in the air. I then checked to make sure it was absolutely secure, before climbing in. 

The floats lifted off the water, pointed toward what little civilization was around, all our gear still packed behind us. I sent a pre-made inReach message from the plane that read “We found him!!” I was hoping I would get to use that one when I made it. I remember looking down, past the bull, and seeing a cow and calf moose standing next to a lake. I couldn’t help but think about having to make it back again someday for a hunt of my own. 

That night we celebrated over a campfire. We couldn’t thank Pete, Karl, and Kelly enough for not giving up. They thanked us for the same and we left the next morning with “see you later”, not knowing if or when that would be true. We began the long drive South with moose paddles sticking out of the pickup. Two full days driving later, we made it to the US border. When it was our turn, the Border Patrol behind the glass asked what brought us to Canada, my dad told the short version of our story. The gentleman looked confused and said he had never heard of a moose sinking. Us either. We couldn’t make this up if we tried. 

Not long after, I was at home helping my dad hang the bull in the house I grew up in. Looking around the room, there are a lot of memories that my dad and I share. From my dad’s biggest mule deer where I was right beside him at the age of five; to this top twenty-five all-time Pope and Young Canadian Moose, where I was right by his side again, at the age of twenty-six. 

My dad and I have shared many memorable hunts over the years, but most won’t hold a candle to our Northern BC moose adventure, and the story of the “Scuba Moose”.

Author’s note: a version of this story was originally published with Huntin’ Fool in October 2020.

The post Hunting Moose in Canada: The “Scuba Moose” appeared first on onX Hunt.

When we heard Nevada hunter Matthew’s story, we had to have a chat. So we sat down with him to talk about hunting in Nevada, what went wrong in his elk hunt, what went right, and how the onX Hunt App helped him make it out safely.

onX: So tell me a bit about yourself. Where are you from, what’s the day job?
Matthew: I’m a born and raised third-generation Arizonan. I have a bachelor’s degree in microbiology from Arizona State University and a Doctorate of Pharmacy from the University of Arizona in Tucson. I currently live in Carson City, Nevada, and work as a pharmacy manager in Reno. I’m married with two young children.

Did you grow up hunting? How did you first get into hunting?
Unfortunately, I did not grow up hunting. After moving to northern Nevada, I was invited on a mule deer hunt with one of my new friends. We ended up harvesting a nice young buck on the last evening of the hunt, and after that I was officially hooked.

What is hunting in Nevada like? What do you enjoy / not enjoy about it? What are those opportunities for in-state, resident hunters?
I really like hunting in Nevada. The Nevada Department of Wildlife does a very good job managing herds that are healthy and growing. We have amazing elk hunting opportunities and the healthiest bighorn sheep population in the Lower 48. Nevada is a very large state with many different types of microclimates to hunt. You can hunt the low desert for bighorn sheep, the flats or low ranges for pronghorn, or 10,000-foot peaks for mule deer and elk. 

I don’t enjoy that Nevada runs on a preference point draw system. They are somewhat unique in that they square your points for the number of entries, so the longer you apply, the better your odds get, but I would much rather have a random draw like New Mexico. I also don’t like that once you draw elk and pronghorn tags you must wait seven years for elk and four years for pronghorn before you can even apply again. You also cannot accumulate bonus points during this waiting period, and it doesn’t matter if you were successful during your drawn hunt, you still have to wait on the sidelines until those years pass. I understand that they want to give everyone a chance to hunt, but I think a random draw is a better way to do that.

We have many opportunities for in-state and out-of-state hunters, we have great fishing in our many streams and lakes, and great waterfowl/upland bird hunting for birds such as chukar and sage grouse. You can hunt mule deer, elk, pronghorn, black bear, three types of bighorn sheep, and even mountain goats. 

So, this particular elk hunt sounds like a hell of a story! Walk us through what happened.
My elk hunt started with months of preparation, e-scouting, a physical scouting trip, and physical conditioning. It should have served as an omen when every person from my family was stricken with the stomach flu the week before the hunt. I arrived two days early with a full day of scouting set aside. This was the first time I had seen elk since I was a teenager in northern Arizona. I located a group of 40-50 elk with a seven-point herd bull, and eight or 10 satellite bulls all sparring up the hill about 100 yards. It was clear that there was a hot cow in the second estrus, and it was epic to watch them all day. I was several miles away on a ridge and planned a stalk to intercept them returning to their beds after a night of feeding with a full moon. That next day I hiked early—in the dark—but come sunrise, no elk. The next day the atmospheric river hit the mountains and changed everything.  

After two days at lower elevations the snow finally melted enough that we could go back up to higher elevations, and this is when everything went to hell.

For four days this storm destroyed our hunting region, alternately dumping snow and rain so intense that we had to clear it every hour to prevent our tents and shade shelters from collapsing. No hunting was done; we were cold, wet, and depressed. Everyone had left the mountain except us and one other hunter in a large trailer. The fourth day we received a foot of snow in the first three hours of the day, so we decided for safety’s sake to pack camp and move down the mountain. The next two days were on and off rain and snow. We hunted at lower elevations since we couldn’t access higher elevations now they’d received well over two feet of snow.  Besides mule deer and lots of mountain lion tracks, we encountered zero elk. After two days at lower elevations, the snow finally melted enough that we could go back up to higher elevations, and this is when everything went to hell.

From a glassing spot up on a hill my hunting partner spotted a bull elk and some cows. After locating them, they appeared to be in a meadow down the mountain through a draw, and to both of us appeared to be within a mile away. I slipped and slid down the mountain and utilizing my downloaded, offline onX maps, I mapped out my stalk. I had two hours of daylight left and was going to need every minute to get to them in time for legal shooting light.  

After an hour and a half of fighting through thick aspen groves, deadfall, snow-covered rock slides, and streams I reached a knoll where I could get a range on them. I couldn’t believe it when they were still more than 1,000 yards away. What we couldn’t see was that the draw dropped off into a 30-degree, snow-covered slope with even more intense deadfall, thick trees, and horrible loose rock terrain. In the heat of the moment I decided it was worth the risk and I proceeded to continue my stalk.  

Everything was like moving on ice. The melted snow made everything slick and my trekking poles saved me more times than I can count. On one occasion my boots fell through six inches of snow-covered tree deadfall into a small snow-melt stream hiding under the snow and wood. I had insulated boots, a waterproof rain outer layer, and high-quality wool socks so I kept on my stalk and wasn’t worried about it. After an hour I made it to a perfect spot down the draw. 

I was testing the wind the entire time, and the thermals were changing from up the canyon to neutral and swirling, and I knew I was on borrowed time. A bull must have heard me or seen me because he immediately ran over to my direction from the meadow and up the hillside and stared in my direction for a few minutes. I ranged him, and he was 290 yards and at more than a 20-degree decline from my knoll to his hillside. I had 10 minutes of shooting light remaining, as he turned to leave he presented broadside and I knew I had my shot. 

I said a prayer and took it. 

Cold Realities

The bull raced like he was shot out of a cannon, went 50 yards, fell, tried to stand, then fell again and died. It was a miracle, and God delivered a perfect vitals shot. What I didn’t realize when I took the shot was that although the elk was 290 yards as the crow flies, it was another 1,000 yards of traversing more horrible terrain. I had planned ahead and arranged for an outfitter to pack the animal out on horses so I didn’t have an ethical problem taking the shot, but I also didn’t know I had made a potentially fatal survival mistake at that point.  

After getting to the elk, I took a rest break and changed into spare dry clothes. It was then I noticed that I forgot to pack my merino base layer top and bottom in my pack (the only day of the entire hunt I forgot to do this), which was a huge mistake. It was now pitch black out, and I started field dressing my elk using the gutless method. The temperature dropped insanely fast and I had half of the elk field dressed when suddenly I lost nearly all motor function in my hands. I quickly realized that I was becoming hypothermic and after analyzing my body, realized that the inside of my boots were soaking wet and I couldn’t feel my feet. 

What I didn’t realize was that during my stalk both of my waterproof outer pant legs had been torn to shreds at the bottom, and when I slipped on the deadfall and fell into the water, some water got into my boots and got my feet wet. It was so cold and wet out—and paired with the adrenaline from the stalk—I didn’t even notice this and my body was now shutting down. I removed my sock liners, wrung out my wool socks, and threw four hand warmers into each boot.  

I knew that I had to get out and get moving to increase my body temperature, so I started the 1.5-mile ascent in the worst country I have ever faced in the pitch black darkness. I activated my emergency SOS function on my inReach device, and using onX on my phone I started the single worst hike of my life. I have never been more physically or mentally challenged like this… multiple times my mind kept telling me to lay down in the snow and go to sleep, which was terrifying.  

Without onX I would have never gotten back to my car. I got misdirected and caught myself going the wrong direction at least five times, and this App definitely saved my life. Three grueling hours later I finally got back to my hunting partner and his son at the truck. I was out of water and could not stop shaking or form sentences. As a precaution, we raced to the nearest town three hours away in Idaho, where I went to the emergency room and was diagnosed with dehydration and extreme cold exposure. After leaving the ER at 3:30 AM, we had a quick night at a hotel and then raced back to our hunting camp. We loaded our packs and started the hike down to where I had field-dressed half of my bull elk. 

The next possible limitation I’d overlooked was that my hunting partner had his nine-year-old son with him.  This kid was incredible; he never complained and traversed this forsaken landscape like a spider monkey.

It took more than two hours to get to my elk. My hunting partner and I both agreed that the last 1,000 feet were too dangerous for his son, and since my body was beaten to hell I offered to stay with him because I wasn’t sure I would make it out if I attempted that last most treacherous part. My partner went down and did about an hour of work on the elk, and then we began the two-hour climb out of the canyon.  

At this stage in my hunting career, I am solely a meat hunter, and this is the first animal I was unable to fully dress and pack out, so it really upset me down to my core that some of this animal was going to go to waste. The next day it took the outfitters six or seven hours on horses to reach and pack out my elk on four horses. (I had shot my elk on Wednesday night, but the ranchers were not available until Friday morning due to the snow and the accessibility of the roads.)

We were able to salvage all four quarters and the backstraps but lost the other meat (although we lost one quarter to spoilage once we got it to the butcher and inspected it). I am grateful that we were able to recover most of the meat, but regret that we lost any because it goes against my morals as a meat hunter.

How did the onX Hunt App figure into how things played out?
Without my downloaded onX Offline Maps, I would have been found several days later—still on that mountainside—by search and rescue. I got completely turned around several times and was heading in the completely wrong direction. Using the Tracker feature I was able to follow my tracks back out. Even in my compromised state of mind, I was able to get out. When you are completely in pitch black, land navigation in bad terrain becomes nearly impossible; you cannot safely navigate a wilderness area on foot without these detailed downloaded maps.

When you are completely in pitch black, land navigation in bad terrain becomes nearly impossible; you cannot safely navigate a wilderness area on foot without these detailed downloaded maps.

What’s next on your hunt list?
Next up is my first out-of-state and first over-the-counter elk hunt in Idaho, followed by a mule deer hunt in northeast Nevada. I am very excited for these hunts since they will also be my first-ever backpacking hunts as well.

What’s your bucket list hunt?
My bucket list hunt is hunting mountain goats in Alaska. Between the most beautiful scenic wilderness/wildlife and grueling challenge of pursuing such a beautiful animal, it would be an experience of a lifetime.

If you could give someone one piece of advice going into their first hunt, what would you say?
Know your limitations. It’s easy to overestimate your abilities based on the vast amount of knowledge available on the internet to a new hunter. Know when to quit when a hunt becomes unsafe, no animal is worth hunting if your life is potentially in danger. And finally have fun—we are so blessed to be able to do the things we love.

The post SOS Elk in Nevada appeared first on onX Hunt.

The Four Subspecies of Wild Turkey

Osceola Turkey

The Osceola wild turkey is objectively the most difficult of the four subspecies to hunt, let alone harvest, due to a lack of public access opportunity and their extremely small habitat range. Osceolas only inhabit the southern half of Florida. Given this, many of the hunting opportunities in Florida occur on private land and in turn have fairly significant costs to them to hire an outfitter. That said, public land hunting opportunities for these birds exist, but are without question some of the hardest public land turkey hunts out there.

Osceolas are on average quite a bit smaller than the three other subspecies, but look similar to their Eastern cousins save for much darker wings. They are the most aggressive subspecies and often make for thrilling hunts.

Eastern Turkey

The Eastern Turkey is the most populous and widest-ranging of the subspecies, found from Maine to North Florida to Louisiana, and all the way to Minnesota and beyond into Canada. On average, it’s the largest of the four subspecies. Easterns have the most thunderous gobbles, and are both the most wary and most hunted turkey. Tons of both public and private land opportunities exist to hunt an Eastern. Pick a state and get to researching as to what your ideal hunt would be using onX for Desktop.

Rio Grande Turkey

Rios, as they’re known, inhabit the southern flyover states such as Texas, Kansas, and Oklahoma, as well as much of California. Rios are one of the easier subspecies to coax into shotgun range, but will no doubt provide challenges. Finding suitable habitat with hunting access can be challenging as these birds typically rely heavily on river/creek bottoms, one of the few places in these landscapes that harbor large trees suitable for roost locations. If you can find these creek bottoms with surrounding agriculture food sources, you will be on birds.

Merriam’s Turkey

Merriam’s turkeys are the most differentiated of the subspecies with their creamy white-tipped feathers filled with hues of pink throughout their tail fan. From central Nebraska to South Dakota, and west throughout Wyoming and Montana, you will find these birds. Known for their frequent gobbles, as compared to all other subspecies, these birds are a ton of fun to hunt as you often are in the game on gobbling birds. They, of course, present their own challenges. Not being overly aggressive, they tend to be less committed to calling and often live in steep, varied, mountainous terrain. They can be very nomadic birds and can be downright difficult to catch up to.

Planning Your Turkey Grand Slam

The first question to answer would be: Are you looking to work on your Grand Slam over a number of years or do you want to achieve a Single Season Grand Slam? A Single Season Grand Slam is far more costly and logistically challenging, but offers a truly unique achievement. 

Hunting an Eastern, Merriam’s, and Rio Grande are all very achievable do-it-yourself hunts. Beyond using the onX Hunt App to plan your hunts, as an onX Elite Member you gain free access to Hunt Reminder, a service that will help you discover and ensure you never miss the opportunity to apply for turkey hunts across 33 different states. These include special draw wildlife management area hunts, states that require turkey applications to draw a tag, and other nuances that can be downright difficult to understand. 

The Osceola is the most difficult subspecies to harvest of the four simply due to the lack of available DIY opportunities. Not to say there are none. There are multiple tracts of public ground that can be hunted by anyone, every single year, but these will likely be the most challenging turkey hunts you will ever go on, so ensure it’s an experience you’re prepared for. The other, frankly more viable option, will be to hire an outfitter to complete this leg of the slam. 

If a slam is something you dream of accomplishing, start setting aside a few bucks every month and begin planning the numerous turkey trips it will take to get it done.

My 2021 Single Season Turkey Grand Slam

Last spring, I was fortunate enough to pursue and complete my Single Season Grand Slam. Frankly, I’d never dreamed I’d ever achieve that feat, but it all fell into place in 2021.  

March 6, Florida

Five days prior my good buddy and onX Ambassador Phillip Culpepper called me well past 10 p.m.: “Jared, short notice, brother, but some family stuff came up for a guy I was set to hunt an Osceola with on the south opener, can you get here?” And just like that, five days later I was up at 5:30 a.m. headed into some entirely new country to hunt an Osceola. Phillip had roosted some birds the night before, so we had high hopes off the roost. We kicked off the Realtree Spring Thunder turkey tour with this hunt, so watch it go down here:

April 24, Kansas

It was Day Four of a five-day hunt with my dad in Kansas. Up to this point, we had three separate occasions where birds we were actively making plays on/working were shot (or shot at) by other groups of hunters—public land at its finest! Admittedly, I also swung and missed on our first morning attempting more bushwhacking than was apparently doable. Finally, though, we found a pocket of walk-in ground that had not seen much pressure, and with it were at least four longbeards. My old man and I decided to divide and conquer around the ~15 acres of mature oaks they were roosted in. My dad sat on the very southeast finger of the block of woods, with a jake and hen decoy, and I went 300 yards to the west and nestled into a cedar tree about 150 yards out from the woods. So long as the birds didn’t go toward the road, one of us should get a crack.

As is so often the case, they went toward the damn road. I wasted no time to bail on my setup location and using onX to pinpoint their gobbles once on the ground, it was clear they were in a low ditch inside the timber and headed toward the road. I racked my shell out of the chamber and started sprinting down the fenceline of the public/private border and didn’t stop until about 500 yards later when I was standing on the dirt road. The birds sounded off unabated. With plenty of small rolling hills and ditches in this small block of timber, I closed the distance quickly, ending the stalk with a 15-yard belly crawl, as I could see tail fans pop in and out of strut. I made it to a mature oak, eased to my knees and there were three gobblers at 45 yards. I wasted no time. I clucked with my diaphragm, the far right bird pulled out of strut and I pulled the trigger. Just two hours later and a hundred yards up the hill my dad capped off our quest for Kansas Rios. 

April 27, Montana

One of the absolute best parts of turkey hunting for me is waking up with the earth, as so much new life is blossoming. Because of this, I make it a priority to hunt a few weekday mornings every week of turkey season, and this Tuesday just happened to start far better than most. I’d won “lottery” access to a Block Management Area I found within onX Hunt. Block Management is Montana’s private land opened for public hunting. Many states have these and can be found within onX Hunt. Not a single gobble broke the silence in the dark, but I’d known there to be birds in the area and just picked a tree on the edge of a large stubble wheat field.

Sure enough, well after daybreak a bird sounds off across the field. I brought my strutter decoy with me, which when hunting in Montana I very rarely do, but at this point, I crawled my decoy out about ten yards and then butt-scooted back to my tree. After watching what turned out to be two gobblers, two jakes, and a plethora of hens for almost two hours, the clearly subordinate gobbler pulled away from the flock and marched 200 yards clear across the field right to my lap and I pulled the trigger at 17 steps. Why after two hours of looking at my decoy did he become worked up at that moment I’m not quite sure, you just never know what they might do. 

May 20, Wisconsin

For the past couple of years, my brother and I have done an annual turkey hunt. He has two young boys, so it’s always great to get home and see some family while chasing birds. Typically we hunt public ground, and if we can’t find workable birds we begin knocking on doors and seeing if we can drum up permission. This year was no different and we ended up really struggling to get on a public land gobbler, not shocking given the Wisconsin season had been open for a month up to this point. 

We began seeking permission and it was tough sledding at first, but it only takes one “yes” to turn things around and on Day Five I got the nod. We’d had some close calls in the five days of hunting up to this point, multiple birds hanging up between 70-90 yards, picking the wrong spots off the roost as always, just typical late-May turkey things. It had been raining all day, I had my laptop with a powerbank in a pop-up blind situated on a wooded peninsula that jutted way out into a large cornfield. I was committed to doing whatever it took to get my Eastern. I’d been planted there since about 9 a.m., and it was now about 3 p.m. I’d just hopped off the phone with my boss, Zach. He said something to the effect of, “Well, you best go find one, your time is running thin.” I took that as an order to quit doing the mediocre work I was doing from inside my dry blind and take a wander on this newly gained permission. 

It was a 300-acre farm, so I had some room to roam. In the steady rain, I moved slowly for a few hundred yards then would sit and call for 15 or 20 minutes. I swore I heard a very faint, distant gobble on my third setup, so with nothing to lose, I closed the distance. A few hundred yards later I came to a big power line. I snuck to the edge and immediately spotted a red head a few hundred yards down the power line lane. Without even confirming it was a longbeard, I pulled out the Hunt App and visualized where I needed to move to get in front of them. Five minutes and a few hundred yards later, I snuck up an embankment on the edge of the cover and peered out from behind a tree. Nothing. I scanned patiently for a few minutes when all of a sudden, bloop, bloop, bloop—red heads started popping up everywhere. Seven gobblers in total. What was likely just a couple minutes felt like an eternity for them to close the distance from 60 to 40 yards, but as soon as I had a shot I wasted no time and completed my Single Season Grand Slam with my Eastern. 

The post Turkey Grand Slam appeared first on onX Hunt.

Fowlie, for those curious, was not one of the stars of “North Woods Law,” a reality show filmed about Maine’s game wardens, but he was promoted to replace show frontrunner, Sergeant Tim Spahr, after he retired from service. The pinnacle of Fowlie’s film career is as a backlit, from-behind silhouette in the show’s first season opening montage. 

Fowlie’s actual career as a game warden is one rooted in the oldest conservation law enforcement agency in America, dating back to 1880. A decade after Maine became a state in 1820 it wrote up the first hunting season laws in the U.S. From September 1 to December 31 hunters could shoot deer and moose, with no bag limit. Between 1850 and 1870, out-of-state hunters were banned from Maine. Following the 1880 establishment of Maine’s game wardens, the state passed several laws governing hunting, including limiting each hunter to one moose, two caribou, and three deer, plus no hunting on Sundays (which still stands today).

To be part of this highly regarded and historical Warden Service, one has to have the right mix of traits: integrity, preparedness, courage, and an immovable love for the outdoors.

“When I was 14 years old I decided that’s what I was going to be and I never looked back.“

“I grew up in a rural town in Maine and grew up hunting,” says Fowlie. “My dad was taking me hunting since I was 10, hunting deer and partridge. And I loved fishing. I’d bike down to the local brook and fish, even though we weren’t catching anything. We had a junker dirt bike to ride around, and when you fell off it the seat fell off too so you had to put it back on to keep riding. I built my own cedar strip canoe when I was 18 and fished out of it. I was just all in with the outdoors.

“My father also taught me to obey the rules, whether we disagreed with them or not. He was very strict about obeying the law, and I appreciate that about him. He taught the rules behind conservation, about how we limit what we take so others can enjoy the same thing.

“I always knew I wanted a job in the outdoors, and I wanted a job that was exciting. It was my dad who told me about the job of being a game warden, so when I was 14 years old I decided that’s what I was going to be and I never looked back.”

To be a game warden in Maine, and in most other states, an applicant has to have a college degree in a related field and commit to months of interviews, oral and written exams, and a physical fitness test before being one of the few selected to start training at a police academy. At the academy, wardens are training with future municipal police officers, state troopers, and other law enforcement. 

“It’s a high-stress training environment,” says Fowlie. “It’s now 18 weeks of paramilitary training. We want to train our officers, including wardens, to be able to problem-solve and work through situations under intense stress, and the only way to do that is to create that kind of environment.” 

Many wardens in the U.S. either work alongside other law enforcement agencies or are part of those agencies. In Maine, a game warden can back up officers and state troopers, and they can write tickets for non-game violations, including DUIs or speeding.

“We’ve had the same training as all other law enforcement, which is important in a rural state,” says Fowlie. “There’s a lot of towns that don’t have a local police force so they have to rely on county or state police. There might be one trooper or one lonely deputy way out somewhere and a warden is probably going to be his closest backup. We’re going to watch each other’s backs and help each other out.”

After those 18 weeks of intense training are up, game wardens start an additional 12 weeks of training relevant only to them. “Now we’re going to teach them how you catch someone night hunting for deer,” says Fowlie. “How do you set up proper surveillance? How should you work a smelt run? How do you work a brook? How do you safely operate a boat to stop another boat? That’s warden training.” 

These training programs have produced a much different game warden today than when wardens got their start in medieval England. Both the term and the job came into existence not long after King Cnut the Great, ruler of England, Denmark, and Normandy from 1016 to 1035, enacted a forest law that made unauthorized hunting punishable by death. In need of people to patrol for poachers, protect the land, and organize the king’s hunts, the role of the warden was created. 

By the 13th century, the word “warden” was coined as “one who guards,” derived from the Old North French, wardein. In Germany, the term for “warden” was jägermeister, meaning “hunt master.” 

In the U.S., the role of the game warden deeply took root when states began enacting conservation and game laws. This was unfolding at the same time naturalist John Muir advocated for and helped found California’s Yosemite (est. 1890), Sequoia, and King’s Canyon parks. These new parks were under the protection of the state of California as wildlife preserves, which prompted the state to hire mountaineers to patrol them to prevent unauthorized hunting, fishing, and logging. By 1901, California employed 50 game wardens.

In a role with such a varied past—first as a guardian of royal privilege to protectors of public land and its resources—it’s no surprise that when game wardens are asked about what a “typical” day looks like, they answer with a chuckle. 

“I don’t think there is an average day,” says Fowlie. “I wake up every day and expect the unexpected.”

“Some will try to play dumb a little bit and tell me, ‘Oh, I wasn’t really sure.’ Come on, you bought a license in the last five years. You know.”

While there might not be “average,” there are “busy” and “busier.” As the seasons change so do the types of recreation, so where wardens might spend their days on coastal or inland waters during the summers counting life jackets and looking for intoxicated daredevils, they’ll be riding snowmobiles looking for trespassers or fishing licenses on frozen lakes in winter.

And as hunting seasons come and go, they’ll be watching for bait piles, poached game, and again, more trespassers. Fishing is a year-round activity in most places, and it’s prone to year-round violations. One of the most common infractions any game warden will come across, any time of the year, is “fishing without,” meaning actively fishing without a valid license. 

“Fishing without a license is quite common,” says Fowlie. “It’s intentional. They know they don’t have a license, but some of it is opportunistic. They have a rod there and they cast once or twice. Well, you’re fishing. Some will try to play dumb a little bit and tell me, ‘Oh, I wasn’t really sure.’ Come on, you bought a license in the last five years. You know. Or they say, ‘I have one, but I don’t have it on me, unfortunately.’ Really? Well fortunately we have cell service so just give me your name and I’ll call in and check. ‘Well, you know, come to think of it, I may not have bought one.’ Oh, okay.”

~~~

Wardens of The Beaver State

People play dumb in other states too. From the coast of Maine to the coast of Oregon, game wardens are on the front lines catching the licenseless and culling the few bad apples who feel entitled to take what they want out of the wild. 

For Oregon State Police Lieutenant Vonn Schleicher of the Fish and Wildlife Division, a day’s work definitely includes busting people fishing without licenses, but it also bleeds into the night by guarding precious resources like steelhead, a threatened species in Oregon, as well as Coho and Chinook salmon, both of which are highly protected.

“By far our salmon species are the most regulated,” says Schleicher, “and it is often confusing because a lot of the regulations end up being changed throughout the year based upon return counts that are monitored by biologists. That’s why it’s very beneficial to the angler and the game warden to keep abreast of the emergency rules that come out.” 

But sometimes people don’t care about the rules. Like Fowlie in Maine explained, people can be “opportunistic.” That’s exactly what Schleicher came across more than once in his 25-year career as a state trooper/game warden. 

To clear up the nomenclature, in Oregon state troopers who are assigned to the Fish and Wildlife Division do the work of what one typically thinks a game warden does. According to Schleicher, Oregon and Alaska are the only two states in the U.S. that have “a true state police agency,” he says, though Michigan’s wardens are also state troopers, as we’ll learn more about shortly. 

“What I enjoy about the Oregon State Police is that the career is never boring.”

“With Oregon and Alaska, you have one large agency called the State Police, and in Oregon, we have within that agency three primary divisions—the patrol division, fish and wildlife division, and our criminal division. The Fish and Wildlife Division is responsible for the protection of our natural resources across the state.

“What I enjoy about the Oregon State Police is that the career is never boring. We all go through the same training, and here in Oregon the natural resource laws, hunting and fishing specifically, are written in the manner that any police officer can enforce them. For a state trooper assigned to the fish and wildlife division, as I am, that becomes their priority. Oh, and we prefer to be called state troopers, not game wardens.”

In Schleicher’s Southwest Region, he has five different teams, each aligned with the different watersheds in the area. Each year, biologists and troopers get together and assess these impact areas and identify where they see the most violators and where wildlife is at the most risk of being poached or harmed. They map priorities for the year, be it an area for elk hunting, a specific salmon run, or angling for bull trout.

But priority number one for wardens is to catch bad people who want to do bad things in their district, which brings us back to Schleicher, steelhead, and sensors.

The Siuslaw River is a coastal waterway and its mouth runs through Florence, Oregon. Native steelhead use the Siuslaw in winter for spawning, but Oregon officials also infuse the run with hatchery-raised steelhead. Since there is no hatchery on this particular river system, all the hatchery fish are trucked in. After they are done spawning and begin to return to the Pacific Ocean, the hatchery fish must be pulled back out and returned to the hatchery. 

To separate the wild and hatchery steelhead in the Siuslaw officials set up a fish weir. A fish weir is used to funnel steelhead into a trap. It is an ancient technique used for fishing. They were built from wood posts driven into the stream bed and placed in a “V” formation. Fish swimming downstream would funnel through the only opening in the weir and into a holding area that was walled off by more wood posts or stones, making it easy for people to net, spear, or hand-catch them. 

For this particular fish trap on the Siuslaw, the holding area was fully encased with a locked hatch on the top, where the biologists could access the fish and sort them, letting the wild steelhead free. 

“This trap was out in the middle of nowhere,” says Schleicher. “For years the biologist and I were noticing evidence that people were breaking into the fish trap. The fear was that this trap held both wild and hatchery steelhead. So as the fish and wildlife trooper in the area, one year I vowed that I would safeguard this trap. Whoever was breaking into it was indiscriminate and would hurt our wild steelhead population.” 

“So it’s me versus two in the dark.”

Schleicher assumed it was being hit at night. With a small team in place, the plan was to babysit the trap from dusk to dawn. With seismic sensors set up on the road system, he could be warned when vehicles were approaching. Everyone was equipped with night vision, but for two long weeks, no one came. 

Then, on a night Schleicher was working the shift alone, the seismic sensor went off. “Here come two individuals tromping toward the fish trap,” says Schleicher. “I watched them through night vision goggles. The chain lock on the hatch allowed about a foot gap. One guy held the door open and the other squeezed himself through that foot opening down into the trap. His accomplice handed him a big net and they scooped up about eight steelhead. They then headed back up toward their truck.”

“So it’s me versus two in the dark,” says Schleicher. “I confronted them, shown my flashlight on them, and they dropped the net full of steelhead. They tried to run but I’m right there on them. I get them detained. Even though I was the only wildlife trooper on that night, the patrol troopers raced out to give me backup. When we went through their truck we found multiple firearms and spotlights. These two individuals were out for one thing, and that was to kill animals. Plus these two were convicted felons, so even having firearms was prohibited. All in all a great case, and one I’m proud of.” 

Game wardens and state troopers aren’t always in the dark though, literally or figuratively, because they also rely on strong community connections, social media, and technology to catch the bad guys.

“I love maps. I cannot get enough maps.”

“Back when I started,” says Scheicher, “there wasn’t social media. Twenty-five years ago it was the local little mini-mart, just on the outside of town, that had a corkboard set up for hunters and fishermen to put up their Polaroid photos of them with their trophy animals. A good game warden stopped in there once a day to check out the trophy board to figure out who got what. Now we look at Facebook, Instagram, and the other social media sites to take a look and these prolific individuals, who I call genuine poachers, who can’t help themselves and they’ve got to share with somebody the big animal they got. They’ve got to brag about it. We look at social media a lot.

“But I still rely heavily on the friendships and connections I’ve made,” says Schleicher. “Word of mouth spreads quickly, and soon enough information comes back to game wardens with people asking, ‘Did you hear about that elk John Doe got last week?’ 

“We also rely a lot on maps,” says Schleicher. “With my background in forestry, I love maps. I cannot get enough maps. I’ll use every kind of computer map I can get.

“Now when I talk with our contacts, or check in with a fisherman or hunter, and they tell me a story about what they saw, I often ask, ‘Hey, do you know the coordinates?’ We’ve found that our contacts have onX themselves and they’ve already saved the location. I can’t tell you how many times over the last five years people have shared with us their onX Waypoints. We take those Waypoints, plug them into our onX and we know exactly where they’re talking about.

“On the flip side, though, we also run into hunters who’ve entered onto private property. The landowner catches them and we get called,” says Schleicher. “When we get there we get about 15 minutes to figure out whether or not they’re telling the truth. 

“They’ll swear to us they’re on public land. But now one of the questions we’ve learned to ask is, ‘We see that you’ve got your phone with you. Do you have a mapping system on your phone?’ They tell us they do. ‘Well, what do you have? We have onX. Did you take a look at onX before you came on here?’ And no they didn’t. Or if they say they did, we ask them to bring it up and show us where they’ve been. Then they see they were on private land. It helps us figure out who’s telling us the truth, who made an honest mistake, and who’s lying to us.”

~~~

A Conversation with Michigan’s Conservation Officers

Truth be told, two people you wouldn’t want to lie to are Michigan Conservation Officers Anna Cullen and Jackie Miskovich. Only three years into their career in Muskegon County, officers Cullen and Miskovich are one of two female-female partners in the state, out of 250 total officers, and the only pair working the west side of Michigan.

“There are about 15 female conservation officers in the state,” says Cullen. “Jackie and I went through the academy together and we make inclusivity a big part of our jobs. Now, more women come to us when they’re interested in this line of work.” 

In Michigan, game wardens are called conservation officers (or C.O.s), and similar to Oregon they are also state troopers, meaning they have the same training and ability to enforce any state law, “but we choose to put an emphasis on wildlife and game laws,” Cullen says. “Besides, regular troopers aren’t out there checking fishing licenses, so if they’re not doing this work who will?”

“Now, I’d never take that bear away from this kid. Otherwise that kid would have a negative view of C.O.s forever.“

Both Cullen and Miskovich have joked that at times they feel like “conversation” officers because of the amount of education they do on a daily basis. But conversations do really go a long way with game wardens. Being reliant on the community’s watchful eyes is integral to their day-to-day successes. 

“We cannot be everywhere,” says Cullen. “The community serves as our eyes. But also a lot of people don’t understand what we do, so part of our job is to educate them. Then they realize we’re on the same side. We both want our natural resources to be around longer than we will be.” 

Sometimes, perhaps many times, that education is delivered without issuing a ticket. Already in the few years Cullen and Miskovich have been on the force, they’ve each seen some serious room-for-improvement behaviors from outdoors-people in their district. 

“We had an incident where an eight-year-old shot a black bear,” says Cullen. “You work years to build up bonus points to draw this bear tag and he actually got the tag as a transfer from an adult, but his dad never tagged the bear after his son shot it.” 

“Now, I’d never take that bear away from this kid,” says Cullen. “Otherwise that kid would have a negative view of C.O.s forever. I did, however, have very stern advice for the dad for not tagging it.” 

Making a call like that is one part instinct and another part training. These game wardens, state troopers, and conservation officers face decisions like these routinely. Sometimes the call is clear; other times it is not.

Other calls, literal calls, are the things that define most of a warden’s day. Without people phoning in with what they’ve seen, or think they’ve seen, it would be hard to catch those making mischief.

“It’s important to me to keep calls and complaints anonymous,” says Cullen. “Someone rats on someone, right. They know for a fact that someone shot a deer, but they didn’t have a tag so they put someone else’s tag on it. Then you drive by the residence and clearly see six deer hanging in their garage. Those are good ones.” 

Getting wardens to tell a good story about what they’ve experienced in the field is usually pretty easy, but those stories must be ones with endings in place. “So many of my great stories are still in the courts,” says Cullen, “so ask me in 10 years! Especially because last year we had a guy trying to destroy evidence.”

Time will tell how some of these cases will play out, but for Cullen’s partner, Jackie Miskovich, she’s already got stories to tell, and they started during her training. 

“Trapping in Michigan is a dying sport.”

Nearly all warden training consists of “breakout schools,” in which trainees learn nearly everything there is to know about different forms of hunting, fishing, boating, ORVs, and other forms of recreation. Trainees essentially master as much as they can so they can better recognize good and bad, ethical and unethical, legal and illegal actions related to those activities. 

When Miskovich spent a week learning the art of trapping, she was snared. Since then she’s dedicated herself to learning this pastime that has been slowly dwindling away and now she wants to carry the torch.

“Trapping in Michigan is a dying sport,” says Miskovich, “because it’s all older trappers who are trying to get out of it and maybe trying to hand it down to their grandkids, but with fur prices going down and this being an individual sport, they don’t want to just give up their good spots to anyone. And some people think trapping is a really bad thing, but I feel like it’s no different than going out and shooting a deer.”

With this training and personal dedication, Miskovich is now more attuned to recognizing areas where illegal trapping might occur, as well as what to look for to discover traps that are, by design, meant to be difficult to see. 

“When Anna and I are out on the river looking for waterfowl hunters or maybe deer hunters doing a float hunt, we are looking for that, but I’m also looking for traps. I’m looking for places where muskrats might be running or beaver are running so I can come back to those areas, if the season isn’t open yet, because there might be a huge population in those spots but nobody’s supposed to be trapping in there. Once you get into it you start seeing things, and you might see there is a problem. There are certainly enforcement issues with trapping that need to be handled.” 

While Miskovich’s partner is entirely on board and supportive of her passion for trapping, when asked if she has an interest in picking up this dying art, Cullen says, “It’s very time-consuming and I lack the patience.”

~~~

Red Shirts of Wyoming

It’s hard to feel trapped when your office covers 1,700 square miles of rugged Wyoming terrain, and for the red-shirted game wardens in the state, all 63 of them, patience has come with age. 

“Our folks are a little older,” says Ryan Kenneda, who has worked as a Wyoming Game and Fish Department game warden for 17 years. “We have very high standards for the people we hire and we are all self-driven. We work hard and spend a lot of time— a lot of time—out in the field. We pretty much set our own hours, but with the expectation that we’re attending to those problems that arise no matter what time of day. You attend to the job and get ‘er done.” 

One of the reasons Wyoming game wardens are on the older side is the requirement that every applicant has already completed a bachelor’s degree related to the field in some capacity. Plus, once wardens don the red shirt, it’s hard to take it off. 

For as much as U.S. Forest Service employees are recognized for wearing green uniforms, Wyoming’s game wardens are known for their red shirts. “From day one we had these red shirts,” says Kenneda. “Way back when it was red shirts that people wore to be safe when hunting, but that’s now changed to blaze orange. That was part of the history of why we wear the red shirts, so we can be seen out in the country when we’re checking those hunters.”

This dress is more than lore: it’s official, according to the Wyoming Game and Fish Commission. Back in 1941 the official enforcement uniform was adopted, and it required wearing a western-style hat, boots, and a shirt with the antelope insignia on the left sleeve. Six years later, according to the Wyoming Game Wardens Association (WGWA), the Commission added to the uniform a “rust-colored shirt, black fore-in-hand[sic] necktie, Eisenhower jacket, and Guy Weadick western hat for the dress uniform.”

There’s a lot of acres in Wyoming to cover by boot, truck, and red shirts, and with hardly over 60 wardens it would seem that these officers could run themselves ragged just over license checks. Wyoming, however, isn’t just interested in finding poachers and pole-danglers. With highly trained, educated wardens on the force, there’s a lot of emphasis put on the biology side of things. 

“Our thought is that if we hire a biologist and teach them to become a game warden it is a little bit easier than if we try to hire someone that is a full-time law enforcement officer and trying to teach them biological skills.”

“I can summarize our job as having three different aspects,” says Kenneda. “We do about 33% law enforcement. Another 33% is biological data-gathering or anything biology-related, and the last 33% is public contact, whether it’s with hunters or landowners. We’re very involved with our public. The public is a huge aspect of our job, and we’re very in tune with what’s going on in our communities, including how that relates to our wildlife.”

In fact, to be a game warden in Wyoming, the Game and Fish Department has historically favored the educated, inspired, and somewhat introverted biologist over the ones who purely wanted to pursue a law enforcement career. 

“We tend as a department to hire introverts because those people are strong in the suit of being outdoors. It’s the same with biology. Our thought is that if we hire a biologist and teach them to become a game warden it is a little bit easier than if we try to hire someone that is a full-time law enforcement officer and trying to teach them biological skills.”

Kenneda, who holds a secondary education degree in biology, thinking he wanted to be a teacher, is based out of Sheridan, a town of 17,000 seated in a county of maybe 30,000. Like a lot of Wyoming, it’s a lot of intermixed private and public lands. 

Wyoming, even with its 18 million acres of public land and its 43 million acres of federal mineral estate lands, is still the record-holder of inaccessible public lands that are surrounded by private land. In a joint study by onX and the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, Wyoming was found to hold one-third of the 9.5 million acres of public land in the West that’s still inaccessible.

What this doubles down on is the importance of game wardens having solid working partnerships with landowners and being vigilant about trespassers. “When I was working in Elk Mountain,” says Kenneda, “the violation that was most common was trespassing. Throughout the state, though, the most common violation is ‘failure to tag.’ I still see some trespassing around Sheridan, even though I have more private land here that I watch over. It’s just larger chunks around here, not as much checkerboard. But that’s where mapping programs come in handy, knowing where you can and cannot be.”

If Kenneda has noticed one thing over his long career as a game warden, it’s the sense that people really do want to be engaged, informed, legal, and helpful. 

“Every year we get phone calls,” he says, “frequently about the elk population, or the wildlife population, their habits and movement, their winter ranges, summer ranges, transition ranges, but at the same time they’re also inquiring about the laws and regulations to get informed about hunting. I do think the public is engaged more and more. The hunting community, the fishing community, they are involved and educated, as well as just being good conservationists.”

~~~

It’s unlikely many more deer will show up for unannounced tanning sessions and the father in Michigan will probably help his son tag every animal he ever shoots from now on. But who knows if trapping will survive another hundred years? And if we keep losing access to public lands it may become more tempting for some to trespass where they shouldn’t, yet certainly dedicated poachers will continue finding ways to exploit our natural resources and brag about doing so. 

For these reasons and countless others, we are thankful for the men and women who take the calls, sit up all night in the woods, and bust bad people. We are also humbled to be among the tools thousands of wardens rely on to do their jobs. Keep up the good work, and keep expecting the unexpected. 

The post A Day in the Life of a Game Warden appeared first on onX Hunt.

When I get Heartland Bowhunter’s Michael Hunsucker on the phone, he’s sitting in deer camp in Colorado, resting up for the final day of archery season before heading back home to Missouri. He’s been on the road since September and the whirlwind of travel and hunts is only just beginning; a sprint that will last through the end of hunting season. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a busy travel and production schedule, Hunsucker relishes time at home with his wife Bridget and their two sons, Kamden and Noah. The boys, aged eight and five, have grown up around hunting, fishing, and the outdoor lifestyle — with an appreciation and a respect for the outdoors, increasingly a rarefied thing in our digital age. The entire family spends time in the woods together; as the boys have grown older they’re able to come along on hunts with less worries, and even start looking at tackling deer of their own.

The transition from spectator to participant — to hunter — is a significant one, as any sportsman can appreciate. We all recall our first deer, first elk, or first bird, no matter how many years have passed.

For Kamden, Hunsucker’s eldest, the memory of his first deer is still very fresh.

A Boy’s First Deer

Two years ago Kamden turned six, the legal age to hunt in Missouri, and was very ready to head into the field and try his hand at the process he’d seen his father go through for years. The aspiring hunter spent the prior summer practicing, and his father helped zero in his crossbow at 30 yards. Once deer season opened, it was game on. And like any good little brother, Noah was keen to come along for the big event.

“Noah was super gung-ho,” Hunsucker remembers. “He was like, ‘Dad, let’s go. I want to tag along.’ And so he did.”

The trio headed to the bale blind, settling in to see what the day would bring.

“Pretty shortly after we got in the blind, we had some deer come out and feed in the food plot in front of us,” Hunsucker recalls. “One of them actually circled around downwind and kind of caught our scent and they spooked off. We sat there for another hour and when nothing really was moving much, we headed home for the day.”

Kamden found himself dealing with the frustration and disappointment that comes from an exciting moment with no actual opportunity. The highs and lows of hunting; part of the game.

Hunsucker knows it’s all about balance, and part of that balance is setting expectations while the boys are quite young. “We got home and I was like, ‘Listen, I know it’s frustrating. I know it’s tough.’ I always want it to be fun for him; I don’t ever want to force it. Even when they’re too young to hunt, they’re still going out. They want to come hang out in the blind; we have spots that are conducive for that, with hay bale blinds where you have enough space to be comfortable, relax, and have fun while hunting, so it’s cool.”

A key part of managing those expectations is try and try again, and so Hunsucker and Kamden headed back into the field again, with little Noah once more joining the hunt. The trio tucked into the hay bale blind, set up, and waited to see if deer would come into the food plot. Eventually their patience paid off, and deer began to filter in. Kamden got ready as one promising doe came broadside at 20 yards — the perfect shot.

Eventually their patience paid off, and deer began to filter in. Kamden got ready as one promising doe came broadsise at 20 yards – the perfect shot.

Hunsucker called out to the doe, a short bleat to catch the deer’s attention. The shot was set, the doe was broadside and well within range, and everything was coming together beautifully.

And then Noah spoke, thinking the noise his dad was making was directed at him.

“What, daddy?”

His tone was low, but it was enough to slightly spook the doe. Luckily, however, she wasn’t spooked out of the plot or even out of range. Kamden kept his focus and made the shot. 

“He couldn’t have made a more perfect shot,” Hunsucker recalls proudly. “It was really the last light and he made what looked like a perfect shot. We couldn’t tell for sure; we went and found the bolt but there was not much blood. It was in tall grass and so we really couldn’t couldn’t find any blood to follow, and so we opted to wait until the next morning to look for a blood trail.”

The three headed back to the food plot the next morning, and found a blood trail on the edge of the field. It had been a tough night for Kamden, not knowing the outcome of his first hunt, and he was ready to have resolution. Following the blood trail, they found the doe. She’d run 80 to 100 yards before collapsing.

It was a big moment for Kamden.

“He was really more proud than anything,” Hunsucker shares fondly. “We ate the backstrap steaks later that week, and he was the proudest he could be.”

Bringing Up Hunting Youngsters

It’s a complex thing, taking a life — especially for a six year old. 

“We’d had conversations about it prior to that hunt,” noted Hunsucker. “And obviously they’ve grown up around the lifestyle. They know where their meat comes from. And so it’s not that foreign of an idea but still, it’s definitely a complex thing. Kamden was super excited; almost overwhelmed with everything. We took her back home, and of course he had like 20 questions as we processed the meat. He’s like, ‘That’s kind of gross.’ I answered, ‘That’s just life, man. Every cheeseburger you eat comes off a cow, you know.’” 

Things come full circle. Whitetail transform from deer in the woods to backstraps on the grill. Cows become burger. Turkey go from field to Thanksgiving table. And for Kamden, his first hunt is yet another step in the lifetime of an outdoorsman.

Things come full circle. Whitetail transform from deer in the woods to backstraps on the grill. Cows become burgers. Turkeys go from field to Thanksgiving table. And for Kamden, his first hunt is yet another step in the lifetime of an outdoorsman. His father could not be more thrilled.

“I don’t want to push hunting on them. That’s one thing I’ve always felt is important. I mean, obviously I’m extremely passionate about hunting and so I was always hopeful that my kids would share the same passion. But you hear a lot of stories where, you know, people that are maybe professional athletes try to push their kids into sports, and then they end up wanting to do something else because they get pushed into it. So I never wanted to push it on them. 

“I always said, ‘If you guys want to come tag along, come on. And when you get to a certain age you can start hunting for yourself.’ And so, both my boys grew up around it. Kamden was definitely all about it; he wanted to turn six so he could hunt. And Noah is going to be a hunter for sure. Any time I go out, he wants to come.”

Hunting as a Family Affair

For the Hunsuckers, hunting truly is a family affair. Bridget started bowhunting when the two began to date. The arrival of Kamden and Noah meant she had to take a bit of a break from hunting, but now that the boys are older, she’s enjoying getting back into the field more often. This year the goal is to get Kamden his first buck.

Both Noah and Kamden have been spending time in hunting blinds since they were toddlers, and the transition from hanging out in a corner of the blind to active participant is an exciting one. Turning six is a big moment in any kid’s life, and with the added event of being able to legally hunt in the state of Missouri, it truly is a big step for these young outdoorsmen — one enjoyed just as much by the boys’ parents as by the boys themselves.

It’s a family affair, and also a community one. The meat the family harvests doesn’t just go to their own table. Working with local Missouri farmers and utilizing tags provided by deer management plans, there’s plenty of venison to go around. Local friends and family are gifted venison, and this year Hunsucker plans to meet up with and donate meat to local families who are in need of food around the holidays.

“We got together and processed a bunch of meat, packaged it, and then delivered it to those people,” Hunsucker shares. 

It’s just another step in teaching the next generation of hunters that there’s more to hunting than the trophy photo, and there will be families across Missouri thankful for the gifted venison on their plates this holiday season.

The post Coming Full Circle: A Young Hunter’s First Deer appeared first on onX Hunt.

Throughout my life, there have been two things that have gone hand in hand for me: hunting and service to my country. For as long as I can remember, I have been around hunting. I have vivid memories from a young age, from my dad and friends coming home with a truck bed full of deer in the Black Hills to my dad testing me by having me lead us back to the truck after walking for miles. Hunting with my dad taught me many lessons about the outdoors. Little did I know at the time that the majority of the lessons my dad taught me were preparing me for a future in the Army. Through hunting, I learned how to navigate in the woods by terrain association, how to shoot a rifle, and even how to handle the harsh realities of being cold and hungry.

When I joined the Army at 19, many things came naturally to me. My success can all be related directly to lessons learned hunting in Montana. While at Basic Training in Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri, during a shooting exercise, a drill sergeant asked me, “Private Condon, where are you from?” I replied, “Montana, drill sergeant.” He said, “Goddamn, you’ve been out there in Montana shooting grand-pappy’s 30-06 since you were five, haven’t you?” That was the first time I realized my experiences in Montana were going to help me in my military career. A common saying in combat Military Occupation Specialties (MOS) in the military is “Embrace the Suck.” The easiest way to do this is to think of a time in the past that was harder than what you’re currently experiencing to make light of the present situation. More often than not, I was able to think of backcountry hunting trips in Montana and “Embrace the Suck.”

Even though I drew upon my hunting experiences to help me throughout my nine-year career in the Army, my service to my country and my passion for hunting were forced to be separate. It seemed that during hunting season I was either deployed, in a specialty school, or participating in some major training exercise. Ironically, the only time I shot a deer during my nine years in the Army was while I was deployed; I was the only hunter in my platoon, so getting block leave or vacation during hunting season was easy.

My time in the Army ended in 2018 when I was medically retired. I have been fortunate to hunt more since my service ended than in the previous 10 years combined. In the spring of this year, I got in touch with a non-profit called Switching Camo, which is run by active-duty soldiers stationed in Idaho with the goal of getting military service members into the field hunting and fishing. Switching Camo was looking for people to help accomplish this mission, and with my wife being an Air Force Veteran, we were eager to join. I finally saw a chance to intertwine my passion for hunting and my service to my country.

When I was deployed, I became friends with a fellow soldier named Matt. When I first linked up with Switching Camo, Matt was in a five-month inpatient program for PTSD in New York. Matt was always the model soldier in the Army, and during our service, we did everything together—we trained for and attended the Best Sapper Competition and Sapper School, we led our company in all forms of physical training and weapons qualifications and we taught a battalion’s worth of soldiers almost everything there is to know about demolitions. Occasionally, the three of us (Matt, my wife Jessi, and I) were able to sneak away to the mountains of Colorado to fly fish and snowboard. It was Jessi’s idea to ask Switching Camo if they wanted to help get Matt to Montana for a hunting and fishing trip later in the year. After some logistical hiccups and scheduling conflicts, Switching Camo got a flight booked for Matt from New York to Montana in the last week of August. Matt recently got into archery hunting himself and even killed a whitetail buck in New York with his bow last year. We were both excited to get him on the raft to fly fish and in the field to chase some antelope with a bow.

Our first day, a Sunday, we planned a 10-mile float on Montana’s Blackfoot River. It was a great day for fly fishing but a terrible day for floating. Fly fishing from a raft can be tricky, especially if you’ve never done it before. If you throw in a strong headwind and low water, it can be nearly impossible. As a group, we were able to get a bunch of fish to the boat but weren’t able to get Matt on any. Even though a large part of the day was spent pointing the raft downstream and rowing hard to fight the wind, it was still fun to have our old crew together and enjoying Montana.

That Tuesday after work, we loaded up the raft, our hunting and fishing gear, and my two boys who are both under three and headed to a VRBO in Sheridan, Montana. We got in pretty late, so we intentionally woke up late the next day then headed to the Beaverhead River around midday. The weather and water were perfect. Having our boys with us meant that the pressure was on for Matt to get a fish since he was the only one fishing. The Beaverhead zigzags a lot and can be tough to fish if you’re new to it. Regardless, Matt caught a couple of fish—one a really nice brown trout.

The next day, Matt and I were up at 5 AM, and we headed to some BLM that I had scouted using the onX Hunt App. Matt did not have a tag since he is not a resident but was excited to come along and see a true western hunt. On the way, we ran into a herd of more than 100 elk crossing the road from the river bottom to the mountains. It was a great way to start the day, and seeing Matt react to them was awesome. When we finally made it to the area, we immediately saw antelope in an alfalfa field just off the road. Like the elk, they crossed the road to head into the hills for the day. I used onX Hunt to see that the antelope were crossing through private property, but the far side of the property was state land and I assumed they would head there. Using the App, I was able to find BLM land that connected the road to the State Land, so we drove down the road and started the hike in to try and cut the herd off. Almost eight miles, four hours, and two blown stalks later we found ourselves back at the truck. It was fun showing Matt how to use the Hunt App to navigate and ensure that we stayed on public land.

After that, we drove back to the house, ate some lunch, and grabbed Jessi and the boys to go scout some new areas. We checked out an area a friend from work told me about and immediately found a buck bedded in a very stalkable location. Matt and I were able to low crawl 300 yards to get the wind in our favor and get to within 200 yards of the buck. Matt stayed behind for the final push with the decoy while I tried to crawl closer. While trying to close the distance, a group of does appeared out of nowhere and busted me. Matt threw up the decoy, and at first, I thought the buck may come in for a closer look but he eventually spooked.

Frustrated but not defeated, we headed back to the truck to look for more. We took a back road to get back to the house, and on the way, we spotted a large group of antelope in a private alfalfa field. Fortunately, I had more than 20 Offline Maps saved in the onX Hunt App so I was able to check who the owner was on my phone even though I did not have service. I am not typically the type to knock on someone’s door and ask permission, but luckily Jessi was driving and she went right up to the house so I didn’t have much choice. Matt went to the door with me and we explained what we were doing and that he was a disabled Veteran who had flown in from New York. They very generously gave us permission to hunt, but since the day was winding down and the boys were getting cranky, we headed back to the house and planned to return the next morning.

We decided to get up an hour earlier and were out the door by 4:30 AM. We made it to the field and walked to a high point with cover before sunrise. As the sun came up, we saw the field was full of mule deer. This was a week before deer season opened so it was nice to see there were a bunch of deer there too. I turned my focus to the field behind me where we did not have permission to hunt and glassed up the group of antelope working their way towards our field. It appeared that they were going to walk right to us, but 150 yards before reaching us they turned 90 degrees and went to the corner of the field and crossed the fence into the field we were in. It turned out there was only one spot that the fence was high enough for them to get under which we did not know at the time. After an hour the antelope were finally about 100 yards from us and continuing to feed in our direction. Just as I was starting to think our plan might actually work, the rancher pulled into the far side of the field on his dirt bike to check his sprinklers—immediately the antelope ran to their crossing and were gone.

We had to be back to Missoula that evening since Matt’s flight back to New York was early the next morning. We had a couple more opportunities that day but nothing serious. This was my first year archery hunting antelope and I learned many lessons and was even able to let loose a couple of arrows, although they didn’t find their mark. I am eternally grateful to both Switching Camo and onX for helping Jessi and me get Matt to Montana. At times when we were low crawling or hiking for miles it was almost like being in the Army, suffering together again. Even though we did not get an antelope, it was an experience I won’t soon forget. I hope Matt won’t either. It was a valuable lesson in cherishing the moments that hunting can bring us and a great reminder that it is not always about killing something.

Since our hunt, between the three of us (Matt, Jessi, and I), we’ve had some success in the field. Matt was able to harvest his second archery buck in two years in Connecticut, and Jessi got her first big game animal, a mule deer buck, on opening day in Montana.

The post Switching Camo: Hunting, Service, and Coming Home appeared first on onX Hunt.

Some days stick in your memory for a long time. Most of us remember catching our first fish, the first night we spent outside or some random moment we simply stopped and paused in awe of the sheer size of the places where we spend our time outside. Sometimes the things we remember are nights spent drinking around the campfire with good friends or quiet early morning drives to our favorite hunting spot.

Those are the good moments, the moments we remember. The moments that make all the office time, meetings and computer work worthwhile. It’s a fine balance we’re always talking about here in the Missoula, Montana, onX offices.

Two members of onX’s brand team recently had a chance to make their own memories in the field. Content Production Coordinator Dave Fields and Communications Writer Jess McGlothlin ventured to eastern Montana with onX Hunt Product Owner Matt Seidel. Neither Dave nor Jess had hunted before; Dave’s Chicago / Portland career had not lent itself to the lifestyle, and while Jess hails from Montana, she’s new to onX, fresh from a 10-year career as a freelance photographer and writer in the fly-fishing industry.

Upland hunting was a new experience for both.

The project was a sage grouse hunt, tackled in conjunction with Billings-based hunter and dog breeder Brandon Moss, as well as various members of the Project Upland team. The group gathered to hunt sage grouse and sharptails, documenting both the conservation journey of sage grouse and the autumnal glory of eastern Montana. Dave and Jess were along on assignment to shoot photographs and video for onX—walking along with the hunters for several days, watching dogs work, and dodging porcupines and bull snakes, all while running around the sage-laden plains looking for the best photographic light.

On the final morning, an opportunity finally arose for both creatives to trade out their cameras for shotguns and walk the hills and gullies with a different mission in mind: sharptail grouse. Neither had shot a bird before, and with the guidance of Matt, along with Nick Larson and Garrett Mikrut of Northwoods’R, they took off across the scraggly landscape after, hopefully, birds.

As the clouds and brisk wind gave way to a lighter breeze and spotty sunlight, Nick’s English setter, Hartley, and Garrett’s German shorthaired pointer, Surly, were hard at work canvassing terrain, leading the group into productive opportunities and, eventually, into Dave and Jess’ first sharp-tailed grouse. After capturing a few images, the team took a roundabout hike back to the trucks and parted ways. Both creatives headed back to Missoula, birds in the cooler, trying to make it home in time for the upcoming workday, while the rest of the team remained for a few more days of hunting.

Life is always a balance of work and the things we love. On extraordinary occasions, the two collide. For these two new hunters, after a couple days of sprinting around with cameras and working hard, the opportunity to trade cameras for shotguns was rare and appreciated. There’s no doubt there will be more upland bird hunting shoots—with both cameras and guns—in the future.

header image: Jess McGlothlin

The post Trading Cameras for Shotguns: Two onX Staff Get Their First Sharptails appeared first on onX Hunt.