#modern outdoorsmen

[horns-sheds-claws]

Short story 1 - part 1 Taylor in the Peace

Disclaimer-I’ve never wrote jack shit so bare with me

Taylor grew up in the Peace country. For those who don’t know the peace country is a section of North west Alberta and North East British Columbia. It borders on the northern Rockies and is mostly dense forest and muskeg with a little bit of grasslands. As Taylor grew up he found himself but not just enjoying the natural world around him, but yearning for it. His best days were spent in the bush or working on his grandparents ranch. Every moment away from either of these fueled a burning desire to escape life in the small oil patch city in which he lived. He was always a bit different. Not anti social but he never was attracted to a lot of the modern day creature comforts and luxuries we have today. He didn’t understand the point in owning a huge house or a truck much bigger then required. He never wanted more then a flip phone despite everyone around him having smart phones. He didn’t care about owning a quad or a dirt bike. He always thought horses made more sense. The appeal of these luxuries escaped him. He could not understand it. Maybe partly out of spite for it. He thought highly of ranchers, trappers, outfitters, and people like that. People who could make their living off the land while leaving most of it in its natural state.

Taylor had a unique talent that he didn’t realize (at first) were unique to him. He spent a lot of time hunting the bush and he rarely came home empty handed. If he did it was because he passed up on a kill that he decided wasn’t worth it. He had an amazing sense of smell. He could smell a herd of elk, or a black bear, or even a school of fish from miles away. It saved his ass at least once when he could smell the cougar that was stalking him. His sense of smell was so strong if his parents were cooking supper he didn’t smell chili for example. He smelt every individual ingredient separately. When he was 16 he started to realize that he was a bit different. He always thought he just had a good sense of smell but it was so much more then that. He realized people couldn’t smell a deer 15 feet away let alone a couple kms away, and they definitely couldn’t smell the rainbow trout swimming underneath the water. No he was different in that regard. He elected to keep this to himself for now as he didn’t know why this was.

As he turned 18 he didn’t know what to do for a career. He wanted to just go out in the bush and live off the land but in todays society they had laws to make that difficult for a young man. His parents kept telling him to pick a trade, get certified and then he would always have that. He resented this idea. He felt like there had to be some other way but when it was presented as an avenue to live the life he wanted down the road he decided to take it.

He took a job apprenticing as a field mechanic. If nothing else this would let him work in the bush most of the time. He would always brighten up whenever he’d see wildlife and on his lunch breaks would usually trudge off to the trees to just take it in. Despite these perks to the job he grew more and more spiteful of it every day. He could see what this machinery was being used for. It was being used to take the resources from the lands he grew to love. He could see his co workers didn’t care nearly as much about the conservation of this beautiful land with its dense brush, and winding rivers. It always puzzled him because many of them were outdoorsmen/women as well. There came a cold winter day when he was 20 years old that Taylor would see something that would set him on an entirely different path.

The thing he saw that changed his trajectory was so simple. It was a small of herd of about 10 caribou. I’m this area they were critically endangered. Taylor had never seen one in person despite all his time in the bush and the mountains. He stopped and admired them for as long as he could and with his old flip phone went to take some pictures of them when someone stopped him.

“You can’t take pictures of those. If anyone finds out those caribou are here, then this job site has to get shut down.” The supervisor told him

Taylor was instantly filled with blind rage. His blood boiled at the statement. He was ready to rip this supervisors head off. His admiration for the beast had turned into more of a protective instinct. Taylor did everything he could to hold down his temper but couldn’t bare it.

“To hell with your fuckin job site then!” He shouted. As he did the caribou ran away before he could get the picture. Blaine stormed off and packed up his tools knowing full well that was the end of this job for him. For the first time in his working career he felt good about what he was doing. He made a promise to himself to not compromise on what he wanted to do with his life. And in that moment he wanted to shut down this job site.

Taylor knew better then to chase after the caribou right away. He knew they needed time to settle before tracking them down. He went back to the work camp and started making calls trying to report what he had saw. Game wardens would make it out there when they could they told him, but that wasn’t enough. Taylor still felt that more needed to be done.

He knew they were just going to try and find some way to skirt around the rules and that did not sit well. Taylor knew there was one other thing he could do.

See despite not enjoying being a mechanic he learned some valuable skills. One of them being was how to make something work. And if you know how to make it work… you know how to make sure it’ll never work again.

At this point he knew the company wasn’t going to pay for him to stay in a work camp while he pulled off his plan but that suited him fine. Taylor was more then confident to live in a shelter from pine and spruce. As night fell onto the land Taylor made his move. He put sugar in the fuel tanks of all the diesel powered equipment. He cut random wires in tightly packed in harnesses, he filled hydraulic tanks with water after draining down some of the oil. and he put rocks down the full tubes off all the engines and transmissions. And to top it off he cleaned up after all of it so that nobody would know he had been there until they went to start it.

Taylor didn’t stick around to see the chaos unfold but he did later get questioned. They could not prove it was him since he had checked out of the work camp and his truck was gone while everyone else was still working. He did go back to find the caribou however. He just wanted to see them one more time, unsure if he would ever get a chance to see this herd again.

He went on to be a hunting and trail guide for most of the year in a place called Pink Mountain. This type of work suited him so much better. He woke up every day feeling energized and ready to go. Making a living the same way many of the people he looked up to did before him. He quickly learned he had to be careful as to how much to use his sense of smell when guiding other hunters. He didn’t want to make it to easy and saved the best animals for those he thought would appreciate it the most. During the off season however he would always find time to covertly sabotage companies he felt weren’t doing their duty to the land, water, and air they made their living off of.

Around age 21 the world started to take notice of people like Taylor. People who had abilities that no other humans had, and that these people seemed to be immune to the needless marketing and propaganda of the modern world. Taylor felt a great sigh of relief when he heard this. Knowing he wasn’t alone. That many other people had some unique abilities, that also were driven into revolt against the destruction of the natural world. He felt as though this was a correction by Mother Nature. Her way of fixing a mistake she made some time ago. He knew some of the world would perceive him as a threat, or something to experiment on. But he was prepared for that. And he would be ready if the day ever came when they came for him

[fatiguesarmynavy]

Where Does Tiger Stripe Camo Actually Make Sense?

Tiger stripe camo, a camo pattern heavily associated with the Vietnam War, is a pattern that predominantly uses broad, horizontal macros - stripes, not unlike those of a tiger, hence the name - in shades of green, black and brown.

It is said that this was a refinement on an earlier French pattern, the Lizard pattern, which was used in Indochina during the colonial period, to some success.

For many, tiger stripe camo is for reenactors, collectors and general history buffs, especially those with an interest in the Vietnam era. For others, it may still prove an effective pattern, especially in the scenarios described here.

The Bigger Sense of Viability

One of the most attractive aspects of the original tiger stripe camo patterns is the predominant color scheme. With macros in browns, black and greens, it’s capable of accommodating thickly vegetated areas, especially those with a dark backdrop.

This makes it suitable for use in areas that are forested so thickly that the sun is effectively blocked out. It makes sense why and how this was used in the jungles of southeast Asia.

With that said, this is only one element of tiger stripe patterns that make them suitable for use in the woods.

It’s Not Just About the Color, but the Pattern

As with any camo pattern, color is only half of the picture. The shape and arrangement of the macros and micros all increase the noise to signal ratio, making it hard for a viewer to truly discern what he or she is looking at.

In the case of tiger stripe, as was the case of its predecessor Lizard pattern, the macros are big, broad slashes. These slashes do not look unlike the broad leaves of thick foliage. In fact, the surface of tiger stripe camo is slashed and mottled very much in the way that dense jungle cover is.

Naturally this is well-suited to use in thickly forested areas, but specifically those with dense ground cover and mostly deciduous trees with large, broad leaves. In areas where there is sparse ground cover, even if there is a thick canopy, there are probably better patterns.

In fact, it is probably not the best pattern in any area in which there is not a lot of ground cover, if the main shades of the earth are light tan, or if the main species of trees are coniferous rather than deciduous.

But, all the same, in the summer months, tiger stripe camo can still be valuable for outdoorsmen that pursue their craft in areas where there is a lot of thick foliage near the ground.

Then, of course, it still has value for collectors and reenactors, as well as marginal utility for fashion purposes. There are plenty of modern tiger stripe camo patterns in colors other than the originals, with blue, black, gray and even pink coloration. These can be used for fashion and form rather than function, as they will offer little in the way of concealment.

Where to Get Tiger Stripe Camo Gear

There are still some manufacturers and retailers that sell historically relevant camouflage patterns, like tiger stripe. You just need to know where to look.

One of the best of these is Fatigues Army Navy, which sells a wide range of tiger stripe camo clothing and other gear, as well as tiger stripe in modern color schemes. To learn more about this unique camo pattern or to see what they have in stock, visit their website. You can also contact them directly at 877-612-1253 if you have any questions before you buy.

For more information about Concealed Carry Jacket and Army Jacket please visit:- Fatigues Army Navy & Surplus Gear Co

[battlingbladessposts]

The Legacy of the Bowie Knife: From Frontier Symbol to Modern-Day Icon

The Bowie knife, with its iconic clip-point blade, has evolved from a rugged frontier tool to a symbol of American resilience and craftsmanship. Originally designed in the early 19th century by James Bowie for hunting and survival, the knife became a staple of the Wild West. 

Today, the Bowie knife remains popular, appreciated by collectors, outdoorsmen, and knife enthusiasts for its enduring functionality and historical significance. This legendary knife continues to represent strength and adventure, bridging the past and present as both a practical tool and cultural icon.

For more details, Click the link below-

[vumaker]

The History of Hunting Knives: From Primitive Tools to Modern Designs

Hunting knives have been an essential tool for human survival since prehistoric times. From simple stone blades to today’s high-tech designs, these knives have evolved alongside human innovation, always serving as a key instrument for hunting, field dressing, and survival.

Primitive Beginnings

The first hunting knives date back to the Stone Age, where early humans used sharpened stones to hunt animals and process game. These rudimentary tools were primarily made from flint and obsidian, known for their sharpness and ability to hold an edge, even though they were brittle and wore down quickly. These early tools were essential for survival, aiding in everything from skinning animals to cutting meat.

Bronze and Iron Ages

As metallurgy advanced, so did the materials used for hunting knives. During the Bronze Age (around 3300-1200 BCE), people began to forge knives from bronze, creating stronger and more durable blades. This shift marked a significant improvement in knife technology, enabling better hunting practices. Later, during the Iron Age (around 1200 BCE), the use of iron for blades made hunting knives tougher and more reliable. Iron knives were less prone to breakage and could be sharpened with more precision.

Medieval Europe and the Rise of the Modern Knife

In medieval Europe, hunting knives evolved further with the rise of specialized tools. By this time, knives had become common tools for both hunting and combat. Hunters used long, pointed blades for killing and skinning game. These knives were often intricately designed and served as status symbols for the elite. The Bowie knife, which became popular in the 19th century, played a significant role in American hunting culture due to its large blade and versatility.

The Swiss Army Knife Revolution

The 19th century saw the development of the Swiss Army Knife, a multi-functional tool designed for soldiers but quickly adopted by hunters for its versatility. This knife included not only a blade but also various tools like a screwdriver and bottle opener, marking a significant shift towards the multi-tool knives we see today.

Modern Hunting Knives

Today’s hunting knives, like those available at Vumaker, are designed with advanced materials such as stainless steel and carbon fiber. These modern knives focus on durability, sharpness, and comfort. High-end knives feature ergonomic designs, corrosion-resistant blades, and specialized shapes for field dressing game.

Conclusion

The evolution of hunting knives reflects humanity’s progress from primitive survival to sophisticated craftsmanship. From simple stone tools to highly specialized modern designs, hunting knives remain an essential tool for outdoorsmen and hunters alike. For a range of high-performance knives, check out the selection at Vumaker and enhance your hunting experience with the latest in knife technology.

[houseofgerrard]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Levi’s dark blue straight leg Jeans Size 36.

[attackcopterblog]

Mission First Tactical ACHRO Chest Pack & Harness | Multi-Functional Gear for Outdoorsmen

Mission First Tactical has released their latest in gear with the ACHRO Chest Pack & Harness. Mission First Tactical states ” Mission First Tactical (MFT) manufacturers of state-of-the-art, holsters, firearm accessories and EDC bags is proud to announce the new MFT ACHRO™ Chest Pack & Harness. Designed for the modern outdoorsman, the ACHRO™ Chest Pack & Harness is a multi-functional pack built…

[battlingblades24532]

Unveiling the Craftsmanship: Saber Swords and Bowie Knives by Battling Blades

In finely crafted weaponry, this online store stands as a beacon of excellence, specializing in designing and selling high-quality swords, axes, machetes, knives, chess sets, armor, and costumes. With a commitment to using the finest metals and materials, including bone, the products are crafted to be visually stunning and functional.

Quality Meets Craftsmanship

This establishment takes immense pride in its dedication to quality. Each saber sword and Bowie knife is meticulously designed, combining centuries-old craftsmanship with modern precision. The result? A collection of blades that are not just weapons but works of art. The marriage of form and function is evident in every curve and edge, making these blades perfect for collectors and enthusiasts.

 

The Saber Sword Experience

The Saber sword offered here is a testament to the dedication to detail. These elegant weapons harken back to when chivalry and honor ruled the battlefield. Precious craftsmanship and attention to historical accuracy make these saber sword a must-have for collectors or enthusiasts. The blade's balance, grip, and razor-sharp edge are unparalleled, offering an immersive experience for those who wield them.

The Bowie Knife Mastery

Bowie knives, on the other hand, embody ruggedness and versatility. Designed for survival, these knives are trusted companions for adventurers and outdoorsmen. The Bowie knife available here is no exception, with blades forged from the finest steel and handles crafted for ergonomic comfort. Whether you're in the wilderness or simply appreciating the artistry behind these blades, these knives deliver exceptional performance.

A Word of Caution

While this establishment strives for excellence, exercising caution when considering a purchase is wise. As with any investment, research is critical. Explore alternative sources for high-quality swords and related products. Read reviews, compare prices, and assess your specific needs. A well-informed decision is the path to acquiring the perfect blade for your collection or purpose.

Online Reputation

In today's digital age, a company's reputation often reflects its products and services. While some customers have reported concerns about product quality and communication, it's important to note that these issues represent a minority of experiences.

Conclusion:

Offering a stunning array of high-quality swords, axes, machetes, knives, chess sets, armor, and costumes, battlingblades.com is a destination for discerning enthusiasts. With saber sword and Bowie knife that exemplify craftsmanship and precision, their offerings are a testament to their commitment to quality. As you embark on your quest for exceptional blades, remember to tread carefully, explore your options, and make an informed choice. Your journey into the world of finely crafted weaponry awaits.

[malakasaroobie]

Unlocking Nature's Mysteries_ How To Pick The Best Deer Cam For Your Needs

This article will give us an insight into deer cam.

Unlocking Nature's Mysteries: How To Pick The Best Deer Cam For Your Needs

Deer hunting has become a popular sport and hobby for many outdoorsmen. With the help of deer cams, wildlife enthusiasts can observe and monitor the behavior of deer and other wildlife species in their natural habitats. But how do you know which camera is the right one for you? Here are some tips to help you choose the best deer cam for your needs.

Consider the Type of Camera

When selecting a deer cam, the first thing to consider is the type of camera. Different cameras offer different features and capabilities. Trail cameras are the most popular type of deer cam, and they are designed to capture images when triggered by an animal’s movement. Trail cameras are typically used in remote locations and are powered by a battery or solar energy. Game cameras are usually used to monitor a specific plot of land and are often connected to a power source.

Check the Camera's Resolution

The resolution of a deer cam is an important factor to consider, as this will determine the quality of the images. Generally, the higher the resolution, the better the image quality. Most modern deer cams have a resolution of at least 8 megapixels, but some offer up to 20 megapixels. In addition, some cameras allow you to adjust the resolution, which can be beneficial if you need to conserve battery power.

Look for Additional Features

When selecting a deer cam, you should also look for additional features that may be beneficial. Some cameras offer infrared technology, which allows you to take images in low-light conditions. Other features to look for include a wide-angle lens, time-lapse mode, and a weatherproof housing. Some cameras even include a built-in microphone, which can be useful for recording audio.

Set a Budget

Finally, you should set a budget for your deer cam. Cameras range in price from a few hundred dollars to a few thousand, so it’s important to set a realistic budget and compare prices. You should also consider the cost of accessories such as mounting brackets, additional batteries, and memory cards.

By taking the time to consider the type of camera, its resolution, additional features, and your budget, you should be able to find the perfect deer cam for your needs. With the right camera, you can unlock the mysteries of nature and enjoy the beauty of wildlife from the comfort of your home.

[pureamericanism]

This isn't intended as a piece of rhetoric or a figure of speech. I mean it precisely literally. Most Americans see a relatively narrow cross-section of the country: the urban and suburban areas they, their friends, and families live in and visit, a handful of major national/state parks & forests, and the thin ribbons of major roads that connect these places. Maybe, if they're fortunate, they've a cabin somewhere, a mile or two of country lane off the state highway. This is true even of quite a few of people who fancy themselves outdoorsmen, and even some who have a better claim to that title than me.

But this leaves out just huge patched of the country, vast areas of farmland, private forest, small towns, and the less well-advertised sorts of state and federal land. These collectively makes up the majority of America's actual surface area and most people just...don't go there.

What's made me think of this was two recent experiences. One was driving down a series of ever so slightly windy dirt roads out between patches of small fields and woodlands in the country this week, seeing the little pendant flowers on the oaks and the cheery violets on the roadside berm, watching an Amish get ready to plow another row with his horse while half a mile over someone else has a massive, modern dairying operation just off a state route, and then seeing a pair of wood ducks blast off from a pond as my truck sprayed dirt behind me, and wondering how many people from [Nearby Urban Conglomeration Where I Love] have even thought about this area as something other than "oh, farmland". The other was, over the winter, ending up trekking about in the old coal country, areas that were mined out decades ago and, having been "restored", are now state land. A strange landscape, where dense, young hardwood forests rise from steep, half-moon valleys with stagnant tarns with no outlet at their bottoms. Sudden, dynamite-blasted cliffs crowned with planted pines alternate with the gentle but barren slopes of an old tailings pile only just developing plant growth. Dense patches of multiflora rose and the unpredictably winding nature of the artificial ridges and valleys made wayfinding a challenge, like a forest in a fairy tale. Then, too, I wondered how many people had ever been out here, and why no one ever talked about this exotic, half-natural, half-man-made landscape.

By inclination, profession, and sheer happenstance, I've been out to a lot more of these unfrequented corners of the country than most people, and everywhere there are surprises like the ones above. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly, sometimes simply surprising. I highly, highly recommend going out there and taking a look. Just drive out to where the roads become unpaved and peter around for a while, or take a long walk along a railroad line far outside of the city, or go off trail in a minor state forest, or even just bushwack down to the river where the floodplain's overgrown with cottonwoods and box elders, and see the rest of the country you live in.

Again, this isn't intended to convey a political or social message, or to be in any way didactic about this, that, or t'other hot button cultural or ecological topic. Maybe you'll come to some sort of conclusions about those things, sure, about pollution or rural poverty or the Resilience of Nature or who the hell knows what. But that is not what I care about. I care about the fact that you live in a *place*, a *land*, not just a series of road-linked buildings and preserves.

This country looks very different from along a dirt road.

[buffalojacksontradingco]

Set off and claim the summit

[pokebiologist]

Wild Wyrdeer are almost impossible to track, even for the most experienced outdoorsmen. They rarely leave hoofprints behind them, even in snow, as their large hooves disperse their body weight and they are already incredibly light relative to body size. Traditional knowledge passed down from the age of Hisui emphasizes tracking weather patterns that Wyrdeer are known to find favorable, and following the growth of young trees whose bark Wyrdeer eat in vertical stripes. Some old growth forests in modern Sinnoh bear these stripes some five or six meters off the ground, indicating the presence of Wyrdeer herds in ancient times.

-Thea

[pitviperofdoom]

It’s been two days and I’m 14 episodes deep in Hello from the Hallowoods.

 I came for the "what if I was nonbinary and made of corpse parts and you were a ghost I freed from a piano and cut the stitches sealing your lips" and stayed for the "what if we were middle-aged outdoorsmen huddled together in a tent with one regular dog and one zombie dog after fleeing from a horde of monster frog people and we were both gay" and "what if we were teenage renegades and I rescued you and your ghost dog guardian from your parents who turned into monsters and we were separated in the dark and now we fight with all our might to find each other again (and we were both girls)" and "What if we were survivalist lesbian grandmas and I had a crossbow".

This show is so good you guys it’s like Over the Garden Wall but modern and with more trans people.

[kicksaddictny]

Todd Snyder x Jack Purcell  Rebel Prep Collection

Todd Snyder and Converse have teamed up again to create a thoroughly modern mash-up of streetwear and traditional gentleman’s fabrics (tartans and British Millerain’s water-resistant waxed cotton).

Rebel Prep is an 18-piece collection, which includes rugby shirts, track suits, hoodies and parkas. At the heart of it are Snyder’s fresh takes on two iconic Converse sneakers. The Chuck 70 Hi Top and the Jack Purcell Ox are remade in a waxed canvas pattern from British Millerain. (British Millerain has been making water-resistant fabrics for outdoorsmen and the military since the 19th Century.)

“The collection was inspired by the way that artists, rock stars and other rebels effortlessly mix sportswear with more sartorial styles,” says Snyder.

The opportunity to purchase the limited-edition Chuck 70 Hi Top will be offered in a raffle. The raffle opens on January 20th and closes on January 24, 2022 at 11:59AM ET.

The remainder of the Rebel Prep Collection launches January 27, 2022 at 11AM ET.

Additional product details are below…

The Jack Purcell Ox: The OG court sneaker turns up in a water-repellent waxed canvas camo pattern with an orange interior and a cork sock liner for comfort.

The Chuck 70 Hi Top: The classic basketball sneaker gets a gentlemanly refresh in water-repellent waxed canvas from British Millerain.

The Parka: A fishtail raincoat in a water-repellent British Millerain waxed canvas that’s available in Khaki and Camo.

The Technical Cardigan: This racquet-pattern cardigan in a technical fabric is a nod to Jack Purcell’s origin as a badminton sneaker.

The Varsity Jacket: A satin-nylon Letterman jacket with a plaid applique PURCELL on the back.

The Velour Rugby: A long sleeve polo in velour with tipping on the collar and cuffs and a subtle logo on the chest.

The Helmet Bag: Inspired by the bags that test pilots once carried their helmets in, the straps adjust so this can be worn as a cross-body, shoulder bag, or knapsack.

[houseofgerrard]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Columbia Crestwood Mid Waterproof Hiking Boot Size 8.

[jaimesam]

Sawtooth

We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry. It can take a day, or two, or three before the rhythm of backpacking— wake up, wolf down some instant oatmeal, slurp up some instant coffee, shoulder a 35 pound pack and start the day’s climb—begins to feel right. This was our morning.

A miracle: the skies had truly cleared of wildfire smoke for the first time since setting off from Grandjean. Good timing, too: our day ahead would be perhaps the best of the trip — up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” down past the Cramer Lakes and up again to Alpine Lake, reputedly a gem. We hit the trail with bounce in our step.

Three, four, five miles into our hike we were still having fun, even as we began to wonder — was it possible that Hidden Lake was, in fact, so hidden that we wouldn’t see it from the trail? When would we hit the killer climb up to Cramer Pass? Slogging through overgrown brush and clambering over deadfall — all of which felt oddly familiar — we encountered a group of five friendly outdoorsmen from Seattle.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon.”

“Am I right that we’ve got a climb ahead?”

“Oh no, it’s all downhill from here.”

“Hmm.”

“Where are you trying to get to?”

“Well we were aiming for Cramer Lakes…”

“Oh you’re a long way from there. This trail goes down to Grandjean.”

“Oh my god.”

Jaime caught up.

“We took a wrong turn.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s a bad one.”

“How bad?”

“The good news is that we’ve been making great time. Covered a lot of miles.”

“And?”

“That lake was Elk Lake. This is the trail we hiked in on our first day.”

“How…”

“Five miles ago. Missed a turn.”

“God damn it.”

“Actually more like five and a half.”

Oh yes, there were signs. Including literal signs made of actual wood. Two of which we somehow blew blindly past, and a third: seen but egregiously misinterpreted. Also the creek we had crossed thrice, which, had we been paying close attention, we might have noticed was flowing in the wrong direction. Or beautiful Smith Falls, which we had passed two days before. Or the 2.4 miles of the South Fork of the Payette Trail we had hiked on day one — the most grueling and unattractive stretch of trail we had yet encountered — you would think we might have realized something was amiss. And yet.

“We could just hike out.”

“It would be eleven more miles.”

“So we backtrack.”

“Five and a half. Uphill.”

“We’re spending an extra night out here, aren’t we?”

“I think so.”

“Do we have extra food?”

“We have enough food.”

“I hate this.”

So we backtracked. An eleven mile detour, all told, with 1500 feet of elevation lost and then gained agin, for no reason, on unremarkable, overgrown, valley trails with views of nothing but dense forest, overgrown with scrubby mountain brush. The last few miles, a steady and grueling climb, brought us back to where we had missed our first sign, six hours before. We collapsed at the intersection, refilled our bottles, and snacked on salami — the promise of which was all that had gotten us up the hill. Mosquitoes and black flies swarmed, and the sky, which had begun the day clear, turned a pinkish gray as wildfire smoke began to dim the sun again.

“Why do we do this?”

“Good question.”

Onward to Hidden Lake, not so hidden after all. After dragging ourselves over 14 miles — 3 miles of forward progress from our last camp — we collapsed on a grassy shoreline, and rinsed our scratched and bruised bodies in the glassy frigid water. The lake sat beneath two pointed cliffs, side by side — one of red stone, the other gray— and the sun set early in the narrow valley. Trout jumped, snatching flies from the water’s surface, and pair of mergansers jetted around the lake, snatching the fish in turn. Exhausted, we fell asleep listening to hermit thrushes whistling their fluting ethereal song over the quiet rush of cascades tumbling down the cliffs, filling the lake.

We woke up, wolfed down some instant oatmeal, slurped up some instant coffee, and began the day’s climb. Up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” a tower of red sandstone capped with a knobby monolith that might well have been the icon of some desert religion. We descended again to the three Cramer Lakes, each one cascading to the next, down further to cross a rushing stream of snowmelt and spring water. We dipped our hats and bandannas in the almost-freezing water to drip down our necks and backs in the hot afternoon. Then we’re climbing again, this time twice as high, twice as far, to Alpine Lake, a pristine tarn carved into the side of the slope, a fine place for a salami break. Then higher, sweating our way up to the day’s second pass. We looked down on the Baron Lakes, where we would camp for the night, and across the lakes to Warbonnet Peak and Monte Verita, grey and purple in the late afternoon shadows.

“This is why we do this.”

“Yeah.”

One reason, anyway. The most obvious reason. If you did a survey of the people who somehow ended up at the top of the pass above Baron Lakes, this would be the number one reason cited for braving the insects and the varmints, dealing with the aches and the rashes, and slogging up a mountain with a heavy pack: the views, the vistas, the landscapes, the panoramas. The drama of the mountains. It’s like cooking your own meal — it tastes better when you’ve worked for it, earned it, done it yourself. The view from the pass is more beautiful for the sweat and exertion dragging your body and your pack up the climb.

We got more the following day as we descended from the Baron Lakes, our final day on the trail. An oceanic valley opened up beneath us, ringed by steep cliffs and rockslides of red and grey and purple, Baron Creek turning into a 30 foot waterfall. You can’t find this outside the mountains, this sense of three-dimensional space. Of looking down a valley two miles wide as it falls away from your feet, three thousand feet down. Like standing in the greatest of civilization’s cathedrals, but one with enough open space to park a carrier group, with more room for a fleet of attack submarines below.

After five nights and six days, we have become the land. Smeared with the dust of an arid country, we blend in with the rock and dirt. And despite our daily dips in the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth, we smell like it too. That first shower will feel great. The first meal — Jaime’s been fantasizing about a tuna melt and French fries, Sam has been inexplicably craving pancakes — even better. This is also why we backpack. It feels awfully good to have done it.

More than just the relief and indulgence of returning to civilization, a week in the mountains offers a welcome reset on city life. I am a city person. I like living in a density of people, living within a stroll of most everything I need, nearby neighbors and friends. But I crave the balance offered by nature, by a week in the woods, a month in the mountains. We’ll return feeling refreshed, glad to be back, awed by the commonplace luxuries of modern urban living: a world’s worth of cuisines, at my doorstep in 20 minutes; humanity’s complete works of recorded music, in my pocket. We’ll be very glad to have done it, for all its ups and downs. And, more immediately, we’re glad to be done.

“I’m sore.”

“Me too.”

“My blister just popped.”

“Ew.”

“I feel great.”

“Me too.”

Leaning on the car, we ease off our boots. The horseflies are back at this lower elevation, and their buzzing takes us back to last week when we tightened our laces and adjusted the straps on our pack in preparation for starting our trip. We had arrived at Grandjean just a few hours behind the first wave of wildfire smoke. Hiking in July, we thought we’d beat the wildfires to the punch; no such luck. So we started our hike in a haze - literal and figurative - wondering if we’d be walking up mountains for 54 miles with the reward of smoggy vistas waiting at the passes and peaks.

The first day’s hike didn’t lift that haze. The trail was overgrown, not often used, with deadfall lying across our path requiring us to clamber over dead trunks or bushwhack through brush to get around. Horseflies dogged us, buzzing and biting. As we climbed, sweating, copses of trembling aspen yielded to a forest of ponderosa pine, white spruce, douglas fir, and horseflies yielded to mosquitoes. Six miles up the trail, we encountered two fellow hikers, who informed us that the first good campsite was another eight miles ahead, and that they were churning out 20 miles in a day to get out of this godforsaken wilderness pronto. Terrific.

Fortunately, they were wrong, and we soon found a very fine place to pitch a tent next to a small waterfall. The Payette River’s headwaters split and cascaded down on either side of a great red rock, and every few seconds, the waters surged and a shower of snowmelt would surge over the rock itself, spraying into the air.

A western tanager — electric yellow body, reddish head, and jet black wings — flitted through the campsite. So did chipmunks, rushing around frantically to spread the good news that a pair of slovenly campers had finally arrived, and the summer’s harvest was here at last.

“Look at the cheeks on that little guy.”

“He’s just dying to fill them up with our trail mix.”

Joke’s on us. His cheeks were already full. We turn around, and our bag of trail mix has been chewed open, our week’s supply of almonds, cashews, chocolate, and cranberries pawed through and looted.

“Oh no!”

“Tou thieving little bastard! You bandit! Son of a bitch!”

He was long gone, and presumably the life of the party in whatever chipmunk den he had retreated to. Not wanting to contract whatever rodent virus the chipmunks might have left on our nuts — and not wanting to reward their banditry — I fed our entire supply of trail mix to the fish, swearing profusely as each morsel washed downstream. We have enough food without it, I think.

Our second morning, we awoke to what appeared as a fine morning mist; the pines in the middle distance enveloped in a grey cloud; the ridgeline hazy. But central Idaho is a dry country, this time of year. There is no mist. The wildfire smoke has thickened, and an image of peace transforms to a vague and grim picture of threat and foreboding. We shoulder our packs and resume the climb; eleven more miles on the trail, plus half a mile vertically.

As we walk we get our first glimpses of sawtooth silhouette. Steep rocky cliffs capped with jagged ridgelines, hazy and dark in the smoke against the grey sky. We cross a cold stream, boots off, sandals on, almost knee deep in the rushing icy water. We stop to rest — our first salami break of the trip! — beside Smith Falls, a roaring cascade.

“Do you have the hand sanitizer?”

“I thought you had it.”

“Nope.”

“Where’s the soap?”

“Packed with the hand sanitizer.”

“We’re disgusting.”

The day has gotten hot, and our final mile is a savage climb, switchbacking up the rough talus slope of Mt. Everly. Closing in on 9000’ feet of elevation, we stop to catch our breath every few steps and soak in the panorama behind us: smoky and grey, but astounding nonetheless, with miles of views into wilderness valleys ringed by sawtooth ridges.

Finally, we climb high enough that a lake reveals itself as a sliver of blue, and then it’s at our feet. Everly Lake is a sapphire droplet, water clear to the bottom, the gently rippling surface sparkling azure in the late afternoon sun. It sits beneath the east face of Mt. Everly, a scree cliff dropping a thousand feet to the water’s edge, across from where we set up camp. We haven’t seen another soul all day, and we have this lake very much to ourselves.

Why do we do this? An interesting question because, in case it’s not obvious, backpacking trips involve a considerable quantity of suffering. We do it for the satisfaction and rejuvenation of completing a trip, certainly. And obviously the views — even when they’re gray and hazy. But this — this is really why we hump heavy packs up rocky cliffs, put up with clouds of insects and wildfire smoke, endure blisters and aches and altitude sickness. There is freedom in solitude (dual solitude, in our case), and real solitude is a hard thing to come by. Hot and sweaty and ragged from the climb, I splash into the glass-clear snowmelt of Everly Lake, naked as a wild animal.

When telling people about our big trip west, our route through Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, the most frequent first response was “ah, you’re doing the parks.” Meaning the National Parks, those natural American wonders with scenic byways leading drivers to the parks’ iconic sights, visitors’ centers full of gifts and amenities and fun facts, and influencers dangling their immaculate bodies over sheer cliffs to rack up the likes. Not so. We are, in fact, avoiding the Parks at all costs, instead seeking solitude in forests and wilderness — the likes of the Sawtooth.

In March, we took a trip to Great Smoky Mountain National Park, hoping to hike and revel in some of the finest scenery you’ll find east of the Mississippi. The joke was very much on us. Day one, we spent two hours in the car, inching toward a trailhead, in a miles-long snake of cars and trucks and RVs. In July and August, Yellowstone National Park transmutes from the largest national park in the lower 48 into the biggest parking lot on the North American continent. People sleep in their cars on the road to Zion, in the hopes of snagging a shot at a sunrise selfie.

It’s been fifty years since Edward Abbey wrote Desert Solitaire, which I’ve been reading on the trail. The book is an account of his summers as a ranger in the park that would eventually become Arches. He lamented road-building in National Parks, and proposed banning cars altogether, a fine idea. Many of our Parks did alright for decades, even with their roads and scenic byways; today’s plauge, clogging those roads and viewpoints and even some of the trails, is known as Instagram. The secret is out about the natural beauty of the American west, and the hoards have flocked.

Of course, not everyone out here in nature is seeking solitude. That’s fine. Certainly, every person has a right to see and experience earth’s great wonders. But even for the casual nature tourist, I would posit that the Grand Canyon would be better enjoyed with enough room to swing one’s arms. What to do about it? Who knows. The French are de-marketing their national parks, advertising the flaws and shortcomings of the country’s great natural sites; another fine idea, maybe there are others. At any rate, Abbey is lucky to be dead; the sight of hoards of selfie-snappers crowding for the perfect pic at Mesa Arch would kill him over again.

For those who do seek something approaching solitude, it’s harder and harder to find. We’ve avoided the National Parks, but even many of the forest campgrounds are full beyond the brim. We’ve spent evenings driving around the backwoods, trying in vain to find a good place to camp that isn’t already clogged with RVs. And I’m not here to tell anyone how to enjoy nature, but I am here to tell you that the RV is a blight upon American wilderness. Pulling into a campground in a forgotten corner of the Black Hills, and listening to a fleet of generators run for hours is, shall we say, irritating. If your idea of exploring America’s natural beauty involves parking a bus that costs as much as Lamborghini in the woods and running a generator 16 hours a day to keep your A/C running and your TV on, why not save yourself the trouble — and do the rest of us a favor — and stay home?

As one friend likes to say, gazing up at a spectacular mountain view and taking a contented sigh: “We mean nothing.” In the city, it’s hard to see yourself outside the contemporary, the immediate, the urgent. Put yourself in nature, in the shadow of a great peak or at the bottom of a colossal canyon, and it becomes possible to see your ego and your consciousness in a more accurate perspective: transient, insignificant. There’s freedom in that. And peace.

The chipmunks of Everly Lake share the thieving attitude of their cousins down the mountain. As we sat absorbing the last of the orange sun’s rays, we heard a rustling behind us, and caught one in the act trying to seize our sesame crisps. Rather than chewing through the bag and filling his fat cheeks with whatever they could carry, this greedy fellow had his tiny arms wrapped around the entire ziploc bag, attempting to make off with the whole kit and kaboodle. Not today, chipmunk. We learned our lesson. Our food bag didn’t leave our sight the rest of the trip.

We awoke the next morning to the smell of a campfire burning outside our tent. Poking my head out into the grey predawn light — no campfire, just a thick cloud of wildfire smoke. The far shore was shrouded in haze, and our sparkling blue lake had turned dull; a grim sense of foreboding gripped us as we wolfed down our instant oatmeal, slurped up our instant coffee, and shouldered our packs to descend from Everly.

We hop from lake to lake through the southern Sawtooth, and, mercifully, the cloud of smoke thins as we go. Not a soul on the trail, as we dip our toes in lakes with wonderful names — Ingeborg, Spangle, Ardeth— and some quotidian names — Rock Slide, Vernon, Benedict. I regret leaving my binoculars in the car, we try to ID our avian companions anyway. Most will end up in our books as LBBs (little brown birds), curious peepers and cheepers. We do grow fond of the white-capped sparrow, which looks like it’s wearing a bike helmet and sings a song that sounds like the opening refrain of Baby Shark. Funny little fellow.

We arrive at Lake Edna, our camp for the night, and the skies have cleared. We are treated to sunset over a glassy indigo surface. We watch the sun fall behind the same mountain that it has set behind for hundreds, thousands of summer evenings previous. It’s harder and harder to find pristine nature like this, unaltered by humanity. If some other person had felt compelled to make the same hike, climb the same hill 500 or 5000 Julys ago, they would have seen the same thing, heard the same birds, enjoyed the shade of the same trees. There is magic in that.

We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry.

This essay borrows liberally and consciously in structure and style from Messrs. Edward Abbey & John McPhee.