Are fly fisherman really morally superior? The chain of sportsman snobbery

“And we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.”

Norman McClain- A River Runs Through It

In his novel which was set in the 1920s, A River Runs through It, Norman McLain clearly demonstrates the feeling of moral superiority felt by fly fisherman over bait fisherman.  In the quote above and others, particularly the interaction between Norman and Paul with Norman’s brother-in-law (a bait fisherman), one can clearly see the sportsman snobbery that persists to this day.  In the last century, as hunting and fishing gradually shifted from an efficient way to provide food for your family, to more of a leisure lifestyle choice, outdoorsmen have become snobs.  Each outdoorsman finds some way to look down on other outdoorsmen who enjoy related outdoor pass times.  

Hunters and fishermen seem particularly prone to these types of comparisons.  You might insist that this is simply human nature and you might be right, but when it comes to outdoorsmen, it takes a strange twist.  For thousands of years, humans have been hunting and fishing as a means of survival but only recently have they intentionally limited themselves in how and when they can participate in these activities.  Hunting and fishing, in many ways, are trending back to the caveman.  Montana recently even passed a law that legalizes spear hunting!  It seems the more primitive and minimalistic your gear and techniques are, the more of a pure sportsman you are.  If you look back to the cave man days, it is hard to imagine “Grog” telling his brother “Gronk” that it is unsportsmanlike to hunt mammoths with iron spear tips…. “Idiot!  The way of the purist, the way of the sportsman, is most certainly the obsidian spear head, hand chipped from organic rock.”  This scene is laughable because “Grog” would most certainly have used a bazooka to kill mammoths if he could have, yet this is exactly the kind of conversation many sportsman are having today.  

If you don’t tie your own flies, reload your own shells and make your own arrows, you, my friend, aren’t a committed outdoorsman.  If your mode of transportation wasn’t your feet, once you arrived at the trail head, you’re not “hardcore” and you may be unsportsmanlike.  If you use a crossbow rather than a long bow, or a scoped rifle rather than a black powder rifle, well, you’re certainly not a purist and you probably won’t be invited over for Montana micro brews later.  The reality is that all of these judgements are subjective and relative.  People enjoy their chosen niche in the hunting and fishing world for different reasons.  Additionally, with the constant influx of new hunting related technologies it becomes difficult, even for the most principled outdoorsman, to determine which are sportsmanlike and which are not.   Who am I to assume that I am enjoying myself more because I am using a dry fly and the guy down river is using scented bait?  How did I decide that calling a bull elk in with a fake bugle is more fair to the elk than the guy who shoots that same elk from a hay field with a bi-pod at 500 yards?  And why should fish finders be legal but not drones (as a method of finding game)?

With that said, we cannot allow a free-for-all if we want sustainable wildlife populations for future generations of hunters and fishermen to come.  Limits and seasons must be set for different methods and technologies for hunting and fishing.  But they should be set for reasons of safety, population management and equal opportunity to different types of sportsman (notice I didn’t write equal access).  They should not be set against certain outdoorsmen because their means of hunting and fishing is deemed unethical or unfair by a certain sub-set of sportsman.  So take a step back from the chain of sportsman snobbery and get some real perspective before you badmouth the guy across the river.  That’s true Montana.

Montana Gridiron: Why I like football in Montana

The snap was good.  The thermometer read 10 degrees and they had already cleared snow from the field at halftime.  Armanti Edwards, rolled out to his left and threw a short pass to his best wide receiver, Brian Quick, just inside the end-zone.  The pass went beyond the outstretched arms of star cornerback Trumaine Johnson and touched off Quick's finger tips and onto the AstroTurf.  As the snow came down, reflecting off the huge ESPN stadium lights, there was a magical ambiance in the air as more than 26,000 Montana Grizzly fans went wild. We shouted, groaned with relief, high-fived and hugged other fans we had never met.  We were going to the national championship game! 




The game, start to finish, was the most amazing I have ever watched in person, but how it ended is a what I will always remember.  After going up by a touchdown, Montana fans experienced a terrifying last minute drive when Edwards led App State the length of the field in the final 1:31, converting on a fourth down and ultimately getting two shots at the end-zone from the 3 yard-line.  Edwards, who had led Appalachian State to two national championships with his duel threat quarterbacking would be drafted in the 3rd round of the NFL draft later that year.   In addition to the heart stopping goal-line stand, the game also featured the ESPN college hit of the year by a Montana's Keith Thompson on an App State receiver.  The drama of the ending along with the surreal ambiance made the game an instant classic.  It also capped off what had already been an incredible year in Montana football, including a 27 point comeback earlier in the playoffs against the SDSU Jack Rabbits, which was sparked by a 98-yard Marc Mariana kick-return.  The Griz ended the season 14-1 after being defeated in the national championship by Villanova. 










Football may not be religion in Montana like it can be in Texas or the South but that doesn't mean our state lacks football excitement or success.  Carroll College is still the only team in any division to have won 4 national championships in a row and almost every year MSU and/or U of M make it to the FCS playoffs as contenders.  Additionally, it is often players who grew up playing football in Montana that are the stars of these teams and many get drafted or signed into the NFL.











I think being a football fan in Montana is more fun than in places where football is everything.  Maybe its the fact that we have nothing to prove or that football isn't everything for Montanans.  Montana isn't known for football nationally and even though we love it, football still has to compete with hunting for people's attention in the fall.  Maybe its the personal touch and actually knowing and wanting to root for the players on the field.  We don't have a pro team and by its nature, college football is more personal.  When you cheer on your Montana college football team(whichever team it is), its not just your team you're cheering for, you're rooting for the kid you went to high school with, or played against.  That same kid will probably come home this summer and work the harvest just like everyone else....and then he might get drafted next year.  But he'll still be a Montanan, a real person you can talk to, who succeeded just as much because of his Montana work ethic as his athletic ability.  That's True Montana.

The Dog that Was Always in the Way Goes Antelope Hunting

Every ranch has one of those dogs.  A dog that is pretty much worthless as far as a cow-dogs go and sees his/her life purpose as that of always being in the way!  On our ranch that dog was Duke.  He was stepped on by a horse when he was a year old which meant he'd never be fast enough to help you bring cows through a gate but just fast enough to get to a gate, stand in the middle and prevent you from taking the cows through the gate.  .  When my Dad was working cows, he'd always try to leave Duke at home.  Duke was so dedicated, to either my Dad, or to "helping" him that he would follow my Dad no matter how long it took his four-mile-an-hour limp/jog to get there.

For example, one day, Dad left Duke at home and went to work cows in the Big Hole, an area about 40 miles from our house over two mountain passes.  We have another summer pasture section on-the-way that is only 15 miles and sometimes we work cows there too.  Having been to both places in the past, Duke started for the first one.  He went in the long drive-way and found no one.  He was coming back out the drive-way and starting to head for the one that was another 25 miles up the road, when a guy that was hauling our cows that day saw him and picked him up.  True dedication.

Without a doubt, the most memorable Duke story was the day he went antelope hunting (uninvited).  Opening day of antelope season typically brings many a hunter to my family ranch.  Some are friends and many are employees of my grandparents' other business.  As a pre-teen, unable to hunt, but knowing the ranch well, I was often allowed to go out with these hunters and help them harvest one of the many antelope that called our alfalfa fields home.  From the cut they took out of our crop you'd think we left a couple flocks of sheep on the fields year-round and we were only too glad to get rid of a few.

Anyways, about mid-morning opening day of antelope season my Dad and I jumped in a truck with a lady and her husband to find them an antelope.  She had the tag.  We hadn't gone far when we noticed a lone buck at the base of a hill only a mile from our house.  We drove a little further on a county road, before getting out of the truck, climbing under the fence and setting her up for a shot.  It was a moderate distance but not over 300 yards.  Her first shot hit, but it was a bad hit, debilitating the buck by hitting a back leg.  He simply laid down and she shot again.  That shot missed and so did her third (from what we could tell).  Since he was down, we decided to move closer for a better shot and it was then we noticed that Duke had followed us.  At 150 yards, he realized what the antelope was and raced across the prairie toward his prey.  Despite our calls and threats, Duke continued to lope toward the antelope with purpose.

Perhaps Duke was fulfilling his dream from puppy-hood of chasing down an antelope, an animal that is too fast for most dogs and especially for Duke.  Whatever the reason, once Duke got close to the buck we had a hard time convincing our hunter to shoot.  The conversation went something like, "I can't shoot, I'm afraid I'll hit your dog."
"Don't worry about the dog.  He's worthless and I've considered shooting him many times myself because he's always in the way."
"I would feel horrible."

Duke reached the antelope and proceeded to bite the buck in the butt.  The antelope couldn't get away, but he had enough mobility to hook Duke with his horns
.  The scene of Duke running to bite the buck and the buck trying to hook Duke repeated itself as we walked closer.  Finally we were close enough to throw a few rocks at Duke.  Duke understood the rock throwing as the universal cowboy-cowdog signal for "get the heck out of the way" all too well and reluctantly left his chance to be a victorious hunter.  The kill shot was easy from there and we were back to the house in a matter of minutes.

Duke lived to a ripe old age and continued to be in-the-way until he died.

Dipping, Poaching and Picking up Sheds in Places You Shouldn't

Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is true (thought slightly embellished), but the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

Across the river a couple tourists had already spotted Frank, his horse and his mule loaded down with Yellowstone National Park elk sheds.  Frank turned back in the saddle again and gave the unresponsive mule another slap in the face with the lead-rope.  Yep, no way on earth was that mule going to back up the steep embankment that led down to the river.    Frank had already warned his partner, Chris, not to follow him out of the timber and down to the river. 

They had apparently become disoriented and instead of conspicuously crossing back over the Yellowstone Park border, they were now at the edge of a large campground and wildlife viewing area.  Shed hunting in national parks or private land without permission (often called “dipping” or poaching) is illegal and highly frowned upon by park rangers.  Only weeks before, Frank and Chris were “dipping” with some friends in an isolated area of Yellowstone.  They had taken a break from finding antlers to gorge themselves on berries, when suddenly a huge bolt of lightning hit a large tree in the middle of the meadow where they sat eating.  With a wry sense of humor Chris remarked, “Better spread out boys, if I were God I wouldn’t want to miss a chance like this.”  Perhaps God had saved Frank’s punishment for this moment at the park campground.

Realizing there was no way but forward, Frank his horse and his mule barreled down the side of the hill and crossed the river into the campground.  About one hundred tourists were present that day and most were elated to see “a real cowboy with his horse and mule”.  Oohs and ahhs greeted Frank as they marveled at the elk sheds loaded high on his mule’s pack.  Frank, seizing their interest and lack of legal knowledge, summoned his deepest John Wayne voice and bellowed, “Stand aside Pilgrim!  I’ve got to get a move on!”  The crowd parted even though many were disappointed they didn’t have the opportunity to pet the horses and take pictures.  Frank nervously made his way through the campground to the timber on the other side, urging his equaling nervous animals passed the gawking tourists.  He kept glancing around, but to his amazement there were no park rangers. 

Frank never got caught and later repented of his “dipping” ways when he met Jesus.  It’s now been 35 years since he ventured into the park for that purpose but the allure of antlers is quite tantalizing for many a Montana outdoors man with questionable ethics.  The reasoning goes like this, “It may be trespassing but no one else is using them and they’re just rotting!”   Teton National Park allows the boy scouts to pick up sheds and there are arrangements whereby out-of-state owned ranches allow a select few to come in and pick up sheds, but there are certainly areas that never get picked.  Especially on what is known as “Uncle Teddy’s Ranch”.  But misuse of resources doesn’t give you the right to take them.

Then there’s the money motivation.  Depending on demand, brown elk antlers are worth $10/pound. One antler from a mature bull can weigh 10lbs so it can be a lucrative side business if you find an untapped source.  Antler furniture makers buy a large amount, especially larger sets to make chandeliers and various other pieces of furniture.  To their chagrin, many antlers are cut into small pieces and sold to kennels as dog chews because they don’t splinter or hurt dogs’ teeth.  Some antlers are also sold to Asia where they are ground into powder and used as an aphrodisiac.  Yes, you read that right.  Somewhere in Japan right now there’s probably an old man raising his glass of Saki and saying “Here’s to the Montana horn hunters!”  

Living Like Kings on $30K a Year

"I think I live like a King," Frank said as he stretched his arms out to invoke the spectacular scenery behind him.

Frank owns a vacation rental and an unfinished cabin on the east side of Glacier National Park and in the winters he goes to the tropics and waits tables.  I did the math on his vacation rental and there's no way he's making more than $10K a year (on the rental).  I suppose he could really rake it in waiting tables, but the man is not getting rich financially.  When he says he lives like a king, he is talking about the intangibles, the reasons that thousands of people take pay-cuts to stay in, or move to Montana. 

Montanans make the trade for these intangibles in many different ways.  Some take seasonal jobs in the outdoors they love and then scrounge for other work in the winter.  Others acquire decent jobs(for Montana $40k/ year is a decent job) and spend every weekend, vacation day and sick day with a fly-rod or bow in their hand.  Oil rig workers spend two solid weeks working so they can spend two weeks four-wheeling. Ranchers, in theory, are living the dream every day as they labor in all weather conditions for long hours at a job that people pay dude ranches to participate in.  Readily available wifi and telecommuting have made it easier for some to give up their city life without giving up the income, but most Montanans are taking a major pay-cut to live in a place where everyone else vacations. 

About 10 million tourists visit Montana every year, primarily to experience the great outdoors Montana-style (hunting, fishing, hiking, ranching, skiing, rafting etc.).  The state's population hovers around one million and although many residents are recent imports with high-demand skills the state's per capita income and household income are still ranked very low nationally.  

Montana trade-offs are a very personal thing and don't make sense to everyone.  People trade $2,000-suits and $300-shirts for thrift store clothes and one set of $600 Sitka camo.   They trade 1,000 ethnic food options in a ten mile radius for one restaurant 30 miles down the road from their off-the-grid cabin.  They trade the leadership of a 200-employee company to that of a 200-cow ranch.  People trade a $40 steak for 40lbs of venison it took them 25 hours to hunt, clean and process.  The newest phone for the latest snow report.  A $40k car is traded for a 40-fish-day on a remote river.  A week in Paris for a week in the Bob Marshall. 


Its a trade-off that might not make sense to an economist, but in a country that is obsessed with financial security and always having the most and latest gadgets it is quite refreshing.  That's True Montana.

If Meriwether Lewis Died in Montana

July 27^th, 1806 Blackfeet Country-

The young Blackfeet warrior aimed his British musket at Merriweather Lewis’ head and pulled the trigger.  The crisp summer morning air erupted with the explosion.  The explorer who was to usher in the era of manifest destiny stumbled forward and hit the ground dead.  The rest of his party never made it out of Blackfeet country alive and his journal never made it back to St. Louis.  What if…..

You’re right, this scene didn’t end that way.  The young Blackfeet warrior missed by inches and Lewis felt the wind of his bullet whizz by his head.  But what if he hadn’t?  Or what if the Core of Discovery’s confrontation with the Teton Sioux on the Missouri in 1804 had ended in violence?  It would have been bloody on both sides to be sure, but it would have almost certainly ended with the victory of the Tetons and the annihilation of the expedition.   

To be sure, there would have been other expeditions west, but the fact that the entire Core of Discovery made it back alive (except Floyd who would have died anyway), had to have been a blaring green light to the rest of the country.  If the message coming back had been, “the Louisiana purchase is crawling with savages who want to kill you”, the expansion may have taken on a more gradual approach.  Keep in mind the US was in-between the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812 and had plenty of other tribal conflicts to deal with.  Would a decisive attack on the Core of Discovery delayed western expansion by 30 years?  Or even 50?

Most Native Americans were on reservations by the 1880s, but they didn’t receive citizenship and the right to vote until 1924.  A slower westward expansion of the US population, in concert with a changing national value of women and minorities may have drastically changed the ownership of land and racial tension in the western US.  To be sure western expansion of the US was inevitable, but if the US government would have thought of the plains tribes as real people and a force to be reckoned with, it is quite possible native tribes would have had more say in how the land was settled.   With more time to see the “wave” of settlers coming, the tribes could have adapted better strategies in how to deal with them and shrewdly negotiated land deals.  Can you imagine if the tribes could have curbed alcohol consumption on their lands, if they had saved part of the buffalo herd or if they had maintained ownership of Glacier and Yellowstone National Parks? What if the northern plains tribes had kept half their land and their children had never gone to boarding schools?  Life would look very different in Montana.

I know there is hope for reconciliation between whites and Natives.  I know white America is ultimately at fault for the suffering caused by western expansion among the Native Americans.  I realize even if the Core of Discovery had been repelled, it is unlikely the ultimate outcome would have changed, but sometimes I wish that Blackfeet warrior wouldn’t have missed!

A Lesson in Cowboy Hats

You’ll ride a black tornado ‘cross the western sky,

Rope an ol’ blue northern, and milk it till it’s dry,

Bulldog the Mississippi and pin its ears down flat,

Long before you take this cowboy’s hat

-Chris Ledoux

“I just recently started selling Luke’s old sweat-ringed cowboy hats to tourists.  I could barely believe it when they paid $50 for a hat he’d worn for several summers and had sweated through all around the band.”  The antique shop owner said as I picked up an old hat in her shop.  “Then I talked to Sharon down at Teton Hats and she told me she’s sold used hats with sweat rings for as much as $300!”  I could barely believe it either, but apparently tourists are picking up on what most Montanans have known (sub-consciously or consciously)for a long time: the hat says it all.  People in Montana speak volumes by the hat they wear.   To the outsider, it might look like every small town in Montana is full of cowboys because of the hats, but the reality is much more subtle. 

The first distinction, which apparently the tourists buying hats with sweat rings have picked up on, is the difference between a local Montana hat and one from out of town.  The key here is the newness factor.  The only time when this test may not work is during a rodeo, county fair or wedding when the locals will crack out and dust off their best cowboy hat.  But on your average day in Montana, only the non-Montanans wear new looking hats.

The second distinction is the shaping factor.  I don’t mean what shape (we’ll get to that in a minute).  I mean is it shaped at all?  If a hat looks like its owner kicks it down the street through the mud and then pulls the brim down in front like he’s trying to keep it on through a tornado, chances are it’s shaped by circumstances and not intentionally.  People who don’t intentionally shape their hats typically don’t have time for style or don’t care.  They’re wearing a hat to keep the sun of out of their eyes. They’re wearing a hat to keep the rain off their face.  They’re wearing a hat because Cenex threw it in as a “thank-you” for buying 50 roles of bailing twine.  They’re wearing a hat like that because they’re a farmer.

The third difference is the shape of the brim.  A round, basically flat brim signifies a buckaroo.  The best way to define a buckaroo is to describe one of Stan Lynn’s famous cartoon scenes.  In the scene, a cowboy is leaning way off the side of his horse with a pair of post-hole diggers trying to dig a post-hole while his partner on the ground looks on in confusion.  True Buckaroos would rather ride horses…always (even to the point of performing poorly at other tasks so they can be sent back to riding horses).  They care a great deal about their appearance, and for some reason usually prefer large, round flat-brimmed cowboy hats. 

The only shape we’ve left with then is the classic, modern, cowboy hat: brim dipped slightly down in front with a shallow swell on the sides by the ears and the edge tipping up around the sides to the back.  The crown usually has slots on top so you can easily grab and position it with the thumb, index and middle finger.  But even with this classic shape, you might not be looking at a bon-a-fide Montana cowboy.   You’ll have to look at everything else he’s wearing to determine whether he’s a tourist who paid $50 for an authentic hat, a rodeo cowboy who was recently bucked off on his head or a real (ranches-for-a-living) Montana cowboy.  The key elements to look for next would be: skoal can ring, brand of jeans, belt buckle authenticity and visible knife, Leatherman or lack thereof.    But that is a little advanced for the purposes of this blog.  For now, hopefully you learned something about what a hat can say in Montana.

Packrafting Adventure on the South Fork of the Flathead

I glanced down off the trail and noticed a deep pool with a strong current going through it.  It was a steep downhill slide to the pool, but if I had learned anything about backcountry fishing, it was that pools like this are worth fishing.  I scrambled down and let my “hopper-dropper” float through the rapid.  The hopper almost immediately popped under, indicating something had taken my “dropper” (in this case a copper john).  I caught one hard-fighting, 16” cut-throat on each sides of the pool.  As I climbed back onto the trail, I felt fully alive and in love with backcountry fishing.  Over a fire that night, my friend Benn and I discussed our amazing two days of fishing in the Bob Marshall. 

As good as it was, two full days of tough hiking was a high price to pay for two full days of fishing.  If only we could just continue down the river, past the remote ranger station at Big Prairie, through the narrow canyon slots and walk out into the Spotted Bear parking lot forty-some miles to the north.  As tempting as that was, we only had four days.  A trip like that would take more than a week if we hoped to hike it and fish just the best spots as we walked.  Plus, we’d be completely exhausted from hiking hard to keep pace in-between fishing holes.  Not that we’re against exhaustion, but this was a fishing trip, not endurance training.  Of course there was always the raft option.  We had some connections to horses and rafts, but the logistics and costs involved in an endeavor like that get difficult quickly.  As we hiked out on the fourth day, we decided one way or the other we had to come back, even if it meant a ten-day trip to do the river full justice.

Then we discovered packrafts!  Small, durable, ultralight, inflatable, packable (weigh less than 5lbs and pack to the size of a 2-man tent), high-performing, rafts designed for the Alaskan wilderness.    Three years after that first trip into the Bob, we went back in, this time with Benn’s brother, another mutual friend and my wife.  The trip took six days.  One day of hard hiking, one day that involved several portages around log jams and four days of uninterrupted fishing and floating bliss!  Our meals were amazing as each one of us tried to outdo the other with our assigned night of cooking (meals included: jumbleia, chicken dumplings, Paiute mountain pizza, fish burritos, and pad Thai).   Fishing was excellent, although the fish were slightly picky at times.  We saw bull trout on two occasions and the second one bit into a 10” cutthroat that was being reeled in.  Camping spots were excellent and even included an island one night.  We stopped and saw a girl who was in our wedding at the Big Prairie ranger station.  This isolated settlement seems to come straight from the 1870s and is an experience in itself.

We ended our trip in the picturesque slot canyons that take you to the edge of Meadow Creek Gorge (a dangerous class IV + stretch of river that we decided to save for a later date when we have more experience and helmets).   We actually missed the pull-out (a sign that says “danger pull out now”) and had to climb up a small slot cliff, but with packrafts this is easily done!  Benn’s family was even nice enough to shuttle our car back to Hungry Horse so we ate the customary burger, fries and shake and returned home. 

During the planning stages of this trip, I decided to buy two packrafts rather than rent them with the intention of starting my own rental company.  The time for that is now here!  Backcountry Packrafts Rentals LLC is officially open for business!  As I researched packrafts I realized the myriad of other outdoor activities packrafts can be combined with.  You would be amazed at what you can load on a packraft and still be able to run rapids.  A short list of activities to be combined with packrafting include:  fishing, hunting, mountain biking, skiing, camping, mountaineering, rock climbing and canyoneering.  Packrafts are the ultimate Montana raft because they are capable of running Montana rapids and add to so many things Montanan’s already enjoy.  Not a Montanan?  We ship anywhere in the lower 48!  So check us out backcountrypackrafts.com: a company that’s true Montana!

Montanans and Their Secret Spots

It was eleven fifteen on a Thursday morning and my friend Grey rubbed his eyes like a groggy bear in April.  “I passed on a rag-horn this morning,” he told me rather nonchalantly as we walked to class in the business building at the University of Montana in Missoula. 

“Really?!?”  I gasped.  At that point in my hunting career I hadn’t shot a bull elk and even now, I’ll squeeze the trigger on any legal bull.  “Where were you?” I asked, wondering how he could have been so close to Missoula that he was able to make it back in time for class.

“I can’t tell you,” he replied in a hushed tone, “it’s a good spot and I can’t let it get out.”

It doesn’t matter if its huckleberries or big game, Montanans are incredibly tight-lipped about their “spots”.   When my brother-in-law married into my wife’s family, she gave him a map of Montana with several “spots” circle as a way of welcoming him into the family during her maid of honor speech (the map did not contain accurate locations of game but was more of a symbolic gesture).   Even among family members, I have found that Montanans, especially the ones who live close to big towns, are very reluctant to give up their go-to-spots. 

The reason for this reluctance is sometimes justified.  Once you tell someone where your spot is, everyone they know and their dog will be there, ruining your spot.  It is hard to find places within a forty-five minute drive of bigger Montana towns that have good fishing, hunting or berry-picking.  Even hiking and floating “spots” may be guarded as the obvious spots for these activities may become extremely crowded.  Once you are lucky enough to find one of these spots, you’re unlikely to give it up.  And if you do tell someone, it definitely won’t be a Californian or someone from another state.  Lying to out-of-staters is not considered morally wrong, especially to Californians who seem to have a propensity to love Montana so much that they buy your favorite fishing spot and then deny you access.

My philosophy on spots:  I have given away a couple “spots” since I started writing this blog about a year ago.  I may not have explained specific directions, but I’ve definitely given away more information than many Montanans would.  I guess I have little fear of this backfiring on me for two reasons: most people are not very motivated and those that are already have spots they are attached to.  Most outdoorsmen (Montanans or not) don’t have the time, ability or desire to drive more than two hours (one way) and then hike more than three miles from the road.  It’s usually the distance hiked from the road that gets them.  The people that are willing to go to these places usually have a spots of their own.  Regardless of the actual quality of their spot, they are often unnaturally attached to it for sentimental reasons.  If I tell someone and they’re willing to spend the time, effort and commitment to get there, more power to them.   To me, the only spots worth keeping secret are the ones your lazy friends might ruin for you.  I helped my former roommate shoot a deer on public land 1/3 of a mile from the road, a road that is a fifteen minutes from my house.  That spot is worth keeping a secret.

Mountain Athletes and Modern Mountain Men

A Profile on Elite Outdoorsmen

I watched, almost in awe, while my future brother-in-law passed my entire bachelor party as we climbed up one of the steepest hillsides I have been on, made even worse by the skiff of snow that had fallen since our descent.  Actually, hillside is the wrong word; make that “subdued cliff”.  What made it even more impressive were the people he passed.  Among them, my two best friends whom I had struggled to keep up with for years on all day hunting trips.  He also easily passed my college roommate who won all kinds of awards for his fitness during army boot camp a couple months later.  He moved with ease up the hill, like a mountain goat, choosing each foothold decisively and almost never stopping to rest.  It reminded me of trekking up Reynolds in Glacier with another intense outdoorsman the year before.  He also moved like a goat, we even went up on the “goat trail”, which is visible from Logan Pass. This route includes a trail that is shoulder width with a 200’ drop on one side and 200’ up on the other, then a 100’ scramble that taxed my limited rock climbing ability (no rope involved). 

These men are extreme outdoorsmen and always in outstanding mountain shape.  For a long time, my similar awe of their fitness led me to believe they were cut from the same mold.  But as I have been around elite outdoorsmen more frequently I have noticed a subtle difference.  One man is a Mountain Athlete and one is a Modern Mountain Man.

Montanans can be categorized by many criteria, but few are as subtle and yet divergent as the difference between Modern Mountain Men and Mountain Athletes.   To be sure, there are similarities.  You might find them on the same trail, floating the same river or even hiking a peak together on occasion.  To be honest, I think most extreme outdoorsman are a little of both but are usually defined by one.   It is their primary motivation that differentiates them.  

Modern Mountain Men want to live and breathe the woods and mountains.  They don’t just want to know about the outdoors they want to know the outdoors.  They want to participate in each season.  They want to hunt when the bulls bugle, explore the winter wonderland when its winter, find sheds (antlers that have fallen to the ground) when they drop, fish when the fish bite and pick huckleberries when they’re ripe.  Their houses are adorned with the outdoors, from what hangs on their walls to what is on their plate.  They are generally purists when it comes to sportsmanship- fly fisherman and bow hunters (often traditional).  They also put loads of cash into the equipment required to be a purist. They resort bullets and bait only if it is a matter of filling the freezer.   The accomplishment is

the experience with these folks.

Mountain athletes are powerful rugged individuals that have a deep desire to conquer.   I don’t mean this in a negative “screw-the-forests” way.  They most certainly respect nature, but they respect it for the challenge it gives them. They are constantly looking for new challenges the outdoors can offer them: whether it is skiing a loop that demands incredible endurance or climbing a wall of rock that looks impossible.  Modes of back country transportation and the equipment to do so are very important to this group.  If they hunt and fish, they will likely do so as purists, but they will measure catches and kills and not experiences.  This group wants to test itself against nature.

So next time you see an elite outdoorsman, look at them closely and see if you can tell what motivation defines them.  Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, they’ll probably hike you into the ground.  That’s True Montana!