This 1920′s era Mackinaw Cruiser, crafted in a classic green and black check pattern, was returned to our Seattle store yesterday.  After living a colorful history spanning multiple generations, numerous successful pheasant hunts, and years of treacherous winter weather this 100% virgin wool jacket still looks incredible.  The slight frays on the cuffs, minimal discoloration, and a label worn threadbare all offer a glimpse of the glories this particular piece has been through.

Originally purchased by Leslie Pue, born in 1901, the jacket was later willed to his step son Richard Heckard in 1980 who continued to wear the jacket until January of 2013.  Now, the jacket has been added to our collection of Filson history.  Thanks to Richard for providing us with such a beautiful piece from our past.

Freezing conditions and a daunting midnight rescue operation push Roy Lippman to the limits.  Learn how the Fire Department engineer saved a man’s life after falling 100 feet in to a mineshaft at the bottom of Meteor Crater in Arizona.  Thanks to Roy for his heroics and for sharing this incredible story with us.  We are glad we could be of service to this great man, and that everyone involved made it out safe and sound.

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Roy Lippman, and I’m an engineer with the Flagstaff Fire Department in Arizona.  I’m also part of an 18 person regional response Technical Rescue Team with the fire department.  We have a heavy rescue type response vehicle, and are equipped to handle all types of rescues including: high angle, canyon, trench, confined space, building collapse, swift water, and more.  Our team is starting to become better equipped with personal gear to handle any of these situations during various types of weather.  However, we do not currently have any protective pants issued to us.

A few weeks back, I was involved in a dramatic rescue of a man who jumped into a 100′ deep mine shaft in the bottom of Meteor Crater.  Based on the conditions we were faced with, I made the decision to wear my own personal Filson Oil Finish Tin Pants which I’ve owned for years and love.  It turns out they might have been absolutely crucial in my success at this rescue.  Not only did they protect me from the cold (sub-zero temperature and snow blowing sideways), but I was also getting raked over sharp metal edges and dirt and rock during the rescue.  My own personal pair was actually destroyed due to them becoming soaked in blood from our victim.  But, those pants saved me!

Needless to say, my pants got a lot of attention from my teammates, and we may be looking into buying 18 or more pairs of Filson pants for our team!

Thank you,
Roy Lippman

Has your Filson gear gone through similar circumstances?  Let us know in the comments below, these types of stories make our jobs worth doing! 

Peter Patenaude, a registered Maine guide, has been a Filson advocate for over six years. His blog Boot & Canoe, focuses on traditional skills and Maine’s outdoor heritage. Peter shares some tips for a successful snowshoe hare hunt with you.  Find them useful?  Make sure to leave a comment below!

At the end of a fresh snow, there is nothing more fun than to chase snowshoe hare through a stand of thick evergreens.  This is certainly a much easier and more productive activity with a set of trained dogs, but can also be done with a few willing people.

I never grow tired of snowshoeing out on top of a new white blanket and finding that first set of tracks to follow.  Not only is this a great way to get some much needed winter exercise, but it is a very exciting chase that will certainly bring camaraderie to a hunting party.  After the hunt, it is short and easy work to clean the snowshoe hare and get it into a pot.  I have always found it hard not to stew the meat as it becomes tender and sweet tasting after a long day of slow cooking.  Here are some tips that can be useful for a first time snowshoe hunter:

1. Wear a full brimmed hat.  You will be thankful when snow is not falling down the back of your neck while you are busting through the covered branches.

2. Wear eye protection.  As I have mentioned before, eye injuries are very common in the woods and spruce/fir trees are full of small dead branches.

3. Be the beagle.  Have one hunter act as the dog and push through the brush while the other waits and looks for the hare’s movement.

4. Carry a plastic bag.  It would not be pleasant if the hare released its bladder into the game pouch of your jacket on the walk out.

5. Watch the circle around you.  The hare will not leave familiar grounds and will work around a large circle of its territory.

6. Blow a whistle.  If the hare is running, blow a whistle and it may stop to see what the noise was.  I find the sound of my shotgun will stop him just the same.

7. No mess.  When cleaning the hare, I do not cut open its stomach. After skinning, I remove its legs and the meat running down its back.

8. Cook with fat.  It is a very lean meat, so stewing a hare with bacon or duck makes for a tasty meal.

Louis Cahill is an advertising photographer with over thirty years experience, and about as many holding a fly rod,  Louis has spent his life looking through the lens.  He’s not interested in what everyone else sees.  Find more of Louis’ incredible photography and writing at Gink and Gasoline.

“I thought you might like these,” my brother Tom holds out an old yellowed envelope. “I found them going through some of Pete’s things.”

William Starling Cahill, who preferred to be called Pete, was my Grandfather and the man who taught me to fly fish. He’s been gone for many years now but from time to time little gems that he left behind will turn up. My brother now lives in Pete’s old house which puts him in a good position to uncover relics.

I open the envelope and into my hand spill two feathers, dark down one edge and bright yellow along the other. “Ooooohh,” I exclaim and catch Tom’s eye, “Unobtainium.”

Yellowhammer is what we call them here in the south. The Yellow Shafted Flicker, a delicate little woodpecker who’s hammering used to echo off the hills of the Southern Appalachians. He’s almost completely silent now, shotgunned to the brink of extinction.  Just having those two little feathers now could land me in jail. The Yellowhammer is heavily protected, now that it’s pretty much too late.

Yellowhammer is what we call the fly too. The one that’s tied from those feathers. It’s a wild, buggy looking thing. You wouldn’t expect a trout to eat it, but they do, like there’s no tomorrow. It’s a pattern as old as the little abandoned country church I pass on the gravel mountain road that leads to the stream I don’t tell anyone about. It’s as old as the graves there in the church yard and just as forgotten, but I still fish it.

It’s the perfect fly to catch Southern Appalachian Brook Trout. The Brookie, or Speck as they used to call them, is our only native trout. Forced south from New England by the ice age long before there was an England, new or old. When the ice retreated, like lots of folks who visit the south, the brookies stayed. They evolved, adapted to their new home and, like the Scotts and Irishmen who came to these mountains, they ended up just a little different from their northern cousins.

They are as scarce as the yellowhammer now, but with none of the protection. The old folks tell stories about catching them sixteen inches long in the same streams where today an eight inch fish is something to brag about. Come to think of it, the old man who told me that story is gone now too.

Go to one of those fancy sushi places in town and have a look around the saltwater aquarium. You won’t find a fish that compares to them. Persimmon orange and hemlock green, the gold of autumn grain, blood red spots with halos as blue as October skies.  Black mouths and on every fin a crisp white edge from Gods own pallet knife. They are gem stones lost in the stream. They are swimming jewelry.

If you want to see them you have to go like a penitent, on hands and knees through briars and rhododendron. You have to clean spider webs from your ears and dirt from under your nails. You have to climb and hike and crawl to them. You have to climb the waterfalls that the rainbows and browns can’t pass. You have to hike farther than the bait fisherman will go, with their bread bags ready to stuff full of trout. You have to crawl through the thicket at the end of the trail. That’s where they live. That’s the only place left for them.

If you’re willing to make that trip, get that far from town, that far back up in the woods, that far from your TV, and your PC, and your SUV, that far into Appalachia, you might find them. While your there you might see a yellowhammer. You might see me too, and you might see Pete. At least, that’s where I find him.

The first few months of a dog’s life are a critical development period. It is imperative that ‘Pupster’ develops desired behavioral patterns through proper exposures and training in the early months in order to maximize his genetic ability. During the first six months the canine pupil is learning about the world and what works for him. An effective trainer will encourage and reinforce desired behaviors by implementing programs structured to guarantee that the dog learns easily and with an open mind.

The first twenty weeks of the dog’s mental development are referred to as the imprinting stage. This is an important period when the dog’s view of the world and behavioral patterns are shaped. During the imprinting stage the dog is associating cause and effect and learning what works for him. Throughout this imprinting stage consistent repetitions of desired behaviors followed by rewards the dog perceives as positive (cause and effect) are needed to cement the desired response to future commands when the dog is generalized. Generalization is the process where the dog learns he must respond to a known command in a timely fashion in similar circumstances and places, even with distractions.

The response to a known command in a timely fashion must be accompanied by a paycheck the dog perceives as meaningful. A $100 reward is much more likely to motivate the dog to repeat the behavior than a five cent reward so to speak. On the reverse, as the pup is so monumentally impressionable during the imprinting stage, a negative association with a specific circumstance or place may permanently scar the protégé. A puppy that is ill-prepared for the explosive flush of a cackling rooster or the sound of the shotgun’s report may have problems and end up blinking, or purposefully avoiding birds altogether. From twelve to twenty weeks is a great time to introduce the youngster to birds, guns, checkcords, the field, and water.

Before advancing to avoidance training and correcting the dog for non-compliance we first implement clicker training and positive rewards such as food treats to illicit the desired behaviors and show the pup which behaviors work for him. We want to reinforce the desired behavior and reward the dog for giving an effort. Once the dog understands the behavior that is desired of him we will ask for accountability when he does not respond in a timely fashion. We will raise the bar of accountability but do not want to overload the dog or have unrealistic expectations.

For more information on clicker training and the pup’s early development Filson Bloggers can check out George’s DVD Great Beginnings for the pointing or retrieving breeds found on his website www.georgehickox.com.

George Barnett’s Polaroid photographs recount tales as timeless and storied as the woods themselves.  At only 20 years old, the Kentucky native offers furtive glimpses of not only the mystery found in nature, but also the inherent maturity.  Over the last 6 years of captured memories, Filson has become George’s weathered travel partner; a central subject in his surreal work as well as his means of toting cameras and equipment.  Filson had a chance to interview this burgeoning artist about his passion for photography and adventure.

How would you describe your photography in 5 words or less?

Real, surreal, honest, existing, living.

What are your five must-have items in the wilderness?

My Filson Medium Field bag (has 2-3 cameras in it along with my film, water and some survival tools), my Winchester hunting knife, my brass wolf necklace, Filson Shelter Cloth Jacket (hood attached if raining), and a nice pair of reliable boots to walk around in.

When or where are you the happiest?

I’m naturally happiest around my son, wherever we could be.  But in terms of photography, it’s usually the wild.  I get so excited when I realize that where I’m at is untouched or long-touched.  I’m planning a trip to Alaska and I’m sure that will be the real answer to this question.

Who are your favorite photographers?

Ansel Adams, Rob Spicer, I appreciate so many different types of work. I love so many people’s work it’s hard to pick an actual favorite, but Ansel just had it figured out.  Almost to an eerie level.

If you could re-live the life of one other person, who would it be, and why?

A trapper from the earlier days, that way I could have taught myself all I needed to survive.  Maybe an oil man.

What attracted you to photography, and more specifically, Polaroid?

I got into photography around 2006.  My family and I went to my brother’s graduation from boot camp in North Carolina. On the way home I took a snapshot of the sun falling behind the wooded hills. When it developed I knew I felt something that I wanted to feel again. Polaroid came about after researching its history and simply falling in love with its characteristics and its flaws.

If you could travel to shoot photographs anywhere in the world, where would you go?

I’d love to go to Alaska, Montana, and Canada.  Take some new Filson products with me and capture myself and friends using them.

If you had one inanimate object that you could deem your “best friend,” what would it be?

The Original Polaroid SX-70 Land Camera, the camera I use most often.

How did you find Filson?

A friend of mine was wearing a Weekender Jacket and I was so impressed with its quality, checked out the site, and then placed an order. Then, I realized that Filson was the real deal.

What’s next for you George?

Traveling, publishing my work, enjoying the winter months, and playing with my son, Levi. Hopefully get some advertisement jobs to shoot.  Just enjoying life as much as I can, as well as documenting it. You only live one life, so, “You Might as Well Have the Best.”

While fly fishing on one of the West’s most famous steelhead streams, outdoor enthusiast Judith O’Keefe is reminded what makes this particular pastime so special.

Photos courtesy of Kelly James.

This past October, a group of eight anglers met at a cozy lodge in the Blue Mountains of Southeast Washington, just outside the tiny town of Anatone.  Besides wheat production, Anatone – named after a native Nez Perce woman – is not really on anybody’s radar screen, with one exception, those interested in fishing for steelhead. This town sits perched on the banks of one of the most famous steelhead streams in the Northwest, the Grande Ronde River.

This annual gathering meant that the usual cast of characters would come together with high hopes for a few excitement filled days of fly fishing for steelhead.   Those of you familiar with the sport know that one or two fish landed a day is considered good fishing.  Often, an angler can swing flies for days and never touch a fish.  There are many reasons that account for such fishless days.  It could be a lack of fish in the river, river conditions or simply operator error.  And then there’s the luck factor.  In my view, all fly fishing success is part skill and part luck.   With steelhead, you clearly want Lady Luck on your side.

I’ve put in my share of time on the water, and I know how it goes.  Identify the run – wade, cast, wade, cast, wade, cast, and if the fish are there and the fish gods are smiling, you might be in for one of the greatest experiences life has to offer, via a fly rod.  So with great expectations, the eight of us, divided into four drift boats, set out early each morning.  Our guides were exceptional, our equipment was top of line and our favorite flies were all neatly arranged in our boxes.   A couple of the anglers even had some exceptionally smooth single-malt in their flasks and suggested they would be willing to share when we all met together mid-afternoon.  Success guaranteed, right?   Now remember, we’re talking steelhead.  In three days, there was just one fish landed, and the credit goes to the most tenacious of the group, Harry.  It was a beautiful hen and boy was Harry proud, happy, and satisfied; as he had every right to be.   Harry had worked hard for that fish . . . wade, cast, wade, cast, wade, cast.

Now you’d think I would have driven away from that river feeling disappointed, even unlucky. On the contrary, this trip will go down as a favorite, and not because I caught or didn’t catch a fish.  On that beautiful fall day, as I drove along the back roads towards home I understood why this trip was so special.   Some anglers fish because they enjoy the solitude; me, I like the camaraderie and shared passion found in a group of friends “on a mission.”  Second, the scenery was extraordinary.  And last but not least, I knew once again, the joy and peace found in the simple act of immersing oneself in a river and casting a fly rod.

Perhaps if I’d caught a fish or two, my trip would have been over shadowed by the victory.   Bragging rights demand that the story must be relived – again, and again; the cast, the hook-up, the jump, that long downstream run and how in the end, I so skillfully landed that beauty.  Oh, and the “hero shot” to be emailed out to all those interested and some who are not.  Amazingly, I avoided all of that hullabaloo and as a result, gained a greater appreciation for nature and friendship.  And the burning question is: If given the chance, would I trade places with Harry?  I’ll let you ponder that one for yourself.