John E. Riutta was formerly head of binocular and spotting scope development for Leupold & Stevens, Inc. He now publishes The Well-read Naturalist, writes extensively for bird watching and other outdoor publications, and of course, travels in search of birds yet unseen.

Back in the days when a traveler might recount tales not only of adventures had at the journey’s destination but of the pleasures and enjoyments experienced during the voyage to and from there as well, upon meeting an experienced voyageur, one might notice their valise emblazoned with emblems from far-away cities, exotic hotels, and grand railroad or steamship lines. Both badges of experience as well as mementos of the traveler’s adventures, these decals became so popular and well recognized in their time that scarcely any Hollywood movie or magazine advertisement would dare to depict a travel scene without such a colorfully decorated case featured prominently in the picture.

While the days of such travel have long since passed, some practitioners, among whom I count myself, of another past-time with its roots in those same by-gone days still engage in a similar practice of bedecking a key piece of their essential gear with visual reminders of their adventures. I mean of course bird watchers and their iconic field vests. 

Adopted from field journalists – who it is said adopted them from the U.S. Army Rangers for whom they were originally designed during World War II – the backs of the multi-pocketed vests sported by bird watchers can often be read as a narrative history of their quests to see birds often rare and far afield.

For as long as I have counted myself among the binocular-toting tribe, I have hung about my increasingly stout frame one of these very vests. Originally a Filson photo-journalist’s vest (which I still proudly own) and later – as the need for additional pockets arose due to my travels taking me farther and farther afield, requiring the safe toting of airline tickets, language phrase books and a passport in addition to my usual field guides, notebooks, camera gear, and other equipment – Filson’s Travel Vest, the khaki-colored back of this ever-present and invaluable piece of my travel and field kit has over the years become a kaleidoscope of colors from all the badges affixed to it.

From the annual attendance patches of the Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival where I yearly worked to fill out my south Texas life list to an antique crest of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds given to me during my visit to the largest bird watching event in the world, the British Birdfair in Rutland Water, England, each of these emblems not only proclaims to others where I’ve been, they remind me of people, places, and of course, birds that have been a part of my life – or in some cases, that were not. For while I failed to get a glimpse of the Three-wattled Bellbird depicted on the Neotropical Bird Club crest proudly centered on the vest’s back, my trips to Canopy Tower in Panama have brought me sightings of other such remarkable birds as the Purple-throated Fruit Crow and the Bicolored Antbird.

So when you notice someone in an airport, train station, or hotel lobby sporting a well-worn vest with bulging pockets and a rainbow of emblems the predominant images upon which are birds, take a moment to stop and ponder all the places that person has been and all the remarkable things they’ve seen. As bird watchers tend to be a unusually friendly lot, feel free to give a gentle shoulder tap and inquire about one that particularly catches your eye; especially if the vest’s wearer is a portly bloke with reading glasses at the end of his nose and sporting a beard that is a bit more grey and longer than it probably should be. I’m always keen to recount my adventures with those I meet on my travels.

“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” - John Steinbeck

One day, while filming last years #DEERTOUR, I was interviewing Ryan Shoemaker, an extremely passionate bowhunter and writer from Bowhuntquest in Ohio. He was sharing his story with me of a solo Elk hunt he had just finished. 7 days and 10 miles into the backcountry of Southern Colorado, there he was, all alone. Just him and the solitude of mother nature.

He shared how thrilling yet scary it was to be there all alone. It was an experience unlike any other. Immediately I was fascinated by every detail he shared. It was like I was listening to someone read the words from a best selling novel. I couldn’t get enough.

He did not kill an elk on that hunt but it didn’t matter, the experience was more than worth the price of admission.

As we stood in his trophy room in the second floor of his home, he described many other hunts to me in similar detail. Another one that touched me was when he described the Bull he had hanging on the wall of his living room.

As he spoke from a memory that seemed like it occurred just the day before, his voice began to change pitch. His lips began to twitch. His eyes watered up. He painted this surreal picture of how he managed to shoot and kill his first bull elk and described how his great friend “Pup” was there with him, every step of the way as they packed out that bull miles from the nearest public land road.

At this point, I had turned the camera off for some things are not meant to be broadcast. I wanted to let Ryan get all his emotions out without having to worry about being recorded.

I’m glad I did because it was at that point, that I had told myself that if a strong man such as Ryan can endure so much physical and mental joy and pain, simultaneously, all from an elk hunt, that one day, I too must experience it.

Fast forward 7 or 8 months later and I see Ryan tweet that he’s been thinking about me filming him on an elk hunt. We DM (direct message) each other back and forth on Twitter and actually start planning to do a test run for what he coined as the #ELKTOUR. At the time, I did not know if I could pull off such a hunt, especially on camera. But I promised him that I’d keep it in mind as we drew closer to the season.

As a month or so went by, and I told Ryan that I’d be able to take off for 5 days and film the a test run of the #ELKTOUR. He was so stoked. We shared plans for what gear to bring, what the weather would be like, maps of the area and more. It was going to be great.

Then, a couple weeks later, Ryan informed me that the trip may have to be cancelled as he had just been hired for his dream job and had to move right before the season started. It was a bump in the road for the trip but a blessed moment for him as I assured him that family had to come first. He had to do what was best for them.

We were both saddened that our journey for this year was no more. Perhaps next year would bear better fruit for us.

After thinking about it a bit, I decided I had to push on and make the #ELKTOUR happen. Somehow I would find a way.

After regrouping and gathering my bearings, I reached out to a few locals and friends on Twitter. Some could not make it due to schedule conflicts but after many emails and DM’s on Twitter I had the makings of what would become an amazing lineup of hunters for season 1 of #ELKTOUR.

All of the folks that I’ll be filming are people I met online, yeah I know, a common theme for me and Huntography. These are great people who are passionate about hunting and the outdoors.

#ELKTOUR is going to be a family affair. Emily and Troy are an amazing husband and wife couple who share their passion for the outdoors, together, season after season. I have followed them online for a couple of years but only got close to them while planning to film them. I can’t wait to capture their experience on camera for all to enjoy.

Next, I’ll be filming two passionate brothers from the western slope of Colorado, Eric and Nathan. Eric is the founder of DIYbowhunter.com, an amazing group of Do-It-Yourself hunters from around the country. Eric tells me he and his brother have been teaming up on hunts since he could remember. I can’t wait to film them not only in the field, but also in our elk camp, where I look forward to diving deeper into the brotherly hunting bond.

The final stop of the #ELKTOUR with bring me to Idaho, where I’ll be filming Dustin and his brother Kevin along with their father and other family members in a backcountry elk hunt , miles from the nearest road. Capturing the dynamic of an entire family of elk hunters around one campfire will surely deliver many tales from years past.

Together, with Ryan’s inspiration and a family of elk hunters we now call #ELKTOUR, we hope to capture an elk hunting experience  on camera unlike any other before us.

The fruits of our labor , in the form of a DVD, will be submitted to the Full Draw Film Tour, a non-profit organization that supports hunting charities, while promoting bowhunting and up and coming outdoor filmmakers. We hope our submission makes the cut so that hunters like you and me, can enjoy other hunters and hunting experiences we can all relate to.

I hope this trip takes each of us on a journey that we will all treasure forever.

For more information, visit us on Huntography.

Dennis Lynch has been around the outdoors his entire life and understands what a “good time” entails. But in this addition to Filson Life, Dennis explains why starting an urban chicken coop isn’t always a “good time” but fruitful in the end.

Our family voted “not unanimously” to look into getting some chickens for home egg production and/or entertainment.  We soon learned there is an entire subculture of urban chickenites throughout the country.  There are numerous websites giving you ideas on what kind of chickens to get. There are both physical and psychological descriptions of these yardbirds.  What color of egg, the size of the bird and the eggs, (I can’t remember which came first,) their adaptability to the urban environment, are they loud ‘cluckers’ or more demure.  Everything or every characteristic you wanted to know about, and some you didn’t,  is easily available with a few clicks of the mouse.  Not only about the chickens themselves, but websites on the housing and accommodations that are available.

When construction started on the coop, it began to take on the appearance of some cross between Noah’s ark and a Louisiana  duck blind. I said, mostly to myself, that this stunt would have the neighbors, who were driving by very slowly looking in disbelief, finally convinced that our family was truly cracked, no pun intended.  Hank, the dissenting son, assured me that that decision had been reached long ago, i.e.:  out of control bonfires, pig roasts, and the fried turkey fiasco at the block party that proved that peanut oil will, in fact, ignite.

I tried to use all my purported dog training skills on these birds, but short of installing a buried electric fence and fitting all the ‘girls’ with shock collars, all efforts to keep the chickens contained, failed. They dug holes, which we refilled, they flew, and wings were clipped, they were enticed with gourmet bird seed, but they preferred the neighbors’s cat food, and they were discouraged with soft air gun pellets, but nothing worked.  The neighbors were plied with fresh eggs to try to buy their silence, but soon the ranks were broken.  We were busted by the “cat people” next door.  The zoning regulation officer paid us a visit.  We were cited for having more than 12 birds, and not having them completely and always maintained in an enclosure. The chicken police had come due to continued complaints from one neighbor.  Violations cited were cat food pilfering, bird feeders being raided, and most damning, the “soiling” of their driveway and Martha Stewart patio furniture.  Seems that chicken droppings clash with this spring’s Enchantment fabric.

With John Law on our tail, and a rainy forecast for the weekend, Filson came into play.  Filson rain gear came out along with upland waterproof Filson boots, Filson leather gloves were used to string wire and plug holes in the perimeter fence.  Another item that came in handy was the foul weather duck hunting hat.  Pun intended.  Neither rain nor mud kept us from answering every 911 call that was received about our girls.  The hardest part was getting the escapees back into the yard.  Any Heisman Trophy candidate would be well advised to study the moves of the chicken on the run, and any defensive back would sharpen his skills trying to tackle one of these three pound speed burners.  As of this writing, the defense of the perimeter has been successful for eleven days running. Our orchard side yard now resembles Attica, and we figure each dozen eggs only cost $50.  The Filson gear, as usual, is ready for any breach of security from out feathered warriors.

Kevin McDonnell is the President, Whid Isle Brittany Club, WA and is no stranger to hunting with dogs. This time he shares his insight on The Whid Isle Brittany Club AKC Hunt Test 7/21/12 and 7/22/12 and everything that it involves.

This July, the Whid Isle Brittany Club held its 3rd annual Hunt Test in Fall City, a farming town just 40 minutes outside of Seattle, Washington.  Thanks to Jim Cochran of JC Sporting Dogs, we were able to secure the private grounds at Carlson Canine Country Club; a beautiful 265 acre property surrounded by the Snoqualmie River   www.jcsportingdogs.com

At Saturday’s event we reached a high temperature of 78 degrees and a high of 69 degrees on Sunday.  We could not have asked for better Hunt-Test-Weather! We even have picture proof that it doesn’t always rain in Seattle.

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

And while we’re showing off, let’s talk about the variety of pointers we had participating including: Brittanys, German Shorthaired Pointers, Vizslas, Irish Setters, Griffons, Weimaraners, German Wirehair Pointers, English Setters and Spinones.

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

We even had one participant; Arwen Daab, who drove 13 hours from Alberta, Canada to participate in this year’s Hunt Test.

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Keeping things exciting this year, we also switched things up this year and decided to run two separate courses: one course just for the Junior Hunter Dogs and the other for Senior and Master Hunter dogs.  Knowing a long day in the saddle can be brutal on anyone, we ran two pairs of judges to keep everyone fresh.

For Saturday’s event, we had eight braces of Junior Pointing Dogs, six braces of Senior Dogs and six braces of Master Dogs. With local Starbucks coffee in the morning and a quick BBQ sandwich for lunch, everyone was kept happy, full and caffeinated.  We were also fortunate enough to have a published freelance photographer, Rob Johnston on hand Saturday.  He took some amazing photographs of our four legged friends on point with his high-powered lens.  We finished the day just around 3pm with plenty of sunlight to spare and time to rest up for the next day of events.

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Sunday greeted us with cooler conditions.  We had another full-scheduled day with seven Master braces, five Senior braces and eight Junior braces. Sunday’s event ended just around 4 pm with many happy handlers and dogs.

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Rob A. Johnston/ Walkabout Wolf Photography

Our judges were thrilled to receive the gifted Filson merchandise and we would like to give a special thanks and shout out to Filson for their generous support.

Gary Lewis is the host of Adventure Journal and author of John Nosler – Going Ballistic, Black Bear Hunting, Hunting Oregon and other titles. This time he shares his insight on traveling to Yakutat, Alaska, for prehistoric pike.

The last time I was here it was with no gun, no GPS, no map and no DEET. Last year’s poor planning resulted in a three-hour slog through devil’s club, muskeg and black water.

This time I carried heat in an Alaska Sportsman holster and an aerial photo. Dad had his GPS unit. Photographer Sam Pyke was our witness should a bear eat us or a troop of prehistoric mosquitoes take us hostage.

Two brown bears had crossed the road on the way here. Now we were in their backyard.

Unchanged in 8,000 years, this valley, surrounded by humped-up mountains, bordered by trackless forest, was a geologic refugia. When glaciers covered the land, it remained free of ice, and a chain of still waters was preserved that holds pike biologically distinct in North America.

A trail led into the ooze through tall grass and hip-deep channels. We aimed toward a stand of trees north by northeast, then crossed a patch of skunk cabbage, over a bear trail and through a creek. Soon, a meadow was visible beyond the trees and then dark water with the mountain behind it.

Nothing moved on the surface. Lily pads ringed the lake and the banks were carpeted in moss and waist high grass. Our rods were rigged with floating lines, steel leaders and streamers. I pointed dad toward a channel that emptied into the lake with a patch of open water where no lily pads grew.

On the third cast, a fish boiled. After more than two dozen casts, dad connected. By the time I reached him, he had a pike to hand, a fish that measured 30 inches and sported the grizzly hackled streamer that had teased him out of the lilies.

Dad worked the streamer side-to-side to make the fly behave like a wayward frog. His next fish was a two-footer with razor teeth.

I cast my streamer into voids in the lilies and teased it from pad to pad. A pike streaked out and missed the fly. Moments later, another charged, its mouth gaping at the surface. I missed, but the electric current that passed between us almost stopped my heart.

On the downwind side, Dad cast a Gibbs spoon with a lazy zigzag retrieve and caught two more. I missed another. Dad handed me the spinning rod.

Concerned now, I waded in and fan-cast out from the weeds. I hooked and lost one. Down to last cast time. Twenty more ‘last casts’, the spoon stopped, the line knifed through the water, a wedge of tail broke the surface.

Through the maze of lily pads, I brought the beast to hand and admired my first pike, my quest fulfilled.

Note: Anytime you’re fishing in bear country, bring a survival kit to include the following.

1. A map

2. A compass

3. Waterproof matches or a lighter

4. Extra clothes or a space blanket

5. A knife

6. Mosquito repellent

7. A little food and water

8. A first aid kit

9. A shotgun, a revolver or bear spray

10. A flashlight with extra batteries

Kate Fiduccia treats us to an amazing recipe from her hunting trip in South African. Enjoy!

Our family enjoyed this tasty dish during our first trip to South Africa during the summer of 2008. Our gracious hosts, Amanda & Willem Basson, treated us to a variety of traditional South African wild game meals throughout our ten-day stay. Some of the delicious evening meals included barbecued warthog, kudu, impala, and nyala. The traditional name for this dish is “Bobotie.” After we enjoyed this for dinner one evening, I knew that I could adapt this recipe for venison here in the states. Since then, I have prepared this many times. If you want, you can even substitute beef for the ground venison.

South African Venison Meat Pie

Serves: 4   •  Prep Time: 10 minutes   •   Cooking Time: 25 minutes

• 1 lb. venison, ground
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons curry powder
• 3 tablespoons fruit chutney
• 1⁄4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 2 onions, chopped fine
• 2 slices white bread, grated with box grater
• 3 eggs (use 1 then 2 later)
• 2 tablespoons apricot jam
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 2 tablespoons vinegar
• 2 cups of milk

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

In a medium saute pan over medium heat, brown the venison and one chopped onion until cooked through. Remove from heat and let cool.

In a large bowl, mix together the remaining chopped onion, salt, curry, chutney, garlic powder, egg, bread, apricot jam, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar and the cooled venison/onion mixture.

Place the mixture into a glass baking dish. In a small bowl, beat the remaining 2 eggs and 2 cups of milk. Pour the milk mixture over the meat mixture. Bake in oven for 25 minutes. Serve with yellow saffron rice or plain white rice.

Adapted from a traditional South African recipe supplied to me from Amanda Basson, Owner-Operator, Zeekoepan River Lodge, Kwaa-Zulu Natal, South Africa

Kate Fiduccia

Kate is the co-host of the Woods N’ Water television series. This family-based hunting and fishing program was founded by her husband, Peter, in 1984. Now airing for its 30^th season, the Woods n’ Water TV Series can be seen on FOX Sports Net every Saturday morning at 6:30 am starting September 29^th.

Kate has also authored several wild game cookbooks including “The Venison Cookbook: Venison Dishes from Fast to Fancy,” “Cooking Wild in Kate’s Kitchen,” “Cooking Wild in Kate’s Camp,” “Grillin & Chili’n’” and “Backyard Grilling.”  For more information on the television series and Kate’s cookbooks, visit www.woodsnwater.tv.

Zeekoepan Outfitters

“Why did we wait so long?” asked my husband Peter. After a few days of hunting plains game in South Africa with our gracious hosts, Peter was dumb-founded as to why he had waited until “now” to finally hunt in South Africa. I, too, wondered why. It is quite an experience to head out every morning and not know what animals you will see, but also know that you will see at least a hundred or two, if not more, during the day. We took 12-days for this trip. If you should ever travel on a safari, I highly recommend this length of time. You need the time to adjust to your surroundings with all the wildlife and all the different species. In our party of four hunters, we bagged Nyala, Kudu, Blesbuck, Wildebeest, Impala, and Warthog. Other plentiful game animals included rhinoceros, elephant, cape buffalo, leopard, ostrich, lion, giraffe, and reed buck.

If you are looking for a wonderful and affordable safari, please visit Amanda and Willem’s web site or contact them via e-mail. You’ll be glad you did.

zeekupan@lantic.net   •   www.hunting-safaris-africa.com

Jay of Red Clay Soul, appreciates good style, good food, good music, good places, and good people . Whether he’s out in the field with one of his buddies learning the ways of the shotgun or trekking through the big city, he always has his Filson gearwith him.

Most of the stories and photos involving Filson are in some remote corner of the country, on a worksite, or on some hunting or fishing expedition.  There are some of us (me included) that come from this background, but now reside inside the city.  While it is an adjustment for someone with country roots, it’s a lifestyle that I’ve grown accustomed to.  I like the term ‘concrete jungle’, as it does accurately describe the world around me.  That said, you have to prepare accordingly.

I deal with rough edges all the time.  My day starts with a cup of coffee and taking Haley, my trusted yellow lab, for a walk.  And by ‘walk’, I mean the walk.  We go find patches of grass or pine straw between buildings for her to do her business.  It isn’t as easy as opening the back door and letting her run.  No retractable leash either – I can’t have her being too ‘friendly’.

For work, it’s either the train or driving to the office, both of which take their toll.  Since it is a bit of a hike, I usually carry quite a bit with me – not just a laptop.  Pens, notepads, an iPad, power cords, folders, and my book make up the normal day-to-day contents, but I still need room for sunglasses, a couple power bars, and any other odds and ends.  And it all needs to be protected.  The idea of carrying all of this in some sort of ‘technical’ bag just doesn’t make any sense.

On the weekends, it’s enjoying the pool or heading out of town.  Since getting to the pool isn’t as easy as stepping outside a screened in porch, I have to remember all the necessities, so I need something to carry the load.  I used to scoff at tote bags.  Now I relish in them.  They are some of the most functional pieces in my arsenal.  Trip packing has become an art as well.  There is a difference in ‘want’ vs. ‘need’ for a weekend trip.  If you need more than a medium duffle for two nights, you have packed way too much.

I do get some looks when toting my Filson stuff.  Some are curious – the bags aren’t ‘sleek’ or ‘trendy’, but I pay them no mind.  They’ll come around.  The other looks are usually nods of approval – those folks know what’s going on.  I see Filson in some of the biggest cities in the world, and they all have that downtown patina that Filson owners strive for.

One of the values instilled in me from a very early age was that of ‘value proposition’.  I was taught that when you need to buy something, buy the best once, get it repaired when it breaks, and take care of it while you own it.  More than likely it will outlast you.  I didn’t grow up with the ‘disposable’ mentality when it came to any sort of equipment.  I’d like to think this is the ‘country boy’ in me, and it’s always better to be a country boy in the city rather than a city boy in the country.

Judith O’Keefe is ready for summer fishing! But with any fishing or planned trip, there always seems to be a few surprises that you don’t expect.  After reading this, you’ll appreciate any of your future fishing trips that go smoothly.

Some days are just like that, and when it’s all said and done, you just have to laugh.

It was my birthday week.  I’m big on traditions and one of my favorites is fishing the salmonfly hatch at South Junction on the Lower Deschutes River.

As usual, I was running a little late, but hey – it’s fishing, not a dental appointment.  After driving an hour north, then down a gravel road that redefines the term washboard, through two locked gates, I’m finally there.  It’s a beautiful, sunny afternoon and the air is filled with flying insects.  Perfect.  I pull on my waders, lace up the boots and am ready to rig up my rod.  No rod.  Unbelievable.  I was so concerned that I had 4x tippet that I overlooked the fly rod. Well I was not going to limp home, so I called my friend John, who owns a fly shop in the nearby town of Maupin.  He agrees to loan me a rod.  Great. Up the gravel road, then another hour north, but it’s still early, at least by summertime standards.  I determine I can be back on the river by three o’clock and ready to go.

As the river comes into view, I can see at least one angler fishing “my” run.  As it turns out, there are two of them, Dan and John.  During our brief exchange of niceties, I mention this is my annual birthday fish and they graciously agree to finish up and go fish other water.  Very generous, indeed, and I’m appreciative, but being a strong believer in streamside etiquette myself, I offer to hike down river quite a ways so they won’t feel rushed.

It’s worth mentioning that while we’re standing streamside in knee high grass, Dan breaks into a little dance as a rattlesnake with girth the size of my wrist slithers through his legs.  Fortunately, I like snakes, but this one has definitely encroached on my personal space.  Or perhaps we have encroached on his.

Thinking that the day has already been an adventure, I’m full of happy anticipation as I stride along the path toward the place where I will skitter down the bank and start fishing.  I have seldom fished this far down river and I’d forgotten how swift the current is here.  No matter, I’ll stay close to the bank anyway, and cast that big, beautiful imitation of a salmon fly under trees and along the bank where the tall grass overhangs.  On my second or third cast I hook a big rainbow trout.  You know the feeling; this monster of a fish rolls on the surface as it grabs your fly.  Bam! I set the hook and we’re off to the races.  This fish knows just what he’s doing as he hits that swift current and heads downstream.  Twenty seconds later and I’m already into my backing, but I can do this.  I’ve heard many a tale of fisherman who’ve hooked big salmon in Alaska and chased them down river for miles.  The first thing I need to do is to thread my rod under a tree branch that has fallen in the river.  It requires a nimble move or two and, in the process, I get some water down my waders and my right sleeve is soaked up to the shoulder.  Now a bit of water is not going to deter me, but I start to have second thoughts about this pursuit as I consider that on a good day, the Deschutes River is a challenging wade, but with fast moving water, downed tree limbs, and steep banks, it’s going to be virtually impossible for me to get to that fish. . . and he’s not budging.   I picture him with his fins wrapped around a submerged rock.  I try reeling ever so slowly, ever so gently.  Maybe I can wear him down.  Nope.  I feel the gentle release as that 4x tippet gives way and he’s free.

Oh well, there’ll be more fish.  I fish a run, scramble up the bank and down again, fish another run.  In the next thirty minutes, three more fish approve of my fly and I miss them all.  I’m out of sync and just to confirm that fact, I step into a hole and I’m neck deep in the Deschutes.  Cold and soaking wet, I’m ready to call it quits.   As I drudge back to the truck, I just miss putting my foot down on another rattler.  I’m ready for a cold beer and a hot bath.

If fishing were just about catching fish, this day would have been a disaster.  But it’s not just about catching fish. It’s about a lot of things.  Enjoying the outdoors, good times with friends and it’s also about the big picture and one’s perspective.   A disaster? A fiasco? No way, just another opportunity to enjoy the ride.

Dennis Lynch has been around the outdoors his entire life and understands what a “good time” entails. That’s why in this addition to Filson Life, Dennis explains his experience of training ‘man’s bestfriend’.

Our new retriever was doing great with her backyard, amateur, redneck training program. She was adept at retrieving our Filson bumpers-not always delivering “to hand” and might include a jump into the swimming pool, do a couple of laps and then chill out on the float. She had no problem doing “blind retrieves” on the morning paper-even returning with two sometimes. This necessitated neighborhood canvassing to see who was missing their paper.

Finding lost shoes and shagging golf balls proved to be routine . Decked out in her Filson collar and sometimes sporting her genuine Bridle leather dog leash, we figured we were styling and had a gold plated Gun Dog.

But then we started watching the dog training shows on the Outdoor Channel. We soon discovered we might not own the smartest, best trained dog in the world. We decided to go ahead and sign up for a two-day seminar in balmy Mississippi in mid-July, just to put the finishing touches on our pup.

We arrived at camp after a 10 hour drive with all our Filson gear to show off —bumpers, tin cloth water bowl, leash, car dog bed etc. We figured we would go all the way, not knowing what terrain we might encounter-briar busting tin cloth shirt and pants. Three steps out of the car I knew I had great gear for winter blasts of Arctic wind on the plains hunting ring-necks or waterfowl but was severely “over dressed” for Mississippi in July.

I fully expecting to bask in the glow of admiring stares for not only our dog but our rugged Filson togs–wrong! what we saw was everyone with a real “perfect” dog (retail purchase price probably averaged $5K!) and all perfectly turned out in “the right Filson gear”- Feather cloth not Tin was the uniform of the day-really good for Dog School in July.

We were beginning to feel like the illegitimate son at the family reunion by the time the seminar started. The drill instructor – or teacher- was decked out in military pressed feather weight shirt and Filson fishing shorts with moisture wicking sox and boots.
we knew he had a disapproving glare hidden behind those reflector aviator sun glasses.

The orientation speech let us know that dogs are not to be spoiled, let in the house or for Heavens sake introduced to water in a SWIMMING POOL! ( thank goodness there was no mention of getting on the bed.) They were to be kenneled when not training or hunting made to understand that they were hunting dogs, if one wanted a pet get a gerbil or Pekingese !!..and before we start the course, those of you who are not dressed properly can stop in our gift shop and get suited up correctly.

We had done everything wrong.

By the end of day one we were on the brink of flunking out!! We were fatigued and sweating in our cold weather gear. Our pup acted like she had never carried anything in her mouth before and showed a distinct fear of water! She had never been ³barked² at before and was shocked at being treated like a dog.

Under cover of darkness, we blew off the evening ³social² and forfeited our day two fees and headed back to Kentucky.

Our trip, however, turned out to be deceptively beneficial. We learned to always dress for the occasion, lightweight in the summer, heavyweight in the winter. We also learned to trust our instincts when training your dog: Teach her to do what you need her to do in the field, and have her enjoy herself. And it’s always cool to have the Filson accessories for your dog.

If you look cool and functional people think you know what you¹re doing, as long as you don¹t enroll in dog school.

Our pup has proven to serve all our needs in the dove, upland game, and waterfowl areas, and has proved herself a loving pet at home. She still gets the paper in the morning, swims in the pool, shags golf balls and the occasional stick, and (yikes!) gets on the bed.

Rhon Bell of Backwoods Plaid, shares the feelings and stories that accompany a camping trip in New England.

The first warm weekend of each year means a special camping trip. Instead of planning an extravagant hiking or fishing trip – we simply choose a new, but beautifully scenic location and pack accordingly. These first adventures serve as a way to reconnect with the wilderness and familiarize ourselves with new outdoor gear purchased over a long and cold Maine winter. I like to call this a time to become “re-grounded in how life is meant to be”. Chopping wood, cooking three meals a day over an open flame, and listening to the rustling overhead as wind blows through the trees is serene.

Rifling through a New England atlas, we find a promising location along New Hampshire’s Swift River to make camp. Offering both mountainous views and, as the name would suggest, a wild river by which we’d make our weekend home. Located in the heart of the White Mountain range, our tent would be wedged between forty-eight 4,000 ft. mountains.

GPS coordinates lead us to a spot with just enough grass to park alongside a narrow country road. Tossing packs over our shoulders, we follow a compass into the woods and listen for the sounds of rushing water. The afternoon is young and within an hour the tent is setup. A stack of firewood begins to grow next to a circle of stacked rocks still caked with spring dirt and mud. This ring will serve perfectly for this weekend’s fires.

Afternoons are well-spent in a hammock re-reading several books by Henry David Thoreau snatched from the bookshelf on the way out the door. Warm rays of sunshine gleam through the forest ceiling. The sun, combined with a chorus of songbirds, soon finds the book resting softly on my chest and my eyelids closed tightly. True relaxation has set in and is hopefully placing a precedent for the remainder of this year’s camping trips.

Bacon and egg breakfasts, lunches of dutch oven pizza, and dinner-time stews adequately fill the void left in our stomachs from hours of exploring the lay of the land, chatting fireside and splitting wood. Entertainment is found in card games as well as a Frisbee we packed. No matter how you choose to spend your time in the woods – enjoy it and relax; these memories will stick with you for a lifetime.

As we exit the woods and begin the drive back home I mull over how my new axe proved to be as sharp as it is American made, my new Filson Antique Tin Cloth Pants were as reliable, comfortable, and tough as any other garment in my closet, and how the Swift River was as refreshing to quench our thirst as it was to wash our faces in the early morning. I can’t wait for next weekend…