In a society where many people are far removed from the processes put in to food preparation, professional butchers like Zeph have taken the age-old craft in to their own hands.  The 31 year-old Portland, Oregon resident has spent the last 6 years developing and espousing an unique approach to butchery focusing on positive stewardship for both animal and environment.  If you’re lucky enough to procure meat from Zeph, you can literally have a hand in the preparation yourself.  Find out what else separates the Proletariat Butcher from the rest of the pack below.

What attracted you to working as a butcher?
It was a very pragmatic implementation of larger more abstract philosophical, theological and environmental convictions. I wanted to have a pursuit that integrated my life in a very full sense. I get to provide people with the highest quality meat at a very affordable price.  It’s also very hands on.  I need to be active in what I do and this most certainly accomplishes that desire [Laughs].

Where did you learn this trade?
I learned to butcher at Seabreeze Farm off the coast of Vashon Island.  At this farm, the animals were raised, slaughtered, butchered and cured all on site. So, from the seed that grew the pasture to the sausage finally offered, we were involved.  I’ve been interested in meat for 6 years, and seriously pursuing butchery for 3.

Can you describe your distinct approach to butchery?
At Proletariat, we strive to create a close looped cycle where everything from the ground in which the animals forage to the meat you eat are well taken care of through responsible stewardship. We up-cycle our edible scraps to pigs in order to create something useful, and the hides are tanned and then made available for our customers to take home. We sell animals by the quarters, and this has a few main purposes:  first off, none of the animal goes to waste because you purchase the whole quarter, not just particular cuts. It also affords the best price for the consumer. You receive a Frenched rack of lamb for the same price you buy seemingly less desirable cuts like lamb shank, ground lamb or bones. We want you to see every cut as equally healthy and delicious. In short, we take meat from an abstract commodity in a typical retail setting to what it actually is: an animal, in which we strive to honor and be a good steward of.

Where do you source your animals?
The animals are sourced from local, family farms that practice good animal husbandry. We rely on our personal relationship with the farmer instead of external rules to discern whether the animals are being raised in an efficacious fashion that focuses on good pasture management.  We prefer the term “pasture raised” instead of “grass fed” as the latter is not a very accurate portrayal of a farmer’s reality in animal husbandry.

What are a few things that you think people misunderstand about butchery?
There isn’t too much of a misunderstanding, rather than a total lack of understanding and awareness for the craft. In many ways, it’s easier that people don’t have many preconceived notions about butchery so we can help people understand the craft from the ground up. Still, people are always surprised that we cut by hand and use old carbon steel knives.  Many of our clients are also surprised at the variety of cuts they get from us. There is more to a cow than New York steaks, rib eye, and ground beef. Also, people are always baffled by Old World preservation methods.  When we salt bacon, pancetta, or hams for customers and encourage them to hang them in the pantry we receive a lot of blank stares.

What makes your company different than others?
There is little about this company that is similar to any other butcher shop. We are taking what we like about butchery and reinventing the rest. Everything is handcrafted, no accelerating the process via machinery, artificial climates, or chemicals. It’s very basic and beautiful. We harbor an intentional pre-industrial, agrarian posture toward meat consumption.  Our sales structure is very different from a typical retail setting, rib eye is the same price as ground beef.  We also strive to involve our clients by letting them be involved in the butchery if they would like to. We want to integrate our customers further into the experience and ingrain responsibility for good consumption.

What’s your favorite meat or meal?
My favorite hunk of meat would be the “butcher’s cuts.”  I take the seemingly less desirable cuts and turn them into delicious meals. It is encouraging, as it shows us that you don’t need a NY steak to be satiated.  You simply need quality meat, good cooking methods, and an open mind to provide for you and yours.

Alex is a filmmaker based in Southern California. He recently produced the documentary Low & Clear which was hailed by Field & Stream as “The best fly-fishing movie ever.” The film is available on DVD and will be released on VOD and iTunes in June.

The point of gear is not gear. Sure, a finely made rod or pair of boots has its own allure as simply an object – the craftsmanship behind the stitching, the sense that all these years of human experience and knowledge have gone into one pair of boots to keep you dry – that’s all enticing. But on the slow days when I’ve found myself in my home office standing in my waders at 2PM on a Thursday locked into some extended steelhead daydream, even then, I’m not thinking about the gear, I’m thinking about an experience.

And ultimately this is what being well-outfitted is all about. You buy quality gear not to marvel and obsess over it but with the hope that once you’re on the river and focused it’ll be the last thing on your mind. Anyone who’s ever had painfully cold feet stuck in bad boots knows what I mean. The quiet of a big river and the long gaps in thinking that fishing provides get scrambled when you’re freezing and there’s an ache in every step.

About a month ago my Dad’s mother passed away. It was a long time in coming but that didn’t make it any easier. After we got the news we did the next logical thing – booked a steelhead fishing trip. We’ve been fishing with Gino Bernero of Confluence Outfitters for over a decade and at this point the relationship has mutated to where he’s less of a guide and more part-shaman, part long-lost uncle. He put us on the Applegate River last month in the hope that we’d land some steelhead before the season closed and they’re left to go about spawning and surviving.

Southern Oregon was unusually cold. Twenty-eight degrees in the morning and the water hovered around forty-two. I layered synthetics and down and topped it off with the Pro Guide Wading Jacket. It has weight that immediately locked in some body heat, and the exterior has a toughness to it as if the folks at Filson had set about to make synthetic Tin Cloth. This was an element of the jacket that I appreciated during a push through a bramble-thick river bank. Without the fabric, my down sweater would’ve been torn to pieces and I’d have some serious scratches on my neck.

As the day went on the jacket did what all great pieces of gear should do – it disappeared. There’s a big range of motion with it so I didn’t notice it during spey casts. The sleeves locked out any water that could have trickled in, and the only comment on the look and fit was from Gino who said two words when I put it on: “Style points.”

On our second day out we stopped at a gentle turn in the river where a heavy hole created a prime space for fish. I was nymphing with a pattern to match the March browns we’d seen rising earlier. Three casts in and all of a sudden it felt like there was a cinder block at the end of my line. This was a big fish in deep water and I was using an eight-weight single-handed rod so the fight couldn’t be too aggressive. We parried and played until she gave herself up, a 28inch 9lb hen still yet to spawn. After 110 miles of freshwater swimming her look was firmly on the trout-side of the spectrum and beautifully so.

This moment: the fish in my hand, my dad smiling and Gino laughing was what we came out here for. The rods, the reels, the flies, the boat, the waders and the jacket was all for this; so that despite whatever may be going on back at home we could spend a little bit of time unencumbered.

The jacket continued to perform well and it still does. It’s seven in the morning on a Friday, I’m dreaming of steelhead and leaving for work in an hour and I’m sitting at my kitchen table, wearing it.

This Saturday marks Fishing’s Opening Day in Vermont. As the day of reckoning for countless unsuspecting trout draws near, New York City writer, editor and veteran angler David Coggins weighs in on a day he’s had marked on his calendar since fishing season ended last October.

Serious anglers are known for a sense of imagination that borders on exaggeration, and, just as often, for salty personalities. But in fact, they’re improbable optimists. At the root of every cast is an act of possibility, one more chance, as the late great Robert Hughes wrote “for a jerk on one end to feel a jerk on the other.” As opening day arrives, that time is at hand.

That in April many rivers aren’t at ideal water levels just underscores the fact that it’s a time when it really is about “being out there” (a phrase usually trotted out when leaving the river empty-handed).

Like another rite of spring, the beginning of the baseball season, the angler is overwhelmed with what the season might bring, the fishing equivalent of your team winning the World Series.

You get your waders out of storage, you might put on your lucky shirt, you fit together your rod with care and a sense of occasion. Out on the river there may not be a hatch, but those who loathe nymphing (you know who you are) may even toss in a bead-head Prince nymph without complaint. It’s a day for open-mindedness, for the slow pace, for the long view.

That time you tipped over the canoe? Let’s not think about that. What about when you lost a big, really a mammoth, brown trout on the Madison? Again, not the time to dwell.The pursuit of fish humbles us all. So on this fine day, disregard the frigid water, enter the river and cast your line. After all, anything’s possible.

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 work as well as his means of toting cameras and equipment.  Follow George on a trip through Antigua, Guatemala.

“The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure.” - Chris McCandless

Traveling is a very important thing in my life, and is essential to my photography. Documenting places I go and people I meet all go hand in hand with my vision. This adventure was a week long visit to Guatemala, a beautiful place with so much to see.  Whether it’s the active volcanoes puffing out ash or the local women making textile blankets. Everywhere you look, there’s something unique happening.

I usually left the house with the Filson small field bag with one camera, one pack of film, a wad of cash and my passport, hoping to find something special to capture. The landscapes were surreal and endless, the lakes were wide and blue, and the volcanoes scraped the skies.

As I began to take these pictures and stuff them in my bag, I realized how amazing this place was and how blessed I was to be there and exist in that moment. Every day when I arrived home, I’d spread the photos from that day out on my table and would instantly reminisce on the memories made that day. So many great humbling things happened that week in Guatemala. Realizing that some people — including myself — take so much for granted, if we don’t have an internet connection or a new pair of shoes we act like our lives are ending. Yet I see these families, these young kids who had close to nothing and they all shared one of the most hospitable personalities and huge smiles. It was refreshing to experience this.

On the last day of the trip was the much anticipated hike up on the Pacaya Volcano. It’s a six mile round trip consisting of very steep terrain left by dried lava rock and piles of ash. The walk was a bit of a challenge and it felt at times as if we were walking on a different planet. Eventually, we made it up to our destination which was in itself an unbelievable sight, 2,500 feet above sea level. The overload of sight and sound from the volcano sent chills down my arms. The trip was ending, time to pack up the duffle with handmade blankets and some of the freshest coffee in the world, and head home.  The trip was an eye opener, and I gained an incredible appreciation for the people and places of Guatemala.  I was honored to capture it with my camera.

Where will my bag of cameras take me next?

Words and photos by Judith O’Keefe

The weather was dreary, a typical March day on the North Umpqua River.  A friend and I made the five hour drive over the mountains to meet up with John, a well known author, fly tier, longtime friend and — most importantly — frequent visitor to this legendary and challenging river.

John was a gracious host that morning, leading us to some of the easier runs, offering tips and allowing us to fish the run ahead of him.   We saw one fish roll late morning, but no one hooked up. The climate on the west side of the mountains is known to be wet, but by noon it had begun to rain in earnest, so we decided to take a break and pay a visit to John’s good friends, Frank and Jeanne Moore.

I’d met Frank and Jeanne in 2002 at a sport show and, at that time, Frank had extended an invitation to visit their home and fish with him on the Umpqua.  I was flattered by the invitation and eager to spend some time with these two, but had never found the time to make the drive over.  I didn’t know much about Frank back then, other than he was known as a “living legend.”  That title is thrown around loosely these days, but I was to learn that Frank Moore had earned it through his skill as a fly fisher, his willingness to mentor others and his successful and ongoing conservation efforts.

The Moores’ log home sat perched on a ridge above the river.  When we arrived, Frank was outside chatting with friends who were fishing a forest pond in front of the house.  The six of us stood around for 10 minutes talking about fish and fishing and the rising river.  Apparently, those west side folks are used to getting wet and didn’t seem to notice the rain.  Frank asked if we’d eaten lunch and when we said we had not, he invited us in to sample Jeanne’s grilled cheese sandwiches. Besides, he had a couple of old photographs of the river he wanted to show us that would help to illustrate a story he was telling.   A hot meal sounded perfect and I was interested in hearing the rest of the story.

As we peeled off our saturated outerwear and waders on the front porch, I eagerly anticipated a warm room and hot food, but I was unprepared for what I experienced when I walked through the door.  Steam rose from the kettle on the wood cook stove as Jeanne stood with her back to us, spreading butter on bread.  The walls of the great-room were filled with mementos, beautifully framed photographs and artwork.  I imagined that each had a story to tell.   I was right.  Three hours flew by as we talked about the past and the present.  I learned a lot about the Moores, who recently celebrated their seventieth wedding anniversary.   Frank grew up fishing in southern Oregon and, after the war, he and his bride moved to the North Umpqua to run the legendary Steamboat Inn and raise a family on the river.   Not only were the ensuing years filled with creating a world-renowned destination, but Frank also spent considerable time and effort that resulted in regulations that curbed the effects of logging on the river and surrounding environment.   At age 90, I’m told that Frank can still out-cast most fly fisherman, with casts that reach 100 feet when the need arises.  I’ve heard Frank called a Spiritual Father, Grand Old Man of the River, The Great Frank Moore, and yes, a Living Legend.  Indeed!

While stories of an adventurous life spent on the river were truly awe inspiring, Frank’s sincere appreciation of the natural world is what really impressed me.  We all fish and spend time outdoors for our different reasons.  If I were asked to sum up my reasons in one word, that word would be “connection.”  So I understand why Frank and Jeanne chose to spend their life on the beautiful and remote Umpqua River, and I deeply appreciate their willingness to open their home and their lives to fellow fly fishers.  My life is richer for the experience.

‘In Your Words’ explores the incredible stories we’ve received from Filson fans across the globe.  Send us your own experiences with our clothing or product here for a chance to be featured on the Filson Life blog.  Scott, a photographer from Texas, spent time in the snow in New Hampshire and shot these photos of his Filson Briefcase for us.  

I’m sure the title submitted for this story will be my daughters’ title one day because my briefcase is most likely going to outlive me.

I’m very fond of my Filson Briefcase.  It feels like something my father would have owned and that makes me like it even more.  I was in New Hampshire earlier in the year for work and it snowed 30″ in one night!  I have never seen so much snow!  To mark the occasion, I decided I would pretend I was on assignment with Filson.  Here’s a few frames for all the bag lovers out there.  If you’re not a bag lover I’m sure you know one who is so share!

Thanks for making great products,

A Happy Filson Customer,
Scott

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.

Study the stream bed, brown and green. Through ripples and reflections, we find rocks and wood, maybe a shining piece of metal someone has left behind. Even the flash of a flake of mica in the sand, no bigger than a fishes scale. How is it that we miss the trout.

Gliding above the mud and stone he is emerald and gold, vermilion and azure, violet and blaze. He is metallic, kinetic, aesthetic. Perfect in his camouflage, he is at once breathtaking and invisible.

Look closer, he is abstract. He is pointillism, he is impressionism, he is surrealism. He is cubist, fauvist, and expressionist; he is Monet, Van Gogh and Miro. He is Blake’s world in a grain of sand. Infinity in the palm of your hand.

He is beauty, and like all beauty, he vanishes into the mundane. It is a failing of the human eye, or maybe of the heart. He is truth, and like all truth he is hidden from us. To find him we must make a choice. When we choose our fly wisely, and present it well he will do what truth does. Rise to the surface.

Brian Koch started Ultimate Upland in 2010 to be the most comprehensive resource for upland hunting enthusiasts. Since then it has grown into a community where bird hunters congregate and share their love for the sport. Koch strives to be the hardest working bird hunter in the country and aims to reach hunters and fans with detailed accounts of Ultimate Upland adventures.

I think the level of exertion at sporting clays courses should extend beyond the trigger finger. The name “sporting clays” implies a certain level of physical activity. But, a number of courses have paths for vehicles and even golf carts for transporting shooters and their gear from one station to the next. Distances between each shooting location are generally 40 yards and up. For us, upland hunting is an active sport that involves a fair share of hiking. So when we shoot sporting clays to practice bird gunning, we prefer not to drive a vehicle from station to station. We walk. And we don’t push a glorified stroller with a gun rack that some courses provide, either. We lug the gear and guns between volleys, just like we would in the field. This also allows for a healthy dose of banter, and time to keep a close eye on the score.

There’s no monetary wager between my nephew Zach and I when we shoot clays. The stakes are simple and immediate: lose the station and you lug the shooting bag to the next.

Big whoop, right? Well, Filson’s Sportsman Bag can make that lugging a bigger deal than you might think. In the main compartment Zach and I stash 300 rounds of 20-gauge shells, because even if the course is only 100 clays you still can never have enough ammo. It looks as though we’d easily be able to stow 16 boxes of 20-gauge and still have room for our two cameras, mini-tripod and various POV video accessories that we pack to chronicle the round.

In the rear outside pocket we put all our gun cleaning gear: rags, oil, cleaning rod, grease and barrel snake. And during the round we stash our shotgun socks in this compartment for safe keeping too.

In the front zippered pocket goes hearing protection, shooting gloves, eye protection, choke tubes and wrenches and cell phones for two shooters. In the pockets on either end we place keys, drinks and the scoring clipboard. I’m pretty certain we’ve intentionally made this bag as heavy as possible to inflict the worst punishment for poor shooting.

With the hefty bridle leather strap, thick canvas and beefy zippers you just know this Filson bag is built to take a beating. I’m not real certain what it weighs when fully stocked, I just know the added heft never stings quite as much as the reason you’re carrying it in the first place. So the best course of action is to get a Filson Sportsman’s Bag and make sure your shooting buddy carries it the entire time.

When the round is complete we remove the cameras, restock the shells and there’s room to stow two Filson shooting vests for the next outing. I suppose one could use this Sportsman’s Bag for any sort of travel or adventure, but why would you want to when it’s perfect for shotgunning?

Maine-based Rhon Bell of Backwoods Plaid, details how to best prepare for those temperamental Spring camping trips.  Rain or shine, you’ll be ready.

Your destination may be an old family camp or possibly you’re roughing it in the backcountry. Either way, you’re hopefully far enough from the bustling city so every element of light pollution is filtered from the evening sky. As you lay back  in the dirt against your duffle and point up to the constellations, the chill of Spring nightfall has you zipping up your jacket just a bit more and standing up your collar to cut the breeze. This time of year can be a challenge to pack for. Mornings can be bitterly cold, depending on your location.  Short-sleeves might suffice while working in the afternoons, but as that sun begins to find it’s resting place on the horizon line, you’re reaching back into your truck for your Field Jacket. I’ve found that Filson gear below provides true comfort in between the melting winter snow and the rising summer sun.

1.  Antique Tin Cloth 5 Pocket Pants: A relatively new offering that lives up to the Filson name – tough, cool, comfortable and good-looking. The Antique Tin Cloth offers wind and moderate rain protection while outdoors. Strong enough to resist abrasions in the thick of the woods by day and presentable at night for dinner around the fire pit, or at the local watering hole.

2.  Alaskan Long Johns, Midweight: Layering this “three-season” pair of long johns with the Antique Tin Cloth pants has always been perfect. When temperatures change, you’ll always be glad you layered rather than having opted for one heavier pair of pants. In fact, friends often find me kicking around camp in the long johns alone.

3.  Alaskan Guide Shirt: By far this ranks as my favorite outdoor shirt from any company. Dirt wipes right off, it’s tough as nails while remaining supremely comfortable. I like to pack a fresh one for each day I’m at camp, but I’ll admit to wearing one for more than a couple days straight while on canoe trips. If you get warm, the cut is loose enough to roll up the sleeves and unbutton the shirt to manage your body temperature while staying protected from the elements.

4.  Mackinaw Blanket: Wool is an option you can hardly ever go wrong with. Plaid is a close second. Feeling rustic? Keep the sleeping bag at home. The Mackinaw blanket will be the warmest option, whether tossed over your shoulders by the evening fire or cot at camp.

5.  Tin Cloth Field Jacket: Stands up to anything, whether splitting and hauling fire wood or the winds and rain while motoring down a large lake to find your favorite fishing spot. Several large pockets keep your essentials at hand. One roomy rear pocket holds your map. The partially lined, Made in USA jacket is perfect for every Spring outing.

6.  Large Filson Duffle: Enough room for days of clothing, food, blanket and boots with plenty of left over room for essentials that make your trip worth remembering, like a good camera, flask (or two), an atlas, and a favorite book. The quality craftsmanship of the bridle leather, stitching, brass zippers and rugged twill will never disappoint – year after year… after year. Because if you’re going into the wild – you “Might As Well Have The Best.”

Justin Chatwin is a Canadian actor with the heart of an American adventurer.  He took time off from the set of Shameless and embarked on a Southwestern road trip with little more than a motorcycle, a good friend, some Filson and a pair of long johns. Below, his road letter from north of the border…

Dear Filson,

Thank you for defining and redefining the Adventurous American man. Not only do I wear your jacket and carry your duffel, but I have also slept, swam, and rolled in the dirt of east Texas in your jacket. And your garment gets even better looking.

Filson is strictly for the man who’s okay with wearing the same thing for 10 days straight.  We did four.

My friend and I, ruffians at heart, threw some long johns and baby powder (don’t ask) into our Filson rucksacks, saddled up on our metal steeds (named Charlie Crowe and Bobby Valentine) to cover 1,800 miles in 3 days. In our matching trucker jackets, we set forth from LA on highway 8 to Tuscon, AZ. Within 4 hours,  we had passed black smoke burning from bizarre Salton Sea canyons, my rear light had melted off from the heat, and my friend had baby barfed in his helmet.  We were free at last.  God’s Country. The western States border run.

The next day and 600 miles later, we awoke from the grueling ride feeling more like we had spent the night in Tucson prison rather than the Congress hotel.  And so began to charge across America playing outlaw in our heads with Charlie and Bobby as we rode through golden fields and the historical towns of Tombstone, AZ (Don’t stop, justrent the movie) and Bisbee, AZ (stop there, no movie, and it’s the best town in AZ). We passed through the site where Geronimo surrendered and into Mexican Border Patrol territory.  We hung a right onto a little road called HWY 9 near the New Mexico border to get gas. A little woman was closing the gas station:

“What you boys doing on this road?”
“Just getting some gas”
“Glad you caught me because we close early here.”

It was 4:45.

“Nothing but trouble on this road boys.”
“How far is it to El Paso?”
“Bout 3 hours.  Nothing but border patrol and drug cartels on this road after dusk”.

We sobered up from playing outlaw real quick at sundown in a little town called Columbus.  Not only was the town’s water tank matte black, but so was the Chevy Yukon with shiny rims that began to do laps around the block, eyeing both Charlie and Bobby.  We escaped out of there so fast, our bikes began to spit up oil.  Fear, the great motivator.  Hell Paso, the black stain of America.

The next day in Marfa a tiny cactus thorn and a flat tire set us back. But a goat farmer named Alan McLain and an old bearded Harley enthusiast named Moondog (need I say more) set us forward.  Two great men with a few missing teeth who are dedicating their later years to the service of others. Not only did they have a spare tube that fit Bobby Valentine’s tire, but we also got three cans of goat cheese, a lesson in changing a motorcycle tire, and a 45 minute ride in Moondog’s F-350 where he blasted his new Tiesto record.  Very unexpected.

Our last day, we took the advice of two Mexican Harley owners named Pedro by following the low road into Austin.  Although the flat slowed us down, a 30 mile patch out-running a highway patrol sped us up.  No need to say more.

On a four day trip from Los Angeles to Austin, I had one of my two waxed jackets, a couple long johns and a few pair of undies.  All in one small duffel.  We felt like we were truly living. Truly present.  Felt free.  Felt like men.   Outlaws on the run from nothing at all except our own personal responsibilities.

In the end, my girlfriend wouldn’t touch me with my jacket on because of the things I had caught in it along the way.  A jacket’s like a bike: Every trip, every tear, every dent has a story.

Nick barfed again this time for five minutes and this time from sheer exhaustion.  But we were alive as we rolled into South by Southwest and raved to Justin Timberlake till 5am.  Moondog would have been proud.

Filson’s a brand with history. American made, with a story, an adventure. Whether it’s fishing, camping, or motorcycling, Filson defines the American man for me. I’ve ran over my waxed Filson jacket with my motorcycle, slept on it in Africa, Denver, Alaska, and many strange women’s houses.  From the black smoke of the Salton Sea to the vast skies of Marfa and and the back seat of Moondog’s truck, Filson is along for the ride.

Sincerely,

Justin Chatwin