“WHICH WAY?” I shouted over the roar of the engine. Seth leaned forward, speed-reading the three-way split in the river that lay ahead. He gestured left.We both knew we had two chances to make that gooseneck turn into a six-foot-wide, three-inch-deep slot at 30 mph: slim and none.

Calling all moose

In the arctic stillness, on the far side of the river, an unmistakable racket echoed in the bright afternoon: the thrashing of a bull moose stripping velvet off his antlers and honing his moves, prepping for the rut.

Appreciating ptarmigan, from the field to the plate.

[By E. Donnall Thomas Jr]


Several years ago, friends and I took a week-long float trip into the wilderness, targeting caribou with our bows. After several days without releasing any arrows, we were getting hungry.