TRCP’s communication manager meditates on the common language of hunters
The two pickups jostled down the dirt track that followed the railroad south. I was in the second with Alex Harvey, founder of Legacy Land Management, and the pickup in front of us had the beagles.
We’d just spent a morning hunting swamp rabbits along a creek in the Mississippi River Delta. I was bloody from bushwhacking and tired from crossing the water three times trying to get in front of the rabbit. While I wasn’t fortunate enough to pull the trigger, the group bagged two of the oversized bunnies. With the day growing longer, most folks in the party had to leave for afternoon work.
There were more hunters than rabbits at the end of our morning, but still, smiles were had.
Fortunately for us, Fred Johnson was willing to show Alex and I a potential duck hole for the morning, and we followed him and Zarius Moore up the lonely highway to the turn off that snaked us down along some flooded timber.
When the pickups stopped, we all piled out and looked at the water and listened to Fred say how six ducks were taken out of there two days before, so the birds were around.
Fred lit a cigarette, and I turned to Zarius to ask him how deer season had been. A grin cracked his face, and he reached into his pocket for his phone.
“It’s been good, deer seasons are good around here,” he said as we huddled around his screen to look at the bucks he and his buddies had killed in the last few months.
Light-tined bucks filled side-by and truck beds. Smiling faces of old and young hunters slide-showed by as I picked up moments of the hunts through Zarius’ first, second, or in some cases, third-hand accounts.
The dogs admire the bounty of their hard work.
Being a Northeastern hunter at heart, I asked about the size of the deer, naively guessing that they were small like most southern deer I’d encountered.
“What do the bucks weigh? 110 here?”
Zarius, Alex, and Fred all shook their heads and chided me for such an outrageous assumption.
“So, you have bucks here that get to 200?”
“We have does getting to 200!” Alex laughed. “All they do is eat, then disappear and grow.”
“I just thought it’d be like in Texas or South Carolina with the smaller bodies.”
“No, this is Mississippi,” Zarius chuckled.
Zarius scrolled to a video where he was on the ground and a heavy-beamed eight point cautiously made his way through the brush along a trail.
“I took this video last week. I was done hunting. Had my rifle there though, but I knew I wasn’t going to shoot him.”
I watched as the deer stepped closer to the phone. Head bobbing up and down trying to tell what the figure was at the base of the tree. Not so scared as to turn and throw the white flag, but unwilling to commit fully to continuing down the trail.
“I just wanted to watch him. I like this video.”
Finally, Zarius behind his phone shifts and the deer moves off and the video ends. A few more deer and happy hunters appear, then we’re on to talking about rabbits and ducks again and how the expected cold next week will really change things.
A bird’s-eye view of a post-hunt gathering.
I realized then that the moment of us passing stories epitomized the collective home of hunters. No matter that we’d all just met hours before, no matter where we’d been or where we were going, we as hunters were able to listen and share a common reverence for the creatures and spaces we love.
This common language, this connective tissue that binds all of us who find the woods and water to be clarifying places for our lives, is why we can join together for conservation. The woods and waters where we can gather and pursue our passions is the common space that must be conserved. It’s why I can see a young hunter’s face smiling with a deer and recognize myself in that joy. I work to ensure that the animals and places that makes that joy possible endures for generations.
“If a landowner is able to make conservation improvements on their property, they will likely be able to utilize it more,” Harvey explains. “Better conservation practices mean more rabbits, ducks, and deer. More animals means better hunting, and that means the landowner and their family will spend more time hunting there.”
Watch The Land Manager below and find the full playlist of short films HERE.
TRCP’s Montana field manager shares a bird’s-eye view of the Lolo National Forest with diverse stakeholders
As our small group boarded the single-prop, six-seater plane at the Missoula airport, wildfire smoke hung low over the airfield casting a hazy veil across the valley. Still, we hoped for a clear view of the Lolo National Forest.
This was the first of two morning aerial tours organized by TRCP in partnership with EcoFlight, a nonprofit based in Aspen, Colorado. EcoFlight’s mission is to use small aircraft to provide a powerful aerial perspective of public lands, watersheds, and places communities value across the West. On this flight, our focus was the Lolo National Forest, which is currently undergoing a land-use management plan revision. The decisions made in this process will ripple across western Montana, affecting hunters, anglers, and everyone who values, recreates, and makes their living on this incredible swath of public land.
As we rolled onto one of MSO’s massive runways, our headsets crackled to life and conversations began. I was struck by the diversity of perspectives onboard. We had county commissioners, a wildlife biologist, two foresters, and an employee from a foundation that has been heavily involved in wildlife highway crossings in Montana and the West. Each person brought valuable insight to the discussion, and I felt fortunate that such a thoughtful group had been assembled.
Once airborne, we excitedly pointed out familiar landmarks and places we’ve hunted, fished, logged, and camped. We saw areas used for cattle grazing, recreation, and big game winter range. From above, it was easy to recognize the many uses and interests the Forest supports, along with the thousands of local jobs the forest supports. We also talked about the growing pressures facing the Lolo, including increased recreation, rapid development in the wildland-urban interface, and the fragmentation of critical winter habitat for wildlife.
Our flight path followed the Clark Fork River to Sixmile Creek, a key wildlife crossing site along I-90. From there, we flew over Fish Creek, the Petty-Sawmill commercial timber project, and the backcountry areas of Cache Creek, Burdette Creek, and Garden Point. As we traced Lolo Creek back to the Bitterroot Valley, we saw examples of multi-use management including logging, fire scars, mining activity, and popular trailheads used for berry picking and fall hunting. Near the town of Lolo, we observed a well-known wildlife corridor between the Sapphire and Bitterroot Mountains. Finally, we ended our flight over Marshall and Woody Mountains, where recreation and wildlife habitat overlapped, each contributing to the broader landscape.
From the air, it was clear just how ecologically vital and culturally significant these landscapes are. We saw big game winter range, managed forests, and coldwater fisheries that anchor Montana’s outdoor and stewardship traditions. We agreed that the revised forest plan must strike a balance: conserve habitat connectivity and public access while also supporting sustainable forest management. A wildlife underpass at Sixmile could reduce vehicle collisions and conserve a known migration route that links the Glacier-Crown of the Continent ecosystem in the north with the Selway, the Frank Church, and the Greater Yellowstone to the south. The aerial perspective made it clear how interconnected these areas are and how thoughtful planning can conserve them for generations to come.
Looking ahead, the Forest Service is expected to release the Draft Environmental Impact Statement in fall 2025, outlining proposed alternatives for the Lolo land-use management plan revision. Once released, the DEIS will kick off a formal public comment period, giving hunters, anglers, and all public land users a chance to weigh in on the future of this important landscape.
Stay tuned. We’ll share updates as soon as the comment period opens.
If you’re a hunter, angler, or anyone who values Montana’s public lands, this revision will shape how the Lolo is managed for decades to come. Let’s ensure the plan revision reflects the values we hold dear: thriving wildlife habitat and connectivity across the landscape, clean and cold water, and sustainable uses that support hunting, fishing, and our local economies.
Hunters and anglers understand the special moment of pursuing a new species. For TRCP communications manager Noah Davis, this Oregon chukar hunt was made sweeter by the company and landscape
Willa, the pudelpointer, moved as a snake would over the lip of the canyon. Her belly laid flat as the native bunch grasses gave way to cheat, and her nose followed the trail of wild chukar scent that swayed with the lifting thermals up from the Owyhee River.
Michael, TRCP’s director of the center for public lands and Willa’s owner, directed me to side hill on the basalt trying to pick the best line toward her. Above us, the sky was blue, and below, the slope was broken into cliffs that from this distance almost looked like stairs one could step on.
Willa taking a quick breather in the January sun.
“Try to get below her,” Michael said. “They’ll pitch down so get them before they make for the river.”
At that moment, Willa made a right angle turn down the slope toward a craggy outcrop. We hustled to the rock as she slithered closer to the drop off. Michael and I both expected birds with every step, each of us thumbing our safeties as our shadows reached beyond us onto the slope.
Willa stopped and we made our way below her. The birds were in the rocks, and despite our obvious approach punctuated by sliding and cursing, they had held, so when the first few lifted, my bootlaces swayed with the wind off their wings.
Chukar are a bird of gravity. That might be a strange thing to say as all birds and other creatures of this world are influenced by gravity, but what I mean is that chukar are one with gravity, so when they fly and follow the canyon down, gravity accepts them, welcomes them, and aids them in their escape.
The shot.
What I’m trying to say is, I thought I had more time before I had to shoot. The birds broke from the rock and sailed toward their destination of the river. My first shot was behind the chukar I chose, and the second felt like a reach but makeable with the modified choke. The bird did fall, hard, but I knew there was life still in the chukar.
Michael laughed at his shots falling behind as I scrambled toward the last place I saw the bird. Willa began to work over to the left, but we called her back over to search. For every half-minute that passed, the disgust of losing a bird grew in my stomach and the adage of Oregon’s basalt country eating boots and birds ran on repeat in my mind.
The author’s first chukar from the Owyhee Canyonlands.
Then Willa moved left again, and by the wonder that is a bird dog’s nose, she found the chukar who was as tough as the country that made it. She graciously brought my first chukar to my hand as if to say, Trust me the first time.
One of the most rewarding aspects of working in the conservation space is the shared passion of colleagues. TRCP field staff works to ensure quality hunting and fishing opportunities for all Americans because they love those landscapes.
As I hunted the Owyhee River Canyon with Michael, he shared stories of past hunts, where we might find another covey because he’s found them there before, and learned how the place had changed—and stayed the same—since he first visited. This place-based knowledge, along with expertise in working with federal agencies, local stakeholders, and our partners, makes our staff some of the most qualified to help conserve these landscapes so our hunting and fishing traditions can endure.
I am proud to work beside such passionate individuals to conserve places like the Owyhee Canyonlands.
Learn more about TRCP’s commitment to public lands HERE.
TRCP’s Western conservation communications manager reflects on the recent victory for public lands and the opportunities this freedom affords
My dad and I worked our way up the creek, which was the only way through the willows, the only path to follow. The stream emptied the peaks above and had flattened out in this hanging valley before it would again find its course to pour lower into the valley.
Where the water gained a foot of depth in front of a young ponderosa that had fallen in, we watched cutthroat trout interrupt the flow as they rose to a hatch of small, gray mayflies that tumbled in the current.
I’d caught a 10-incher in the last bend, so dad took his position on the left bank. Back far enough so his shadow wouldn’t reach over the water, he cast a #14 purple haze toward the top of the run in the bubble line that hugged the grass.
On a day like the one we’d been having, there should’ve been no surprise when the trout appeared below the fly. But there is always a reaction—the same as when a woodcock flushes from cover, or a deer walks into a clearing—of a trout materializing where only a moment ago there was none.
The trout followed the drift for a moment, then swallowed the fly with confidence. Dad’s 3wt bowed with the strong runs and we shared smiles watching the beautiful fish turn in the clear water. The black-spotted Westslope cutthroat came to his hand. The pastel cheek iridescent above the orange flash of the slash beneath the chin.
After a quick picture, the fish bolted back into the depth, disappearing in the nervous water as mayflies continued to float past.
“Plenty of water ahead,” my dad said, drying his hands on his pants.
“And plenty of day to fill,” I smiled back.
For the last dozen summers, my dad and I have spent weeks together in the backcountry of America’s public lands. Sometimes my mom and brother would accompany us, other times my wife, but the constant has been my dad and me folding into the routine of sleeping, eating, and fishing.
This most recent trip felt different. Not that anything had changed, but that it had stayed the same.
During the months before our father-son-first-week-of-July excursion, I’d worked with dozens of members of our TRCP team to help elevate the voices of tens of thousands of fellow hunters and anglers, leading outdoor brands, and partners in urging lawmakers to remove public land sales from budget reconciliation legislation.
We built action alerts and sent emails, organized letters and meetings, called our representatives and spread the news far and wide. We experienced small victories and setbacks and kept pushing knowing that every message to Congress was another step toward keeping our public lands in public hands. It was a powerful and moving moment to be committed our public lands that are the pride of our nation. I was honored to play a small part in this work.
By the time my trip rolled around, the team knew a decision was imminent, yet nothing had been announced. The day before I disappeared into mountains remote enough to bar me from any news, the amendment that would have mandated the sale of millions of acres of public lands was removed.
The celebration began across social media, news outlets, and emails from engaged organizations. The challenge that we had spent months working to overcome was overcome thanks to tens of thousands of conservation-minded people, as well as national, state, and local hunting and fishing businesses and organizations, and leadership from a bipartisan group of public land champions in Congress. Public lands had won!
The beaver dam had been blown out, but still the far side benefited from the slower water where the foundation clung to the bottom. A willow carcass made the run that much more enticing to fish and a danger to an errant cast.
And an errant cast was thrown by me so that my royal Wulff wrapped around a skinny finger of a branch and hung there for just long enough that disappointment grew in my stomach for ruining such a pool. Then, gracefully, the tug of the current on my line pulled the hook to set it free and the fly landed on the water.
Because the accidental placement became accidentally perfect for the drift, a cutthroat rose and swallowed the fly. I watched the orange sides turn and bully into the tangle. My tippet held and finally the trout came into the shallows where I beheld its spot-free side before the black studs appeared on the tail. A perfect fish in a perfect stream.
When the cutthroat returned to the run, Dad and I took a moment to drink some water before continuing. In that still moment, a time when our minds weren’t only occupied by the best path around a log jam or if that stretch was worth fishing, we each said out loud how grateful we were to live in a country that has public land where we can explore and be together without any worry or need to ask permission. That these millions of acres are ours to cherish.
And then we went back to fishing.
The victory of defeating public land sales is worth celebrating, but this most recent challenge is a reminder that our public lands are never guaranteed.
Learn more about how you can stay engaged on hunting and fishing access through our updated Public Land Access webpage below.
After mandatory public land sales were removed from budget reconciliation legislation earlier this summer thanks to tens of thousands of hunters and anglers like you, TRCP staff took to public lands to enjoy places they cherish and celebrate the victory. Below are their stories
From Chelsea Pardo, Alaska Senior Program Manager
Over the 4th of July holiday, I was fortunate to float the Kenai River in Alaska. The Kenai is the longest river on the Kenai Peninsula in southcentral Alaska and is known for its striking turquoise water and salmon runs.
We packed me, my sister and brother-in-law, and two dogs into the raft and set off on our float. We caught sockeye salmon already well into their spawning transformation as they made their way toward Skilak Lake, and I also landed a rainbow trout, shimmering with incredible colors! Our toughest fishing competition was the grizzly bears along the riverbank.
Throughout the weekend, I felt deep gratitude for having access to such amazing public lands so close to home knowing the public land sales were defeated.
From Emily Forkey, Digital Coordinator
Living in Washington D.C., I sometimes need a little break from the city. Luckily, the Shenandoah and Blue Ridge Mountains and the National Forests that span across those ridges are a short distance away. Since moving to northern Virginia in 2021, the Appalachian Mountains have become really special to me.
When public land sales were removed from budget reconciliation, I was in the middle of enjoying these amazing public lands. My boyfriend and I did a little road trip to Natural Bridge State Park and drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway, stumbling upon Otter Lake Waterfall. We were able to disconnect in the mountains and ended the weekend at Sherando Lake in the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest, swimming and enjoying the beautiful scenery. There was no better way to celebrate this win than spending it in one of my favorite public land spaces.
From Kris Coston, Nevada Field Representative
Hot and dry. That’s the 4th of July in northern Nevada.
From my days as a wildland firefighter, I still recall the safety protocols that every wildland firefighter lives and dies by: the LCES’s.
Lookouts
Communications
Escape routes
Safety zones
Now that my firefighting days and wilder years of my youth are behind me, LCES’s have taken on a new meaning.
Locate
Cooler and
Establish
Shade….
There is no better place to practice your LCES skills and situational awareness than the crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, jeweled with countless cool blue lakes and icy streams, the crest is the juxtaposition of hot and dry.
I can load the family in the truck with rods and tackle, ice, water, beer, camping gear, and food and drive up and over the Carson Pass at 8,652 feet and feel the heat drop into the valley floor like a discarded coat. From here on out it’s wet lines and family time as we fish and camp our way from one lake or stream to another.
Celebrating the 4th is something that I used to do on a mountain top blackened by fire. Now I celebrate from the shores of a clear cool lake or stream and reminisce happily about those old and wild times, thinking how lucky I am to live and raise a family in the greatest country on earth where public lands are in public hands.
To all those men and women who protect our public lands from wildfire, I salute you and thank you for your hard work and sacrifice. And thank you to all who spoke up on behalf of public lands so we can all celebrate in these special places.
From Marcel Gaztambide, Southwest Field Manager
For me and my wife, Bria, some of our most cherished memories with family and friends were made on public lands. Everything from following the careful steps of my grandfather while elk hunting in the Uinta Mountains, trout fishing at Flaming Gorge Reservoir, riding horseback in the Wyoming Range, racing dirt bikes and mountain bikes, wind surfing and paddleboarding, desert river trips, and late-night campfires with themed-dress-up silliness. All of this unstructured fun was easily constructed across 640 million acres of public land in the United States.
When we welcomed our son, Ander, into the world 8 months ago, my wife and I were most looking forward to adventuring with him outside. We were so excited to teach him how to bag the peaks, run the rivers, and track big game through the forests. How to set up his tent, build a fire, and hang a bear-bag. How to squeeze the most out of a life spent out-of-doors on public land.
After the beautiful defense of public spaces mounted by tens of thousands of hunters and anglers across our country, we spent our 4th of July weekend camping out on the San Juan National Forest in southwest Colorado. This was Ander’s second time camping, and certainly not his last, and the trip was made sweeter knowing that people from all walks of life are working hard to protect his ability to carry on our traditions and to have his own adventures. Cheers to public lands, the people who enjoy them, and the people who help keep them in public hands!
From Rob Thornberry, Idaho Field Representative
For years, my son, Jake, and I rarely fished or hunted together. The monthly escapes that we enjoyed during his youth were lost to life. First to high school sports and then to his college years and later when he started a family and a career of his own, now a four-hour drive from my home.
Although we happily forged new bonds–his first daughter calls me Bee-pa and has me hopelessly wrapped around her pinkie–I’ve missed our spring excursions to catch trout on stoneflies and our fall adventures to hunt deer and elk.
That is why when the public land sales amendment was removed from the budget reconciliation package, I received another great joy of summer. Jake texted and asked for a fishing trip for his birthday. Me and him.
Fast forward a couple of weekends and we were tumbling down the ever-roaring South Fork of the Boise River casting huge flies to fat rainbows, him beaming like the boy I so fondly remembered.
As I write this, the Monday after a perfect weekend, I revel in the text just received: “That was a lot of fun. I’m excited for next year.”
It is a tradition built, and survives to this day, on public lands and waters.
From Michael O’Casey, Director of Public Lands
Growing up, our family vacations were centered around public lands. Always on a budget, our trips only required a tent, gravel roads, and the excitement of discovery and freedom found dispersed camping along mountain streams of Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. These trips often culminated in a few days camping and exploring Yellowstone National Park. We’d make the trek from the Oregon coast, driving through high desert, pine forests, and wildflower-filled meadows as we neared the park boundary. Those long road trips and days outdoors formed some of my favorite childhood memories and sparked a passion that led me to work several seasons for the National Park Service and a career in public lands policy.
This summer, as a father of three (8,3,0), I had the chance to return to Yellowstone and share some of these favorite places with my own kids. Watching my oldest catch his first brown trout on a dry fly, listening to them whine as they covered their noses from the smell of rotten eggs at the geysers, and seeing the shock on their faces as Old Faithful erupted for the first time reminded me of the value of these timeless places.
After experiencing such an amazing win as keeping public lands in public hands, what struck me most was how little the experience has changed, and how important that is. In a world that feels increasingly fast and fragmented, these shared landscapes provide a place to slow down, create quality unbroken time together, and to remember what truly matters.
From Josh Metten, Wyoming Field Manager
My dog, Ollie, is a public land pup through and through. He’s a rescue mutt from Omaha, Nebraska, but that hasn’t stopped him from becoming a lover of all the outdoor activities public lands have to offer. In our time together in Wyoming, we’ve backpacked through the Absaroka Wilderness, backcountry skied the Tetons, hunted elk in the Wyoming Range, and chased chukar across rugged Bureau of Land Management lands. Most recently, we shared a float down Idaho’s Selway River, which might be my favorite experience with Ollie yet.
Like most Wyomingites, public land is central to my way of life, so I was thrilled that the amendment that would have mandated millions of acres of public land sales in budget reconciliation legislation was removed! Ollie and I celebrated by joining friends on a six-day float down Idaho’s Selway River. The river flows through the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness, which was designated by the 1964 Wilderness Act, a bill sponsored by the late Idaho Senator Frank Church.
Americans love public lands because of their abundance and the freedom they provide. At 640 million acres, we have a massive expanse of diverse landscapes to experience. Floating the Selway was an opportunity to unplug from the rigors of daily life and be thankful that these amazing places have been stewarded for present and future generations to enjoy. I’m happy to share that Ollie loved the float and we can add multi-day river trips to our list of shared public land activities. It turns out that most activities on public lands are better with friends and dogs.
Read another public land reflection from the TRCP team HERE.
Photo credits: TRCP Staff
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HOW YOU CAN HELP
TRCP has partnered with Afuera Coffee Co. to further our commitment to conservation. $4 from each bag is donated to the TRCP, to help continue our efforts of safeguarding critical habitats, productive hunting grounds, and favorite fishing holes for future generations.
