Alaska Built Caribou Gear

FROM BOYHOOD TO RESPONSIBILITY

I was born and raised in the Denver metropolitan area, where Sharon and I met in high school. We married at eighteen and left behind our rock-and-roll and disco ways to begin a new life in the small town of Hays, Kansas. Within nine months, we welcomed our first daughter. I was suddenly a husband, father and provider, with a family depending on me. Although the boy who loved the outdoors had grown older, my need to hunt, fish and explore never left me.

Money was limited, so I learned to work with what I had, repair what I could and find my own solution when something failed. I missed the mountain life I had known, and we eventually returned home, settling near Buena Vista, where our family continued to grow. Hunting was no longer simply an outdoor pursuit. The wild game I brought home helped feed my family, and caring for that meat properly meant more food for the long Colorado winters. Those responsibilities taught me to pay attention to every failure and inconvenience in the field—and to believe there was usually a better way.

WHEN HUNTING BECAME A WAY OF LIFE

Money was tight, and hunting and fishing were more than recreation. The meat helped put food on the table for our growing family. Because every pound mattered, I worked hard to keep the meat clean and properly protected. Better care in the field meant a higher yield at home and more food for the family.

When hunting season arrived, I devoted as much time as possible to the entire season. My wife, Sharon, often hunted with me, and as our daughters became old enough, they occasionally joined us. Years later, our son arrived as the youngest member of the family. He began accompanying us on shorter trips at about five years old and progressed to complete hunts by approximately eight.

Hunting had become part of the life our family shared, but I still spent much of the season alone. I had developed a need to hunt—not always because we needed the meat, but because simply being out there had become part of who I was. Before one season ended, I was already thinking about the next one.

THE FIELD BECAME MY WORKSHOP

Those long seasons, and especially the days I spent alone, gave me time to notice the details. When no one else is there to share the load, every equipment choice becomes more important. I had to locate the animal, make the decisions, recover the harvest, protect the meat and determine how I would move everything back to camp or the trailhead. A minor inconvenience at home could become a serious problem several miles into the backcountry.

I paid attention to what worked, what failed and what I wished I had carried. I began writing down ideas, whether they seemed practical at the time or not. I still do that today. Most ideas never move beyond a note or rough drawing. The better ones remain, and over time they begin to solve more than one problem.

Long before Caribou Gear had a name, that process had already become part of the way I thought: identify the problem, understand why it failed and consider how it could be improved. The field was where the problems revealed themselves, and it became the workshop where many of the answers first took shape.

HORSES, WEIGHT AND CONSEQUENCE

My years in Buena Vista added another dimension to that education. I worked as a wrangler, leading hourly and full-day horseback rides through the Colorado mountains. I developed a genuine respect for horses and for the access they provided, but it took nearly fifteen years before I was able to purchase one of my own. One horse became two, and eventually I owned five horses.

Horses allowed me to travel farther, carry a proper camp and bring a heavy harvest out of the backcountry. They also taught me that weight, balance and organization have consequences. A load had to be evenly distributed and securely attached. Even with all that care, there always seemed to be a rodeo or two! Equipment that shifted, tore loose or failed could injure an animal, damage essential gear or leave a hunter in a difficult position far from help.

WHEN ALASKA BECAME POSSIBLE

As the years passed, my family and business became more established, and the country I dreamed about hunting became larger. Alaska had always seemed distant—one of those places a working man could read about and imagine without knowing whether he would ever get there.

Eventually, I reached a point where I could afford the travel, equipment and bush transportation required to attempt an Alaska hunt. What I could not afford was a fully guided hunt. If I wanted to experience Alaska, I would have to research it, prepare for it and accept responsibility for conducting the hunt myself.

That is why I began self-guided hunting in Alaska. It was not a decision made because I believed it would be simple. It was the only realistic way I could afford to go, and it required me to rely on the experience I had accumulated over many years in the field.

Once the bush plane departed, the distance between preparation and consequence became very short. Weather, river conditions, camp location, transportation weight and meat care were no longer separate considerations. They were parts of one system, and a weakness in any one of them could affect the entire hunt.

THE HARVEST DESERVED BETTER

The shortcomings of the game bags available at the time had been apparent to me for years. Cheesecloth bags were inexpensive, but they offered little durability or dependable dirt and bug protection. Heavy canvas bags could hold weight, but they absorbed moisture, occupied valuable space and became even heavier once wet. Wet canvas also retained moisture against the meat, creating conditions that could accelerate bacterial growth and spoilage. Modern pure nylon game bags created a solar effect that trapped heat and moisture around the meat, producing many of the same concerns as wet canvas. The slick nylon threads also tended to snag, fray and shred even under light field use.

By 2001, after my first Alaska moose hunt, I no longer believed the answer was simply choosing between the products already available. There had to be a better fabric and a better system for protecting a hard-earned harvest.

The problem was larger than finding something strong enough to hold meat. A proper game bag had to breathe, resist tearing, help keep dirt and insects away from the meat, remain manageable when wet and perform through repeated handling and transportation. It also had to do those things without adding unnecessary bulk and weight to a hunter’s equipment.

Alaska made those requirements impossible to ignore. Extended time in the field, changing weather, river travel, aircraft limitations, insects, dirt and repeated handling exposed every weakness. A product could look acceptable on a store shelf and still fall short when meat had to remain protected for days in remote country.

SEVEN YEARS LOOKING FOR A BETTER ANSWER

The search for the right material stretched across approximately seven years. During that time, I studied how fabric was made, including its construction, density, thread count and the characteristics that affected breathability, strength and performance. I also learned to sew because I could not properly test an idea if I had to depend on someone else to build every prototype.

I searched fabric stores throughout the Denver metropolitan area and bought entire bolts when I found a material that seemed promising. Some early nylon-type fabrics were workable enough to help me develop samples and refine the bag sizes, but they still did not provide the consistency, strength or performance I wanted. Each attempt taught me something and moved the design forward.

By 2001, I was developing the sizes and patterns that would become part of the Caribou Gear system. I used measurements from my own harvested animals and spent time with Colorado game processors measuring the height and circumference of actual quarters. I averaged those dimensions and drew patterns based on the animal and the intended purpose of each bag rather than simply following the traditional four-bag package.

That work led me to develop species-specific game-bag systems with varying bag sizes designed around the animal and the intended use of each bag. Not all animals are equal in size, and neither are their quarters, ribs, capes or other meat portions. Rather than placing four identical bags in every package, I designed each system around how the animal would actually be broken down, protected and transported from the field.

The additional bags were not marketing extras. A hunter needed a proper place for ribs, a cape, loose meat, backstraps, tenderloins and the portion carried back for dinner at camp. The Camp Meat Bag and the all-inclusive package approach came directly from how an animal is actually handled and cared for after the shot.

By 2006, I finally located a specialized synthetic fabric that came much closer to the balance I had been searching for. That fabric became the catalyst. It showed me more clearly what I wanted, but it was not yet the final answer.

Developing the final fabric became a long cycle of formulation, sampling, sewing and testing. In many ways, it was like mixing paint: every adjustment affected the finished result. With the help of manufacturers, I combined the attributes I valued in that first sample and continued refining the treatment, controlled density and weave until we arrived at the fabric Caribou Gear uses today. The material remained synthetic, but it was treated to feel and breathe more like cotton. Its controlled density regulated breathability, while the strength and microscopic variation of the weave helped keep it from slipping the way ordinary nylon could. I also developed a stitching method that transferred pressure away from the thread and into the stronger fabric structure. That repeated process of making a change, receiving a sample and testing it again is one of the main reasons development took years.

My first production order was completed in 2008. By 2009, Caribou Gear products had been placed in our first Alaska retail store, Barney’s Sports Chalet. What had begun as a field problem had become a complete product system.

ALASKA ESTABLISHED THE STANDARD

Caribou Gear did not emerge fully formed from a single moment. Its first ideas came from real problems experienced during an Alaska hunt, and those ideas developed through years of field use, prototypes, material searches and the refusal to accept that the available answer was good enough. Alaska brought the lessons together and established the standard every product would be expected to meet.

Remote country has little concern for a manufacturer’s claims. Rain, humidity, sharp brush, riverbanks, aircraft transfers and days of exposure provide a more honest evaluation. Equipment must work when it is dirty, wet, heavily loaded and handled by tired hunters. If it cannot perform under those conditions, it has not earned its place.

That standard eventually extended beyond game bags. Dry bags, roll-top bags, duffels, tarps, rifle covers, bullet wallets, GPS holsters, equipment organizers and the other products we developed came from the same way of thinking. Each product had to protect something important, solve a problem I understood and function as part of a larger field system.

The purpose was never to carry more equipment simply because it was available. The purpose was to help hunters carry the right equipment, protect it properly and remain organized when conditions made ordinary tasks more difficult.

THE RESPONSIBILITY BEGINS AFTER THE SHOT

For me, the success of a hunt has never ended with pulling the trigger or releasing an arrow.

From that moment forward, the hunter is responsible for recovering the animal, keeping the meat clean, cooling it properly and protecting it through every stage of the journey home.

A guide, transporter or processor may assist with parts of that journey, but the responsibility still belongs to the hunter. The harvest may pass from the field to a raft, aircraft, village, processor, vehicle and finally the family table. Every transfer creates another opportunity for contamination, heat, moisture, loss or neglect.

That understanding reaches back to the years when wild game helped feed my young family through the winter. Every usable pound mattered then, and it still matters today. Proper meat care is not an inconvenience added after the hunt. It is part of the hunt and a matter of respect for the animal, the effort invested and the people who will eventually share the meal.

ALASKA BUILT. PROVEN EVERYWHERE.

Alaska established the standard because it exposed equipment to conditions that could not be ignored or explained away. But the principles learned there are not limited to Alaska. Hunters face distance, weather, weight and meat-care responsibilities throughout the West, across Canada and anywhere a harvest must be protected and transported from the field.

Today, after more than four decades of hunting experience, I continue to write down ideas, develop prototypes and evaluate products through the same practical lens. Caribou Gear has grown, but the foundation has not changed. Our products are still built around real problems, firsthand experience and the belief that a hunter’s equipment must earn its place.

Caribou Gear may carry the name of one of Alaska’s most recognized animals, but its meaning reaches beyond a single species or destination. Alaska established the standard, years of experience shaped the products, and responsibility remains the reason behind every one of them.

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