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As an Idahoan, I’m all too familiar with the “we’re full” attitude our state’s become famous for. It seems like most folks these days encourage visitors to come for a good time, but not a long time.

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Generally, we here at 43rd Exposure don’t try to pit one group against another. It’s not always hunters vs. non-hunters, public land vs. private land, or rifles vs. arrows. There is one topic, however, that you’re either for or against; There’s simply no middle ground when it comes to the mustache. We’d love to agree with folks who say mustaches are dirty, displeasing, uncivilized and lazy, but we’d be wrong. The fact of the matter is, every hair that adorns a man’s upper lip is a key ingredient to his masculinity. It’s a personal accoutrement rooted in tradition, virtue and...

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I’ve been hunting for more than 20 years. Most of those years were spent in the vast mountains, scenic rivers and open fields of Idaho. Throughout those 20 years, a lot has changed. I don’t just mean in the landscape of Idaho, but for myself. Military obligations, family events and work are always prevalent, but I never fail to find time to do the things I love with people I love. While the last couple of decades have come with heavy personal changes, I’ve also made some changes as small as what I wear on a hunt. Last season started long...

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Hunting, Social media -

As a longtime military member, I’ve had my fair share of grip and grins. Every promotion, every certificate, every award, every coin – there always seems to be someone nearby ready to take a photo of the presenter and recipient in a contrived pose. As a hunter, the grip and grins don’t always take place on a stage or in front of an audience. They often happen in the backcountry or knee-deep in a river. These photos symbolize the feeling of accomplishment after a successful hunt. They represent and commemorate the scouting, the hiking, the camaraderie and the time away from...

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I remember my last duck hunt with grandpa before he died. He was a fisherman mostly – duck hunting wasn’t his true passion. Nevertheless, he knew I wanted to try knocking a few birds out of the sky, so he loaded me into his ’88 Bonneville van and we bumped along the banks of the Boise River near Star, Idaho, long before it was overgrown with subdivisions, paved roads and families crammed into SUVs on their way to soccer practice. Everything about that trip had a tinge of antiquity. Our inflatable rubber decoys belonged to my great grandpa. I used...

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