By Don Trump, Jr.
By day four our feet were frozen numb. Any small slip off the jon boat into the ice-crusted alpine lake would mean certain death, but these risks are the expected standard when mountain goat hunting. As I gazed over America’s–arguably the world’s–most pristine scenery and actually had time to reflect back on the series of challenges and disappointments that was 2020, I thought to myself: Isn’t this great?
Part 1: The 2020 Disaster
Two-thousand twenty, AD. This is going to be our year, right?
It started off looking like it. The campaign was going great, the country and economy were on a good track, life was busy … but good.
But by January 10, 2020, the CDC began publishing data about a new coronavirus on its website and by January 20, Covid-19 was confirmed in Washington state. Although talks about the virus were moving from chatter to serious pretty damn quick, the USA was still business as usual.
At the beginning of February I flew to Reno for Safari Club International’s annual convention. It’s basically a huge trade show where hunting and fishing outfitters, gun manufacturers, gear companies and sportsmen from around the globe meet up to book hunts and shop for the next thing they’re going to hide from their wives. It’s always a good time.
There were a few conversations going around about Covid, but you have to remember, this is a group of the most serious outdoorsmen on Earth–guys who by nature aren’t afraid to take some risks–and so everyone was still booking trips. Test kits for the virus didn’t even exist yet, and nobody foresaw any disruptions to their plans.
On the final night of the convention I auctioned off a father/son hunt in Alaska where the winners would join me and my son, Donnie, for a week-long coastal Sitka deer hunt with the proceeds going to SCI’s wildlife conservation efforts. We raised close to $400,000 on this single item.
I think it was a record, but fact-check me.
Anyway, we were all pretty excited about how this auction performed because that kind of money really helps a group like SCI. Plus, I got one of my favorite things ever in the process–an Alaskan hunt for me and my son.
Look, I know I’m a Trump and everyone probably thinks I ride around in a limousine eating caviar (are limos still a thing?), but the truth is, I’m very low-maintenance. I’m a huge sucker for a good hunting invite—to the point where I sometimes get myself into trouble by saying yes to so many of them. Believe it or not, my old man still pays attention to how much time I spend in the office. Because of the size of our company, people often forget that our operation is still a family-owned mom-and-pop business … and Pop notices when I’m gone.
So, by the time we left Reno, Field Ethos co-founder Jason Vincent and I had a plan for the Alaska trip. Deer, ducks, some crabbing, a lot of picking on Donnie and seven days of Alaska’s fresh fall air.
Donnie, my main hunting buddy, was already starting to show signs of the New York City influence. Anti-hunting peer pressure at age 11, as I’d recently found out, is actually a thing and I could see the symptoms of brainwashing.
I’d have him back firmly on Team Dad soon enough.
Part 2: That Bastard Covid
Holy shit, things escalated quickly. Italy got hit hard by the virus in February, and on March 11, the W.H.O. declared Covid-19 a global pandemic.
Imagine trying to figure out how to defend a country from all the effects of an unknown virus such as this while running a campaign for your second term as President–all while half the country is blaming you for every negative thing going on around the globe.
The entire world’s vibe changed, and the Trump family was all hands on deck for months on end.
All the while, our fall Alaska trip provided something to look forward to. We had it scheduled for the last week in October; it was going to be a much-needed break with Donnie, complete with no cell signal and no distractions.
And then Covid torpedoed our trip.
One of the dads who won the auction got the virus. He seemed to be managing it well, but dammit, we weren’t going without him. So we rescheduled for November. I ended up making a total of 103 separate campaign appearances in October–and I’m not counting small breakfast meetings here, these were all in front of 300 to 5000 people. I remember thinking, I could use a break right about now, but let’s get this election won and then we’ll hunt.
Well, we all know what happened so there’s no sense in a full election recap, but a mid-November getaway seemed like a pretty fucking good idea.
And then, another speed bump: Covid visited Yours Truly two days before the November trip. At this point the thought of a 2020 Alaska hunt with my son and a few friends went up in smoke.
But on December 3 the phone rang.
Part 3: Alaska: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-Style.
On December 3, my friend and our Alaskan outfitter, Keegan McCarthy, called. He said he had a cancellation for a mountain goat hunt starting December 10, and that we may be able to get a goat, Sitka deer and some ducks on the same hunt. Keegan had Covid himself at the time and wasn’t going to make the trip with us, but he said his boat, the Sikumi, was staffed with guides who were ready for an adventure.
At this point I asked Donnie if he was up for going, but he was on the fence. That damned brainwashing again. I made a tactical decision to casually mention that KUIU was giving everyone camo while Remington and Leupold were giving a custom rifle setup to whichever one of my sons decided to come along. I told him it was ok if he didn’t want to go and that I’d check with his little brothers to see if either of them were up for it. He took the bait so fast he got whiplash.
I called Jason and asked if he still had time to go. He and I were busy building the Field Ethos team, but he said he wasn’t going to miss tagging along on a mountain goat hunt–and I knew he’d never pass up a good duck hunt.
We’re all in.
On December 10 we hopped in a floatplane in Juneau and turned our phones off. About an hour later we landed on the water near Admiralty Island–and that’s the only landmark I’m going to give you. Alaskan guides don’t have a sense of humor about people sharing their spots.
For the next few days we hiked in timber looking for deer and shot ducks from the skiff when we were scouting the beaches. We weren’t seeing any deer, but the duck hunting was awesome. Cold, but awesome.
At one point when we were headed to a spot to set up for ducks I looked at Jason and told him I couldn’t feel my feet. Jason said he was pretty much frozen too, and we both turned to check on Donnie. The kid was taking a nap. How it was possible for him to be that comfortable, we’ll never know, but the truth is, he never once mentioned being cold, hungry or tired for the entire trip. My boy is a trooper and yes, I’m proud of that.
On the evening of day 3, after having a lot of fun, but failing to see a single deer, our goat guide pulled up to the Sikumi on his badass landing craft. Picture a modern version of a WWII beach assault vehicle, but with a heated cockpit and all the marine electronics a guy could buy to increase his chances of survival on the Alaskan coast. He should have introduced himself like, “Hello, my name is Scott Newman, and I have my shit together.”
The next morning, we headed to a glacier and spotted several goats that we’d all die trying to get to. So Scott quickly called an audible and we set sail for his waterfront airplane hangar where he kept all his gear. Once there we drove three 4-wheelers onto the landing craft and made it back to the Sikumi just after dark. We used the on-board crane to load the 4-wheelers onto the top deck and started motoring to a new location.
Here’s the planes, trains and automobiles part:
The next morning, we craned the 4-wheelers back onto the landing craft and set off in the dark to a different island. Once there, we drove the 4-wheelers off the bow of the boat and onto the beach. Scott took the landing craft out into the cove, dropped anchor and used an inflatable paddle boat to get back to us. This would keep the tide from leaving us stranded later.
As the sun began to peak above the mountains, we began a two-hour 4-wheeler ride through the timber with a 6hp outboard motor and a bunch of gear strapped to the machines. We eventually arrived at a frozen alpine lake where Scott had a small aluminum jon boat stashed in the woods. After mounting the motor, we climbed in and used the tiny vessel like an artic ice-breaking ship.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of breaking a trail of ice a mile long across an entire lake using a low-sided 14-foot aluminum skiff, but it feels something like, If the slightest thing goes wrong here, we all die. It was that simple. But we didn’t die.
As we made our way to the glacier at the far end of the lake, we were all spotting goats and trying to make a plan.
“What about that goat right there?” Donnie asked as he pointed over our heads. We all turned and began to scramble at the same time. We were after a nice male and there he was. Donnie went from spotting that goat to setting up and making a 350-yard shot in less than two minutes. The true goal of the trip was now complete, and Donnie had made it all happen for himself.
It took us more than 24 hours to recover that goat. We had to repeat the boat/4-wheeler/landing craft sequence several more times, but, as any true hunter knows, it was totally worth it. The goat went down almost 1,000 vertical feet from where Donnie took the shot and the recovery was—since I know Donnie’s mom will read this—not without risk. The last 200 feet required ropes and rappelling, and I wouldn’t let Donnie go up there. Scott made a comment about not wanting me with him either. Apparently killing a sitting President’s son on a mountain climb would be bad for his business, but I went with him anyway. We climbed above the goat and repelled down to get him. It took a while, but we made it happen.
We loaded the goat for one final ice-breaking voyage and started the long journey back. As Jason and I more thoroughly froze with each passing minute, Donnie laughed and punched us in our arms. It was the perfect way to end the trip.
When our float plane landed back in Juneau, I turned on my phone. You have 72,000 new messages … .
