Pursuit, Author at Pursuit

The Invisible Fences Are Coming Down: How Infinite Outdoors Is Reopening America’s Lost Public Lands

by Pursuit | May 8, 2025 | Inside Pursuit

For generations, hunters, anglers, and outdoor lovers have felt the same frustration: seeing the rolling hills of public land just beyond a fence line—close enough to touch, but impossible to reach. Millions of acres meant for everyone sat locked away, landlocked behind private properties, out of reach for all but a few.

Sam Seeton was one of those people. A lifelong outdoorsman and passionate advocate for public lands, he knew something had to change. That’s why today, from the heart of Wyoming, Seeton and his team at Infinite Outdoors are tearing down those invisible fences with a bold new program: Access Granted.

Officially launched on May 7, 2025, Access Granted is the first initiative of its kind, designed to give everyday people legal, walk-in access to public lands that had been locked away for decades. By partnering with private landowners and conservation-driven outdoor brands like HUSH and Primos, Infinite Outdoors is unlocking thousands of acres of BLM land, state land, and national forest — and they’re doing it at no cost to the public.

“For decades, there’s been a lot of talk about the problem — about why so much public land remains off-limits,” Seeton says. “We decided to be the ones who finally do something about it.”

The problem is staggering. While the United States boasts over 640 million acres of public land, nearly 16 million acres are stranded, surrounded by private property and legally inaccessible. That’s 16 million acres of lost opportunity for hunters seeking their first deer, families looking for a quiet place to camp, or anglers chasing trout in hidden streams.

Infinite Outdoors had already made waves when it launched in 2020, often described as the “Airbnb for outdoorsmen,” connecting sportsmen to more than a million acres of private lands across 16 states. But Access Granted goes even further: it builds legal easements across private lands, funded by Infinite Outdoors’ Access+ membership program and corporate partners, and opens those routes freely to the public.

Landowners are fairly compensated, outdoor brands help fuel the effort, and the public gets something back that always should have been theirs — a clear path to the wild.

And Seeton and his team didn’t stop at just creating access. At every step, they placed conservation front and center. In partnership with the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, Infinite Outdoors assigns professional biologists to work with every participating landowner, ensuring that wildlife populations stay healthy and harvest levels are sustainable. It’s a model where access and stewardship go hand-in-hand.

“Access Granted is one of the most important programs I’ve ever seen for the future of hunting and outdoor recreation,” says Casey Butler, founder of HUSH. “It’s not just about access — it’s about doing it the right way.”

The first major project under Access Granted is already underway. Near the small town of Kaycee, Wyoming, a 600-acre parcel known as Andrus Draw now serves as a gateway to more than 40,000 acres of landlocked BLM land. To celebrate, Infinite Outdoors has teamed up with the Mule Deer Foundation to launch a wildlife-friendly fencing project, and they’re inviting the public to join them for a volunteer day on June 7.

And this is just the beginning. So far, nearly a dozen properties across Wyoming and Colorado have joined the Access Granted initiative, unlocking over 45,000 acres — an area larger than 60 square miles — for hunters, campers, anglers, and families alike.

Standing on a hillside overlooking one of these newly opened lands, Seeton is clear about the stakes: “This land was always meant to be for all of us. We’re just making sure that promise is kept.”

As Access Granted grows, it’s offering something rare — not just more places to explore, but a renewed connection between people and the land. It’s a vision where public land truly means public, and where the next generation of outdoor enthusiasts can roam a little freer.

Explore the newly opened lands or find out how you can be part of the movement at infiniteoutdoorsusa.com.

Whispers In The Wind: Chasing Gobblers & Finding Ghosts

by Pursuit | May 1, 2025 | Hunting

We set out that morning with turkey calls in our pockets and high hopes in our hearts. Spring was just starting to hit full bloom, and the gobblers were supposed to be plentiful. The sun had just begun to spill gold over the rolling hills when we crested a rise and stopped short.

There, draped across a boulder like a relic from another age, lay the remains of a longhorn, its massive horns curling skyward like frozen smoke. The carcass, half-consumed by time and weather, seemed to hum with a strange energy — as if it wasn’t just bones and hide we were looking at, but a story the land itself was trying to tell.

We forgot about the turkeys.

In the quiet of the morning, we could almost hear the echoes: hooves pounding the earth, cowhands shouting across the plains, campfires crackling under the stars. This place had been alive with movement and purpose once, long before it became a backdrop for our hunt. Now, if you slowed down enough — if you listened — you could catch glimpses of that life, still drifting on the breeze.

We never did find any turkeys that day. But we found something else: a reminder that the land holds more than just game. It holds memory, mystery, and a kind of quiet reverence for those who take the time to notice.

Sometimes, you go looking for one thing and find another. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

The Spring Pursuit: Chasing Gobblers and Good Laughs Before Dawn

by Pursuit | Apr 23, 2025 | Hunting

There’s a special kind of stillness in the woods before dawn. The world is dark, quiet, and full of promise. Spring turkey season means 3:30 AM wake-up calls, questionable gas station coffee, and group texts that start with “You up?” and end with “I forgot my gloves.”

Most years, it’s me and two buddies, stumbling around in the dark like caffeinated ninjas, trying not to wake the whole forest. Someone always trips over a root. Someone always forgets a call. One year, someone brought decoys but left his shotgun in the truck. That’s the kind of crack team we run with.

But once we get past the groggy jokes and get into position, things settle down. We hike in quietly, boots brushing through the forest floor, trying to beat the gobblers coming down from the roost. The first gobble of the morning is like a starter’s pistol—echoing through the hollows and setting our hearts racing. That’s when the whisper-banter starts.

“That bird’s hot—he’s gonna fly down right on top of us.” Me: “You said that last time, and he ghosted you harder than your high school prom date.” He snorts into his sleeve trying not to laugh loud enough to spook everything in a 200-yard radius.

We get serious when it counts (well, mostly), calling softly, waiting for a response, watching the woods come alive. Sometimes the toms come in strutting like they own the place. Other times, they strut away like they’ve got a better offer down the ridge. Turkeys are like that—beautiful, unpredictable, and maddeningly aloof.

But when it all clicks—when you coax that gobbler in, inch by inch, until he’s finally in range and you take the shot—it’s pure electricity. The kind of moment you talk about over a tailgate breakfast, grinning ear to ear, covered in camo and leaf litter, swapping the story of the morning like it’s already a legend.

The bird is a trophy, sure. But the laughs, the early morning struggle, the shared silence and sudden chaos of a hunt—that’s the real reason we’re out here. Spring turkey season isn’t just a hunt. It’s a reunion. A ritual. And, honestly, the only time of year it feels perfectly normal to cheer at 6:30 AM in the middle of the woods while hugging two grown men in full camouflage.

Smoked Wild Turkey Breast

by Pursuit | Apr 18, 2025 | Inside Pursuit

One of our favorite wild turkey recipe’s is smoked turkey breast. Here’s a simple recipe to try:

Ingredients:
• 1 wild turkey breast
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons poultry seasoning
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 1 tablespoon black pepper
• 1 tablespoon garlic powder
Instructions:
1. Preheat your smoker to 225°F (110°C).
2. Rinse the turkey breast and pat it dry with paper towels.
3. Rub the olive oil all over the turkey breast, making sure to cover it evenly.
4. Mix the poultry seasoning, salt, black pepper, and garlic powder in a small bowl.
5. Rub the seasoning mixture all over the turkey breast, making sure to cover it evenly.
6. Place the turkey breast on the smoker rack, making sure there is enough space for the smoke to circulate around the meat.
7. Smoke the turkey breast for 2-3 hours, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°F (74°C).
8. Remove the turkey breast from the smoker and let it rest for 10-15 minutes before slicing and serving.

Note: Make sure to follow all safety guidelines for handling and cooking wild game. It’s important to fully cook wild turkey to ensure it’s safe to eat.

How to Take Your Father Turkey Hunting

by Pursuit | Apr 18, 2025 | Hunting

There’s an old split-rail fence at Mom and Dad’s place that separates the lawn from the horse pasture. I like to lean against it just before dark and owl hoot. Across the pasture, and beyond the creek, is an oak hillside, and in the spring a gobbler roosts there as many nights as not. The acoustics must be perfect because if I hoot from that fence and he’s there, he’ll answer. Tonight, he’s there.

I expected as much because Dad had seen him strutting in the pasture just the day before. He’d even set up on him, but although the bird gobbled, he never did come in. I was glad to hear that Dad had given it a try, though, because the fire he once had for turkey hunting has faded. There’s nothing I’d like more than to help Dad shoot this bird in the morning.

When I walk back into the cabin with the good news, Dad is watching CNN at two clicks shy of full volume, the television set buzzing like a cheap sound system. He turns it down and asks, “Hear him?”

“Yep,” I say. “He’s roosted right over the creek. But we’re going to have to set up early.” As I emphasize that last word, Dad’s eyes narrow the way they always do when I hint at taking the lead on, well, anything.

“How early?”

Getting a Start

Twenty-four years ago, I watched my first gobbler walk into gun range. I was sitting between Dad’s knees, cradling a 20-gauge as the turkey gobbled over and again, first on the limb, then on the ground. Dad whispered to me, “I’ll tap your neck when he’s close enough.”

He often used friction calls, but Dad was talented enough with his natural voice to win a few local calling contests. He yelped softly, and the longbeard popped into view 30 yards away. The tap on my neck, and the roar of the shotgun, and the gobbler winging out of sight seemed to happen all in same moment. I fought back tears but couldn’t hold them all. Dad just smiled and said, “Do you want to quit?”

“No,” I said.

“Good.”

That one morning shaped my whole life, to this very moment. How do you repay something like that?

Too Late

I know we need to get up at 3:45, but I also know that if I suggest that, I’ll have to argue with Dad, and I’m not up for it. As he’s gotten older, he likes to sleep in. “Four-thirty,” I tell him. “But we’ve got to go as soon as we get up.”

At 4:50, I’m pacing the cabin while Dad fusses with contact lenses and nurses a cup of black coffee. I step onto the porch and strain my eyes at the sky, as if staring at the stars will keep them out a little longer. When I go back in, Dad’s wearing camo pants but fishing around in the hunting closet. “Have you got some extra shells?” he asks.

“I’ve got you covered there,” I say. “TSS No. 9s.”

“Nines?” he says. “I like 4s.”

“Dad, these are…” I stop myself. “I have some lead 4s too.”

He walks back over to his coffee, and I step back out onto the porch, where I hear the first notes of the dawn chorus. “Dad, we need to get going!” I say, slinging a bag of decoys over my shoulder.

“OK!” he says, and splashes his coffee into the sink.

We cross the fence, and I can already see the maples on the edge of the creek, where we’d talked about setting up. It’s shooting light by the time we sit down. Two distant birds sound off, but all around us, it’s silence.

“Think we scared him?” Dad whispers.

“Yes,” I answer. “He watched us walk across that pasture and set those decoys, plain as day.”

“I don’t think so,” he says.

I shrug. The gobbles from the distant birds are faint but steady. Suddenly I see Dad twist to his right and shoulder his 870. My heart jumps. I’m thinking that the roosted tom has walked in silently. Instead, I see the wake of a beaver swimming down the creek. We’ve lost a few acres of timber due to flooding out here, and I know what’s coming. Dad hits the beaver in the head with the entire payload of a $10 TSS shell, which I’d handed to him in the dark. Geese flush off the creek, and the horses stampede from the pasture as the blast reverberates through the timber. Dad racks the slide, and regards the smoking hull with a smile.

“Killed that son of a bitch dead,” he says. “You think we ought to move?”

New Spot

We sneak to the other end of the farm, where the distant birds have since gone silent. Setting up on the side of a ridge, with our backs to a copse of hickory saplings, I stake the decoys 20 yards ahead on the right, to Dad’s side. I sit on his left and cutt hard on a mouth call, and any expectations of relaxing in the sun vanish when a gobbler with marbles in his throat fires off 100 yards away. Dad yanks his shotgun to his knee.

I call again, and the bird cuts me off with another deep gobble. He’s coming fast. For five minutes, it’s back and forth—call and gobble—and I know we’re about to see him. I’m watching the rise just beyond the decoys, expecting the tom to materialize at any second. But then, nothing. I yelp, but there’s no response. No drumming, no walking in the leaves. Fifteen minutes pass, and I think this turkey too has busted us.

Then Dad yelps with his voice. Damn, we sound desperate, I think to myself—but the turkey roars back, right on top of us, and I hear drumming. I look all around the decoys, but he’s not there. Cocking my eyes to the left—on my side—I can see the gobbler standing in full strut and plain view, about 30 yards away. Dad has no shot with me between him and the bird.

“Kill him,” he says. I don’t move. “He’s going to get away if you don’t!”

The bird spins his fan to me and drums, and I snap my gun to my shoulder. Dad yelps again, and the turkey deflates, craning his neck. At the shot, the bird flops down the hill, coming to rest just feet from our decoys. When I stand up, I’m shaking my head in disgust.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dad asks.

“I really wanted you to shoot that bird,” I say.

“Hell, I’ve been calling them in for you to shoot for 25 years,” he says. “I don’t know why that should change now. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

Mom takes our picture with the turkey, next to the split-rail fence. It might not be the exact hunt I was envisioning, but I think in Dad’s mind, it played out perfectly.

Written by Will Brantley for Field & Stream and legally licensed through the Matcha publisher network. Please direct all licensing questions to legal@getmatcha.com.

Featured image provided by Field & Stream

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