This is part two in a two-part series of when Donald Trump Jr. and two of his sons joined us at Becharof Lodge on the Egegik River in September of 2023, for a cast and blast adventure. While they enjoyed coho fishing on the Egegik River, and going on small-stream flyouts to fish, they really loved hiking on the tundra in search of willow ptarmigan. This was written by Scott Haugen, and originally appeared in the August 2024 issue of Alaska Sporting Journal. Enjoy!

Peaking over alders swaying in the wind, we watched as ptarmigan flitted about the tundra. They were willow ptarmigan–Alaska’s state bird–and there were lots of them. Four of us spread out across the open tundra, hunkering down as if it would somehow conceal us in the sparse cover.

When they saw us, some of the mottled birds scurried into nearby willows. Others stood on alert, not sure what we were, likely never before having seen a human. Some young birds even fed closer to us, but they were still out of range.

Slowly we inched closer. We were in no hurry. Minutes later the birds were in range. “Spencer, keep walking right at that bird and when it lifts its head or flies, shoot it,” whispered Spencer’s dad. It was Spencer’s first time to Alaska.

The birds on my end of the flock grew nervous and sauntered out of range. That’s when I put down my gun and pulled out the camera. Tracking Spencer through my telephoto lens, I could feel the tension in his body. Though he was nine years old, it was obvious Spencer had handled a gun since an early age. He also knew how to read the birds’ body language and anticipate their moves.

When a ptarmigan on the edge of the flock stood upright, Spencer shouldered the 20 gauge and shot. Donnie, Spencer’s 14 year old brother emptied both of his barrels. Their dad dropped a brace, too.

I snapped photos as the three hunters gathered birds. We had no dog. I took photos then just watched. Smiles widened and anticipation mounted as the trio came together, holding their birds. I could tell they were reliving stories of what had just happened. I gave them space. I had the best seat in the house on this August day, one year ago.

The father and his sons looked at the birds, chatted some more, then simultaneously looked at me, as if on command. Cameras were a part of their life back home, or wherever they went in the world. I captured the moment, and though posed, the smiles were sincere. They stuffed the birds in their vests and kept going.

Rather than join them, I stayed back. They relished their time together, something I could appreciate having raised two boys of my own in the public eye.

Over the course of the next two hours we covered 8.5 miles. The boys were happy, they’d both just shot their limit of ptarmigan. Their dad, Donald Trump Jr., was proud. He was smiling. He’s always in a good mood when in the outdoors, no matter the situation.

Our coming together wasn’t by chance. Our relationship goes back to my TV show hosting days. We’ve been on other adventures, together. Don had been wanting to get the boys to Becharof Lodge on Alaska’s Egegik River, a place I’ve been going to for 16 years. Finally the timing was right.

“That was one of the funnest things I’ve ever done, can we do it again tomorrow, and the next day,” smiled Spencer as we huddled on the tundra, cleaning ptarmigan. I assured him we’d birds hunt again, between fishing trips. It was the most ptarmigan I’d ever seen on this part of the upper peninsula. Seeing 500 birds a day was common and if you were willing to walk, securing a 10 bird limit was easy.

“How about if we do a flyout tomorrow, then hunt ptarmigan the next day,” Don Jr. suggested. Spencer fired back. “How about you go on the flyout and I’ll stay back and hunt ptarmigan with Scott.” We all laughed. Spencer was serious.

The next morning we awaited the float plane’s arrival. We’d planned a flyout for Arctic grayling and char. Four hours of waiting and communicating with the bush pilot in King Salmon and we finally called it off. The weather was either too foggy at Becharof Lodge or in King Salmon to fly. It was too dangerous to chance.

“Why don’t you guys go ptarmigan hunting,” chimed Mark Korpi, co-owner of Becharof Lodge. “All our boats are out, but you can just walk from here.” Spencer was out the door before the rest of us even stood up.

Becharof Lodge is situated on Native land, near Becharof National Wildlife Refuge. No hunting is allowed on the private land or within two miles of the river or Becharof Lake, Alaska’s second biggest lake. This is a do-it-yourself bird hunt as there are no licensed hunting guides at the lodge. It’s easy. The ground is rolling tundra, simple to walk on and it’s flat.

“Let’s go you guys, what’s taking so long,” hollered Spencer who was already dressed for the hike. The rest of us were still downing coffee and snacks.

Spencer’s enthusiasm was contagious. The sandy, rocky soil made for easy walking. Soon we were where we could pull the trigger. Ptarmigan were everywhere. It was windy and this kept birds in big flocks, close to alder patches. It made the stalking and jump shooting fun and exciting.

Along the way we encountered red fox and brown bear. A sow and two cubs skirted us all afternoon. The grinding calls of sandhill cranes could be heard in the distance. Fresh wolf and moose tracks pocked sandy stretches of soil. We found caribou sheds but left them. I shared stories of how the very spot we stood was once home to hundreds of thousands of caribou. We saw one bull that day.

We covered just shy of six miles. The ptarmigan were concentrated. The shooting was fast with few misses.

The next day Don Jr. and his boys went with George Joy, the other co-owner of Becharof Lodge, to visit the village of Egegik. The tiny community of less than 30 residents sits at the mouth of the Egegik River, 30 miles downstream of the lodge. They saw pods of beluga whales hunting salmon and got a taste of what commercial fishing was like. They met some of the elders, including Scovi, the mayor of Egegik. I love Scovi and her family. I love the village of Egegik. I could live there.

While the Trumps toured the tiny town, my buddy from home whom I hunt with a lot, Austin Crowson, and I stayed back to hunt ptarmigan. We hiked in a different direction than the prior two days. We covered over 11 miles but got our birds. It was a beautiful day on the tundra. We took home lots of ptarmigan, my favorite eating of all upland birds.

“Dad, can we go ptarmigan hunting in the morning,” Spencer asked during dinner that night. It was obvious what Spencer’s first love was. He was a good little angler. He worked hard and caught coho. But the kid loves bird hunting.

The next morning I stayed back. It was our final day at the lodge and I wanted the Trumps to enjoy their family time, a rarity with their lifestyle.

Don Jr. and I never talk politics. We don’t discuss the world’s problems. We focus on the now. All conversations are about hunting, fishing and family.

“You know, everyone thinks just because you’re in Alaska that everything will come easy,” shared Don Jr. “That you’ll catch fish on every cast and see moose around every corner. That’s not the reality, and the fact the boys had to work at the fishing this week was the best thing for them. That’s what Alaska teaches you, to work. This was a great experience!”

There’s always something to do at Becharof Lodge, be it fishing, ptarmigan hunting, wildlife watching, berry picking, beach combing or sitting inside with a hot cup of cocoa, eating Goni’s fine food. It’s a magical place, one I keep going back to and one I was honored to share with Donald Trump Jr. and his two sons.