The MeatEater

Just several months after moving to Kenai, Alaska, Ariean Colton, a mother of three, survived a shocking animal attack. Before heading to work as a medical assistant on the morning of August 26, 2025, Colton woke up early, started her Garmin Watch, and headed outside to go on a jog. Then her memory went black.

“I had significant brain damage, so I don’t remember anything, but I can tell you the facts,” Colton told MeatEater. “I started my workout at 5:20 a.m. That’s the same time my neighbor’s camera picked up motion—most likely the bear. At 5:24 a.m. I pushed start on the ‘run’ setting on my watch. At 5:24 a.m., you can also hear two loud screams on my neighbor’s camera. I was likely walking to the end of my driveway when it happened.”

Colton was the victim of a rare, predatory brown bear attack in a residential area within a town’s city limits—and it nearly killed her. Alaska Wildlife Trooper David Lorring told KTUU that after attacking Colton, the bear dragged her 100 yards down the road and onto a neighbor’s property. That neighbor “heard the barking, wolfing sound of a bear” but “didn’t think much of it.”

Still, the neighbor went outside to look around once it got light out, found Colton in his front yard at 6:28 a.m., and called 911. She was brutally wounded. “The biggest damage I got was on my face,” Colton said. “I don’t know if it was like a hit, and then I went to the ground and was knocked out, or if it was a bite and drag…I don’t know what happened. Did I try and fight it off? Or was I just knocked out the whole time?”

Regardless, the bear had already left the scene. Colton was airlifted to a hospital in Anchorage, where she was soon put into ICU with significant injuries: a cut on her face that extended from her nose under her left eye to her hairline, a cut down the back of her head, another one on her right arm, road rash all along her body, and internal damage, too. She broke four T-bones in her back, her jaw, several ribs, her left scapula, and her right thumb. She lost the use of her left eye. And after her first surgery, things were looking bleak.

“I had a huge brain contusion that had grown quite a bit,” she said. “[The doctors] were worried I wouldn’t wake up.”

Fortunately, the swelling responded to medication, and Colton started to react after five days. She faced a long road to recovery, involving additional surgeries. Her hospital stay lasted a month. “I don’t remember much from that time, except for a little bit of rehab in the last week,” she said. “For a while, my husband had to tell me every morning where I was and why I was there… My kids would come visit on the weekends. My husband says that every time they came, I would say I wanted to go home with them. I just wanted to be with my family and go back to how things were.”

Even after leaving the hospital, Colton faced a harrowing recovery. Her lack of vision in one eye made it difficult to perform simple tasks like standing up. She also had to spend a lot of time recuperating and couldn’t do the physical activities she loved, like running. And, of course, there was the emotional and mental trauma and the difficulty of processing it without being able to remember the attack itself.

“I started therapy, and it has helped a ton,” she said. “It’s hard because your body reacts, even though your mind doesn’t remember. It’s constant. Every time I walk out the door, I have to know what’s out there. I am nervous for spring to come, because it’s been good right now with the bears hibernating.”

Colton, her husband Tyler, and her kids are still living in the house near where the attack took place. Officials conducted an immediate search in the area of the attack, even using drones, but did not locate the bear responsible. In the past, Colton’s family moved around a lot because of career opportunities for her husband; Colton had only been living in Alaska since June before the attack took place. She says she’s not sure if she wants to move again or settle in Kenai, which the family has otherwise liked.

“I want to overcome this fear, because I love being outdoors, and I want to be able to go outside and go on hikes again,” she said. Her family has made some changes following the attack. Colton and Tyler have begun carrying self-defense firearms and plan to equip their kids with bear spray when the snow melts. Additionally, the family got a new pet.

“We got an elk hound. They’re known for hunting large game. We let it go out in the yard first and check out the area. Then I can go and let my kids play in the backyard, knowing there’s something there to keep them safe.”

Ultimately, Colton hopes her story of survival will help others going through hard times. “Going through trauma is a lot. Sometimes people don't have the courage to just get up and move on and be able to process it,” she said. “I want people to know there is hope and positivity after a trauma. The bear dragged me a hundred yards. So, my family’s theme has been the one-hundred-and-first yard for how you react and what you do after all the hard things you go through.”

Images via Ariean Colton.

I became a shad addict on a quiet backwater creek in eastern North Carolina, just trying to find a way to kill time outdoors until turkey season kicked off. I was pitching a small red spoon from the bank when a hickory shad snatched it and launched itself from the water, twisting and flipping like a tiny tarpon as it tried to spit my lure. When that spoon came flying back at me mid-jump, I did what any self-respecting angler wasting time on a creek bank would do. I kept casting.

Hickory shad are famous for their sudden sprints and aerial displays. Some anglers call them “poor man’s tarpon,” and the nickname is well-earned. These little fish pack more fight per pound than most species. While bass and pike get the freshwater glory, the humble shad fights well beyond its weight class, and with sudden bursts of motion and surprising aerial leaps, it's a thrilling fish to catch.

American, hickory, and gizzard shad pour into rivers up and down the East Coast by the millions each spring, pulled by primal instincts that take them back to the very waters where they hatched. Then they leave behind countless fertilized eggs before returning to the open ocean.

For a few short weeks each spring, their upriver run delivers some of the most intense, and surprisingly underappreciated, freshwater fishing around.

The run is short, often just a few weeks, so timing is everything. Fish too early, and you’ll find empty water. Wait too long, and you’ll miss it entirely. Understanding the nuances of temperature, tide, and flow can help turn chance into opportunity. But sometimes it’s still a game of luck.

Adult shad don’t live full-time in eastern rivers. They spend their days cruising the Atlantic in schools. But in the spring, they move into waterways up and down the East Coast from Florida to Nova Scotia as the water temps climb into the 50s. Southern waters host shad first. By late April, fish are spilling into Mid-Atlantic rivers, and northern waterways follow in early May.

In tidal rivers, incoming water pushes shad upriver, while outgoing tides can stall their progress. Current matters, too. Shad will often take a quick breather in calmer pockets before tackling the next stretch of moving water. Think eddies, the outside of bends, creek mouths, and places where rivers and creeks widen.

Shad fight hard, but they aren’t monsters. A mature American shad might tip the scales at 3 to 8 pounds. Their hickory cousins are smaller, usually weighing in between 1 and 3 pounds. That means you don’t need a massive rod or heavy line to have a good fight.

A 6- to 7-foot medium-light spinning rod paired with a reel holding around 150 yards of 6- to 10-pound line hits the shad-fishing sweet spot. Some anglers use braid for its sensitivity. Others swear by mono because it can handle a shad’s sudden bursts of speed.

Shad darts and spoons are the classic choice for lures. But crappie jigs or curly-tail jigs also work. The best color lure is mostly a matter of personal preference and is usually far more important to the angler than to the shad.

Shad don’t feed during their spawning journey upriver. If you cut one open, you’ll find a mostly empty stomach. But they will hit a spoon or a shad dart out of frustration, or maybe sheer instinct.

Cast upstream or straight across the current, let the lure sink for a second, then start a slow retrieve. You don’t have to do anything fancy. Just keep the spoon, dart, or jig moving just off the bottom. Shad tend to travel low in the water column. If your lure is riding too high, you’re probably fishing over their heads.

Light condition matters. Anglers love bright days with bluebird skies. But shad aren’t fans of bright sunshine, especially in clear water. They tend to hug the bottom where it’s darker when the sun is high, which means they can slip right under your lure on their way upstream without ever touching it.

That’s why shad fishing tends to fire up at first light and again right before dark. As the sun drops, fish that may have spent the day resting in deeper water start pushing upriver again. If you’re standing in the right hole when a wave swims through, the action can get frantic almost out of nowhere.

Cloudy days can feel the same way. When the sky stays gray, shad move more and often ride higher in the water column. That makes it a lot easier for your rig to cross their path. Those damp, drizzly spring days that keep everyone else home tend to be some of the best shad fishing days of the season.

When a shad decides your lure is annoying enough to take, things amp up fast. Sometimes you may feel just a mild tap, but it usually feels more like the fish is trying to pull the rod from your hands.

After a shad is hooked, its first move is typically to speed downstream. Hickory shad, in particular, are natural gymnasts. Once hooked, they spend a lot of time in the air, twisting and trying to spit the hook.

A single fish can turn a quiet stretch of river into an adrenaline-pumping chaos of splashes and bending graphite. For a few short weeks each spring, that’s more than enough reason to keep casting. The fish will be gone before summer rolls around, but they have a way of leaving you with an itch that can’t be scratched until they come back next spring.

The Wild Turkey is one of the most beloved, and also most studied game birds. In this episode, Dr. Mike Chamberlain, also known as the Wild Turkey doc, gives us a look into one of the greatest new discoveries in the world of turkey science. A discovery that might have huge implications for the future of turkeys and turkey hunting.

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Steven Rinella talks with writer James McCommons.

Topics discussed: McCommon's new book, The Feather Wars and the Great Crusade to Save America's Birds; who did and didn't want The Migratory Bird Act; the commercial bird hunting era and how tweety birds were heavily exploited; the MeatEater office's punt gun; population level declines; the caviar and Marilyn Monroe pun; oology and nidology; just how small number 12 shot is; how some species disappeared; how many different groups came together to protect birds; and more.                 

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On this week's episode, Cal covers the push to reintroduce grizzly bears to California, an Alberta man who claimed to be dating his niece for a chance at deer tags, and what happens when you feed a raptor alcohol.

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On February 12th of this year, House Bill 652 was introduced in Idaho. If passed, this bill would add a section to Idaho law, declaring hunting as the state’s sport.

“This legislation allows Idaho to join a growing trend across the country in declaring a state sport. Whereas Hunting is a bastion of the history and culture of Idaho, both as a source of sustenance and recreation, the state sport of Idaho shall be Hunting,” the statement of purpose reads.

But the push to make hunting Idaho’s state sport didn’t start with lawmakers—it started with a fourth grader. Nine-year-old Idaho native Betty Grandy, a homeschooled student from Twin Falls, came up with the idea while reading her Idaho history textbook.

“I realized Idaho did not have an official state sport,” Betty told MeatEater. “I thought that I should ask people in my community so it wasn’t just me picking—Idaho was picking."

She then decided to run a poll, and to no surprise, hunting was the chosen sport. “I also thought it was a great option, because Idaho is 70% public land, and the people of Idaho enjoy hunting,” Betty said.

Her idea eventually reached the governor’s office, where Betty had the opportunity to pitch it directly to Idaho Governor Brad Little, who loved the idea and encouraged her to keep pushing the proposal forward.

When asked about meeting with the governor, Betty said, “I felt lucky to be there, because rarely any adults get the opportunity to meet the governor, and here I was—a nine-year-old girl!” She added that “he was kind, and he took my idea seriously. I also felt proud that my bill might be a part of Idaho’s history.”

As of March 13, House Bill 652 has passed in both the Idaho House and Senate and is awaiting final enrollment before heading to Governor Little’s desk. According to Betty, plans are already in place to celebrate with a ceremony at the state capitol when the governor signs the bill.

Afterward, she says the plan is to celebrate the way any nine-year-old would: “go to a restaurant in Boise… then to Scheels to play at the arcade and ride the Ferris wheel.”

Betty also hopes her story encourages other kids to get involved with legislation. For kids who want to create a new state symbol in their own state, she had some advice. “Ask people in your community what they like best,” Betty said. “Then talk to your local representatives and senators and ask if they will sponsor your bill. Everyone, including kids, has a voice in the government, and the best way to learn history is to be history!”

Feature image via Grandy Family and Friends.

It’s a celebration of stories featuring ladies from both sides of the nation. One culminating in a single turkey season with her father and the other one taking a little bit longer. Brent thinks you’ll like them both and we do too. 

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Rifle hunting, specifically for whitetails, tends to get side-eyed compared to bowhunting. There’s an obvious level of skill, dedication, and a learning curve when it comes to bowhunting. The level of detail and minutiae required to locate, hunt, and fling an arrow often takes a bit of the surprise out of hunting. This is especially true if you cast a wide net of cameras to target specific deer.

Hear me out, I’m not saying it’s not exciting to arrow a big buck (obviously it is) or that you can’t be surprised during bow season. I spend most of my deer season with bow in hand, but I’m just as thrilled to pick up my rifle. Whenever I break a gun out of the safe, two things happen: my expectations lower, and my optimism increases. It might just be a bit of nostalgia from my early days of hunting, but it makes hunting exciting—and that keeps me in the woods.

Unlike bowhunting, you don’t have to be on top of the “X” with a rifle. Yes, you should still rifle hunt like a bowhunter, but you have some wiggle room. Instead of a 30-yard range, you might have a 75- to 150-yard range. There’s a lot less stress involved when your theoretical kill zone exponentially increases and you don’t have to worry about timing your draw.

You can also get away with more when it comes to the wind. No, you can’t completely beat a deer’s nose, but you can hunt with less favorable winds when you don’t have to set up 20 yards off the trail. Having that extra room for error isn’t a license to get sloppy. Instead, it should allow you to get aggressive without the added pressures of bowhunting.

Deer hunting in the big woods is hard. Putting any deer, let alone mature bucks, within archery range can be a feat in itself. That difficulty also makes it incredibly rewarding when you do kill a deer in the big woods. There’s something almost mythical about watching a buck, regardless of size, stroll through vast and monotonous timber. Deer can, and do, come from almost anywhere. That range of possibilities adds mystery to deer hunting. When you bowhunt specific whitetails or even a specific area, deer movement can become somewhat predictable. Not in the big woods.

The allure of any deer coming from anywhere can rekindle those hopeful, maybe even naive, expectations that you probably experienced as a young hunter. While the chances of shooting a big buck might be really low, that doesn’t stop them from existing. Rifle hunting the big woods can make it feel like more of a reality than trying to get one within bow range.

Sure, this point goes for bowhunting, too, but the extended range of a rifle makes still-hunting one of the most exciting ways to gun hunt. Again, the restrictions that bowhunting imposes on hunters make it rewarding in its own right. But, rifles were made for still-hunting.

This is why lever actions still rule the deer woods. You can make quick, offhand shots in the timber. And just because the deer spots you first doesn't mean it’s over. You want exciting? Try keeping your composure while you take aim at a spooked deer. I’ve killed a few after having them blow at me. Good luck doing that with a bow.

It’s probably because my expectations are low when I’m still hunting, but those are some of the hunts I look forward to the most throughout the season. Even if I’m just using them to scout, still-hunts with a rifle can be surprisingly fun, especially during the rut. Yes, you can do this with a bow, but your odds of success greatly increase with a rifle.

Even if you’re a dedicated bowhunter, gun hunting can give you a much-needed change of pace. Instead of lone-wolfing it, plan a rifle hunt with a few of your buddies. Or use it as an opportunity to fill a doe tag or scout a new area. You might just surprise yourself.

Spring evenings are supposed to make turkey hunting easy. A tom flies to the roost, rattles the woods with a few last gobbles, and gives you everything but an onX pin on where to start in the morning. But it doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes the sun sets, and the woods go quiet, leaving you with nothing but a fresh collection of mosquito bites and the uneasy feeling of “what do I do now?”

When that happens, a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call is less appealing. But don’t give up just yet. My friend and hunting guide Walker Davidson of Alabama has a plan for any turkey hunter to go in cold and come out with a gobbler over their shoulder. I called him because he’s chased turkeys all over the country and hardly ever hunts roosted birds. Instead of spending his evenings in the woods, Davidson rests up, and come morning, he usually tags out. Here’s how he does it.

When you don’t have a bird pinned to a tree at daylight, you need to fall back on what you’ve learned about where turkeys want to be. Before the season starts, gather a list of likely places. “I like to scout areas where it makes sense for a hen to be, and I like to mark spots with fresh sign during the season,” Davidson told MeatEater.

He spends the preseason building a mental map of where turkeys live based on sign like tracks in the road, droppings, and scratching under hardwoods, and he tries to connect them with terrain features like creeks, bottoms, and ridges.

Instead of focusing on a single bird, Davidson focuses on a bird’s entire home range. “Easterns usually have a small bubble that they live, breed, and feed in,” he said. “You need to get into that bubble.”

Davidson has a list of places to go before daylight, but he usually has it more narrowed down a few days into the season. “I always hunt based on where I’ve heard the most recent gobbling activity,” he said. “If I was on a bird the day before, I’m going back there. But I always have a few backup spots ready if things don’t work out.”

From there, the plan is simple: Walk into the woods, listen for gobbles, and use the terrain to your advantage. To be successful, though, he suggests staying as quiet as possible and not calling to a bird until you’re within his bubble. “I barely ever owl hoot in the woods,” Davidson said. “A turkey is going to know that’s a person.” Even worse is making a bunch of noise while trying to locate a bird.

“If you owl hooted, broke three limbs to get in, he’s going to respond to your yelps because he can’t help it,” he said. “But he’s not going to come to you because he knows something is off.”

Instead of forcing a turkey to gobble, wait until you hear a turkey sound off, then slip in quietly and move to a good spot within earshot of the bird. “Don’t call to him right when you hear him. Get yourself in the right position, then call to him. If they’re alone, they’re predisposed to work their way uphill to gobble. Get uphill of the bird if you can.”

At this point, if you’ve done your part and the gobbler you’re after is alone, there’s a good chance you're going to kill him before the rest of the world wakes up and eats breakfast. But things can go sideways quickly. Your bird could be surrounded by hens, or he might just not be feeling it today. It’s important to read the situation and adapt.

“He might gobble from the roost, then fly down, shut up, and hang out with hens till 10 o’clock,” Davidson said. “Just sit down, eat a sandwich, and hang out. Eventually he’ll sound off again, and you’ll be back in the game.”

Depending on where that next gobble comes from, you might need to move and find a likely spot where a lone hen might peck around within earshot of that tom. This is where scouting and knowing the terrain is a big help.

At this point the hunt also becomes a matter of reading his mood. “If he’s gobbling at every crow, woodpecker, and log truck going down the highway, I’m going to call more aggressively,” he said. “If he’s more subdued, I’ll match that tone with softer yelps and clucks.”

Of course, sometimes you don’t hear a gobble all morning. When that happens, Davidson shifts into a slow, deliberate search. He’ll either use an assembly yelp to locate a bird or pick a spot and call softly for set intervals of time. If you know turkeys live in the area, you don’t need constant gobbling to stay confident.

“Pick an area with fresh sign, and soft call every 15 to 20 minutes. You’re not trying to win the fly-down cackle world championship, just paint a realistic picture.” Davidson stressed that the idea isn’t to fire up a gobbler from half a mile away. It’s to create the illusion of a hen quietly going about her morning. Stay still, and stay patient, even if nothing answers your calling.

“My grandfather used to sit down, yelp three notes, and put his call out of arm's reach for 30 minutes,” he said. “That way, if he got tempted to call again, he knew he’d have to make a big movement to get his call, so he’d look and scan the woods before reaching for it.”

Patience is important, but so is having a backup plan. Davidson rarely sits longer than an hour if a bird isn’t responding. Instead of wandering aimlessly, he heads to the next likely spot on his map. He might hit a crow call as a last-ditch effort, but without a response, he’ll repeat trying to locate a bird at a new spot with an assembly yelp or see if he can spot a bird in a field from the road.

Davidson is more reluctant to leave if he’s already heard a gobbler in the area, even when that turkey goes quiet. “When I decide to leave a spot has a lot to do with how the bird reacted to my calls before he stopped responding,” he said. If the bird seemed interested—gobbling hard then shutting up to work slowly through thick cover—Davidson might give him more time.

“Easterns don’t gobble when they walk. So if you’ve been gobbling back and forth with a tom and he goes quiet, there’s a chance he’s coming. When you’ve heard a bird and you hit the point where you can’t wait anymore, always give it 15 more minutes. You will almost always kill that bird 15 minutes after you decide to leave.”