With his trophy: a perfect walking stick, ramrod straight, bark stripped by beaver.
Draped in oversized, hand-me-down hunting vest (with lots of pockets for collecting rocks, leaves and other treasures), he fought a myriad of distractions and wet feet to keep up.
Summiting the highest point on Mnt. Clayton, with Uncle Rich goading him on (walking stick to right). Only minutes after flushing our first grouse of the day.