Last month, big-game hunter Brendan Burns stood where few men, if any, ever stood before him. Seventy miles into a 10-day, unsupported sheep hunt in the remote Yukon, Burns found himself bushwhacking ...

As I loaded the truck in the pre-dawn darkness, I felt the all-too-familiar tapping of rain on the brim of my hat. The rain intensified, and I felt it soaking through my shirt and onto my shoulders.

While plenty of hunters will crow about their rifle, their gun dog, or their truck, few brag about their hunting pants. They should. Because pants can make or break a hunt. When you’re busting through ...