How I Outran the Snivel

By Jake Troutt, Outpost Nutrition

Every September, my buddies and I load up our trucks, tune our bows, and head into the Nez Perce-Clearwater backcountry near White Bird, Idaho, for the opener of archery elk season. It's a sacred time. Phones go dark, boots get dirty, and friendships are tested by things like flat tires, bad coffee, and late-night debates over broadhead brands.

This year was supposed to be our best yet. We’d locked in two full weeks—hard-earned and harder-negotiated. Some of the guys traded shifts, pulled weekend doubles. One guy donated blood plasma for gas money. You know—normal stuff.

We met up at base camp, a flat stretch just off Skookumchuck Ridge Road where we could park trucks and trailers without falling off a ledge. It’s not fancy, but it beats sleeping with your boots on halfway up a mountain.

I drove in from the south in my Tacoma with a camper shell. Jim and Caleb brought a big wall tent and a side-by-side strapped to a flatbed. Hank showed up in his diesel truck, hauling enough gear to outfit a Boy Scout battalion. Then there was Ted, who rolled up in his wife’s Honda Civic, coughing into his elbow and looking like warmed-over oatmeal.

He blamed it on one of his kids catching a cold at school. Said it was “just the sniffles.” I told him to keep his distance. He said, “It’s not contagious anymore.” Which is something contagious people say right before they infect everyone in a 30-yard radius.

Day 1: Setting Up and Ignoring Red Flags

We scouted the ridges near Cow Creek Saddle, glassed a few meadows from a lookout above the Salmon River canyon. Elk sign looked promising—fresh rubs, some torn-up wallows, and a bugle or two that evening. Spirits were high.

I took my usual two capsules of Blackwood Chaga after lunch and chased 'em with cold filtered creek water. One Gut Force: 40 Billion Strong capsule with breakfast, one with dinner. I’ve learned not to wait until I feel a tickle in my throat to start taking care of myself.

Ted skipped the afternoon hike, said he was “just gonna rest his lungs.” We should’ve lit his sleeping bag on fire right then and there.

Day 2: First to Fall

We hit the trail before daylight, hiking in along a ridge with a stiff headwind. I ran my usual setup: mid-weight camo layered for late-September temps, 65-pound draw compound bow with fixed-blade broadheads, and the meat-hauler pack rig I’ve trusted since the Bush administration. Just the basics—quiet, reliable, no fuss.

Mark was lagging by mid-morning. He said it was the altitude. It wasn’t.

I offered him some Gut Force at lunch, but he kept nibbling at his granola bar, staring off into the trees like they were about to start singing.

Day 3: Patient Zero Admitted

Mark was down for the count. Jim said it was probably a coincidence. It wasn’t.

Ted’s cough had matured into something fierce—deep, wet, and charismatic, like a dying accordion. He still insisted he was “feeling better.” Caleb had started sniffling.

Meanwhile, I felt solid. Clear-headed, steady, strong. Tagged a 5x5 that morning in a steep drainage above Smith Gulch. Took hours to pack out, solo. When I got back, the crew looked like they’d been gassed in their sleep.

That evening around the fire, I offered Chaga and Gut Force to anyone still upright. Most of ’em just squinted at the bottle like I was handing out radioactive marbles. I didn’t press. Can’t help folks who think prevention is a personality flaw.

Day 4–6: The Coughening

The sickness spread like gossip in a church foyer.

Jim tried to hike with me on Day 5. Made it half a mile, hacked into a pine, and sat down like a man twice his age. “Think I’m done,” he wheezed.

I brought the side-by-side around and hauled him back to camp while the rest stayed behind, curled up in sleeping bags and sipping warm sports drink concentrate like it was moonshine.

Someone asked if I’d “mind punching a tag or two for the team.” I said no. Not in the grumpy way, just matter-of-fact. “If your name ain't on the tag, it ain't your elk,” I told them. “We do things right or not at all.”

Hank grumbled something about “survival ethics.” I told him integrity doesn’t stop when the sniffles start.

Day 7–10: Hauling Meat and Holding Strong

I spent more time packing than sleeping. Two of the guys rallied long enough to shoot bulls of their own, but couldn’t haul much. I carried loads up and down the same ridge until my calves stopped working independently and just sort of hummed like tuning forks.

Gut Force in the morning, again at night. Two Blackwood Chaga after lunch. Hydration, protein, a little shut-eye when I could get it. Never so much as a tickle in my throat.

Lenny tried to come out with me one morning, made it halfway up the hill, and collapsed onto a rock like it was the finish line.

“You got any of those mushroom pills?” he asked.

I found a ziplock baggy and rationed out enough to get him through the week. “Better late than never.”

Day 11–13: The Turnaround

Lenny bounced back like a Jack Russell on caffeine. By Day 11, he was glassing canyons and grinning. Day 12, he tagged a heavy 6x6, and we packed it out together. Ted offered to help, coughed once, and sat back down with his blanket and a box of tissues.

We finished strong. Two elk down. A third tag filled thanks to me calling for Caleb while he tried not to sneeze into his release aid.

Day 14: Still Standing

By the end of the trip, most of the crew was in various stages of recovery. Except Ted. Just when it looked like he was on the mend, he caught a fresh wave from the last guy to get sick—like some viral game of tag. That man lives in a loop.

As for me? Never got sick. Not once. I slept outside three nights under a tarp. Hauled over 300 pounds of elk meat down the mountain. Never missed a hike, never lost my appetite, and never once reached for a tissue.

Lesson of the Hunt

Look, I’m not saying Blackwood Chaga and Gut Force: 40 Billion Strong are miracle pills. I’m just saying I lived in close proximity to a walking biohazard for two weeks, filled my tag, packed three elk, and never once got the crud. That counts for something.

So next time you’re gearing up for the season, don’t just think about your bow and boots. Think about your guts and your immune system, too. Because you can't shoot straight if you're shaking from the chills.

 

*These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.