For now, I’m keeping my name off this site.

Not because I’m ashamed of what I write — but because I want the freedom to write it honestly.

I’m a young-ish Canadian with a family, working a public-facing job, and carrying enough opinions to piss off at least half the internet. Staying anonymous gives me space to speak plainly — whether it’s about hunting, guns, parenting, government, or just daily life in pursuit of more time in the backcountry. That’s where I feel most fulfilled.

I’m a jack of all trades and a master of none. I won’t pretend to be an expert on anything — but I’ll tell you what’s worked for me in the most relatable way I know how: by sharing my suffrage. Stories, rants, gear reviews… I’m not here to compete with the rest of the internet. I just want to throw my version into the mix and see what comes back.

You can call me BCT. I’m here to respectfully share my side of things.

I grew up in small-town British Columbia with just enough money to play school sports, but not enough to go to Disneyland. My parents worked their asses off to give us the best they could — which wasn’t much — and we sure didn’t appreciate it at the time. Ungrateful little twits.

But I’m thankful for that upbringing now. It built strength and appreciation in me that’ll pay dividends until the day I die.

Our dad, even though he couldn’t take us on Alaskan sheep hunts or guided fly-fishing trips, made sure we spent time in the woods — doing what boys should be doing: falling into creek beds, shooting cans with crappy pellet guns, and getting real hungry in the dark a little too far from the truck. I guess I developed a taste for Type 2 fun.

But more than that, it lit a fire under my ass. I knew whatever I did in life, I wanted to be running around in the woods, doing what other people wouldn’t, chasing my own kind of grand adventure.